#overboard game
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Unconventional Detective Games
Return of the Obra Dinn, 2018
The maritime mystery game Return of the Obra Dinn by Lucas Pope is almost entirely subversive for a detective game. Everything in the game from its core premise to hyper stylized presentation, is all ambitious and experimental. Every person aboard the Obra Dinn has mysteriously died and you assume the role of an insurance investigator piecing together the horrific events using a magic watch that delivers to you a front seat viewing of a vignette of each person’s demise. Using these dioramas of death, you are charged with recording the manner of death of each and each crewmember and passenger aboard the ship.
Return of the Obra Dinn and its addictively satisfying detective puzzle gameplay left me hungry for more. Playing the game instilled in me a deep love for a good mystery and a desire to solve them. While I love games like Disco Elysium, which stars detectives as its protagonists, the investigation was never really the point. Moreover, a love for the unconventional detective was entrenched in my heart and as an interactive medium, video games are perfect for aspiring would-be detectives.
Overboard! , 2021
The year is 1935, aboard the S.S. Hook, Veronica Villensy throws her husband overboard under the foggy shade of night. In Inkle’s devilishly clever puzzle/visual novel, Overboard! you have eight hours before reaching the ports of New York and in that limited time you must relieve yourself from suspicion and guilt for your husband’s death at any cost. It’s a sort of anti-detective puzzle about getting away with murder which forces you to learn your fellow passenger’s schedules, plant evidence, and be consistently careful with your language lest your words betray you much later.
The DNA of time loop games such as Majora’s Mask and The Sexy Brutale is woven into the gameplay loop of Overboard! It’s a fairly short game taking around 2-3 hours to finish the story but at the benefit of allowing an immense amount of player agency. There is a wide variety of solutions to evading the mighty hand of justice, you are free to travel around the ship on a whim with no direction from the game itself. The only hint system is visiting the chapel and praying to God which is both cleverly diegetic and hilarious.
The nonlinearity of your objective incentivizes logical thinking and experimentation. The puzzle is rewarding much like learning each map and NPC routines in the Hitman: World of Assassination trilogy is. At first you clumsily trip over your words when Major Singh interrogates you but eventually you can get away with murder in style along with netting some pocket money from the life insurance if you pull it all off just right!
The nonlinearity of each puzzle in Overboard! is incredibly refreshing, it just feels organic and natural. Going achievement hunting in this game is its own little puzzle and I still haven’t figured out some of the little secrets it hides from us. It’s a game I can’t put down and haven’t yet been able to stop thinking about and I really recommend giving it a shot since it’s only $15 and only $6 if you catch it on sale.
Pentiment, 2022
Obsidian Entertainment’s Pentiment was my favorite game of 2022 and enraptured me for long nights as I obsessed over its rich dialogue and gorgeous medieval illumination manuscript inspired art. So much love and research was put into the historical setting, it takes place in 16th Century Bavaria within the town of Tassing is filled with life and character. You play as Andreas Maler, an artist working in an abbey on a hill and whilst attempting to finish your masterpiece, your co-worker and friend, Brother Piero, is falsely accused of the murder of a wealthy Baron who was staying in town. You are sprung into action as you only have a limited amount of time to clear Brother Piero’s name.
You are given a limited amount of time to wander around town, attempting to conduct interviews, deduce motives, and eventually gather enough evidence to bring the culprit to justice. Because of the impending trial, time is ever so precious in Pentiment and you will never have enough time to do everything you want at your leisure. Every moment dwelling on conversation or recreation is time you could have spent digging for answers. In order to pin a suspect you must hone in on what you think is most beneficial for your case like a true detective.
Brother Piero’s freedom is always at the cost of another’s conviction, in Pentiment you must push the blame onto someone else. During your investigations, you find that Sister Matilda, a nun at the abbey, had been assaulted by the late Baron many years ago. This is one of the clearest motives in the game but most physical evidence points in other directions, all the while every nun in the abbey will assure you of her innocence.
Saint John's Eve Festival Bonfire
Convincing the archdeacon (the head of the trial) of Sister Matilda’s guilt is perhaps the easiest of all the suspects to accomplish and Pentiment will not tell you outwardly that Matilda didn’t do it but it doesn’t have to. In a clever subversion, the game never tells you if you caught the culprit in the end. Pentiment, brilliantly, left me to wonder if I made the right choices as the totality of the lethal consequences of my actions weighed on my mind. You can easily convince the archdeacon of someone’s guilt but are you able to convince yourself?
The brutality of the executions should not be understated. You look on helplessly as someone you convicted meets an unwieldy end as they plead, cry, and eventually die. The executioner’s sword rises and falls as it lodges itself into the neck again and again until the head breaks free from the neck. Whether you like it or not, your choices matter in Pentiment and the consequences stare you down with a harsh disposition.
