#i will scale him like a tree and lick that belly- i mean lick that belly- i mean lick- i mean

[tojisun]

missing my snoogums boogums – the apple of my eye

#young dilf jake keeps doing wonders to me #i will scale him like a tree and lick that belly- i mean lick that belly- i mean lick- i mean #i wanna gnaw on his arms #im on my knees actually #sun rambles #jake sully

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

What the Sully Boys do when they find you crying

Neteyam, Lo’ak, Jake,

⚠️WARNING⚠️: crying, talks of injury

Pleas enjoy this garbage

….

Neteyam: Distraction

You’re along on the shoreline, crouched in the waves and poking at the sand. Fat tears are rolling down your cheeks as you repeatedly stab your finger into the soft wet sediment. Neteyam has been looking for you for about an hour now. You’d disappeared after dinner, visibly upset and oddly quiet. He was unfamiliar with the island still. He did not know the rocky alcoves or tide pools like he knew the forest. It’s no wonder you’d sought out solitude here. The lay of the land provided perfect little nooks and crannies to hide oneself and find some peace and quiet.

Neteyam does not speak as he approaches; making sure his footsteps are extra loud so as not to startle you. You hardly glance at him. He squat next to you and places a firm hand on the small of your back. He watches your finger jab and carve at the sand for a time. He doesn’t know what’s gotten under your skin and why you don’t want to tell him but he will wait. His fingers begin to trail up your spine.

The smells of salt and fish permeate the air. The waves lap haphazardly in their lazy dance against the shore. Wind is rustling through the fronds and trees. In the distance an ilu whistles to its rider.

“Do you want to go for a swim with me?” He finally looks at your, surveys you year stained face. “I’ve been wanting to practice diving and you’re better than me.”

You nod and straighten up. At least in the ocean he won’t see your tears. Neteyam loops his fingers through yours and begins to stomp through the oncoming waves. You squeeze his warm palm, feeling the scrape of his hard earned callouses.

Neteyam hasn’t known you for too long. Only just meeting you when his family arrived at the Metkayina’s doorstep. He’d caught your eager eyes studying him through the crowd of people gathering on the beach.

You lingered on the azure tint of his skin and the set of his eyes. While you’d known of the Na’vi you’d never met anyone from the jungles and forests. When it came time to teach the foreigners the way of water, you’d diligently set to helping Tsiyera.

The ocean rose up over your knees, salty water licking at your thighs. You school your lungs into sucking oxygen and your body dips forward. Neteyam dives in after you, limbs still a little unsure of the proper stroke. The sandy seabed brushes along your belly as you peel away from the shoreline. The sky is darkening but you can still get in a few dives.

Neteyam trails along by your side, struggling to match your speed. You peer over your shoulder and analyze his technique. You edge closer to him. Fingers and forearms touch occasionally.

You’d always thought he was boyishly cute but recently, his maturity has shown through. He’s more compassionate than you’d have thought and his dedication as a good friend has made you want him to mean something more.

Whether or not he feels the same way is unclear. But he doesn’t seem to mind being alone with. He did seek you out. Minutes ago he’d had his hand on your skin and you could still feel it’s phantom presence.

You’re still bothered. Wanting to cry, still crying. He can see in your downturned expression that you’re shaken. He shifts closer as subtly as he can manage. You slow down as a school of brightly scaled fish rush by. Neteyam’s knuckles brush against yours. He points to the surface. His face looking a little purple. He needs a breath.

The ascent is quick and before long your heads break the waves. Neteyam soaks up the oxygen and his skin returns to its normal shade of deep blue.

“Can I ask why you’re upset?” His arms swing through the water as he treads.

“Just… a little trouble at home. Don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Neteyam tilts his head kindly and nods. His hand catches yours mid tread and he yanks you closer. His arms wrap around you as you both sink. He nuzzled his nose into your cheek and plants a small kiss along the underlying bone.

When you lets you he’s kicking back to the surface so he can prepare for another dive.

“What was that supposed to mean?” You ask him.

“Haven’t you figured out already that I like you?”

“Oh-“ the thought was only a hope and a wish, nothing more than a fleeting longing. But you no longer feel like crying and Neteyam is already disappearing beneath the waves again.

Lo’ak: Confrontation

Your feet dip up and down with the roll of the water as your ilu coasts along the reef. You watch the stars glimmer in the sky. Their light so faint next to the reflection of Jupiter. The wind nips at you skin, skewing your angry tears all across the bridge of your nose and cheeks.

Tsiyera has been impeccably kind to you since you arrived. Helping you out with diving and swimming and other practices around the clan. The others, Aonung and Rotxo and even some of Tsiyera’s close friends, have been doing all they can to chase you out.

Your parents had been killed in the war with the humans. Trampled by the merciless machines and ruthless bastards. Neytiri had grown up alongside your mother, and was kind enough to assist Mo’at in raising you.

You and Lo’ak weren’t exactly best buds growing up. You fought all the time and his attitude always drove you crazy. But you’d become fond of each other in recent years. He talked your ear off the whole way to the Metkayina islands, venting all of his frustrations about his family and the move.

