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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

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[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

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When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

#opla #opla x reader #opla fanfiction #one piece live action #one piece netflix #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk one piece #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk fanfiction #dracule mihawk fanfic #dracule mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk x y/n #op mihawk

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targaryenimagines · 6 months

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My Khaleesi

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,586

Summary:

Warnings: Smut and G!P Daenerys.

Notes: Wasn’t sure if you wanted Dark!Dany (in a sense) or not, but decided to just do it that way for this one shot! If you’d like another one with a non dark Dany, I’ll be more than happy to do that. Also, this is definitely the most graphic smut I’ve written… I apologize if it’s bad.

Ash still falls from the sky like distorted flecks of snow— rubble shifts under foot as you make your way through the courtyard of the Red Keep. You didn’t have to turn your head far to see the destruction that had been wrought across King’s Landing, a destruction that had come at the hands of the woman you love the most in this world.

Fire and blood had come to Westeros, you think, side-stepping a charred corpse. And penance seemed to have been paid in full.

The sights, along with the smells, that assault you the farther you trek into the once great city aren’t something that sits well with you, nor does the knowledge that Westeros had pushed Daenerys, your Dany, to this point. That all of her grief: Viserion, Jorah, Rhaegal, and Missandei, along with all of her men that she lost in the North, had forced her spirit into shattering so completely.

I don’t want to be Queen of the Ashes…

A saying that had constantly been thrown towards Daenerys, that had been used as a means to control her, keep her line, and what better way to do that then remind her of her father’s legacy, a tale that’s haunted her ever since she discovered it, and had been continually repeated until Daenerys spouted it out as if she was simply talking about the weather. Her drive, the passion that had carried her through Essos, slowly being driven out of her the longer she spent in the toxic landscape that is Westeros; forever surrounded by the tales of her ancestors, by the fear and hatred that the people she saved showed her, at the clear refusal to ever accept her as anything more than a Targaryen Whore.

Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, you pause just outside of throne room, or what you believe to be anyway, and think over everything that had transpired. Think of the darkness that had seemed to have only grown in intensity since the Night King had been dealt with. Would Daenerys, after all of this, still wish to see you? Would you still have a place by her side?

Only one way to find out…

With a deep intake of breath, you step fully into the debilitated area that had once been a source of great pride— at the head of it all being the almost legendary throne itself, a mass of melted together swords, and standing before it?

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Daenerys turns from her perusal of the throne, and a warm smile quirks her lips at your nearing form.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” she murmurs, adoration clear within violet eyes. Slim arms wrapping around your middle the moment your close enough for her to grab. A single gloved finger gently tracing down the expanse of your cheek, rubbing away the hints of ash that still remained. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I don’t know what I would have done if that hadn’t been the case.”

You lean into the hand still resting on your cheek, a happy smile of your own making an appearance. “Burn down the rest of Westeros?” A dark look flashes through violet eyes, your joke suddenly taking on an all too serious light that you desperately wanted to veer away from. Bumping into her slightly, you disentangle from slim arms, warmed by the smallest bit of hesitance she had at letting you go, you step closer to the throne. “This is it? The Iron Throne?”

Daenerys settles next to you. “It is.” She touches the arm of it with an almost reverent air. “After all these years, all the trials and tribulations that I went through, I’m finally here. A Targaryen is finally the holder of the Iron Throne once more. I’ve brought honor back to my family.”

“You’ve honored them for years already, Dany. You simply being alive is honor by itself.” You angle your head, not surprised at all to see that she had already been looking at you. “This just exemplifies you into the ranks of Aegon.”

Violet eyes gleam with an almost childlike wonder, the hand closest to you touching your cheek with the same reverence she had shown the throne. “Aegon had his wives, he had his queens.” She steps away from you, taking her rightful seat on the throne. “Something that I’ll be in need of moving forward.”

Your head dips. “Anything I can help you with?”

Daenerys chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling from deep within her chest like one of Drogon’s roars. “There is, Y/N.” Gesturing for you to come closer, a command that you listen to without question, she gently maneuvers you into a kneeling position before her, slender fingers tangling themselves within the strands of your hair. “Say yes.”

“Your Grace?”

“Say yes to marrying me, to becoming my wife and queen.” Her holds tightens, forcing your head to tilt back. “Say yes to becoming mine and I’ll make sure everything you could ever want becomes yours.”

A small smile twists your lips upward. “Everything that I could ever want already is.”

At the words a small growl escapes Daenerys, her head dipping downward to press a heated kiss to your lips, maintaining that you’re kept in place by the iron-clad hold she still has on your hair. And, like with everything else, Daenerys didn’t hesitate in conquering what is hers, tongue barely brushing over your bottom lip before she plunders into your mouth, taking you for everything you have. The taste of you, the submission in which you’re showing her, along with the location no doubt, makes Daenerys almost frantic in her need for you.

Barely pulling away, giving you both a moment to breathe, before she’s claiming your lips once more— it’s wet, filthy in a way that makes your mind fog over in lust, and you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs through your nose, something that constantly ensures her scent is all that you’re surrounded by, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to be in any other position than where you are now; kneeling in front of your Khaleesi, her pleasure becoming yours.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Daenerys fully pulls away from you, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you both, before she shifts too far back and it snaps in half. Violet eyes, blown nearly black in lust, pin you in place as Daenerys slowly undoes the buckle of her pants, and jerks it down, the actions clear on what she expected from you. And, without preamble, or any sort of prompting, you help Daenerys with removing them, gently taking off her boots, before pulling her tight-fitting pants off her slim legs. The sight that greets you once you look up almost causing your mouth to dry up completely.

Daenerys Targaryen sat in all of her glory, bare from the waist down, her thick member jutting out from the apex of her thighs. The look in her eyes, in the darkness that lurks just out of reach, tells you all that you need to know, how your Khaleesi wished for you to service her next. Something you didn’t have a problem with doing, damn the consequences of potentially being caught in the wide open throne room.

Taking her into your hands, feeling her warmth, and the way that she twitches ever-so-slightly at your touch, is a heady sort of power that you’re never going to get used to.

Taking her into your mouth, jaw stretched wide to accommodate her girth, feeling the way she arches into the wetness it provides, hands tightening even further into your hair, the wonderful concoction of pain and pleasure, fuels you more than anything ever could.

Bobbing up and down, taking her deeper and deeper into your throat, listening to the breathy sighs she lets loose whenever she completely bottoms out, is a drug you never want to get off of. Her flavor— musky with just the barest hint of sweetness and something spicy— spreads across your tastebuds, your tongue lovingly swirling around the tip of her cock, taking in as much of her as you possibly could.

“Iksā doing sīr sȳz syt nyke.” The Valyrian praise escapes her in a low snarl, hands now guiding you in the exact way she wanted, your own simply being braced on her thighs as you let her use you. “Issare iā sȳz riña syt nyke. Ñuha sȳz riña.”

All you can do is moan in response, mouth completely stuffed full of her, but the vibrations makes her tense even further, another snarl rumbling from deep within her. You know that she’s close, can tell by the way her thighs were beginning to tremble underneath your touch, and the quickening of her thrusts, and your head moves even faster because of it— wanting nothing more than to feel her release down your throat, for your tongue to be coated by her cum.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry mirre? Gūrogon everything bona nyke tepagon ao?” Daenerys groans out the question, clearly fighting with herself to not succumb just yet to the pleasure of her release. Peering up, you’re instantly met with darkened violet eyes, a rosy hue predominant across fair cheeks. Clearly waiting for a response, all you can do is gurgle around the cock currently in your throat, hoping that your eyes gave her all the answers she needed, which, by the tightening of her hands, absolutely did. “Sȳz riña.”

Within the next moment, jets of Daenerys cum shoots out, going straight into your stomach as you desperately swallow to make sure you don’t lose any of it. The feeling of warmth as her seed settles deep within you is one you’ve long since grown familiar with, but the possessive heat in her eyes as she watches you swallow it all down is definitely new. A reaction that causes your own arousal to come to the forefront of your mind finally, wetness clearly coating your thighs, waiting for your Khaleesi’s touch.

Daenerys pulls her cock from your mouth a moment later— the still hard length shimmering with the combination of leftover cum and saliva— allowing for you to take a deep lungful of air at last. Remnants of her still on your tongue.

Her thumb brushes across your bottom lip, briefly pushing into your mouth for you to suck on, before she retracts her hand and tugs you up onto her lap. Slim arms bracing your lower half perfectly against herself, settling her own body more fully on the Iron Throne.

“You did so good for me,” she murmurs, trailing slender fingers down your thighs. Nowhere near where you needed her the most though. “Do you want to continue?”

You nod. “More than anything, Khaleesi.“

Daenerys hums at the old title, hands gripping your hips in a hold that you know would leave bruises, lips ghosting across your jawline and down your neck.

“You’re mine, right?” Teeth nips into the sensitive flesh beneath your pulse point. “No one else can have you this way, fuck you the way that I can, or hear the beautiful noises you make when you fall apart.”

“Only you, Dany,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against hers. “It’ll only ever be you. I’m yours completely.”

There isn’t need for more words after that, Daenerys simply hikes your dress higher up your waist, tearing your small-clothes away completely, before rubbing her hardened member against the wetness that has collected between your legs, a deep groan escaping her at the feeling of your clear want for her.

Within the next heartbeat, she’s buried to the hilt within you, a sharp keen being ripped from your chest at the feeling of complete fullness, the delicious stretch as your body tries to acclimate to the feeling of her, and begins to rut roughly into you. Hands slide from their place on your waist to settle on your hips, guiding you up and down as you begin to bounce in response to her thrusts.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, arms wrapped tightly around Daenerys neck, tugging her closer to you, continuing to ride her in complete abandon, wet slapping noise, intercepted by occasional grunts and moans, filled the air, echoing out across the empty throne room. A part of you thinks that you might even be able to be heard down below, the ripped open wall next to the throne offering an excellent siphon to the noises, but then Daenerys twists her hips in just the right way and everything, that doesn’t have to do with the mind numbing pleasure she gives you, vanishes from you mind in an instant.

Nails make crescent moons in the soft flesh of your hips, bruises no doubt already forming on your lower abdomen from how hard Daenerys was thrusting up into you, but the knowledge that your Khaleesi is marking you in such a way, that she’s lost parts of her control because of you, makes you not care in the slightest— you were hers, completely and irreversibly. Her pleasure was your own.

With another strangled gasp, your head falls to her chest, still glad in her formal garb, the metal cool against the heated expanse of your forehead, no longer being able to keep yourself upright. You could feel your climax approaching— coming faster and faster as Daenerys brushed against the spot within you every time she pulled out. Your core clenching around her desperately, trying to keep her within you, milk her for all that she’s worth, and the tight constriction causes a strangled sound of her own to resonate from your Khaleesi.

Feet planted firmly into the floor, she begins to piston fully into you, your body arching into her, allowing her to move you as she saw fit, clearly chasing her second release and your own.

“I’m going to mark you in a way that no one ever has.” Feverish violet eyes meet your own, strands of silvery-gold hair sticking to her heated cheeks, torn from their intricate braids, as her grip on you tightens more. “You’re going to bear my children, you’re going to continue on the Targaryen name. Would you like that?”

You moan. “Yes.”

The thought of carrying her children, of continuing on the Targaryen Legacy, filled you with a sense of purpose, a sense of warmth.

Pushing your head further into her chest, you plead. “Do it, Khaleesi. Claim me.”

With a ragged snarl, Daenerys’s hips stutter and before you know it jets of warmth fill you up, going straight to your womb. The feeling triggers your own release, a broken moan leaving you as you milk Daenerys for everything she has, everything that she’d be willing to offer. Harshly panting, Daenerys settles back onto the throne, hands gently running down your spine, holding you as closely as she possibly still could, still buried inside of you.