While playing Pentiment I was continually reminded of a line from Rian Johnson’s murder mystery film Knives Out. The titular detective Benoit Blanc (he’s so me by the way) notes that, “...the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth but what you do with the truth once you have it.” The complexity of truth is captured beautifully by Pentiment. In many regards it is a conventional mystery but by weaponizing the player’s need for clear answers it infected my mind for many hours after the credits rolled along with the minds of many others. There are fierce debates and chatter surrounding who really did the killing. Pentiment wasn’t as well talked about as it deserved, with all the games releasing it was overlooked by most. Well, it isn’t exactly for everyone but for the price of $20 it gave me a wealth of dialogue to mull over and wonder about.
Phasmophobia, 2022
A multiplayer ghost hunting spookfest is not exactly what you’d think of when discussing detective games but Kinetic Game’s Phasmophobia is deeply investigative by nature. Intense inspection is at the beating heart of the game with an important twist. Where ordinarily a detective chases after a suspect after the fact, here your suspect is reacting to your every move and can (and will) kill you on a whim. In the game you and up to three other friends venture into a haunted house and gather evidence and clues to determine which of the twenty four ghosts in the game is currently residing in your location.
You and your team will wander out of the safety of your van and into cold, darkened rooms to find clues by checking thermometers, speaking into spirit boxes, and throwing salt all over the floor in hopes of getting the ghost to step in it. Not only can you gather evidence with your camera and UV lights but another layer in your investigation is the behavior of the ghost. Knowing how aggressive each ghost is or how fast it is, is a tremendous asset in your deductive arsenal. The more you know, the more you can whittle the possibilities down until you have your culprit.
But finding the ghost and gathering evidence is just one thing, surviving the ghost is another. Being in the dark and bearing witness to paranormal activity will deplete your sanity and eventually the ghost will target you for a hunt. The front door slamming shut marks the beginning of a hunt, the ghost will manifest physically and chase you down and kill you if you don’t hide in time.
Corpse of my friend, deceased. Moments before I run out of the house in terror.
Phasmophobia is a dangerous balancing act of facing your fears by delving into the darkness in order to find clues and trying desperately to find the ghost type as fast as you can so you can get the hell out of there. The reactivity of the ghost keeps you on edge as you wander the halls gathering data. Speaking into the spirit box may prompt a raspy whisper into your ear or the candle you just lit may be blown out moments after. More interestingly though, is the voice recognition AI that takes advantage of the communication players rely upon. Everything from saying you’re scared to a simple curse word can lead to the ghost favoring you as prey. Even players who stay in the van for too long get targeted by the ghost!
Within Phasmophobia is one of the most unique investigative experiences on the market and definitely a one of a kind multiplayer experience. The comfort of having a buddy to share your terrors with is stripped away when they stop responding to your radio! It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever played and the developers are constantly updating it, two big thumbs up from the afterlife.
The satisfaction from my first time getting away with murder in Overboard! and the despair when I find out I had the ghost type completely wrong in Phasmophobia are some of my most memorable experiences in gaming! And Pentiment proved to be one of the most well written games I’ve had the pleasure of reading. I sincerely hope you check them out if you haven’t already! They’re all pretty cheap anyway. And once again begging for recommendations in the comments/reblogs so if you know any good, and hopefully weird, detective games let me know! Thanks in advance everyone and I’ll catch you on the flip side :P
-Ghost Emoji 👻
#organmart#om-ghostemoji#writing#video games#video game recommendations#detective games#return of the obra dinn#overboard!#overboard game#pentiment#phasmophobia
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I’ve been playing Overboard and I just love the relationship between Anders and Veronica, I wish more people played the game so they could make fanarts and fanfics and I could consume them 😔 brb gonna learn how to draw just to draw them fucking
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youtube
this is richard carstairs, to me
#overboard game#wicked#wicked musical#서경수#fav fiyero gosh the dancing and singing are both so good#carstairs :handshake: fiyero - characters who have been and shall always be gay to me#Youtube
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I had a vision
#This meme had to be done before its just perfect with Riv#I kinda went overboard with rendering but we balling#additions are welcome because my ass can totally see TBH in the in-game version of scugs#my art#rain world#rw rivulet
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When Edgeworth pulls out the UPDATED AUTOPSY REPORT. I'm kidding
#ace attorney#aa phoenix wright#phoenix wright#naruhodo ryuichi#miles edgeworth#mitsurugi reiji#aa miles edgeworth#my art#I havent touched AA since finishing the first game like 3 months ago lol#supposed to be anatomy practice but i went overboard#not complaining though wink wink#kinda messy but fck it we ball#narumitsu#? i guess
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wait let me google something… no, this still isn’t funny.
#craps is the name of the game and you lose by rolling 2/3/12 and losing is also called craps#oumasai#saiouma#saiou#kokichi ouma#shuichi saihara#sometimes you just GOTTA go overboard to illustrate a PUNchline *ba tum tssk* *i proceed to get shot*#phantom/dice AU#maiora draws#eyestrain#just in case
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Ok fuck you. enslaved people didn’t kill themselves to reduce profits they killed themselves because death was preferable to slavery what kind of revisionist ass bullshit…
#occams RAZOR people#not Occams Textbook on Marxism#also Aaron Bushnell -an active duty airman- killing himself is not the same as enslaved people throwing themselves overboard#A-aron had no skin in the game and could have gone on with his life#slaves… could not do that#you people are batshit just kooky bananas
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Hop Aboard the Mirage Express!