You still bickered on occasion and Lo’ak often said stupid things he didn’t mean. But now he’s made the effort to actually apologize. It’s because he likes you, or so Neteyam says.

The sound of an ilu breaking the surface a feet feet behind you disrupts your brooding. You smear away the tears and straighten up. When you turn to meet the intruder, Lo’ak beams.

“Thought I’d never find you! We’re just about to eat, you should come joi-have you been crying?” Lo’ak’s head tilts to the side as he glances over your face.

No sense in hiding it. Better to change the subject. So you nod, “Let’s go get dinner.”

“Wait,” Lo’ak scoots forward. You adjust the direction you ilu faces and dive. “Wait!”

Lo’ak, ungracefully, dips beneath the waves and trails along behind you. His ilu is faster and he gains ground quicker than you can run. His hand snags your elbow and jerks you upwards. Both ilus tilt to the sky and breach.

When you catch a breath you’re ready to chew him out. But the concern etched in his expression holds your tongue. He’s still clutching your elbow. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing, Lo’ak. I swear.”

“If you’re out by yourself, crying, it can’t just be nothing.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes you wonder if Neteyam is right. Lo’ak brings you closer, grabbing onto your other arm. “You can’t tell me anything. I know I’m an ass sometimes but I don’t ever want you to be upset like this.”

“Just Aonung and his friends. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Someone has to stop them.”

“Just— won’t you stay with me for a while?”

Lo’ak freezes up. He wants to hear you ask again and if the situation were different he would tease you. But there are still tears threatening to spill down your sweet face. Killing the chief’s son can wait.

Your ilu squeals unhappily as Lo’ak pulls you closer. His arms wind around your shoulders and his forehead meets yours. His bright amber irises flicker left and right as he watches your reaction.

You reach for him, feeling the lean muscle of his torso under your arms as you leave his forehead and rest against his cheek. You can smell the salt in his hair from the hours in the water. The roughness of his palms against your back. His rapid heartbeat faint between the skins of your chests.

“Next time come to me first.” He whispers, squeezing your shoulders and pulling away. “This way justice can be dealt faster. Now let’s go before mom gets mad.”

Jake:

When you and Neytiri are assigned the job of educating Jake Sulley about the Na’vi, you aren’t happy. This dreamwalker is nothing but an imbecile that Neytiri should have shot when she found him.

But over the weeks of his company, you find the charm in his ruggedness. Jake is rough around the edges. It’s pretty obvious. But he likes to please. For him, learning your ways isn’t a mission anymore. It’s his purpose.

Not because he wants to see your people moved. But because he wants to see you happy. He watches your face light up whenever he gets something right. The smile that spreads across your face brings him some clarity.

Once he realizes he’s competing smitten, he decides he can’t hide it anymore. He needs to tell the clan about what’s coming.

You’re heartbroken to say the least. He lied to you. He’d been lying to you for months. The image of your eyes glazing over with tears is burned into the synapses of his brain. It nearly kills him when you turn away and run.

It’s one disaster after another. He’s kicked out and tied up. The home tree is burned. The people perish. And then it’s all over. He defeats the unites the clans and defeats the sky people. But it all happens so fast.

Your mind whirs. You crawl along the thick vines the link the floating mountains. Seeking a little refuge and peace of mind. An ikran screeches in the distance. You slip into the trees. The ikran call is louder, closer. There’s the familiar WHOOSH of strong wings beating against the air. Jake’s echoes through the foliage. The ikran lands on the vines, squawking and squealing as Jake dismounts.

You hardly been able to speak to Jake since the war. You’re just so jarred with everything and you don’t know what to do. You sought solitude through hunting, giving to your people whatever you brought back. Your ikran had been killed in the war, shot out of the sky.

You remember the fall. The winding swallowing you up as you careened towards the jungle. Another hunter had snagged you. The force of the catch dislocating your shoulders when the talons of the ikran closed around your arms. The pain felt through the bond still resonated in your nerves. You were forced out of the fight.

Looking at Jake now, as he turns to the thicket you’re hiding in, makes the memories come back. The tears come without warning. Choking your throat and stinging your skin.

Jake knows right where you are. He hears the sniffling and choking. His hearts breaks a little more. This is his fault. He’s turned your life upside down and he doesn’t know if he can ever make it right.

“Please, come out.” Jake finds a lump in his throat. “I—“

Can’t go on without you.

Can’t breathe without out you.

You emerge from the bushes, helplessly restraining tears. Jake takes you in his arms, squeezing you so tight.

“Come for a ride with me?” He knows now is not the time to try and smooth things over. You’re too hurt and he doesn’t want to dig. “Just for a bit.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck. His voice rumbles against your cheek. You nod and allow him to pull you towards the ikran.

The ride is quiet, you sit behind him and rest on his shoulder. His heartbeat thunders in your ear, calming your own and the tears stop all on their own.

#avatar #avatar x reader #jake sully x reader #Neteyam x reader #lo’ak x reader #avatar the way of water #yourfellowfandomfiend

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

NAGĀ!SERO

Hey y’all! This is a part of the Citrus Server Hybrid!AU Collab! The masterlist is HERE, please please please go check everyone’s pieces out!