“Thank you,” she whispers, nuzzling you before she presses a kiss to your damp temple.

You sigh, content in her arms. “Always.”

Pressing another kiss to your head, Daenerys angles your face in order for you to look at her, the open look of adoration on her face one that’d only ever be reserved for you and her son.

“My beautiful love, my lovely wife.” She drops a chaste kiss to your lips, her hips beginning to move once more. “My eternal queen.”

“My Khaleesi.”

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #got imagine #got imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #house of the dragon

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ultralightpoe · 10 months

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Spellbound - Geralt

Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job

Warnings: semi smut

Word Count: 4012

Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell

brothel worker! reader x geralt

Enjoy!

Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them.

That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire.

This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed.

The witcher had always been against you joining the group.

You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him.

A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground.

You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging.

Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?

Wrong.

Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either.

He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much.

Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?

Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence.

Well……anyone but you.

Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good.

You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both.

Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room.

When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs.

It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down.

The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game.

He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger.

“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”

It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own.

The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”

“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach.

By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”

You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch.

“Answer me.”

You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you.

“Humming is not an answer.”

You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”

You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward.

“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down.

“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.

“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”

“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”

“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”

“I do not-”

“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”

“Fuck off.”

Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy.

After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”

A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”

“I do not.”

“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”

“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”

“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest.

Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up.

You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee.

Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine.

“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”

Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”

“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face.

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again.

Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down.

“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin.

The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him.

“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.”

“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”

The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”

“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”

“Where did he disappear to?”

“You mean after you snatched her?”

By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”

He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing.

You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”

“About?”

“About work.”

“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”

“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood.

“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”

“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you.

“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”

“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”

“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”

Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”

“So you would go back to whoring?”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”

“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”

A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”

“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”

“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead.

“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”

“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure.

“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt.

Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners.

But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun.

The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song.

“Can I get you another drink?”

“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile.

“Another ale?”

“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down.

The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you.

One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care.

“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs.

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

“And you care why?”

“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls.

“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..

“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.”

“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”

“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”

A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”

And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.”

Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment.

But just for a moment.

You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it.

“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”

“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms.

It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth.

The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled.

Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door.

The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair.

His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before.

For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-”

This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red.

“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”

“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes.

Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room.

He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell.

He was a fucking fool.

“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”

And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”

You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes. “Oh make it stop-”

“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”

“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you.

“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.

“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”

“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick.

“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.” Jaskier shrugs before yawning.

“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself.

“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”

“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room.

- - - - -

Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags.

“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him.

“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.”

“Then where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke.

“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”

“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat.

“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”

“How. So.”

“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”

“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”

“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”

“Where is the brothel?”

“It’s no use.”

“Where. Is. The. Brot-”

“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”

“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”

He had to get you.

Part Two

#geralt x reader #geralt smut #geralt imagine #geralt angst #witcher #witcher smut #geralt of rivia #witcher angst #witcher imagine #witcher fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher angst #the witcher smut #the witcher c reader #witcher geralt #henry cavill #Geralt Geralt Geralt #witcher season 3 #rory the frenchie

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your-turn-to-role · 1 year

Text

also. i absolutely adored what lovm did with the pass through fire quote

but then it makes me emotional about the original context, so i have to share that too (minor plot spoilers ahead)

because it wasn't originally to do with the ashari at all. it was from patrick rothfuss' guest character, a blacksmith named kerrek, who helped vox machina fight against the dragon in westruun, and helped keyleth personally through some difficult stuff (he may yet appear on lovm, but given the context of the quote now i doubt we'll get all of it)

and a little after kerrek's episode, patrick rothfuss actually made a legit letter from kerrek to keyleth, with a present inside, and left it with matt until whatever point in the plot she was able to recieve it

which by coincidence was one of the hardest moments in the whole campaign for her

and this letter had marisha legit crying in the episode, because it's just. so beautiful, and so needed. and it goes:

Keyleth,

I write to let you and your companions know that the repair of Westruun is proceeding well. I will not bore you with the details. Suffice to say that our children are well-fed and safe, our elderly and infirm are cared for and comfortable. Without the help of you and yours, this would not be the case.

The folk in charge argue constantly, but that is to be expected, and it is no bad thing. They all want the same good things in different ways. I listen, mostly, and do what I can to make sure that they listen to each other. Without listening, nothing good can happen.

The town... when I say the repair is going well, it is a hard thing for me to talk about. I am not a particularly clever man, and much of this is new to me. When you make a mistake with metal, you can melt things down and start afresh. It is irritating, and it costs in time and soot and sweat, but it can be done. There is a comfort in iron, knowing that a fresh start is always possible. But a city is not a sword. It is a living thing, and living things defy simple fixing. Roots cannot be reforged. They scar, and broken branches must be cut and sealed with tar, and this makes me angry, as it always has, and my anger has no place to go.

It was easier when I was young. I could use my anger like a hammer against the world. I was so sure of myself and my friends and my rightness. I would hammer at the world, and breaking felt like making to me, and I was good at it. And while I was not wrong, neither was I entirely right. Nothing is simple.

I do not work in wood. I am not brave enough for that. There is a comfort in iron, a promise of safety, a second chance if mistakes are made. But a city is more a forest than a sword. No, it needs more tending than that.

Perhaps a city is like a garden, then. So these days, it seems I have become a gardener. I dig foundations in the earth. I sow rows of houses. I plan and plant. I watch the skies for rain and ruin. I cannot help but think that you would be better at this, but circumstance has put both of us in our own odd place. You are forced to be a hammer in the world, and my ungentle hands are learning how to tend a plot of land. We must do what we can do.

Did you know that there are some seeds that cannot sprout unless they are first burned? A friend once told me that. She was... she was a bookish sort. I think of gardening constantly these days. I wear your gift, and I think of you, and I think it is interesting that there are some living things that need to pass through fire before they flourish.

I ramble. You have the heart of a gardener, and because of this, you think of consequence, and your current path pains you. I am not wise, and I do not give advice, but I have come to know a few things: sometimes breaking is making. Even iron can start again. And there are many things that move through fire and find themselves much better for it afterward.

I have enclosed a gift. Once it was a sword, but it has changed. It is a small thing, and silly. Please forgive an old man for his foolishness. Still, I hope it brings you some small comfort.

Kindly, Kerr.

and the present inside the envelope? a ring, engraved with the phrase "I have passed through fire."

#hi i saw a gifset of marisha getting the ring and im emotional again so have the full letter #god patrick rothfuss i know you're a professional writer but how are you so good at this #cr1 #the legend of vox machina #keyleth #kerrek #cr thoughts

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quoththemaiden · 1 month

Text

The final chapter of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU is dropping tomorrow, so obviously there was no way I could resist writing another fanscene. (Previous scene 1, 2, 3) Inspired by the sheer domesticity of chapters 15 and 16, enjoy this end-of-series scene.

—

Crowley's key fumbled against the lock — still Aziraphale's lock, technically, but very firmly Crowley's key. "Dinner was good, though?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a little at how much more attention his face was getting than the keyhole. Sherlock Holmes might have blamed the wine they shared at dinner for the scratches around the lock, but Aziraphale knew better. "It was delicious, of course. You should know; you were there."

"Nnyeah, well, it's your opinion I care about." As if that weren't obvious from Crowley having gotten them a table at one of the city's best restaurants on Valentine's Day and insisting on not even letting him see the bill.

As if Aziraphale was ever any good at hiding his appreciation of good food.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale replied with a gentle touch on Crowley's arm that swiftly turned into snagging the key from him to open the door himself. Crowley let out a huffy laugh as he followed him inside. "Tea?"

"Sure, if that goes with whatever we're doing next." Crowley had been trying to wheedle Aziraphale's planned gift out of him for the past two weeks, and Aziraphale had remained utterly firm in not sharing it with him. Crowley insisted that whatever Aziraphale planned would be alright with him so there was no reason for Aziraphale to be shy about it, and Aziraphale had said "I know, dearest," and somehow that's as far as Crowley's attempts at learning Aziraphale's plans ever got.

Aziraphale fussed around with the tea and put on some music — old-fashioned stuff on actual CDs, the sap — and Crowley was left to lean against the doorjamb watching him and coming to terms with being so terribly, completely besotted that their evening plans could be "absolutely nothing" and Crowley wouldn't love it a single speck less. Aziraphale had said that he'd always thought of Valentine's Day as just another day, and that he'd certainly never considered that he might be able to celebrate it publicly, so Crowley was already delighted at having coaxed him out to dinner. Crowley found himself very suddenly aware that if Aziraphale's supposed plans amounted to nothing at all, he honestly wouldn't mind. His fifteen-year-old self would eat him alive if he knew, and Crowley felt warm inside to know that that was his younger self's loss.

Crowley blinked out of his reverie in time to help Aziraphale carry the teacups into the living room, and was almost surprised when Aziraphale brought a bag in with him as he followed. "Whazzat?"

"Painting supplies, dear." Aziraphale set the bag down on the coffee table.

Another point in favor of another evening spent doing nothing unusual. Crowley relaxed back into the couch, wondering if his melting heart could leave stains on the fabric. "What're you gonna paint?"

"You!" Par for the course again, then. Aziraphale gave a happy wriggle. "I hope you aren't ticklish!"

Wait, what?

"Uh?" Crowley picked up one of the paints Aziraphale was setting out and found that the label said, quite clearly, "body safe." "Angel?"

Aziraphale looked at him with a smile that said he was still 100% confident in his plan despite Crowley's confusion. "I thought it might be a nice reminder of the con. Getting an airbrush and making stencils didn't seem sensible, really, but I know how to use a brush well enough."

Crowley let out a breathy laugh. "'Well enough' 's an understatement. Geez, now MY gift feels—"

"—completely, perfectly tailored to me," Aziraphale cut in. "I would have been actually cross if you'd insisted on getting me another sword." Crowley laughed again, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart that he'd seemed to do nothing but laugh all night. Aziraphale patted Crowley's hand before picking up his tea, taking an appreciative sip and willing it to calm the excited fluttering in his chest. "What do you think? Another serpent on your cheek? I was thinking a tree would look rather lovely spread across your spine and shoulder blades..."

Crowley shivered a little at that, easily able to picture Aziraphale straddling his hips as he lay on the bed, Aziraphale's left palm spread flat on his back to keep himself steady with the rise and falls of Crowley's breath, his paintbrush tenderly tracing a line along his spine...

"Snake first," he agreed quickly. "And then..." He looked down on Aziraphale's arms and swallowed. "Think you could paint on your own arm? I could help hold things steady for you."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley's heart clenched in the best of ways. He had no idea how Aziraphale always managed to say that like he was falling in love all over again, time and time again, but he did.

No, that wasn't quite right. Crowley probably did know. He suspected it came from the same place as the way he'd looked at Aziraphale as he helped him out of the car today. Aziraphale had taken his arm without hesitation and looked up at him with a warmer smile than any mortal had ever earned, and Crowley had been certain he was wearing his own heart on his sleeve, his vest, and every other garment he owned.

He adored him, and somehow, ineffably, it was the smallest moments that made it stand out the most.

"...right," Aziraphale managed to say around the happy tightness in his throat. "Some art for the both of us, then."

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #absolutely amazing fic bilvy #you should be proud!!

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inoreuct · 7 months

Note

Since it’s spooky season, may I request a demon Sanji offering Zoro some food?

i was supposed to post this for friday the 13th, but it got way more dramatic than i planned… thank you for the ask!

Y’know, when Sanji became a demon, he hadn’t expected to have to deal with moss infestations.

He is aware that that sounds rather ridiculous and makes little to no sense. The long and short of it is, he got himself cursed. Dumb, yes, he’s aware of that too, but how was he supposed to have known that the rare herb garden he’d stepped into was guarded by a territorial (and rather unhinged, in his humble opinion) occultist?