#the murder of sonic the hedgehog#sonic the hedgehog#tmosth#Miles Tails Prower#amy rose#barry the quokka#shadow the hedgehog#Rouge the Bat#blaze the cat#vector the crocodile#Espio the Chameleon#okay I may.....have gone overboard#this game gave me moviation and I couldn't stop#Beth's art
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TEEHEE DREDGE POSTING HOURS
so idk if anybody remembers the post I made a while back on this game but I been talkin about it some more with buddies and the silly little AU I've built around it is beginning to grow >:) we've decided that all the aberrations would be Max-themed in this world for.......reasons.............that become painfully clear if you've seen the other post lmao
but yeah um Sam deserves to fish up a little aberrant buddy who ends up stickin around the boat to leer at him charmingly and put his gross little suckers all over everything <3
#Sam throws him overboard and he just launches himself back up onto the boat LMAO#my buddy silver came up with that one!! and his design in general actually!!#he's an aberration of a glowing octopus and he's so cute. he's soooooo so cute. not sure if those teeth are functional btw#probably it's just a weird plate of enamel and he still has a beak underneath. idk. horrifying#sam and max#sam and max freelance police#freelance husbands#my art#dredge game
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A quick go at my take on Doctor Curt Connors from the Spider-Man comics. I’m so excited for his appearance in the spider-man 2 game and that he’ll potentially finally get some great writing.
#I honestly went a little overboard because initially I was going to slap some base colors and call it a day#I think 90% of my excitement for the game is just for Doc Connors being in it#He’s-what do the kids say?#my blorbo??#i just think hes neat#spider-man#insomniac spider man#curt connors#the lizard#marvel
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Got the shmexiest of the options, elevator 😌 so naturally i can only think of nsfw scenarios with toji, if you may ofc <3
@rougepancake @kenruu
ੈ✩‧₊˚ Elevator + Fushiguro Toji .ೃ࿐
You were panting heavily. Not because you had witness the assassination, but because the one that killed your clan leader—who had kidnapped you—and rescued you was now lapping his tongue like a dog, on your heated core.
It excited you. It turned you on. The nunchuk drenched in blood was between the elevator's entrance and the suite where he just saved you, keeping the sensors busy and holding the door open.
"Ngh—shit. Ah!" you squirmed. Your back was stuck to the cold metal wall. You were standing on one leg, the other thrown on his shoulder so he can have better access to your cunt. Your foot should hurt, but his big hands provided you support as his fingers dug into your thighs, taking all your weight.
"Ya like that? How long since someone made ya feel good, baby? Look at'cha " he slurped your juice. "Drippin' wet f'me. No one made ya cum in this luxury hotel? Aww." He was—or what felt like— mocking you. But he wasn't wrong. It had been months since you've felt this good.
"Gunna make you cum on my lips, pretty thing. Gunna drink you like my favorite saké."
#Ah I went overboard with the dialogues 😭#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x fem!reader#jjk smut#💭—ask games#tw.blood
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I got a request earlier this month for an audio where I play up the moans, sighs, and whimpers when I belch. Turns out stuffing my face with an entire pizza was a really easy way of making that happen! I didn't have to try very hard to get all those extra noises coming, and when they started, they simply couldn't stop. Listen to me belch, pant, and moan my way through enough food for at least two people, with some belly slaps in there for good measure!
Please consider leaving a tip if you enjoy!
#burp#burping#belching#eructo#audio#my audio#it's always the game of trying to remember which tags are blocked or not#anyway... hope i didn't go too overboard with the noises lol#and not to toot my own horn but let's just say cutting down this audio was a tad challenging#i kept getting distracted and lost in thought#over things like how much i love that my burps are such a good indicator of how full i am#anyway i hope y'all enjoy!#and really do consider tipping#stuffing my face gets expensive
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mirage mirage mirg..! anything w/ her please :]
im soooooooooo drunk @mirage mirrrrraaaagggggeeeee 😭😭😭
#i literally love her#sorry for going a bit overboard with this one i cant pass up an opportunity to draw mirage#3na-png#art#digital art#ultrakill#ultrakill fanart#mirage#ultrakill mirage#mirage ultrakill#v1 ultrakill#ultrakill game
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── ⁺⭒*˖₊☽ ⁺˖ ᴏ ᴄ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ᴠ ɪ ᴇ ᴡ ˖⁺ ☾₊˖*⭒⁺ ──
I was tagged by the lovely @mercymaker to fill out these questions for an OC, thank you! There will be a blank version and a tag list below the cut ♡
─── ⁺ ɴ ᴀ ᴍ ᴇ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟᴇᴇ ᴋɪɴʟᴀᴡ
─── ⁺ ɴ ɪ ᴄ ᴋ ɴ ᴀ ᴍ ᴇ: ꜱᴛᴀʀʟɪɢʜᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱᴇꜱ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɪɴᴛ.