A/N: I am fully aware that this is all over the place, ya girl is off her meds and will edit later. Please don’t tell me it sucks, I already know and I hate it, too.

SERO HANTA X F!READER

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, smut, double penetration, aphrodisiac, interspecies miscommunication, size kink, breeding kink, mating, idk tell me if i missed anything

You had always heard stories about creatures in the forest; ones that eat humans, ones kidnap children, ones that would hurt you if you ever ran off by yourself. You didn’t believe them… Or maybe you did, but either way, the creatures could never be as scary as the life you already lived.

You had been taken prisoner when your coastal village was raided by pirates. Your clan’s viking warriors were off on a journey, leaving all of you oh so vulnerable with depleted numbers. They were going to kill you, like they did most of the others, but the pirate setting fire to everything in his path halted when he found you trembling under the rubble.

“Tomura, come see the new toy I found. Don’t you wanna keep her?”

“You sadistic bastard, how you get off to them crying like that never fails to make me sick. I don’t care what you do with her, Dabi, but I’m not cleaning up after you this time.”

They hauled you back to their ship, stripped you of everything and chained you in the hull. People came in and out, always different but always vile. You never spoke, you knew they wanted your screams. Overhaul, the captain, was the worst. You never knew when he was coming, and once he was there, you wondered what he wanted from you at all. Chained up, never touching you with anything but knives and his boots, not looking for your reactions… You wondered if he’d even notice if you stopped breathing. You dissociated for most of it, choosing instead to safeguard your mind, plan an escape.

About a year later, you found an opportunity in the carelessness of one of your captors. You docked someplace warm, someplace humid, maybe tropical? Toga had left your chains too loose after your last “date”, and had tossed the keys just a bit too close. As soon as she left, you had slipped your wrists out of the restraints, strained for the keys, and unlocked the shackles around your ankles. Not taking a moment to revel in the surreal feeling of being unchained, you listened until the heavy footsteps above you all faded into nothing, leaving the ship and most importantly: leaving you alone.

You ran. You ran so steadily, somehow comforted by the sounds of destruction getting further and further away. You found yourself blindly sprinting into a forest that looked nothing like your own, so damp and bright and warm. You kept running until you heard shuffling behind you, causing you to find the first thick vine hanging in your vicinity and clung to it as you climbed. Looking back, you see a simple boar grazing the forest floor. Sighing in relief, you relaxed a bit too soon, as the vine you had wrapped yourself around began to move.

Before you could react, you were wrapped up tightly in bands of muscle and brought towards the head of the- wait…- man? You had heard of nagā before, but the ones from your village’s stories were never described as so… tan, muscular, handsome. He didn’t look all that mean from the waist up, just the black, orange, and yellow scales trailing down his massive, strong tail seemed intimidating. He looked confused, concerned even, by your nakedness and panic stricken silence. Forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, smelling the blood and the abuse on your skin, seeing your quickly defeated body give up, and your mind resign itself to the comfort that at least you died free of your captors.

“Are you… okay?” The giant snake rumbles, human hand reaching towards your face and recoiling when you flinch.

You haven't spoken in months, your silence having been a security blanket, and you’re not ready to give that up. You do nothing, just look into his eyes and search for any sort of indication as to what he’s going to do. He loosens his grip a bit, just enough to slip down from his tree and head towards his hide- an old cave covered in ivy, moss, and little orange blossoms. He brings you in, and places you down on the ground before turning away to rummage through his things. He brings out water and bandages, along with some kind of salve that looks like a mixture of plants. You don’t reach for the water when he sets it near you, so he resorts to using the tip of his tail to bring it to your lips while his hands are busy tending to your wounds and gently rubbing the salve over your poorly healed scars. He offers you food, very confused when you don't seem to know what to do with the forest rodent he’s brought you, and decides on fruits he’s found. You don’t seem to want to do anything, not even going to sunbathe even though you’re obviously shivering.

THAT’S IT!!! SHE’S COLD! He thinks to himself, before wrapping his tail around you once more and bringing you outside to the rock where he typically warms himself. He gently places you down, uncoils you from his grasp, and gives you enough space to move as you please. You blink a few times, slowly realizing you’re free. He helped you? For no reason? He doesn’t know you…

“H-Hi… Thank… Thank you.” You mutter, looking away and blushing.

Cute… He thinks. “YOU TALK!!! What’s your name? I’m Sero, but you can call me Hanta! I was worried about you! Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here?”

The line of questioning makes your head spin, and you try your best to answer before looking down and realizing you never found clothes. Blushing once again, you meekly gesture to your body and ask, “C-Clothes. I need clothes.” Hanta looks confused, but retreats to the cave and returns, bringing you a large piece of cloth that somewhat resembles a hemp blanket. It smells like oranges and spice, and you unconsciously snuggle into its comfort. Sero notices your calmed reaction to his scent and approaches you, gingerly grasps your ankle and picks up your leg, never having been so close to a human, and explores the strange angles your appendages bend.

“What are you doing?” You seem embarrassed, despite the number of people who've touched you before. This is too familiar, too intimate, almost too gentle.