But as far as curses go, this one really isn’t so bad. Sanji had just sort of… accepted it, after a while, and it certainly hadn’t hurt that the whole becoming a demon gig came with its own massive underworld castle filled with invisible servants. He shudders, peering into a mirror and brushing an invisible speck of dust from his horns. He could have been turned into a goat, or something. How the hell would he cook if he was a goat?

Back to the topic at hand, he has a visitor. A human, of all things! Wandering about the underworld! Sanji’s scrying bowl had offered him a view of short green hair and three swords hanging from a belt, and honestly? He doesn’t know what to make of it, and now the man is hovering in his entryway, poking at a 6th century vase that Sanji is fairly sure holds some Roman emperor’s dead body. He checks his reflection one last time, sucking at his teeth before he phases into shadow, hovering just outside the edges of the foyer. The flames of the candelabra flicker in an invisible wind and the man whip his head around, looking for a threat that isn’t there—

And Sanji coalesces right behind him. “Hello, little huma— Ack!” A sword swings for his neck in the space of a breath and he leans back on instinct, not putting much effort into it—

The tip nicks his throat and draws blood.

Sanji’s eyes go wide. Oh, this just got interesting.

Regular blades can’t hurt him. Can’t even touch him; they pass right through his form like he’s made of liquid shadow, but he feels this cut. The faint sting, the hot trickle over his tendons, the smell of his own blood thick in the air. He hadn’t even heard the sword unsheathe.

The man is backing away, eyes wild; Sanji huffs a laugh and melts into the shadow again, reappearing just in time for the man to bump into him with a loud swear. Sanji needs to stop calling him The Man. “What’s your name?”

The Man scowls as he holds his sword ready, and it pulls at the vertical scar over his left eye. “Like hell I’ll tell you. I’m not gonna let you use me for whatever— witchy shit you wanna do.”

Sanji raises an unimpressed brow. “First of all, I’m a demon, not a witch. And second, it doesn’t work like that. You need my name for spells and such.”

“Which is?”

“Now why would I tell you?” He grins, sharp and sweet like the song of a blade through the air. “You’ll know mine when I know yours, Marimo.”

“Marimo?” his visitor scoffs, and Sanji shrugs with a genial smile even as Marimo bristles. Better than The Man.

He turns around, gliding through the foyer more for the sake of having something to do than actually trying to go anywhere, and of course Marimo follows. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” he sighs, side-eyeing the man as he squints warily at a bust of some sort of cat with seven eyes.

“Nope.”

“What’s the deal, then? A human all the way down here? Hell isn’t exactly the most popular vacation spot, y’know.” Sanji pauses and gives a pointed look to the weapon that had drawn his blood. “And that is not a normal sword.”

Marimo’s eyebrows twitch, the only sign Sanji gets that he’s surprised. “Cursed blade,” the man grumbles, rubbing a thumb over the hilt. “And I’m looking for someone.”

“…In Hell.” Sanji’s skeptical.

“My best friend got himself kicked through a portal, alright?” Marimo protests, lip curling in irritation.

“Ha! Good luck with that,” Sanji huffs, walking again. “Nobody new’s been down here except—” Wait. He spins on his heel, and Marimo narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Dark hair, chatty as anything, about… yea high?” he asks, lifting his hand as an estimate, and he lurches back when Marimo leans all up in his face with his eyes like sharp granite.

“You know something.”

“One of my… acquaintances said something about it, yes.” Mihawk had mentioned a guy suddenly popping up. Monkey something-or-other. Loofah? He opens his mouth to speak right as he hears an odd growl, and Marimo pulls back with the tips of his ears turning red. A huff of a laugh slips out without Sanji’s permission. “Alright, come on,” he decides, creating a shadow door and waiting for the other man to follow. “Can’t find your friend on an empty stomach.”

They walk straight into the kitchen, and Sanji gets to work whipping up a plate of omurice. He was a chef before, and he still is one; he’ll feed anyone who’s hungry. He might not be human or alive (or is he? He still isn’t sure) anymore but he refuses to let go of the values that he’d lived and breathed by, no matter how… questionable his unexpected guest may be.

He is done in a matter of minutes. “Eat.” The plate scrapes as he slides it across the countertop with cutlery, but Marimo just glares. “What? Don’t like eggs?”

“Isn’t there some rule about getting trapped here if you eat?”

Sanji resists the urge to roll his eyes, because Hell’s bells, this man is stubborn. “Look, that’s all bullshit, alright? Eat, or I’ll make you. This is the only place around for leagues that has food you could possibly digest. Or would you rather go hunt for elephant scorpions?”

The man recoils. “The fuck are those?”

“You don’t wanna know.” He nudges the fork and spoon closer, crossing his arms with an expectant eyebrow.

Marimo raises one right back, but he hesitantly picks up the cutlery and digs in. “…So you eat human food,” he mutters after a while, and Sanji looks up from where he’s washing the dishes.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno,” the other man muses, taking another bite. The dim light of the wall sconces makes his three golden earrings gleam, highlighting the gnarly scar across his chest. “What with the whole demon thing.”

“Not all of us have a taste for mortal flesh,” Sanji sniffs, examining his cuticles coolly before getting back to scrubbing.

He’s feeling a little strange. Maybe it’s the human interaction after so long of being down here with just his invisible friends and other demons for company, but it’s making something hurt right behind his ribs, where his heart beats more slowly than it has any right to. He’d missed this. Cooking for someone else. Banter. Companionship.

He takes a shaky breath and plunges his hands into the water, grabbing a frying pan and scouring it viciously. No use reminiscing and chasing pipe dreams.

“Oi.”

Marimo’s voice catches his attention, and he rinses the sponge. “Hm?”

“How’s the—?” The man gestures vaguely to his neck, and Sanji’s fingers fly up to his throat to feel for the cut.

“Oh, that.” It’s already mostly healed, and he tilts his jaw to the side to show it. “S’fine. See?”

Marimo grunts, turning back to the last bites of his food. “Sorry.”

Sanji stills, something wild flaring hot in his ribcage before he mentally wrangles it into submission. He wouldn’t have expected an apology from anyone— much less this man. “It’s no big deal.”

“Still,” Marimo says gruffly, sliding the plate back over, the ceramic scraped clean. “And thanks.” He blinks for a second before nodding to the empty plate, as if it isn’t clear enough. “For the food.”

What the fuck. Sanji takes it, feeling like he’s in a bit of a daze. Marimo had seemed like a bit of a brute at first, with his scars and his close-cropped hair and his physique and the stupid shirt that was open halfway down his damn chest (Sanji, don’t look, it doesn’t matter how many muscles he has), not to mention the three swords. He’s bullheaded but obviously skilled, and— who the Hell is this guy?

“Who sent you,” Sanji breathes as he sets the plate down, something sinking in the pit of his gut. He readies one hand behind his back. There has to be a catch.

Marimo frowns. “Nobody sent me, I told you I’m looking for my—”

He lunges. His claws are around the man’s neck in less than a second, digging up into the soft part of his throat. Marimo’s Adam’s apple bobs against the pad of his thumb. “Who sent you,” he hisses again, and it comes out less steady than he likes.

Sanji doesn’t know why he’s affected. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He has not fallen so far that the thought of this small bit of— of courtesy, of company, being a farce should feel like such a betrayal.

So why does it?

He tightens his grip, gaze boring into eyes that have gone granite-dark in the low light, and yet Marimo does not pull away. The man tips his chin up, allows the point of Sanji’s claw to dig just beneath his trachea. “Nobody sent me,” he repeats evenly, chest rising and falling with his breaths, and Sanji holds back a snarl. He has been alone for too long for some human to come waltzing in and fucking up his life with— whatever this is, only for him to get butthurt because it wasn’t real. It’s not even that big of a deal and he feels fucking ridiculous.

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.”

And it seems like he really isn’t. Marimo’s pulse is rock steady, his gaze unflinchingly neutral, tracking Sanji across the room even as the demon slowly pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji mutters, leaning back against the sink and pressing a hand over his eyes with a tired exhale. “I apologise, I— I lost myself.”

“S’okay,” Marimo says cautiously. His swords clatter against each other as he stands and pushes the stool in with his knee. “I should… get going.”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Sanji shakes his head a little and smoothes his hands over the front of his blouse. He snaps his fingers, and a shadow door materialises in front of the other man. “This will take you to the acquaintance I was talking about, Mihawk. He’s your best bet at finding— What’s his name?”

“Luffy.”

“Luffy. Right.”

Marimo hesitates, and Sanji feels like something’s gotten caught in his throat.

“It gets lonely here, doesn’t it?” the other man asks abruptly, turning to face Sanji properly.

He swallows. “…Sometimes,” he concedes, keeping his tone light. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Marimo gives an aborted jerk of his head, like he hadn’t been able to decide whether to nod or not. “Luffy’s appetite is crazy. He’ll be hungry when I find him.”

Sanji can’t help but laugh. It seems to be becoming a recurring problem. “You asking if I’ll feed him?”

“Yeah. Because I think you’ll say yes.”

A smirk pulls at Sanji’s mouth, and he lets it lean sharp. “Do you have a death wish, planning to come back to a demon’s castle?”

“Maybe,” Zoro mutters, but he matches Sanji’s expression tooth for tooth. “But the food’s good, and the company’s… decent.”

Sanji really does roll his eyes this time. Unbelievable. “You’ve got some nerve, Marimo.”

“Zoro.”

Zoro. It echoes around in his skull, sets something sparking up under his skin. “Zoro,” he tries, cocking his head before he nods to the shadow door. “Get going, idiot. That isn’t going to stay open forever.”

Zoro takes a step backwards. “You haven’t told me your name.”

Sanji purses his lips to hide his chuckle. “Come back with Luffy, and maybe you’ll find out.”

The last thing he sees is the swordsman’s grin before the door dissolves, leaving him alone in his kitchen with a feeling in his chest that he hasn’t felt for ages. Fuck, this Zoro is trouble.

Sanji drags his hands over his face and groans, but he’s smiling.

All he does in this damn castle is laze around and cook for himself. If it means cooking for someone else, and decent company… Well, a little trouble couldn’t hurt.

#zosan #zosan au #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #zoro #one piece #ino’s ask box

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sinning-23 · 16 days

Text

Glass Chandelier

Warnings; 18+ swearing, some hints at masturbation, buggy is a drama starter, sanji is failing at keeping his hands off your body.

Link to Chapter 3

Enjoy-

Chapter 4

"Wow, you got another one? Already?!" A fourth and more....irritating voice speaks.

You tense again, brows angled down. Firstly, who was speaking, and second what the hell did he mean another one?

"I mean at least she's not ditsy like the rest of you idiots."

You raise a brow at Sanji then the rest of the so-called crew. Zoro sighed heavily, taking the bag you hadn't seen previously off his hip and slamming it rather aggressively onto a barrel.

The reveal was far more interesting than you anticipated, a severed head adorned with a large red nose and a red and white striped bandanna. It beams up at you, the face paint around its lips only accentuating his cheshire grin. You mutter a light 'the fuck...', leaning in a bit to truly try and figure out what the hell you were looking at.

“Not too close sweetheart, I bite.” It wiggles its brows, the innuendo making you scoff.

“Dickless and still talkin'.” You shoot back. The clown head is quicker.

“My mouth can do plenty honey, trust me.” It flicks its tongue and...detaches it?!

Oh wow gross-

“Why are you even speaking right now? Unless you have something useful to say, shut up.” Zoro interrupts.

The clown head rolls its eyes and does an awkward hop/shuffle to turn and look at the map.

“This one knew where to go without me even saying anything. Which meannnss?”