─── ⁺ ɢ ᴇ ɴ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ: ᴄɪꜱ ᴍᴀʟᴇ, ʜᴇ/ʜɪᴍ
─── ⁺ ꜱ ᴛ ᴀ ʀ ꜱ ɪ ɢ ɴ: ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴜɴ, ꜱᴄᴏʀᴘɪᴏ ᴍᴏᴏɴ, ꜱᴀɢɪᴛᴛᴀʀɪᴜꜱ ʀɪꜱɪɴɢ. ɪ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇʟʏ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʜᴅʜꜱᴊꜱ
─── ⁺ ʜ ᴇ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ: 6'4" or 193cm. ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ʙɪɢ, ʙɪɢ ʙᴏʏ.
─── ⁺ ᴏ ʀ ɪ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ: ᴠᴇʀʏ ɢᴀʏ.
─── ⁺ ɴ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ/ᴇ ᴛ ʜ ɴ ɪ ᴄ ɪ ᴛ ʏ: ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴏᴛᴛɪꜱʜ, ɴᴏʀᴡᴇɢɪᴀɴ, ꜰʀᴇɴᴄʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀɢᴇɴᴛɪɴɪᴀɴ ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.
─── ⁺ ꜰ ᴀ ᴠ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴛ ᴇ ꜰ ʀ ᴜ ɪ ᴛ: ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇꜱ! ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ.
─── ⁺ ꜰ ᴀ ᴠ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴛ ᴇ ꜱ ᴇ ᴀ ꜱ ᴏ ɴ: ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ʙᴏʏ, ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ. ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴇ ꜱɪᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜʏ ʜɪꜱ ꜰʀᴇᴄᴋʟᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴀɴɴᴇᴅ. ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛᴅᴏᴏʀꜱ.
─── ⁺ ꜰ ᴀ ᴠ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴛ ᴇ ꜰ ʟ ᴏ ᴡ ᴇ ʀ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʟɪʟɪᴇꜱ. ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜɴꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ.
─── ⁺ ꜰ ᴀ ᴠ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴛ ᴇ ꜱ ᴄ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
─── ⁺ ᴄ ᴏ ꜰ ꜰ ᴇ ᴇ, ᴛ ᴇ ᴀ, ʜ ᴏ ᴛ ᴄ ʜ ᴏ ᴄ ᴏ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ᴇ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ᴅʀɪɴᴋꜱ ᴇꜱᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴏ/ʟᴀᴛᴛᴇꜱ 80% ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ᴇꜱᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴏ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴏᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ᴏᴄᴄᴀꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʜɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ. ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴀᴅꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴇᴘᴘᴇʀᴍɪɴᴛ/ᴇɢɢɴᴏɢ/ɴᴜᴛᴍᴇɢ ᴅʀɪɴᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴛᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ.
─── ⁺ ᴀ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ᴀ ɢ ᴇ ʜ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ꜱ ᴏ ꜰ ꜱ ʟ ᴇ ᴇ ᴘ: ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ 3-8 ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ. ɪᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ. ꜰᴏʀ ᴇxᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ, ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ʜᴇ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘꜱ ɪɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ʀᴇꜱᴛ. ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜱᴏᴍɴɪᴀ (ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴛꜱᴅ) ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ.
─── ⁺ ᴅ ᴏ ɢ ᴏ ʀ ᴄ ᴀ ᴛ ᴘ ᴇ ʀ ꜱ ᴏ ɴ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴅᴏɢꜱ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄᴀᴛꜱ. ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴅᴏɢ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴛᴛʟᴇꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ. ʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙᴜꜱʏ.
─── ⁺ ᴅ ʀ ᴇ ᴀ ᴍ ᴛ ʀ ɪ ᴘ: ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴇʀʀᴀ ɴᴇᴠᴀᴅᴀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴋʟᴀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪʟᴅᴇʀ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜ, ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴄᴀɴᴀᴅᴀ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛᴅᴏᴏʀꜱʏ ᴛʀɪᴘ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴀᴍᴘɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ. ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ꜰɪʀᴇ, ꜱᴛᴀʀɢᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴏʟʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ʜɪᴋɪɴɢ, ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ꜱᴏ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ. ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ.
─── ⁺ ꜰ ᴀ ᴠ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴛ ᴇ ꜰ ɪ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ: ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ 100% ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴘᴜɴᴋ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʏᴇᴛ, ꜱᴏ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ!
─── ⁺ ɴ ᴜ ᴍ ʙ ᴇ ʀ ᴏ ꜰ ʙ ʟ ᴀ ɴ ᴋ ᴇ ᴛ ꜱ: ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ᴅᴜᴠᴇᴛ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ꜰᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇꜱ, ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ᴀ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴘʟᴜꜱ ᴀ ꜰɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇᴇᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ-ᴡɪꜱᴇ. ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡꜱ-ᴡɪꜱᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ.