“Tiny… Humans are… Small…”

You let him bend your limbs and play with your squish, strangely calm and trusting in his presence. He seems so enthralled by your body and how you move, so intrigued. That is, until he makes his way to massaging your plush thighs, causing a rush of arousal you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He prys opens your legs to continue his ministrations, not knowing the smell of your lust would have him flicking his tongue out and his eyes turning to hyper-focused slits. He suddenly releases your legs, slithers around your back, and presses against you. He taps the top of your head with his chin and waits for your response. Not knowing what this means, but wanting him to continue his exploration, you lean back into him and whine quietly.

You have no idea what you’ve started.

Hanta leans down, pressing sweet kisses down the column of your throat and leaving scathing bites in all the right places. Aphrodisiac venom coursing through your veins, you don’t even register his muscular arms wrapping around your body and lifting you, carrying you back into his cave and up into his hammock. He wraps his strong tail completely around your torso and takes his time kissing and groping your soft body, mumbling “mate, mate, mate” into your heated flesh. He finally makes his way down to your mound, prying your thighs apart and diving straight in before you could question his reverent gaze.

“HANTAAA~” You practically screamed as his long tongue slipped between your folds, running along your clit and down to your clenching hole, his saliva increasing the heat coursing through your core. “M-More, please… More~”

“More, what?” He smirks against your heat. “Say it. Tell me I’m your mate and I’ll make sure you’re fucked dumb, yeah? My pretty little mate.”

You stutter for a moment, getting more desperate the longer his fingers drag along your wetness. “Mate… Please! I need you… I’m yours!”

“Good mate~” His tongue wriggles back into your cunt, and his fingers slowly move further down to stretch your tight ass, making you squeal in surprise. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, all thoughts abandoning your mind as you ride out your high on his face and fingers.

“Are you ready, little one?” He growls lowly, lining up two long, thick cocks with each hole. Your eyes widen in surprise, head clearing for a moment after your climax.

“T-two?! Wait wait wait, I’ve never… I can’t! Two?!”

“Oh, little mate, but you can and you will!” He punctuates his statement by spitting down onto your cunt, thick venom slipping down to your tight rim. You moan and grind against his cocks, aphrodisiac leading your body into a blissed out state of submission. “Gonna fill you up so good. I promise you’ll be so full, feel so good, little mate. Trust me?”

“Y-yes! Wanna be full, want my mate!” You beg and plead for him to push into you, hips bucking against him, trying to get him to satiate the burning want he’d created. It isn’t until you thread your fingers through his hair and wrap your legs around his waist that he thrusts into you completely.

“That’s it, wrap around me like that. So tight, so warm… Fuuuck!~” Sero pants, chest pressed tightly to yours and face tucked into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking deep marks over your pulse point.

You’ve never felt so full, your body strangely welcoming the pleasurable stretch of your holes, pulling him deeper and deeper until you can feel him in your belly with every roll of his powerful hips. Your whimpers and tears only seem to spur him on, drawing orgasm after orgasm from your body.

“S-Shit, keep squeezing around me like that. Come on, little one, I know you have one more for me. Cum with me, I wanna feel you cum one more time. Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so good. Come on, pretty mate- fuck- cum for me~” He reaches down and pinches your overstimulated clit between two fingers and bites down on your neck one last time, sending you over the edge with a cry of “breed me, breed me, breed me!” and nails digging into his back.

“Mine! My mate, pretty little mate. Breed mate, all mine!! Gonna- gonna… Ah~” Hanta’s words steadily fell from his lips as he released deep inside your holes, belly bulging from the sheer amount of seed he spilled into you.

Utterly exhausted and dreamily floating off, you cling to him. Sero wraps you up in his tail and lays back into his hammock, keeping you as close as he can. When you snuggle into him, he whispers little praises into your hairline, a constant stream of “so good, pretty mate, all mine, i love you, so perfect, did so well, took me so well, such a good mate”.

The next day, you wake up surrounded by soft cloth, feathers, fruits, fluffy furs, a dozen shiny objects and pretty dried flowers. You sit up, looking around frantically for your mate before your eyes settle on a sheepish-looking Sero, wiggling nervously around the cave.

“Um… Do you… like it? I made it for you… I just- please tell me you like it!” He shrinks himself a bit, arm coming up to palm the back of his neck.

“Oh, is this a… nest? It’s- It’s very nice. Thank you, Hanta!” You smile softly at him, curling up into your nest and reaching out for him.

“MATE!!! I’m so happy you like it, I was so nervous!!! My mate. You can stay here all the time, so I can protect you, forever! My pretty little mate.~” He climbs into the nest and coils himself around you, content to guard you.

Maybe this time, being kept isn’t so bad.

#sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #hanta sero

[slashscowboyboots]

The Stars Are a Part Of Us: The Brains Of This Outfit

This my “Almost Famous” inspired groupie fic, with appearances by @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands (Celestia/Alessia), @sexcoffeeandrockandroll (Absinthe/Amy) and @no-stone-no-bone (Velvet), plus yours truly as Karen.  This is a pretty dark fic, with VERY mature themes and smut.  Cross-posted on AO3

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket ​ @no-stone-no-bone ​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands ​ @smokeandmirrorz ​ @sodalitefully ​ @roger-taylors-car ​ @lost-in-the-80s @whisperess33 ​ @shawolat​ ​@80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: Underage sex, drug use, drinking, implied violence.  18+ ONLY

1987

This must be her.

Izzy sat up straighter, watching as a short blonde shuffled toward the back of the bus, a huge bag on her shoulder and carrying a pillow in her arms.  She didn’t notice him sitting in the next to the last seat, and she flopped down on the one behind him, setting down her pillow and leaning against it, then rifling through her purse till she found a book.

Bella Donna. The most beautiful one of all.  She certainly was pretty, he thought, with her long blonde waves and huge blue eyes.  She dressed like Stevie Nicks’ runaway progeny too, all ruffles and lace and faded jeans, although instead of Stevie’s platforms she wore a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.  

I’ve never seen a groupie play hard to get, he chuckled to himself.  She must be something else.  Watching her turn a page, he noticed her full lips pursing as she read the text.  He couldn’t make out what the title was, but he could see a long-haired bare-chested hunk and a bosomy babe spilling out of her bodice in a passionate clinch on the cover.  

Oh, shit, she’s reading romance novels.  Probably wants me to seduce her.

 Izzy didn’t think he was quite up to that.  

87 had been rough on him so far.  Getting busted on a possessions charge (thankfully, it hadn’t included a “with an intent to sell,” although that had been exactly his intention), sentenced to rehab and now on probation, with orders he continue to be piss tested on the road.

It was a miracle he was allowed to leave the country, but his lawyer (who was far too good to be in his pay scale, Izzy noted) argued that his client’s ability to earn a living shouldn’t be hampered by his arrest.  (The fact that his paying profession had led to his arrest wasn’t lost on him either.)  To his amazement, the judge had agreed, and Geffen, desperate to recoup their investment and make a little scratch before the band killed themselves, sent them with The Cult on a tour of Canadian hockey rinks.  Woo hoo.  

Just before the tour started, he and Niv were approached in a shitty dive by a curvy brunette introducing herself as Absinthe and claiming she was one of the Road Wives.  

“Heard of us?” she asked, coyly batting her eyelashes.

Izzy took a sip from his Coke and nodded.  Yes, he’d heard of all of them.  The Flying Garter Girls, the GTO’s, the Road Wives.  All conglomerates of groupies who traveled with bands and made life on the road even more colorful and chaotic.

“Of course you have.  It’s an honor to travel with the Wives.”

Izzy rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke from his nose.  “And you’ve selected us, I suppose.”

Absinthe smiled, the contrast of her crimson pout with her white teeth and skin visible even in the dim light.  “We have.  Our leader Velvet has chosen Axl as her traveling companion.” 

Niven smirked, and Izzy raised his eyebrows.  “Has this already been decided?” he said quietly.

Those red lips formed a tight line.  “No.  Axl said to take this up with you.  ‘Izzy has the final word,’ he said.”

He took another drag, and she leaped at the opportunity to speak.  “There’s uhh, four of us, and Celestia has picked Slash, and I,” she smiled, and Izzy swore he saw devil horns poke out of her dark hair, “I settle down with no man, but I’ve spent time with your drummer and won’t mind repeating that experience.”

He flicked his ash from his cigarette, bored disinterest on his unsmiling face.  “And Duff is married.”

She swallowed, then nodded.  “Yes, Duff is engaged, and has cordially informed us he will not require our services.  Shame, there’s a tree I’d like to climb again and again.”

Izzy lit a new cigarette with the end of the first one and ground the butt out, then leaned forward on the table and said, “Shame, because I say no to the whole shooting match.”

The whites of her black-lined eyes became enormous.  “Wait, you haven’t heard who’s with you.”

“I don’t care who’s with me,” he said, in a quiet but firm voice.  “I’m on fucking probation and I don’t need any more headaches.  And I damn sure don’t need four chicks we have to babysit.”

“Hear her out,” Niven snickered.  “I gotta hear about the whore that wants you.”

Absinthe licked the front of her teeth.  “Bella Donna.  The most beautiful one of all,” she said softly.

Izzy shook his head.  “Nope.  I’m not traveling with anyone fucked up or underage.”

“She’s 21.  And she blows a gasket over drugs.”

Niven elbowed Izzy.  “She sounds right up your alley, mate.”

Izzy shifted in his seat, rolling the end of his cigarette in the ashtray as he chewed the inside of his cheek.  

“She and I went to school together, and we’re older than the other girls.  We keep them in line.  They will not cause you any problems on the road.  You have my word.”

Izzy slid his eyes to Alan, who shrugged.  “Canada’s cold, Izz.”

Absinthe smiled.  

He still wasn’t convinced.  “She doesn’t use?  Cause I’ve never heard of a groupie who didn’t.”

She shook her head.  “Reads us the riot act if we do.  She smokes weed every now and then, but I don’t even think she’s done that in the last six months.”  She batted her eyes, sensing his interest.  “Drinks the occasional beer, but she’s normally our DD.”