You tense, shuffling back and forth a bit, truly debating if you should punch this thing in the mouth or, better yet square in the nose. That'd shut it up. At this point Zoro has his gaze locked on you, it's somewhat unreadable but serious no less. Next is Luffy, then Usopp, and lastly Sanji. Wow, staring contest of the goddamn century.

"She's obviously been there before and could even be working for the bastard. God you guys are stupid. If I were you I'd ask pretty crucial questions before just throwing any random board my ship."

Luffy is quiet, looking from the map, and then back to you.

"You're already dealing with the aftermath of that as we speak HA! You'll end up doing it again if you keep bringing these random broads. " The clown head speaks, that same grin on his face.

"Yeah well, it's not like the fishy bastard took a chunk out of this 'broads' shoulder. You were stuck in a fuckin bag for that part though, huh Ronald Mcdonald?" Ouhhh the irritation in your voice is wicked.

His jaw drops as he fiends offense. This jackass has been active for no more than 5 minutes and he's already worked his way under your skin. Speaking of which, it's practically melting off as the rest of your 'crew' continue to stare for an answer. The clown had a point, they hadn't asked any questions and you'd just ended up being aboard with Sanji.

"Now's a good time to start talking," Zoro speaks finally, his hand ready at his sword. The last thing you wanted was tension among the people you'd most likely be spending an extended amount of time with. Despite this, your finger itches towards your picks in response.

"Oh yeah 'cause you talk plenty, don't you. I know the way because I've seen Arlong before. I made an assumption if you were even listening that he MIGHT be there still. That'll be the last time I call myself trying to be helpful. Or is 'useful' more of a term you'd like?" You'd hardly realized how close you'd gotten to the man, the sneer ever-present on your lips. Sanjis' at your side, giving a touch over your hips to try and reel you back.

It's quiet again but that clown's laughter rings loud and clear enough to offset the current debacle.

"Ha! Struck a nerve there. Listen, she is right though, you're gonna head in that direction. We get to the island and sing kumbaya, I get my body you get the girl, and everyone's happy!" He jokes, hobbling again to turn his head.

What a fabulous start to the tip. A panic attack and almost a fight. Simply fucking splendid. God, you needed a drrink.

It's dark now, and you hadn't left this room since you'd found it hours ago. You needed to reset. Gods know the longer you stay and interact with these strange characters you'd fucking explode. For some odd reason, in your newly adopted quarters you can still feel his phantom touch.

It lingers, something you make note of. The small of your back tingles, as does your waist and shoulder. Your neck and chin tinge and tingle in delight, resulting in a shiver that shimmies its way up your curves spine. Oh right...that's why they so prominent right now. Becaus you were filthy and couldn't help but let your fingers slip past your panties.

The ship rocks and creacks and with each splash of waves against the hull, much like the waters, you drip.

Promiscuous and touch-starved.

How long had it been since someone had been gentle with you, let their hands ghost over your skin. It didn't matter, you'd found ways to satiate the need, even if it was just temporary. You freeze when there's a knock at your door.

You take a breath, notn quite trusting your voice.

"One moment."

Slipping on a spare night dress in a hurry, you open the door.

She's beautiful. Her eyes were low and glossy, and her pupils were blown wide. Her chest rises and falls as the ruffles on the nightdress adorn her body so prettily. What is it she reminds me of? I can't seem to put my finger on it.

"I saved you a plate. Luffy was supposed to come tell you but he sid you didn't respond." I speak, seeing her breathe catch for a second.

Her lips part just a pinch and it finally rings in my head.

A doll.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't join you sooner, bad attitude still."

I smile, my hand clenched in my pocket. Fuck my palms are sweaty. Shaking my head in response, I panic at the silence that follows. It was just like earlier when we first parted. I wanted to ask her if she was okay. If anything I'd know what a panic attack looks like and with the way her face seemed paler than before, and her hands shook, I couldn't be far off. Or maybe it was just sea sickness. Didn't matter, some things just were my place to ask. But I can't catch the question before it's out my mouth and in the air.

"Are you alright?"

She breathes heavily, shoulder slumping in exhale as she avoids my gaze. There it is. Whatever it was she was either gonna tell me a half-truth or a lie.

"Splendid."

Lie

I nod looking down the hall as if it'd help me escape and prevent any further questions I had from prospering. I was wrong.

"Fancy a drink?"

It's simultaneous and we laugh, so natural and her laugh is damn melodic.

Sanji was without a doubt one of the most talented chefs you'd ever had the pleasure of eating from. The food in front of you was proof of that. You can't help but melt at every bite of the dish before you, it was just so freaking good. Maybe it's cause you haven't had a proper meal in about a day or two as well. Mix that little fact with the wine he keeps pouring and you're done for.

Conversation flows easily, the two of you letting whatever comes to mind simply pass with each moment.

"So, about what he said earlier.." Sanji begins, inhaling from his cigarette as you swallow down the wine you'd just drank.

"The clown or Zoro? Either way, they were right to be cautious. I'm not a threat that's for sure though." You explain.

He hums in response, leaning against his hair with spread legs. Fuck his thighs look good strained against the fabric of his slacks.

"It's been a long time since I've been on a ship. I... I was on one years ago and I traveled to the exact island were going to. Arlong was stationed there and I guess I just never forgot my way back." You explain, tracing the rim of the glass. Not like you had a choice to forget where it was...

"You don't have to explain to me. We've both got trauma, we grow and we get better. You seem to have gotten better." He admits, gaze unwavering.

"Damn, I should be an actress then cause I'm one traumatic event from falling apart." You spoke as he laughs

Sarcastic humor seemed to be his forte and you couldn't help but feed into it, each giggle that slips past your lips creeping its way closer to a full belly laugh. And when he smiles like that, so pretty it makes your chest squeeze. His piercing peeks out just a little, mouth wide with a smile as he tilts his head back.

You sigh, sipping at the wine again, your both a bottle in, the second one nearing its end.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're spoiling me Sanji." You hum, his smile was still present, blue eyes scanning your frame.

He stands, taking your empty plate before approaching the sink and speakng.

"You think so? Pretty girls shouldn't have to eat alone. Thought you'd like company" He admits, washing the dish, awaiting a response.

You finish off your glass and set it in the sink. He pauses for a moment, realising just how close you were, almost pressed against his back.

"Not a girl blondie." You whisper, the wine definitely sinking into your system if it hadn't before.

He swears, squeezing the sponge and plate. Any harder and it'd shatter.

The veins in his forearms are strained and you let yourgaze linger. As if your thought weren't far from ur at the moment this was only making it worse. You reach around him, just barely missing the curve o his hips.

"What're you-"

"A woman."

You shut the water off, stepping away from him with coy smile

"Thank you for the meal and the wine. It was lovely, Sanji."

He swears again, trying to cove it up with a laugh and another smile. Too late, you can see right past the facade.

"Ah, of course. Get some rest, Y/n"

Safe to say you love how Sanji says your name.

Morning comes quick and docking is quicker. Sanji is carrying the clown head sack this time and he doesn't seem too thrilled about it. You figured it best not to these him cause you could very well end up carrying the damn thing yourself if you didn't find his body. You manage to slip into some extra clothes, considering the ones you were wearing when this little excursion started were thoroughly torn from the fight.

Your shoes weren't practical but they'd have to do for now. A simple cream-colored blouse with a neckline that dipped almost too far down paired with some pants that were almost too tight was what you sported. Until your next docking point, you'd definitely have to make this last and maybe not have it get fucked up in a fight.

Though you didn't know much about this 'Nami' besides her name, you could feel whatever anxiety from the rest of the crew sink into your skin and turn your tummy. No one really spoke. Well, besides Usopp trying to convince everyone that he should go back to the ship.

You try keeping pace, Luffy and Zoro at the front, Sanji in the middle, Usopp and yourself lagging behind. Since he was the only one really talking, it wouldn't hurt to chat back.

"Soooo Nami, you guys know each other long?" You ask, slowing down so that you're side by side.

"No, but it feels like I have. I know she wouldn't do this to us just because. She's not that kind of person." He speaks, eyes solemn. If you were thinking correctly, each one of these 'crew' members, yourself included was picked up from somewhere else.

"I see. How did you end up on this crew anyway?" You ask, opening a door you had no idea about.

Usopp was about to tell you the story of a lifetime.

Authors note: heyyyy everyone here's chapter 4 a little longer than chapter 3. I'm really trying to like build this up before we get to the super 18+ parts but uhhh we got our first little taste lol. As stated before lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist :D

Taglist: : @waannty @strangermeats @nymeriiia @noom147

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just-some-trans-nobody · 3 months

Text

December Christmas Monster stories

17.) Dragon x Knight

Nammot the male dragon falls for a brave male Knight and one thing leads to another. Hope ya'll enjoy, this was my first time writing dragon smut.

Warning: NSFW, grinding, cum, person covered in cum, dry cumming, cock humping, thigh fucking, no penetration sex, gay sex, sex with a dragon, large tounge licking human body, threats of death, meantions of eating humans, possessive dragon, let me know if I forgot any warnings.

Minors Don't Interact!!! You will be blocked immediately.

Word count 2751

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Snow fell around the caves entrance slowly blocking the way if not for Nammot’s fiery hot breath melting it all away each time he let out a heavy sigh. Not many knights would make the treacherous path up the steep hill let alone do it in the snow leaving Nammot rather bored waiting for anything of interest to happen. He wanted a knight to fight, to eat up in one bite and play with his shiny armor adding it to his collection. That is what he told himself, he was waiting for a knight yes but not just any knight. He was waiting for a knight who had called himself Percevale.

Nammot was planning on eating him the first time they had met but instead of drawing his sword when he first laid eyes on the dragon he had greeted him and had even asked for his name. No knight had ever done that to him during his many years of terrorizing the villages and kingdom. It made Nommot pause his fire breath and think for a moment about it, he hadn’t said his own name in so long he had almost forgotten it completely. “Nammot you may call me but not for long little shiny one for you sure will be dead soon.” He had growled out, smoke pouring from his nostrils as he readied himself to hurl his fiery breath at him. “Nammot? A nice name. Does it mean anything?” The knight had asked, confusing him and once more causing him to stop the fire building up in his throat. “Pardon?” Nammot asked confused by the question. “Well my name means to pierce the veil, whatever that means. Names have meaning to it, what our parents hope us to do someday. Or for those who choose their own name it means the path they intend to take.” Percivale explained looking up at the dragon. “Seems your parents wanted you to see the dead.” He snorted sitting down on his hind legs, an action reminding Percivale of how a dog sits. “Heh my parents must have wanted me to be a grave keeper rather than a knight then.” Nammot was absolutely baffled hearing a knight actually laugh and make what seemed to be a joke to him. It was always screams or threats of death upon the king's orders. What kind of knight was he to not attack him but to be kind to him? It surely must have been a trap one he will not fall for. Standing back up he snarled as he for a third time readied his fire breath wanting to kill the knight for daring to make a fool of him thinking he could tick him. Seeing Pericivale reach for something he acquired his shoulder ready for the knight to draw his sword all the more ready to burn him to a crisp but all movements froze when the knight pulled out a small dragon carved from wood. “I made this for you. You always take things so I guessed maybe no one has given you anything before.” He explained holding the wooden dragon up for Nammot to see better and for a third time he cooled the fire in his throat and leaned in close to look at the small dragon held in Percival's gauntlet. His pupils dilated for a movement as he stared at his gift before turning back into slits as he leaned back. “Ahem your offering will suffice, I shall not kill you this time but if you come again I shall not be as kind.” Nammot sneered as he held out his large scaled paw for Pericivale to drop the wooden item into.