─── ⁺ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴅ ᴏ ᴍ ꜰ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ: ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ɪꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱɪɴɢʟʏ ᴀɢɪʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴛᴡʜᴇᴇʟꜱ! ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ-ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴋɪɴᴅ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱɪɴɢʟʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰʟᴇxɪʙʟᴇ. ᴠᴀʟᴇɴ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜᴘᴘᴇʀ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏʀ ʙʀɪɴɢɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴇɢ ᴜᴘ ʜɪɢʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴋɪᴄᴋ. ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀ ꜰʟᴇxɪʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴄᴋʙᴏxɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴊᴊ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ.
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#these were so fun i love these kinds of simple interview style questions#i added the inspo pictures just for fun and they're not required at all if you don't wanna add them! i was just having fun with these#cyberpunk 2077#male v#cyberpunk oc#daywalker oc#vampire oc#ask game#am i going too overboard with the formatting and aesthetics#probably but oh well#i'm having fun#i said im having fun twice i guess i am worried i'll be killed with hammers for putting inspiration pictures#tag games 💌#⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔞𝔴 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋#⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫//𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋
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late night cuddles
#coffee talk#hyde#gala#galahyde#hyde coffee talk#gala coffee talk#coffee talk game#art tag#you all are coming with me on the journey of learning how to draw them <3 enjoy#also did i go overboard with thr chest hair? maybe. i don’t regret it though he’s a werewolf let him be hairy#anyway i love that vampires in this universe dont have pointy ears yet here i am. because i cant control myself#i already hc’d that hyde was a cuddler when it comes to sleeping so it was nice of gala to confirm kt by compairing him to a cat thank you#they are just.. you give me a game with a vampire/werewolf bond im going to go bonkers over them .. chefs kiss#i like to think hyde is like a heavy sleeper because how else do vampires sleep for liek decades in coffins you know#i mean they probably dont in this game obviously but listen man shsjdkfk#and for gala i think he’s more of the opposite#because werewolves tend to be restless so just very light sleeper maybe even has insomnia too#overall i am rotating them so much in my brain .. like i just think theyre neat#also saw in the little pixle arts for the game that hyde has piercings as well ive never bene more happier in my life like YES.. YESSSSS
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Title: Cold Hands
Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x fem!Reader
Rating: M
Summary: After the Battle of Castle Black, Jon needs someone to ensure their wildling prisoner makes it through the night. Because Tormund's the type you just want to rage fuck and I've been looking for an excuse to write for him since like 2017. tagging @mrsragnarlodbrok suffer with me
THE STEWARDS’ QUARTERS are dimly light and crowded in the wake of the night’s battle with the wounded members of the Night’s Watch. You rise from looking over little Olly’s scrapes and bruises, passing the boy a cup of watered ale to help him sleep —forget the horrors of the fighting. Castle Black was no place for a woman, and every estranged look cast in your direction from one of the men reminded you of that. Frowning, you wipe your hands on a stained apron and step outside into the frozen air. Below, men are clearing out the dead, a mix of wildlings and their own brothers, and beginning to make repairs to fortify the defenses should there be another attack. Jon Snow approaches you and lowers his head in greeting. “I have someone I need you to tend to,” he utters.
Castle Black’s dungeon is not large, only a single line of iron-barred cells in a short corridor —unoccupied save for the hulking figure at the very back in chains and pocked with broken arrows and crossbow bolts. He wears the thick, mismatched furs of the wildlings, but the fire in his hair is unmistakable. Tormund Giantsbane. Jon unlocks the cell and steps back, letting you pass. “Hurt a hair on her head,” Jon Snow starts, ice in his voice, “and you’ll be joining your kin on the pyre.”
You give Jon Snow a final nod of assurance —you’ve dealt with worse men than Tormund Giantsbane— and the bastard retreats down the corridor as you set down a flagon of icy water and a satchel of herbs and vials. “Tormund,” you greet, unwilling to shy away from his burning bright-blue stare. His notoriety spans north and south of the Wall —the man who suckled a giantess’s teat and fucked she-bears. Someone who you wouldn’t have expected to find stuck like a pincushion and locked away.
“Heard them say you’re a witch,” he grunts, hiding a scowl as you prod the arrow in his shoulder. You lift a curious brow. The crows call you a wood’s witch. In truth, you’re only a skilled herbalist with knowledge acquired from patching up members of the Night’s Watch over the years. Maybe it is a good thing they call you a witch —the men of the Watch didn’t much care for spirits and magic. “Don’t look like a witch,” Tormund notes, his voice rough. “All the witches I’ve known had warts and crooked noses” —he glares when you pull the first arrow from him without warning, knowing they were only bodkin points — “lived in trees.”