Izzy sighed, then downed the last of his Coke.  “All right.  One fuckup, and I don’t care what it is, if one of you broads even breaks a nail, your asses are heading home.  Put that in the tour budget Niv, four bus tickets back to LA if any of them get the hiccups.”  He stood up.  “I’m not joking.”

No, a seduction was not something he was up to.  Maybe a quick fuck when the bus got dark, if she loosened up a little.  Normally, groupies sucked you off as a way of saying hello, but this one had tromped on past him and buried her nose in a book.

Honey, is that any way to welcome your man?

He leaned over the bus seat, carefully studying her.  She wore a moonstone ring on one hand, a crystal ball set in a pair of hands ring on the other one, and gigantic sparkly hoop earrings.  He didn’t especially understand this Stevie Nicks fixation, but if memory served, she’d fucked her way through Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles, so as long as Rhiannon here didn’t wear a chastity belt, it was fine by him.

He tilted his head and asked, “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

Her eyes darted up from her page, then back down.  “Hi.”

He had another great view of the top of her head.  “Is this any way to act?”

She turned a page, her eyes not leaving her book.  “I wasn’t aware I was a bother.”

Since Izzy’s arrest, patience was not something he had large reserves of.  “Are you really going to do this?” he snapped.

Her eyes met his then, and he had a second to register how long her eyelashes were before he realized how irritated she was.  “Do WHAT, may I ask?” she growled, her voice hard.

Izzy was thrown, but he shrugged it off.  Maybe this is foreplay to her.  “Why aren’t you in my lap right now?  Daddy’s had a rough day.”

She went completely, utterly still, then asked, “What?”

A little voice in his head (something he heard much more frequently now that he was sober) told him something was off, but he blurted, “You’re my whore and I shouldn’t have to beg you to blow me.”

He watched her cheeks flush, then the sides of her neck, and he belatedly realized that this was someone you didn’t piss off.  To his relief, she didn’t reach into her purse, but instead slammed her book shut and gritted, “Who told you I was your whore?”

“Well, I see you two have met,” Absinthe said, smiling as she sat down next to her.

“She did,” Izzy said, tipping his chin up, not taking his eyes off the blonde.

“Amy Louise, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”  She glanced up at Izzy.  “Are you telling people I’m ‘Bella Donna the wonder groupie’ again?”  Closing her eyes, she muttered, “Because you know how much I hate that.”

“Ahh,” Absinthe answered, “well, possibly.   But you really should get to know Izzy.”

Her eyes darted back to him.  “I’m good,” she snapped.  “I think I know all I need to know.”

“What’s the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he growled.

“It means what you think it means.”  She turned to Absinthe.  “You are going to stop calling me ‘Bella Donna’ or I am going to make you stop.  You got that?”

“Yes.”  Shoulders slumping, Absinthe stood up and walked back to the front of the bus.

Izzy watched as the blonde laid her forehead on her palm, then reached into her bag and lit a cigarette with trembling hands.  She looked up at him.  “Did you get that, Hoss?” she said in a tired voice.  “I’m not ‘Bella Donna,’ and I’m definitely not your whore.”

He nodded, then a small voice said, “Sissy?  Is that my Sissy?” A younger girl with brown hair sat down next to her, and she immediately hugged her, then laid her head on her shoulder.

“I love you, Sis,” the younger girl said.

“I love you, too, Celly Belly.”

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Izzy.”

“Hi, Izzy, I’m Celestia.”

“Hi.”

“Izzy, this is my sister, Karen.”

“We’ve met,” Karen said icily.

“Why don’t you like him?  He’s cute.”

Karen looked at her sister in horror.  “He’s a drug dealer.”

“Former,” Izzy said.

“And a junkie.”

“Also former.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Nope, she left me when I went to rehab.  For another guitarist with better drugs.”

“He’s cute.  You should bang him.”

“Celestia.  That’s not why you sleep with people.”

“Yes, it is,” Celestia and Izzy said in unison.

Karen rolled her eyes.  “That’s not why I sleep with people.”

“Have you talked to Steve?” Celestia asked.

Karen breathed out a sigh.  “No, not since he took up with that model.  Catriona.”

“Steve is an idiot,” Celestia said, lighting up a cigarette.  “I heard their record is multi platinum.”

“Yeah, they brought Mutt back.”  Karen said.  “When you sell that many records, that’s when the models show up.”

“Yeah.”  Celestia blew out a plume of smoke.  “Did you bring your hat?”

Karen crossed her arms and slumped in her seat.  “Yeah.”

 “Yay!”  Celestia squeezed her.  “ I know you don’t want to be ‘Bella Donna’ anymore, but I love it when you are.”  She looked up at Izzy, who was still watching them.  “I bet he could make you forget Steve.”

“I’m good.”  Karen tightened her arms and scowled.

“Sissy, please be nice to Izzy.”

“Why?”

“Because I really like Slash.  And Izzy will make us go home if we don’t behave.”

Karen looked at Izzy, then Celestia.  “You really want to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Celestia?” a voice called.  “Baby, where are you?”