The wooden dragon now sits on top of his hoard, his prized possession though he never admits it. Percivale came back again and again, each time with a gift for Nammot, each time Nammot said he would surely kill him the next time they met but never followed up with his threat. Between their meetings the longer Nammot waited the grumpier he got, he didn’t like waiting for his devoted follower as he liked to call him. Percivale liked to call him his friend, though Nammot would scoff at the words but never correct him about it.

As the seasons changed to winter Nammot now waited for Percivale to visit him, growing more and more impatient. “This time I really will kill him if the cold doesn't do it before he gets here.” The moment Nammot had muttered those words he had regretted it. What if Percivale had really died and he just didn’t know him. The thought of losing his only friend struck his heart like a piercing arrow. This feeling only grew worse as the hours turned to days, still Percivale didn’t show. Nammot wallowed in his grief thinking his little knight was dead. That is until one day as Nammot was sprawled out letting out soft whimpers the sound of clanking footsteps froze him in his tracks. “Percivale?” He called sitting up staring at the entrance of the cave with baited breath but as the figure drew closer and made no sound Nammot grew worried it wasn’t him and some other knight had braved the mountain in the winter in hopes to catch the dragon off guard. Standing up Nammot readied his fire breath growling as his eyes narrowed.“Ah did the day finally come when you surely would kill me?” a voice called up, almost bringing Nammot to his knees. “Oh my knight!” He wailed out before clearing his throat trying to compose himself. “I mean oh it’s you… thought you were some other foolish knight here for me to feed upon.” Nammot said, puffing his chest out as he looked away. Percivale knew Nammot was embarrassed, he could read that dragon better than Nammot would have liked him to be able. “Ah yes of course, you must be starving with so few knights to eat. They’re all trying to avoid being out in the cold.” Percivale said with a shiver of his own. Smiling under his helmet he walked over to Nammot, not afraid of the dragon in the slightest and plopped down next to him. “What did you bring me this time, my devoted follower?” Nammot asked leaning his head in closer, he knew nothing of personal space and was almost pressing his large head against Percivales armored body. “Food.” He stated looking through the bag he had brought. “Dried meat, it lasts longer. Though with your size I would say this is more of a snack than a few days' meals as it would be for me.” Percivale laughed, taking out the large pouch of meats. Nammot opened his mouth in a silent demand for the knight to feed him. A demand Percivale followed with no second thought to it, just opening the bag and dumping the contents into the dragon's mouth. “Mind if I take my armor off? I worked up a sweat in the cold and now all my clothes are wet from it. It’s very unpleasant.” He started the long process of taking off all his armor, one Nammot nodded his head not caring at all. Dragons were always naked. Why would he care if a human was too?

He found himself watching Pericivale undressing in the corner of his eye, he was trying to act like he didn’t care in the slightest but this had been the first time he had seen the knight take anything off past his helmet and Nammot was a curious dragon. Humans had such an interesting body. They were no dragon of course, such puny things but Nammot found himself admiring Percivales body. Turning his head to look at him better Nammot watched Percivale spread out his cold wet clothes onto the stones in the cave in hopes the dragons heat would dry them. He was unaware of the glowing eyes scanning each scar and blemish on his body as he moved around naked in the cave.

A gush of cold winter air blew in from the cave's entrance causing Percivale to shiver as it bit at his exposed skin. That wouldn’t do, Nammot couldn’t have his devoted follower suffering from the cold. Letting out a displeased snort, Nammot swept his tail around Percivale pulling him in closer to his much larger body. He pretended he didn’t see the wide grin on Percivales face as he sat down leaning against Nammots stomach. It felt strange to him to have someone touching his weaker under belly. It was a great sign of trust for a dragon to show their underbellies let alone let someone be pressed against it but he had that trust for his little human. The two stayed like that for a few hours until Percivale drifted off to sleep curled up against Nammot. He watched the sleeping knight admiring eyes, how does a human like him feel so comfortable sleeping so close to a dragon? “Silly little human.” Nammot whispered, gently nuzzling his face against Perivicales, laying his head down, closing his eyes drifting off into a slumber of his own.

It was a peaceful rest until the sounds of quiet wimpers woke Nammot up. Lifting his head up he looked to Percivale with worry thinking he had hurt him by mistake in his sleep, gotten to careless and shifted his weight onto him crushing him, or maybe nicked him with one of his talons. Seeing Percivale was still in one piece with no crushed bones Nammot tilted his head and leaned him pressing his nose against his trembling form. Maybe he was cold, was that it? Nammot blew a small amount of his breath onto him hoping to warm his little devoted human. It didn’t stop the shivering or the whimpering much to his dismay. Frowning he gently nuzzled his nose against him. Sure enough that stopped the sounds that were causing Nammot distress. Sighing he relaxed and nuzzled him again as he slowly closed his eyes drifting back to sleep. His hot breath caressing Percivales body with exhale. After a while the hot careesses drew too much for Percivale, soft moans left his lips as his dreams turned from the earlier nightmares to sinful thoughts of desire. Nammot slipped into a lighter sleep state hearing the moans, he mistook them for the whimpers from earlier so to comfort his little human he nuzzled him again adding fuel to Percivales burning loins. He moaned much louder at that, waking the both of them almost immediately. Pulling back with wide eyes Percivale looked away, his face turning a bright shade of red as he did his best to hide his lower half. Nammot looked at him blinking a few times as the gears in his head started to turn, still a little slow about it until he finally took in the scent of his arousal. “Oh.” He said with a dry throat only able to let out the one word. “How indecent of you.” Nammot thought his teasing was clear but he froze when he noticed Percivales eyes had started to water at his words. His heart sank at the sight. Letting out a soft rumble Nammot pressed his nose to him nuzzling him once more. “I didn’t mean it like that silly little thing.” He hummed, sending vibrations throughout Percivales body. His tongue slithered out giving Percivale what was meant to be a comforting lick across his body, Percivale didn’t take it that way and moaned feeling the hot muscle drag up his body from stomach up to his chest coating him in drool. It wasn’t originally what Nammot was going for but it was an outcome he didn’t mind. His pretty little human made such lovely sounds. Wanting to draw out more he licked him again causing Percivale to gasp and writhe against the feeling. “What are you doing? Nammot stop it.” Percivale whined as his back arched. “If you wish it.” Nammot whispered, pulling back, he watched him with greedy eyes wanting to taste more of his flesh. Looking up at Nammot Percivale let out a soft whimper as he held eye contact with the dragon.“Do it again?” He whispered embarrassed by his words by controlled by his lust. Nammot smirked as he leaned back in pushing the knight's legs wide open with his nose as he stuck his tongue back up licking his crotch up to his neck causing Percivale to let out several gasps and whiny moans. The dragon let out a moan of his own, tasting the sweat on Percivales body. His skin tastes like sweet nectar and Nammot was almost tempted to take a bite but reframed himself from doing so. Letting out a moan Percivale pushed his hips up against Nammots tongue begging for more from the dragon. Leaning back Percivale noticed a shape to his side that wasn’t there before. Turning his head to get a better look his eyes widened seeing the dragons unsheathed cock. “By the gods I think that might be bigger than I am.” Percivale said in both shock and awe.

“Do you like it?” The dragon asked with a cocky tone, the smell coming from Percivale already gave him his answer. Rolling onto his back Nammot stretched out showing off his cock. “I assume you know what to do.” He said as if it was obvious and Percivale should be able to read his mind. “What? No, no I don’t know what to do. I’ve never fucked a dragon before!” Percivale exclaimed geturing to Nammot and his cock causing the dragon to frown. He was hoping Percivale knew what to do, he hadn’t fucked a human before, he hadn’t the fantiest idea on how this could work. “Climb on top of me and grind against me, it’s why I was licking you duh.” Nammot stated as if it was a fact and not him pulling something out of thin air. Percivale let out a soft oh as he stared at the dragon's cock. Gulping he climbed up his hip and straddled Nammots monstrous cock the best he could. It was burning hot, almost too hot for Percivale but the moment his cock touched Nammots he let out a long moan. Holding onto the ridges of Nammots cock for support he started to move back and forth rubbing his thighs and cock against him to simulate them both at the same time. Percivale was worried at first he wasn’t doing a good enough job as he stared at the unmoving dragon. Nammot wasn’t making a single sound, not even blinking. Just breathing heavily as he watched him with unsatiated hunger. Moving faster Percivale let out a louder moan as his back arched. Still Nammot made not a single sound, he dared not to as he didn’t want to miss a single lewd sound Percivale made pleasuring himself on his burning cock. The sounds and sight of Percivale would be his most cherished treasure for all times, he knew that already. Feeling Percivale grow slower Nammot growled and grasped his waist in his clawed hand holding him as he rutted his hips against him taking control of the situation. “Keep those pretty legs wrapped around me.” He ordered letting out a moan. Percivale gladly followed orders and squeezed his legs against the dragon's cock. Nammot wasn’t sure how long this went on. By the time he had his fill of orgasms both his stomach and Percivale was covered in his sticky cum. Percivale was dazed and panting, his last three orgasms he had been cumming dry, completely spent and having lost track of them long ago. Letting out an over-stimulated whine Percivale looked to Nammot with tear soaked eyes, neither had realized he had been crying from the amount of pleasure he had been feeling. “I don’t have anything left in me.” He said almost pleading to Nammot who nodded his head in agreement. “Nor I.” The dragon said, lifting the knight up, setting him onto his chest. Percivale let out a soft whine but snuggled into him almost immediately. “Wouldn’t mind if this became a regular thing when I visit you.” He said letting out a winded laugh drawing a rumbling laugh from Nammot. “If this becomes a regular thing I don’t think I would let you out of my cave.” Having Percivale live there sounded rather good in that moment, Percivale silently agreed with it too, he could get used to living like this.

#monster fucker #monster stories #monster boyfriend #monster #december christmas monster stories #dragon smut #dragon x human #dragon x knight #gay monster #gay monster smut #dragon x male #male dragon x male human #monster x male #male monster #male monster x male human #monster x knight #monster smut

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karniss-bg3 · 7 months

Note

Where do you think Kar’niss got his sword? It’s a very nice sword. Not just some off the rack gear. And named as well—-

*drags palms over face* This effin’ SWOOOORD! It has haunted my nightmares since Kar’niss’ corpse first dumped it into my Tav’s lap. I’ve dug and dug and dug and I’m left with more questions than answers. Knowing my luck there is some obscure text or throwaway dialogue somewhere I’ve missed that might lend me a better clue. Damn you Baldur’s Gate 3, you’re too bloody big.

So, I began to write out this big blob of text going into the history of drow weaponry, hues of metals, in-game model comparisons, the stats on the damn thing, and so forth. I was out here looking like this guy for two hours.

Truth is, it’s really difficult to pinpoint the source of Kar’niss’ weapon. Not because there aren’t clues, but because Larian reuses longsword models so much that looking at the weapon alone isn’t solid enough. I almost came to the conclusion that it was an original drowcraft sword pre-1370’s DR until I discovered another sword model that was identical and not tied to drow at all. That and if it was truly a drowcraft weapon forged via faerzress methods then Larian would’ve changed the rules on how they worked. Which makes sense. It’s a fun bit of lore, but it would be a pain in the ass for a game mechanic. Who wants their badass weapons destroyed or losing all magical abilities when you leave the Underdark?

“ME ME ME,” said no one.

The only thing I can say for certain is that it is a drow forged weapon because it carries a buff that only activates if a drow elf is wielding it. It also seems to be perfect for a drider since it also has ensnaring strands, an attack that does 1d10 slashing damage and possibly enwebs the target. This works in conjunction with the added 1d4 poison damage to restrained targets. The swords description may hold the best clue of its origin:

“The trauma of becoming a drider is quickly set aside with a cold arachnid dispassion. This sword follows that disturbing trend - a replenishing poison gland is built within, deployed only against trapped opponents.”