You lay a damp cloth over the bleeding wound before sliding around to his back. The arrows needed to be removed before you could strip him of the heavy furs to properly tend him. “If I had a cock,” you start with a dry laugh, “they’d call me a maester and give me a heavy chain to wear ‘round my neck.” Pressing your hand next to a second arrow, you wiggle the broken shaft, ensuring the arrowhead would come free too when you finally pull. You see the muscles in his neck tense.
“No more crows to worry over?” Tormund asks, voice gruff. Weren’t no more than a hundred men defending Castle Black on the ground and from above —a few more warriors in his warband, and they could’ve taken the castle to let Mance Rayder walk through the gates to the south.
“None that require my skillset.” He looks back, lifting a bloody brow in question. “Plucking arrows from men” —you snatch the third and final arrow from his back and toss it aside, all that’s left is the crossbow bolt in his leg— “sewing them back up.” Sitting back in front of him, you reach for the ties and straps of his clothes. Grimacing, he helps you divest himself of the layers until your icy fingertips brush against his broken and heated flesh. The wildling is barrel-chested with broad shoulders and strong arms —a testament to hard living beyond the Wall. Tormund lets you work in silence —defeat still leaves a sour taste on his tongue
HE SHIFTS AT the sound of footfalls on the stone, too light to belong to any of the crows. Between the torchlight and the few burning braziers, Tormund can see it is his sweet healer come to visit or torment him. The shackles on his ankles clink together against the stone floor as he moves around, scooting forward as you grow closer. “Couldn’t stay away,” he muses as you stop in front of his cell, setting down your satchel and water flagon.
“Daily rounds to see all my wards,” you counter, pulling a wrought iron key from the inside of your sleeve. You’d convinced Jon you could handle the wildling chieftain —maybe it was foolish of you to think that.
“Best for last?” He asks, laughing.
You huff, rolling your eyes as you unlock the cell, stepping inside. “You must be feeling better,” you note, setting out all your supplies.
Tormund drops the last of his layers —a stained wool tunic— next to him as you kneel with a damp cloth and fresh salve. He seizes your hands, startling you, but does nothing more than hold them between his own —his fingertips are rough, palms warm, wholly engulfing yours. “You got cold hands,” Tormund mutters, seeing the question form in your eyes.
“Didn’t think wildlings minded the cold,” you note, holding his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, just grunts in response and keeps your hands held in his for a moment longer before letting you carry about changing his wounds’ dressings.
But curiosity gets the better of him. He’s not known the Night’s Watch to keep a woman on hand. “How does you staying here with all these crows work?” Tormund asks —the muscles in his back tense when a cool, damp cloth touches his skin.
“Didn’t stay with the crows,” you tell him, removing a day-old cataplasm from his shoulder, washing away flecks of ground herbs left behind. “Stayed in Mole’s Town.” It was a small unpleasant village, but it meant you were close to the Wall —the Lord Commander paid for your services as a healer with how few men were currently in the Night’s Watch and with Maester Aemon growing frailer by the day. “Or I did,” you pause, remembering the grey smoke rising from the south a few days ago, “before your lot put it to the torch.” He wears a curious look as though to ask how you escaped his warband. “Was already here tending to those who went out north of the Wall.”
“Fate then,” he decides —the Old Gods must have meant for your paths to cross.
OF ALL THE men currently under your care, Tormund is your favorite, though you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that —it’d make him nigh unbearable. He’s no longer kept in the dark cells below ground, despite still being a prisoner, or perhaps hostage, depending on what Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow have planned. They’ve moved him to an empty room in one of the decaying towers of the castle. You unlock the door, finding him pacing along the perimeter of the small room. “Come to enchant me?” He asks, still finding it amusing that the crows would call a woman like you a witch.
“Thought I already had,” you laugh, watching as he starts tugging at his outer furs without instruction, “and that’s why you’ve been such a good boy.” Tormund Giantsbane wasn’t even half as stubborn as some of the Rangers who’ve come into your care over the years —like Benjen Stark when he came back from north of the Wall with an arrow in his shoulder.
“Boy?” Tormund bristles. “A boy doesn’t have a cock–” his voice fades into a hiss when you press the vinegar-soaked rag to the worst of his wounds. He glares at you, but then his hard stare softens when you smile. Tormund’s mind wanders, unable to stop himself from thinking what’d it be like to lay with a woman from south of the Wall —and if you’d still have that sharp tongue with his cock buried inside your cunt. “Can show you I’m not a boy,” he says, lips twitching upward under his ginger beard. “Doubt you’ve ever had a real man.”
Your gaze flits up to meet his, undeterred by his advances. It’s not the first time you’ve suffered through them, and you doubt it’ll be the last if you continue working with men who’ve sworn to be celibates. “That all you can think about?” You ask —more so teasing than chiding— unwrapping the strip of linen from around his leg. The poultice has kept infection at bay, though this wound is healing slower than the others.
“When I’m looking at a pretty woman,” Tormund replies in all sincerity, leaning forward.