Celestia said, “I gotta go.  I love you, Sis.”

“Here,” Karen said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handful of condoms.  “Don’t fuck him without one.  I don’t want any more doctor’s visits.”

Celestia tucked them inside her waistband of her microshorts, then kissed Karen’s cheek.  “I’m not going to get in trouble again, I promise.”  As she stood up, she smiled at Izzy, then squealed, “Slashy!”

Izzy lit a cigarette and smirked at Karen.  “Well, that was just absolutely fucking touching, but you twats are hitting the pavement the first stop we make.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

Karen narrowed her eyes.  “That girl is 16.  Velvet is 17.  And you’re planning to take them into another country to have sex with them, which the last time I looked was a criminal act.”

“Not if we dump your asses out before we hit the border.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not.  I’m on probation and I don’t need this bullshit.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.  You do realize any of these girls, myself included, though I wouldn’t, can at any time say, ‘He raped me?’   ‘He hit me?’  Now for anyone else in this band, that would be any given Tuesday, but for you?  You have a lot more to lose.”

Izzy’s eyes widened.  

“I mean, Absinthe told you I was your whore, and obviously that’s not true.  We’re liable to say just anything.”

He shifted in his seat, feeling a chill run down his back.

“Where are we stopping anyway?  McDonald’s?  There’s always a cop there with nothing to do.  Maybe he’ll have time for a damsel in distress.”

Izzy swallowed.  “What do you want?” he gritted, knowing she had the upper hand.

“You can show us ‘twats’ a little respect, for starters.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he spat.  “Your ass is chapped because I was a dealer.”

“Hoss, don’t make me play my ace.  Cause I have four of them, and I ain’t on probation.”

He ground his molars together.  “What else?”

“We stay, and you provide us with basic human necessities.  A place to sleep, food, and shelter.”

“And?”

“Take us backstage.”

“That’s a given.”

She shrugged.

“Then what?”

“Then your band runs around with empty balls and everyone is happy happy happy.  ‘Cept you, you’re on your own with that.”  She crossed her arms.  “And I make sure no one is a headache.  You’ll never know we’re here.”

“Can I believe you?”

She directly met his gaze.  “Yes.”

“How do I know that?”

“I’m not a liar.  I’ve been honest about everything so far.”

Why didn’t I meet you first?  It would’ve saved a shitload of time.  “Why are you here?” he snapped.

“Because your band has a body count, Stradlin.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Todd Crew.  Slash shot him up, did he not?”

Izzy took a deep breath.  “He says he didn’t.”

“Do you believe that?”

“What I believe is none of your fucking business.”

“I heard he did, and Todd died in his arms.”

Izzy lit a cigarette and looked away.  “We, ah, we were all gutted when he died.”

“Well, my baby sister is sleeping with Slash, and I want to make sure that is an isolated incident.”

Izzy took a drag.  “It is.  None of us are on smack anymore.  Slash just drinks now, and I can’t do fucking anything.”

Karen met his eyes.  “You’ll forgive me if I’m not entirely swayed by your testimony.”

He shrugged.  Even though she was judgmental and unforgiving, he could see where she was coming from.  If he had a sister, he’d shit himself if she took up with Slash.  Or any of them.

She must be the brains of this outfit.  She hates us all.

Karen shot him one final filthy look, then dug a Walkman out of her purse and closed her eyes, resolutely shutting him out.

Izzy sighed, then his eyes landed a few seats ahead of him.  Duff had pledged undying fidelity to his fiancee and planned on recreationally drinking instead of fucking, and had already passed out cold, snoring loudly against the window.

I don’t have that option, Izzy bitterly thought.  It wasn’t even that he wanted to drink or raise hell anymore.  His rehab stint had opened his eyes to how close he’d skated to the edge, and just when he felt like he’d finally made it back to the land of the living, Todd had fallen into the abyss.

There’d also been the unspoken question, Is Slash going to be charged with murder?  The band had closed ranks and called all the lawyers, and in the end, no one was indicted.  Guns was already on thin ice for Axl and Slash’s separate arrests for statutory rape, and Izzy’s incarceration was the final straw.  The brass at Geffen was adamant: One more strike, boys, and your asses are done.

He titled his chin up and blew out a plume of smoke.  He hadn’t had many plans for this tour, but he had expected to spend it in the arms of a submissive woman.  Sex hadn’t been forbidden by the terms of his probation, not yet anyway, and he’d been, well, enchanted by the idea of a babe who didn’t get fucked up and yet was enthusiastic to do his bidding in the sack.  He could slap himself now for believing such a creature even existed.

He stole a glance at Karen, whose head had slumped forward.  Even in her sleep, she looked weary, beautiful but worn out.  He realized now, if Absinthe’s description was right, she was just a nice girl looking after her sister, and Celestia’s taste in men must be exhausting if Slash was any indication.  Izzy felt his ears growing hot as he thought about how aggressively he’d approached her, even though he’d been promised she was a sure thing.  Demanding she immediately hop on his dick wasn’t what he considered finesse.