This description and the name, Cruel Sting, lead me to believe the weapon...was a gift.

Imagine Kar’niss fresh from his transformation. He’s dazed, in pain, lost and alone. He’s been exiled from the only home he’s ever known and has lost favor with the Goddess he’s worshiped from birth. His future is uncertain and how long he has left to live is even less so. His mind is shattered, the incoherent thoughts his only remaining company. He hears frantic footsteps approaching from behind him and his already broken heart shrivels more. His kin have come to finish the job, to put him down, so enraged by the offense he caused Lolth. Weak and struggling to keep himself upright he turns to make a last stand, to show strength in his final moments, to die with some level of honor.

His resolve melts into confusion when he sees who is sprinting toward him. The individual would be unknown to us, but well known to him. A childhood friend? A lover? A confidant? Or perhaps someone he fought alongside faithfully for many years. Regardless of whom has arrived a strong bond is present between them. They approach and peer at what Kar’niss has become. Their face twists, a brief flash of sorrow betraying their features. Yet they cannot let it remain, nor are they able to stay with him for too long. Instead, they unsheathe a sword they brought with them, hurriedly holding it up to Kar’niss. Naturally he flinches at first, expecting the blade to pierce his flesh. The strike never comes, rather the new comer pushes it toward him with urgency, expecting him to take it.

Hesitantly Kar’niss complies, taking the hilt in hand and admiring the beautiful drow craftsmanship. He frowns, his eyes lingering on the one who brought it to him, too stunned to speak.

“It will protect you, Kar’niss,” they said in a hushed tone. “...Goodbye, and good luck.”

Kar’niss could do no more than stand there as their former companion darted off quick as a shot, not willing to run further risk of being seen with the newly transformed abomination. He clutched the sword close to him, the last connection he had to the life he lived before. It would forever act as a reminder of everything he has lost, the cruelest sting of them all.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #drow #lore #cruel sting #kar'niss lore #I am not sure how accurate that theory would be #but I think it suits the theme of Kar'niss' life #pure unfiltered tragedy #thanks for the ask!

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nightcourtreader · 3 months

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I would love to know the route SJM will take to have elucien tackle the koschei plotline.

With my re-read we see that the bone carver was the first one to mention koschei in acowar. And Elain saw visions of him and of vassa in acowar as well, connecting her to koschei.

We learned that koschei, the bone carver & the weaver are all siblings who came into the world of prythian long ago from a different one.

Koschei is a death god who was so powerful that he couldn’t be defeated/killed and had to be tricked in order to contain him to the lake on the continent.

The bone carver, a death god himself that is feared across prythian, feared koschei and the weaver. He said that his siblings are way stronger than what he ever was and he also said that the weavers powers were diminished. And the whole reason he’s in the prison is so he can hide from his siblings.

He also stated that koschei still has considerable influence despite being contained and that if Feyre really knew his siblings like he did, living in the prison for eternity was a better option than having to face them.

What has koschei done and what powers does he posses for a sibling, who is also feared, to be afraid of him.

We know the nesta has the dread trove, Atraxia (a death sword) and now Gywndion. Which are all death weapons, but if koschei is considered death, can he really be killed by death weapons?

I would really love to know how koschei was tricked into being contained to the lake. Why are there are birds of white gliding at the lake. Why was vassa turned into a fire bird instead. Why did koschei decide to give vassa up temporarily and why it doesn’t seem he’s in a hurry for her to come back. Him stating “Tell my vassa I’m waiting.” Doesn’t seem like an urgent request to me.

Lucien explained that Papa Archeon managed to cut a deal between koschei to temporarily let vassa go. The question is, what was the price papa Archeon had to pay for that? I know a lot of people think Elain but I really hope her father didn’t make a shitty decision like that, especially since it seemed like Elain was his favorite. I can’t even 100% remember if Lucien was there and he saw the deal go down or he found them eventually.

Also this has me thinking about what Elain saw in acowar. And it wonder if what she saw was something we will encounter in each spin off book.

Elain stated in acowar. “I saw young hands whiter with age”, so we know that was Briallyn and how she went into the Caudron but ended up turning old instead of young and and nesta dealt with her in acosf.

Elain proceeded to say, “I saw a box of black stone.” She also stated that “theres a black box he posses, it’s more vital than anything, save for the girls.” Ramiel has that black stone on top of it, and SJM has been hinting that something is underneath ramiel. Could it be the same type of stone?

Then Elain finally stated. “I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.” And she also said that koschei keeps other girls at the lake but their feathers are white as snow and they glide across the water. We know vassa is the fire bird and I think the girls are swans and I know a lot of people theorize that Elain’s story will be a swan lake retelling.

Vassa in acosf told us that koschei has no death waiting for him, he’s truly immortal. That she fears him leaving his lake and taking over their world like he tried to do once before. I have seen people theorize that Elain has life powers and I wasn’t 100% on board with it until this re-read. But now to me it makes sense, because if koschei is deathless, what can kill death? Life and we know Elain’s journey will include koschei.

#elucien #pro elain archeron #elain archeron #koschei #acotar #acosf #vassa acotar #queen vassa

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undead-merman · 6 months

Text

Day Eleven: Magic Ritual

GN Tav with Astarion

Contains blood, Me being a nerd about DnD and using real locations from the Sword's Coast.

It’s been years. You’d traveled without the sun on your body for over five years now, maybe six if you were paying attention to that kind of stuff. Astarion is sure to have the date if you asked him, he’s sentimental like that, or a bit bitter, depending on the day. You’ve been all over the swords coast by this point, made new allies, seen them come and go. Most of them left when they discovered his true nature but you never let them hurt him. One of them had to put down due to her violent reaction, Should have never let a Cleric come with. It’s been tiring, but you never gave up. You were determined as you searched for a way to allow him to walk into the sun’s glory once more and cure him of his undeath. All these years you’ve kept him safe. From the sun, down to the littlest kobold who so much as dare to make a job.

You had gone as far as The World’s Spine and over to the Sea of Fallen Stars. You then found yourself in a cave settled deep in the Wood of Sharp Teeth after braving Durlag's Tower. Traveled down into the depths of its basement, a hellish labyrinth, but it was finally in hand. A scroll of true resurrection. The weight exceeded that of mere parchment; it held Astarion's future. But hell’s you both were dead tired. You could have passed out for at least a tenday, perhaps even more. Your lover looked the same as well. Too tired to even comb the caked on gore from his hair. Both of you slouch as the campfire takes hold of the kindling.

You reach into your pack and start taking out the scroll. Its aged parchment felt fragile in your hands, and as you opened it to study the ciphers you heard a noise of protest.

“Darling, as excited as I am to finally have the damned thing, don’t you think it might be better to rest? Who knows what might happen. Why it might blow us both up in the process if your droopy eyed gaze reads a symbol wrong. As much as I do love your empty-headed stares.”

You give a tired laugh at his sass. “Of course I want to do it now. I don’t want you to wait a second longer. I want our next sunrise to be this one.” you couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face.

His eyebrows knit together, making the lines on his face more prominent before melting away into a soft smile, one that you see so rarely yet one only reserved for you.

“As charming as that was, it’s still powerful magic. I’ve waited over two hundred years, I can wait a few more days.” The love of your life holds his arms open, inviting you in.

How could you say no?

It wasn’t a tenday, it was hardly a full rest before you had snuck out of Astarion’s arms and started reading over the scroll. It was a novel, each word must be spoken perfectly and without a single quiver of your voice. It would be a testament to your reading and acting skills if you managed to pull this off. You kept the fire burn as you went over every glyph and gesture in grueling detail. After nearly up the continent and back, traveling to find the damned thing. Not just that, rumor chasing, reading through old tomes to find such a spell to help, doing favors, slaying more monsters than you could count. So much work came down to this, of course you couldn’t sit still.

Your eyes had drifted over to his mediating form. He looked so peaceful. Everything, everything was for him. He'd know freedom once more, pure freedom.

You must have made a noise, his eye peeked open. Astarion’s face bore a miniature frown. “Darling what are you doing?”

“You thought I’d be able to sleep?”

“Well, I had certainly hoped so. Especially when I so graciously offered my arms as your own pillows.” he stood and approached with soft steps as his ivory palm touches your shoulder.

Your eyes went back to the cyphers, and he looked over your shoulder to see. You both sat in comfortable silence. He was listening to the sound of your breathing. His scent filled your nose, pleasant and not overwhelming, you’d miss it when it was gone. You had gotten used to the fragrance, you were going to miss the sight of that little bottle he carried in his front satchel. You’d grown fond of smelling it bright and early in the night as he would pluck it out and tap it against his neck, his stomach, wrist, wrist and legs.

You were on the eve of change, and it thrilled you, yet there was anxiety. So much would shift, so many things would branch and become new. You were sure Astarion felt it to a much more intense degree. You smiled, remembering asking him about Cazador and how he mouthed off.

“I won’t leave you.”

You hummed in question giving him your full attention. He had that old stress line over his forehead, he was being serious. “When I remove this curse, I won’t just leave you. I made a promise to be with you. I don’t intend to change that. As far as I’m concerned, we are together, for as long as you’ll have me.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his nose, so soft that even a moth would not mind its caress. “Let us be forever then.” He tilted his head up and his lips met yours, they were as soft as the first time. Peck after peck, you both traded until they became deeper, his tongue delicately finds your lips but never breaches.

You peeled yourself away reluctantly, eyes focused on Astarion’s. Wet. Not enough to fall from his eyes, but enough to haven shown a gleam of his true emotions. You would have kissed them away if they had spilled out.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to your mortal self, shall we?” You proclaimed with a broad grin, extending your hand. With unwavering determination, he accepted. To be loved, it to be changed. And you are sure, without a doubt in your heart, Astraion was the most beloved person in this realm.

You will change together, evolve as one.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #dnd locations #real dnd lore cause im a fucking nerd #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #collab'oween

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weministertomonsters · 4 months

Text

To Break A King

You take a deep breath as the guards pull open the heavy doors that lead into the dungeons. You're not going to talk to him, that's your plan. You're here for one thing only.

The guards don't talk to you either, because you're not Queen yet. Not until you birth a High Fae of Neverrin blood. The crown is what you're after and you promised yourself a long time ago that you'd do anything to get it.

The final iron door grates open and you're staring into a dark pit of a cell. The faint beam of moonlight through the tiny window does very little to illuminate the room.

"Close the doors," you instruct as you step inside.

The doors creak shut behind you with a cavernous thump. With a snap of your hand, a candelabra is conjured in the corner of the room, the soft wax already beginning to melt. And finally, you see your prize.

Talon of Neverrin is sitting chained up against the wall, and he does not look very happy as he meets your gaze. The heat of betrayal fills his eyes.

"You," he growls, jerking his chains.

"Hello, your Majesty," you smirk. "How does imprisonment suit you?"

"You tricked me into this," he snaps. "How well do you imagine it suits me?"

"It must make your heart ache so. To know that you gave up your kingdom for the promise of love," you snicker.

"You tricked me," he repeats, though he drops his gaze as if embarrassed.

"What, you thought only the Fae were capable of such deceit? Don't be so small-minded, Talon."

"The kingdom will never be yours and it will never belong to your kind," he insists, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he looks up at you.

The candlelight makes his dark, tawny skin glow and even though he has seen better days, he's still beautiful.

"I must admit, I didn't expect you to have a backup plan," you murmur, hiking up your flouncy skirts so you can crouch comfortably in front of him, pressing your chin against your knee. "A full-blooded Neverrin is the only one who can claim the throne, so say your woven laws. Very crafty."

"I never married," Talon says. "And I was careful not to sire any offspring, so you will find no such victory."

You raise your eyebrows and pout playfully at him. "But you underestimate how low I can stoop."