You can feel warmth rushing to your cheeks, but you won’t let yourself look away elsewise he’ll know you’re not immune to his charms. “Well” —you smile, thinking of the conversation you’d overhead between Jon and Stannis— “you’re soon to be looking at a pretty crow named Lord Commander Snow.”
TORMUND GIANTSBANE IS no longer a prisoner under Jon Snow. The Lord Commander means to take him and a score of men to Hardhome and let the wildlings settle in the Gift to escape the encroaching Long Night. Jon knows he’s the only person the others will listen to in the wake of Mance Rayder’s death. The air in the common hall is thick with something you cannot describe —the members of the Night’s Watch have not taken kindly to Stannis’s men or the red-haired wilding sitting below the high table.
Olly sits next to you and Edd with a white-knuckle grip on his spoon, the taste of betrayal sitting bitterly on his tongue. Your gaze flits between the boy, Jon, and finally to Tormund. The wildling’s cold stare is already on you. Edd raises a brow when he sees how quickly you look away, cheeks tinged with warmth.
After some time, you take leave of the common hall, turning to the tower with a small room where Ser Alliser Throne said you could reside, as there was nowhere left for you to go. Tormund trails after you —and before you can shut the door to your chamber for the night, he stops you from doing so. “Didn’t come tend my wounds last night,” he laments, pouting almost.
“You’re going to live,” you assure him, letting him come in anyways. Last you checked, none of his wounds were close to festering, and all were healing cleanly and quickly. Untying your apron and belt, you set them aside and turn back to Tormund, half-smiling. “It’d be a waste of herbs and linen.” Those herbs and flowers would be precious commodities with winter fast approaching. He watches as you empty your satchel on the table and replenish the supplies in quiet awe —his sweet healer with cold hands. “You gonna tell me why you’re really here?” But you’re almost certain you already know, and you’ve no objections, either.
Tormund doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he steps behind you and cranes his head down to the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his arm slides across your middle, pulling you back nigh flush against him. “You know,” he rasps at your ear. The tickle of his beard against your neck is all the warning you have before his lips brush over your skin. Sighing, you tilt your head to the side, melding into his warmth and wandering hands. He tugs impatiently at the laces on the front of your woolen dress, but you swat away his hands and make quick work of the ties and break from his hold to shimmy out of the heavy garment. It leaves you in a thin shift, scarcely protection from the frigid air of the North —though the fire in Tormund’s darkened stare does set your blood aflame.
You step to him, curling your fingers into the soft leather and fur on his chest, and he pounces like a wildman. His kiss is soft at first, a gentle caress of the lips, but it grows deeper when his tongue coaxes you into what becomes a series of leisurely kisses, though each one feels more urgent than the last. Tormund’s hands wander to the small of your back, then along the curve of your bum, bunching up the fabric of your shift until he can grip onto the bare meat of your thighs. He must think you weigh nothing by the way he lifts you, opening your legs until they’re wrapped around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, lips never straying far from his.
He places you on the edge of the bed, then begins with the ties of his clothes and boots —throwing the leathers and furs aside in great haste— until he’s left in only a pair of sealskin shorts with the outline of his hard cock clearly visible. Tormund slips to his knees in front of you, wedging himself between your knees. Surging forward, you kiss him again, intoxicated by the moment. He’s happy to give and reluctant to part. “Thought the Free Folk didn’t kneel,” you challenge, combing your fingers through his beard.
“Only to those we choose,” Tormund tells you, dragging his rough hands along the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your shift up until you pull the thin fabric overhead, dropping it to the stone floor. You whine when his rough fingers brush over your clavicles, up the column of your neck —there’s a gentleness to the wildling chieftain you would have never thought existed. Tormund’s hand grips your jaw, forcing you to keep his gaze —affirmation he’d chosen to kneel before you.
Without another word, he leans down and presses small kisses around your breast, looking up at you the whole time. The small pecks soon turn into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as his eyes close in focus. You reach down, carding your hands through his fiery hair —encouragement. He continues to inch closer and closer until he latches onto your nipple and sucks hard, using his hand to play with your other one. He pulls back just for a moment to nip at it. “Tormund,” you breathe, burying your hands into his fiery locks.
Tormund moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans down, placing a kiss below your navel. You jump at the tickle of his beard, and his low chuckle rattles through you both, sending a wave of warmth washing over you, pooling low in your belly as he moves farther down. He groans at the sight of your cunt —slick already and begging to be feasted upon, and feast he will. He laps at you, firm but gentle, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile when he reads the pleasure making your gaze go soft and unfocused.
Then you lose conscious thought the second he wraps his lips around your clit, hands holding you firmly in place as he laps and licks through your folds, methodical and slow with a long and low groan. Tormund’s fingers brush through your folds, gathering the slick there, and he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. He’s doing something devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts with white sparks. “All southrons sweet as you?” He asks, scraping his beard along the inside of your thigh, fingers still working you down from the sudden high.
“I am from the North, Tormund,” you remind him, amused.