It takes him some time to understand. When the realization dawns on his face he shakes his head so vigorously that the ribbon in his hair, which was already loose, slips off completely.

"You wouldn't dare!" He spits. "I am the King of the Never Ending."

"And you're locked up in my dungeon," you retort. "I do not think you have much of a say in this."

"Witch," his eyes narrow. "Whatever you plan to do, you will regret it."

You sigh and push your collar to the side, exposing your shoulder and neck where the skin is crawling with black veins.

"Your sword poisoned me," you explain.

His expression is unreadable. "Are you dying?"

"No. But my magic is greatly hindered. Far too much to use, lest I encourage the poison to take root even more," you sigh. "So I am being forced to do this the mortal way."

His eyes darken. "Adelia-"

"Do not speak that name," you narrow your eyes. "You can pretend I'm not here if it will make you feel better."

"That is a ridiculous request-" he cuts off sharply as you put a hand on his thigh and squeeze.

"You were never meant to get in the middle of it," you tell him. "For that I am sorry. But I have to do this."

You straddle his lap, your dress creating a sea of silk around both of you.

"Adelia..."

You grit your teeth and adjust the chains, tugging his arms up and away, so he can't reach for you. You don't think you could bear that. You pick up the ribbon and avoiding his eyes, you scoop his curly hair back and re-tie it, making a mental note to send some things down for him later, a hairbrush included. You're not a monster after all.

Curse this Fae. He's staring at you with a jumble of emotion on his face. There's a tiny bit of hunger there too. He's been down here for two weeks with nothing to do. His chains aren't even long enough to allow him to touch himself. You're going to capitalize on the lust you spent months stoking in him to get his guard down, long before all this transpired.

You lean forward and kiss his cheekbone, the corner of his lips, and then his jawbone.

He gasps your name softly.

"I told you not to call me by that name," you remind him, ripping the delicate ruffles on his shirt as you hastily loosen the ribbons on the front so that it falls open.

You press your hand against his chest and feel the thumping of his heart deep within.

"So what do I call you?" He challenges.

"Witch? Moonbitch? Cunt?" You offer. "You called me all those things."

"It was the least I could do. Imagine being trounced and tied like a hog for the slaughter. I was humiliated and angry."

"And are you now?" You look into his light-colored eyes. "Are you angry?"

"I am furious," he says, his lips curling into a sharp smile. "I will not let you win so easily."

"I will win," you tell him, pressing your hips forward. "I always win."

He takes a deep breath and his eyelids flutter. "Damn you," he murmurs, but it sounds weak.

All the blood is rushing from his head to another place. You grin wickedly and push his head to the side.

"What are you doing now?" He demands.

"Hush," you murmur. "This will barely hurt."

That's a lie, of course. A Kaya's bite stings like a viper's and aches deep within the bones. His body stiffens as your fangs sink into his neck and he curses in the ancient highborn tongue, but it washes harmlessly over you as you bind yourself to him.

You're in pain as well, your shoulder aching fiercely as the poison prickles in your veins and soaks into your system, but you have to see this through.

If you're going to die, you can't die alone.

━━━✿━━━

So I have a habit of starting stories right in the middle of all the action? Things make sense to me because when I write I'm usually thinking of enough backstory and plot for an entire novel.

Yes, this is short. I started cooking and fell short of ingredients. 😅

I hope it's not too confusing though!

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #monster lover #fae #witch

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i-starcreamed · 1 year

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Hey, I was thinking of a oneshot request for MTMTE Rodimus, Megatron, Drift, Whirl, Tarn, Shatted Glass Optimus Prime and Bayverse Ironhide with a Cybertronian S/O who can transform into a weapon (and it depends on what weapon she turns to, depending on who the character she is with). I was thinking it could be a female S/O as well, to make it easier for you cause I'm aware that's a lot of characters lol. Thank you, have a good day/afternoon/night 🤗

oo this is a cool request! this was very fun to write especially since one of my ocs also transforms into a weapon..And I had to exclude Megatron and Ironhide since I sadly don't know how to write for them too well :(

Also I'll be uploading the oneshots separately so that the characters are easier to find and for organization purposes :D hope you don't mind. This post includes Rodimus and Drift

MTMTE Rodimus x Cybertronian!reader

Whenever danger sets afoot on the Lost Light or any other alien planet the crew makes a stop at, Rodimus is immediately looking at you with begging optics. Every time, you would sigh and know exactly what he meant.

Today was one of those cycles, the Lost Light had to make a stop at some random alien planet. According to Ultra Magnus and your significant other, the planet belonged to a bunch of techno-organics that weren't too welcoming to cybertronians. Or rather, which you learned too late, they weren't welcoming to any intruders.

"Alright, alright listen everyone! We're under attack, this planet is apparently defensive against us, but we'll be fi-" Another explosion ringed in the background. "we'll be fine!" Rodimus announced this to the whole crew, which were itching to fight or hiding within the ship.

"We're all gonna die!"

Someone in the crowd yelled, which led to more of the crew muttering to each other and doing the exact opposite of what Rodimus wanted. His optimistic smile faltered as he sighed. You were at his side, as always. You placed a servo on his shoulder in a comforting way.

"Hey, it's alright. We should go help out there though, system's scanner says they're closing in. How about we go protect the crew, yeah?" You said with a smile.

Rodimus seemed to perk up at this. Suddenly, a knowing grin crept onto his face. 3..2..1.."Does this mean...?" His striking blue optics stared down at you expectedly. There he goes. You sigh but nod your helm.

"Yes Rodimus. I'll turn into my alt mode.."

-----

Rodimus was the only bot you trusted enough to wield you in your alt-mode, which happened to be a rather cool-looking plasma rifle. With temperatures reaching to a scorching amount, you and him easily plundered through your attackers. Techno-organics and heat don't mix well, you learned. By the end of it, the nearby location was a nasty mess. But hey, at least you protected the Lost Light in an incredibly badass way. It's not every cycle they see a femme that can turn into a rifle and melt away at her enemies. Rodimus was proud of you, to say the least. He couldn't have a better/more badass conjunx.

He still holds you as you enter the Lost Light once again, to continue on your journey before the planet's inhabitants call for backup or something.

"Can I transform back now?"

"Hmm, nope. I need to make an announcement first, remember?"

"If you drop me again, I swear to Primus Rodimus..."

He groans, you were never going to forgive for that, were you?

MTMTE Drift x Cybertronian!reader

Early on when you embarked upon the Lost Light, you had quickly befriended the third-in-command. You happened to bond over your love for bladed weapons and swords, combat in general. As you got closer, those feelings for each other grew. You were so trusting of him despite his past, despite everything. And yet...he didn't know what your alt-mode was. You had mentioned to the crew and himself that you took the form of a weapon. When asked what kind, you kinda said it depended and left it at that. It wasn't until today that he just had to know.

"Y/N, sweetspark?" You heard your conjunx ask a your side. Currently, you were both in his hab suite, reading some old cybertronian literature Drift recommended. You lifted your helm from the datapad and let out a short hm?

"I never mean to intrude, but I'd still like to see your alt-mode..." HE asked rather cautiously. To be fair, it's not that you were ashamed or anything of your alt mode. However, the mode you chose truly depended on who er...handled you during combat. You have been with Drift for a while, you decided it wouldn't hurt to trust him enough for this. So you sat up from your spot and placed the datapad down.

"Okay, okay Drift. Here we go.."

Your alt-mode depended on your conjunx, gears and metal turned into place as your t-cog worked out its form. Not a second later you fell into Drift's servos, his optics widened as you finished transforming. He thought you were a sniper rifle or some type of gun, he never imagined you transforming into a beautiful and intricate blade. And there you were, on his servos. He would so much compare you to the Great Sword, powerful and he would give his absolute spark to you.

He'll admit, it's a bit trippy to be with a talking sword but he wouldn't change it for a thing. A soft smile made its way onto his face

"Thank you, Y/N."

#transformers x reader #transformers #mtmte x reader #mtmte #rodimus #lost light x reader #lost light #tf drift #mtmte drift #mtmte rodimus #rodimus x reader #drift x reader #cybertronian reader

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specialagentlokitty · 2 months

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Daryl x reader - no Angels here

Part 12:

It was a fight to the death against two angels who wanted to be rid of the other from the universe.

Close calls, your blades barely just missing one another, even as night fell, your flames lit up the area, the only light to be seen for miles.

You foot collided with Micheal, sending him flying backwards, and you swung your sword forward, your flames barely just barely reaching him.

He blocked your flames with his own, and he stormed forward.

You raised your hand, chains rattling from the ground to try and capture him, pin him to the ground, but as he hit them with the palms of his hands they shattered.

“Your cheap tricks won’t work on me (Y/N), you know they won’t.”

You grinned a little bit, grabbing his sword as he swung for you, and you forced all of your flames into it, the sheer heat of hell flames melting it.

“It was a distraction asshole..”

You swung your sword, grazing his side and he jumped back, wings flared as he tried to intimidate you with them.

Micheal touched a hand to his bleeding side, and he sneered a little bit, pulling a feather from his wings, watching as it turned into another sword.

“I have plenty more.”

“You only have so many feathers Micheal, you’ll run out eventually.”

He hummed a little bit, throwing a few at you and you easily avoided them.

“Perhaps, but I’ll always be faster.”

Micheal gave a beat of his wings, sending dirt flying into the air, and you covered your eyes which gave him the perfect advantage.

He charged directly at you, grabbing you by the throat and he tossed you with all his strength into the air.

He had the advantage of flight, you didn’t and he knew this, so he was easily able to catch up to you in the air.

Micheal went to land a kick, and you grabbed his leg, spinning yourself around you threw him down, pushing your feet into his chest, using your hellish flames to push him down, towards the ground.

You began a free fall straight back down to the ground, but Micheal beat you to it, he jumped back into the air, grabbing you by the arm and he threw you to the side.

Your body went hurtling through the air with that much force that when you hit the ground it shook beneath you, and you bounced, hung tumbling straight into the gates of Alexandra with a loud bang.

You had dented the gates, but you hadn’t broken them thankfully.

With a groan of pain, you pushed yourself up, rolling your shoulders a couple of times.

Micheal landed in front of you, with a smirk on his face.

“I found them…” he whispered.

“You won’t get them.” You snarled.

You raised your hands, trapping you and Micheal in a circle of flames that he couldn’t escape.

You didn’t want to exhausted all your power at once, but you had no choice, if you wanted even the slightest of chances of stopping Micheal from breaking that barrier and getting into Alexandria you knew this would be it.

You threw everything you had at him, and he did the exact same thing, both of you engaging in a dangerous battle right outside the community you were trying to protect.

You had the upper hand and you knew it, because you had harnessed your powers for use on Earth, Micheal hadn’t.

Eventually you threw hit after hit after hit at Micheal, using all your tricks to beat him until you had him on the ground, his face a bloodied mess.

You grabbed your brothers face in your hand, digging your claws into his skin, and you reached above his head, only to grasp at nothing.

“I’m not stupid, I know better than to keep my halo in plain sight.”

Micheal grabbed your wrist, forcing your hand backwards to the point that it snapped multiple bones.

You didn’t even flinch, you just set flames around your wrist to burn the skin of his hand.

“It’s okay… I know you’re too prideful to keep it too far…”

Micheal brought his head up to slam his forehead into your nose, making your fall back and he used this to his advantage.

Micheal grabbed you by the back of your neck, holding a razor sharp feather to your throat as he stared at the top the wall.

He wore a wicked grin on his face as he locked eyes with the very person he was looking for.

“Just like I know humans are too possessive over the ones they care for…”

You tried to move, but it only resulted in Micheal digging the feather into your skin, causing you to bleed.

“I’m going make you watch me kill your human pet, then I’ll finally kill you like I should have all those years ago.” Micheal snarled.

You scoffed a little bit.

“You can’t get in there, you know that.”

He hummed a little bit.

“I don’t need to go in, he just needs to come out.”

Micheal raised his wing, turning all his feathers into weapons and he went straight for your stomach.

Daryl raised his crossbow, shooting a bolt right through Michael’s shoulder and this caused the Angel to laugh loudly.

“Daryl don’t!” You snapped.

Daryl vanished from the top of the wall, and the gate was thrown open.

Balthazar tried to pull him back inside but it was too late, the moment he stepped past the barrier Micheal hand him in his grasp.

“Micheal I swear to father I will turn in you into a pile of blood and bone if you hurt him…”

Micheal hummed a little bit.

“Just as well I don’t plan on hurting him. Gravity might though.”

Micheal took off, hauling Daryl up by his arms, not letting go despite how much Daryl tried to fight him.

“Balthazar!” You yelled.

Your friend was immediately right by you, and he put his arms under yours, hauling you into the air as well to catch up with your brother.

It didn’t take long. Micheal had stopped his flight to wait, a mad grin on his face as he looked at you.

“Aw how adorable your best friend coming to help you, but he can’t help this.”

He dropped Daryl, and without thinking you pushed yourself from Balthazar.

You went straight into a downward trajectory to try catch up with Daryl, but he was heavier, he fell faster than you did.

“Daryl grab my hand!”

You reached your hand out, and he did the same thing, your fingers just brushing against his but you couldn’t grasp his hand.

You tried to use your wings, but they were broken, they didn’t work like they were supposed to.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and tears burned your eyes as the ground drew closer and closer.

Daryl was shouting words at you but you couldn’t heart them, you didn’t know what he was trying to say.

Daryl tried to grab your hand, not daring to look down but he knew from the look on your face it was getting closer and closer.

From up this high he could see everything, he could see the sun on the horizon slowly turning the sky blue.

He could see the tears in your eyes, the desperation of trying to get hold of him before it was too late.

He could also see the black feathers falling from your wings, being left behind as you both hurtled towards the ground.

He could see the sun reflecting on the gold of your feathers, a new light to the morning sky.

You kept frantically flapping your wings to try gain just a little more speed.

You cried out his name, your hand finally grasping his, and you pulling him into your chest, turning you both around.

You wrapped your wings around him, a hand on the back of his neck, the other wrapped around tightly around his waist.

You couldn’t slow down the speed you were going at now, not without hurting Daryl or worse, but you could take the full impact yourself.

And that’s what you did, crashing into the ground somewhere near Alexandria but not inside of it, your body sliding through the ground until you stopped in a dirt hill you had made.

You breathed deeply through the pain, holding Daryl tightly in your arms as if you were still falling.

You carefully unfurled your wings, and Daryl took a shaky breath.

You placed your hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair, your hand on his chest, his hand on yours.

“I.. you.. holy shit…” he whispered.

You slowly sat up, and Daryl sat between your legs, his head on your shoulder.

“I told you to stay away…”

“He was going to fucking kill you….” He grumbled.

You sighed, resting your head on his.

You looked up at the sky, and you slowly stood up, getting Daryl to do the same thing.

You placed a hand over his eyes, and he heard the sounds of crowd and ravens, and you finally moved your hand away from his eyes.

He was back in Alexadria, and you placed your hand on the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’ll make him pay for what he did to you…”

Daryl placed his hand on the back of your head.

“You caught me…”

“Course I did… I’ll always catch you darling…”

You smiled softly at him and he leant forward, brushing his lips against yours.

“Go get ‘em…” he whispered.

You grinned a little, leaning up to kiss him before you pulled away, rolling your shoulders a few times, stretching your now golden wings out and you smiled softly at Daryl.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

With that, you were gone, leaving a single golden feather on the ground where you stood.

He walking over and picked it up, sitting down on the curb to see the reflection of the early morning sun against two sets of wings.

Balthazar had already returned, a little beaten but nothing too bad, Micheal was up there in the sky waiting for you.

That’s where you met him, and you glared at him, red eyes boring into his own.

You didn’t say anything to him, you just lunged forward, right into his dagger, and you grabbed his wings, ripping them from his back and he screamed, both of you falling to the ground.

You dug your fingers into his back, breaking through the skin and you grabbed his halo, punching his chest to send him flying back to the ground.

You burned his halo, watching as his body turn into ash, and you rotated your body so your back slammed into the ground in the heart of Alexandria right above your seal.

Your blood created a small puddle around you, and Daryl was the first person at your side, your head in his lap, his fingers running over your cheek.

“I know.. I know.. I know…” he whispered.

Daryl placed his hand over the wound on your stomach, putting pressure on it to try and stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay.. it’s okay…”

He looked around, seeing everybody come running over.

“Balthazar help me!” He yelled.

You tried to move but Daryl wouldn’t let you, he kept you where you were laid.

You cried in pain, and he kept wiping your tears away every time they fell from your eyes.

“I know Angel I know.. I know.. it’s okay.. you’re okay.. you’re okay…”

“I.. don’t.. I don’t.. I don’t wanna go… I don’t wanna go… please… please I don’t.. I don’t… don’t make me go..”

“You’re not going.. you’re not.. nobody is making you go Angel okay.. nobody…”

You weakly nodded your head, your redish golden eyes focused solely on his while Balthazar came to help you.

Daryl just kept wiping your tears away, his hair falling over his face to his his tears from everybody, but you could see them.

You brought your hands up, trembling from the pain as you placed your hand on the back of his head, and he leant down to press his forehead to yours.

“You’re not going anywhere…” he whispered

#the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead imagine #twd #twd x reader #twd x you #twd x y/n #twd imagine #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon imagine

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hellishjoel · 3 months

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ahh so many congrats to you, my love!! i feel so lucky to have met you through this fandom and definitely consider you a friend worth having <3

for your casino: 💎 + "fixing the other's hairstyle to let their hands run through their partner's hair"

the red viper of dorne and the snake charmer

1k / pairing: oberlyn martell x reader

physical affection request: fixing the other's hairstyle to let their hands run through their partner's hair

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), reader is described to have hair but no other physical traits - including unspecified gender (this is my first time attempting a non-specified reader so if there are any slips, please feel free to let me know and I will quickly address it!)

a/n: I used the lovely @morallyinept’s character analysis of Oberyn and dialogue for assistance since this is my first Oberyn piece! Thank you so much, Jett! Please go read the rest of their works, they are amazing!

---

What’s to like about King’s Landing?

You miss home. You miss Dorne. It may be summer here in King’s Landing, but the warmth wasn’t as rich. The sun didn’t glow on your skin, it didn’t make you melt into happiness. There were no hills, there was no sand. It was all crowded streets and city dwellers. And it smelled like the sewers.

The only reason you’re here is at the request of your paramour, Prince Oberyn of Dorne. And he hates this place as much, if not more, than you do.

So many terrible memories here, terrible people, terrible ideologies. No one was open here. It was incredibly traditional and formal, with not a single soul open to anything but the old ways.

Perhaps that’s why you and Oberyn were seen as sore thumbs compared to the rest of the capital visitors for the great wedding of yet another king. You wonder how long this one will last before another usurper takes the dead man’s crown. The gold smelter must have been very busy these past few years.

You sit atop Oberyn’s balcony, legs dangling over the edge as you look past the city and over the water. You’d rather wait on the ship, to be truthful.

A warm presence joins you from behind. Oberyn’s silky robes and toned muscles meet the planes of your back.

“You’re not present, my love.”

An immediate peace settles over you, letting your muscles go lax at Oberyn’s gentle coos.

“I'm sorry, my dearest. I’m not sure I’ll ever be while I’m here,” you admit, eyes casting downward as you watch people weave in and out of the market streets. They’re so small from up here. Maybe that’s why the Lannister's act the way that they do. They really must believe they are bigger and better than everyone else because that’s all they see from the towers of the Red Keep. Tiny little people with tiny little dreams.

You can hear Oberyn sigh, his tough and calloused hands working up your arms and gently into your shoulders. Your eyes fall closed as he speaks.

“You know, when I was just a boy and visited King’s Landing for the first time, the Iron Throne and the fight for it was at its peak. I was so curious about this Iron Throne, having never seen it before, but knowing all the great stories. Young and with a wild imagination, I leaned into the legends of the throne, not knowing how true or untrue those rumors may be.”

Oberyn pauses to run his fingers down the long braid you had tied your hair into. Your hair in all its naturalness didn’t seem to be taken affectionately by the people of the capital. You didn’t know how to style it in the manner that they did. So you thought it would be best to tie it back and keep it out of the way. Make yourself smaller so they can make themselves larger.

Oberyn loves every single piece of you just the way you are. His fingers dip in and out of the interwoven pieces as he continues.

“I imagined that the Iron Throne was a hundred feet tall, made upon tens of thousands of iron swords that were conquered from King Aegon. It was dark, and scary, and daunting. But when I saw it in person, saw it for what it really was…” he pauses to stroke his fingers through the strands, your face softening as he admires the beauty you so naturally possessed.

“And what?” You ask as you turn your head just slightly to the right, chin over your shoulder to let him know you are listening. “What was it really?”

Oberyn shakes his head and shrugs nonchalantly.

“It was a horrible chair.”

You sputter up a laugh and smile for the first time in King’s Landing. He joins you with a hearty chuckle, and it makes your heart beat faster.

“Truly, it was just a horrible, uncomfortable chair. Others saw it as a symbol of power, I saw it as a symbol of oppression. It was made of melted swords from defeated enemies, that so much is true, but it was made with no care. It has sharp edges and points, those parts left unmelted by dragonfire. It is ugly and brutal. It wasn’t smooth or elegant or formal, it was all a lie. But it was told to be great.”

Your face softens, and your gentle eyes meet that of the Red Viper’s. Oberyn sees you as his equal; not many in such a high-powered position could so confidently say that.

Finally free of your braid, of your constraint, Oberyn runs his fingers through in a routine way he usually does at night, the two of you bare between silk sheets. It’s comforting to him just as it is you.

“You don’t like it here.” He states. “Then… we set sail tomorrow at dawn.”

You part your lips in surprise, tilting your head. "What about the wedding? The King?"

He scoffs and shifts his jaw. "Fuck the King."

His large hand cups your cheek, strong fingers memorizing the curvature of your features as the brown embers in his eyes meet yours. But you can’t help but feel a bit guilty.

“You don’t have to void your entire trip just because I’m…” Your words fall flat and you look back out over the sea, wishing so desperately to be seeing the outskirts of Dorne.

“My dearest, there is nothing I would love more than to be in the sultry embrace of a Dornish night with you, where the stars themselves seem to dance to the rhythm of our beating hearts. You are my flame, my fire, and your flame is dying here. I must protect you. Your eyes scream for the desert sun. I was a stubborn bull to take you away. Our shadows will burn together, I know this to be true, for the passion I feel for you is marked on the landscape of my desires.”

Your heart races under his gaze. He’s made by the Gods with his sharp jawline and cheekbones etched of marble stone. Eyes brewing with pure charm and eroticism that dance hand in hand.

“Let us escape the constraints of King’s Landing. For in the realm of pleasure, there are no houses, no sigils, no armies. Dorne is here, with you, always. Be with me for one more night in King’s Landing, and I promise to never return.”

He stands and offers his open hand to you. You smugly smile and join him, letting him reel you in further to the bedroom. “The Red Viper has quite the tongue.” You taunt as your warm palms fall to Oberyn's sun-soaked chest.

“You already know that to be true, my love.”

hehehe ngl that was fun, thank you so much for celebrating with me, Erin!

#oberyn martell #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #oberyn martell game of thrones #game of thrones #the red viper #oberlyn martell got #house martell

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