“South of the Wall, though,” he refutes, giving one final nip to the inside of your thigh before withdrawing his sopping fingers and sucking them clean —eyes never leaving yours. It sends a shiver down your spine. He rises from his knees, and you stand too, hands going to the ties of his underpants. Kicking aside the last of his clothing, he lets you push him back to the bed and climb atop him like you’ve won some great victory.
He’s splayed out beneath you, looking up at you with those clear-blue eyes, clouded with lust, like a challenge. He let you win. You know that — he knows that. But here you are, straddling him with your fingers intertwined in his, pinning his hands above his head. He can easily turn the tables —flip you over and hold you down, and make you beg for him until you can't take it anymore. He can do all of that, but he doesn’t. No, Tormund Giantsbane likes the feeling of your weight above him, pressing him into the mattress, and he wants to see where this will go.
You lean over him and press a kiss to his collarbone, then to the base of his neck and underside of his jaw —his beard brushes against your lips as they move further up until they’re ghosting over the corner of his mouth. He turns his head slightly, stretching up to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue drags over your bottom lip, seeking entrance. He loves the taste of you everywhere —the sweetness of your tongue, the salt of your sweat, the tang of your cunt— Tormund loves it all. Perhaps you had enchanted him.
His hips press up off the bed when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him from base to tip, thumb following along one of the throbbing veins on the underside. You shuffle back, guiding the weeping head of his cock between your slick folds until it catches on the entrance of your aching cunt, and you press back further sinking onto him with a lurid moan —echoed by his own strangled groan and a string of curses.
You start to rock and twist your hips, building a pleasant rhythm, working yourself on top of him. Tormund’s lips are parted, breathing heavily as he watches how your cunt takes him in over and over again, a sight that drives him to oblivion, and paired with how you whimper and moan and the feel of your breasts under his hands, he thinks he could finish then and there.
Tormund digs his heels into the bed, aiding you as you bounce and twist atop him. “Tormund,” you whimper, knowing you need more than this —you need his touch. He’s quick to answer the soft pleading, hands squeezing against your hips, arms flexing to lift and drag you across his cock himself as his hips roll upwards, pressing deeper it feels than ever before. Leaning down, you press your lips to his —panting against his mouth as your chests move against one another, hips rolling and filling the room with the sound of flesh against flesh and a chorus of low moans and breathy praises.
It’s sudden when he twists around, putting you beneath him —his weight hovering over you, cock still buried deep in your cunt. “Fucking greedy,” he groans, continuing his slow pace. Something changes in his eyes, but you cannot decipher it. Instead, you draw his face down and kiss him again. You relax inch by inch, sliding your hands over his muscled back, the ridges of his shoulder blades, and down his arms, taking the time to fully appreciate the small nicks and scars you’ve seen a dozen times over now. Then he moves again and again. Each stroke quicker and deeper than the last.
His cheeks and chest are flushed in the low light, and his hair clings to his neck and forehead as his pace picks up. Long, calloused fingers bury into your hair, angling you to look at him. His other hand slides down to where your bodies are joined, rubbing your clit, knowing by the way your walls flutter, that you're close, as is he. The budding pressure grows, setting you on another precipice ready to fall. Your body begins shuddering against his, limbs limp but jerking, neck tilted back into the furs —shining with sweat. Seeing you like this is enough to push him over too. Tormund’s body tenses, his hip stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you with a spreading warmth. His groan is strangled when he thrusts into you again, lazily —just to feel his seed begin to seep from your ruined cunt.
You feel an old sort of contentment as he lowers his weight to rest on bent forearms at either side of your head —his hazy blue eyes staring down at you, the dark red of his hair and beard wilder than you’d ever seen. Tormund dips his head down, nuzzling against the crook in your neck.
On instinct, your arms wrap around him, fingertips following one of the curving scars on his back, relishing the feeling of warmth and safety. “You’re going to come back to me,” you tell him, mussing the strands of hair at the back of his neck. Jon Snow means to set off to Hardhome at first light, he’d said as such during the evening meal, and in the following days, Stannis and his men will depart to head south, first to Winterfell and then onward to King’s Landing. But you’ve no doubt Tormund Giantsbane will return.
“Aye,” Tormund agrees, rolling to the side. He’s quick to pull you along with him and tuck you into his side. “Then we’ll see if the crows can hear us all the way from atop the Wall,” he says, squeezing a handful of your bum. You laugh, pressing your face into his chest, and he laughs too, the sound coming from deep in his belly. Though it soon turns to a wistful sigh, should the Others take him, he’s certain his last thought will be of you —his sweet healer.
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#Tormund#Tormund Giantsbane#Tormund x Reader#Tormund Giantsbane x Reader#Tormund Fanfiction#Tormund Giantsbane Fanfiction#Game of Thones#Game of Thrones Fanfiction#ASOIAF#ASOIAF Fanfiction#my writing#i went overboard for this ginger fuck#slick as a baby seal he said#and then you go inside but slowly#tell me this man does not know how to fuck#this is your fault claire
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