Fuck, how am I going to get laid now?  That thought was punctuated by a hushed moan from Slash, and Izzy wanted to pound his head against the seat in front of him.  He’d just have to hope that somehow Canadian groupies were very willing yet went to church frequently.

Damn, woman, you’re sure you won’t change your mind about me?  I can be romantic if you want me to.

Can’t do much about me being a dealer though.  That ship already sailed.

He heard Karen stirring behind him, and turned to watch her stretch out and cover herself with a blanket.  Since he expected to be wrapped in her arms, Izzy had packed away his own covers, so he buttoned his denim jacket and crossed his arms, sleep mercifully arriving quickly.

#izzy stradlin x oc #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x oc #guns n roses fanfic

[thebountyfucker]

oooooh Dragon!Bossk with a knight reader sent to slay him! NSFW ;)

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Tags: "fucking" a dragon (no penetration)

You had a particular reputation around these parts for being exceptionally good at killing - be it monsters or demons or spirits, the people of the village had begun to rely on your ability to solve these particularly dangerous problems. So when a dragon moved into a nearby cave, and began to wreak havoc on the villagers, you were the first person they sent for. You watched the way the beast flew over head during the dark of the night, watching for any sign of weakness.

You wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of slaying a dragon made you nervous. Gorgons? No problem. Hobgoblins? You took out an army of them! But a dragon… well, that was something you had never tackled before. It was enormous, likely ancient, and you knew that it breathed a jet of fire so hot it melted flesh from bone in an instance. But you wouldn’t let the people down. They trusted you. They needed you. And even if it killed you, you’d make sure that they were safe.

You trekked up the mountain on foot - your trusty steed barely made it up ten feet before trying to buck you off. You tied the white stallion to a tree nearby, and started your ascension. You were greeted by a path of skeletons - most were of animals, like cattle from nearby farms, or stags from the surrounding woods. But the skeletons in armor didn’t escape your notice. There weren’t many… but you knew that this beast was not one to be trifled with. You drew your sword and held it tight in your hand.

The mouth of the cave sat before you, with warm, moist air blowing out of it. The air smelled metallic and faintly of death, but you had smelled worse. You crept in, your gaze sweeping along the cave. Skeletons decorated the floor of the cave as well, and these bones were much more human - you grimaced, but held steady. Your gaze locked on something moving in the darkness and you knew you had found your mark. His yellow-green scales glinted in the light, and his wings twitched. He lifted his head, and you froze.

“You are a foolish little morsel, aren’t you?” He hissed, his voice deep and rumbling. The entire cave shook as he stood and turned toward you. “Your little sword is no match for me, little prey!”

He slapped you with his tail, sending you flying back into the cave wall. You connected with a grunt, and fell to the floor. The sword clattered only a short distance from you, and you reached for it, only to have him swipe it away.

“Beg for mercy, and I might just let you live!”

“I can’t… I can’t do that.” You told him, gritting your teeth. “I made a promise to stop you from raiding the village, and if that means I die in the meantime, so be it!”

The beast let out a loud laugh, and you wiped the sweat from your brow. “What an honorable little prey beast… You want me to stop attacking the village? Hm?”

“Yes!” You snapped and he stood up, towering over you. You swallowed hard and prepared for the worse.

“Let’s make an arrangement, then.” He chuckled as he lowered his head so you could look him in the eye. “Come closer.”

You were hesitant, but he insisted, and you drew closer to him.

“Underneath.” He told you, and you slipped underneath him, sure he was just going to crush you under his immense weight. “Do you see the slit, little prey?”

“Y-yes.” You drew closer to the slit near the base of his tail. It was as long as your arm, but seemed to leak some sort of fluid.

“Touch it. Do not be afraid.”

You tentatively reached out to touch it, feeling it ripple under your touch. He let out a purr, and you figured you were doing something right. You stroked the slit, back and forth, waiting for any indication for you to stop. Instead, you watched as the slit split open. You took a step back, gasping when you noticed the heads of two cocks pressing through. They grew in length, hardening until they were just about as long as your leg. The dragon chuckled, leaning down to look at you.

“Go on. Touch them. Please me, little prey beast, and I will leave your village alone.”

“Y-yes sir.” You nodded, gripping one of the cocks in your hand. You gave it a pump, listening to the carnal growl rumbling in his chest. You stroked it again, and again, feeling the rough skin against your hands. Your pussy clenched and you felt your panties dampen. The dragon chuckled.

“You are aroused, little prey beast.”

“N-no!” You tried to refute as you reached up to stroke the other cock; it twitched at the touch, and leaked what you assumed was dragon precum. Your nipples pebbled against your tunic beneath your armor, and your cunt tingled.

“You cannot hide your scent from me. Go ahead… take that armor off and ride it.”

You could hardly refute him as you stepped away to take off your armor, chucking it aside so it was out of the way. His cocks bobbed needily, and your mouth watered. He was too large to take in any hole but… you could make do.

You pulled off your tunic and kicked off your pants, revealing your drooling pussy to him. He leaned down, and you straddled his bottom cock. Slowly, gently, you rocked your hips against it, dragging your cunt along his length. You whimpered at the sensation, reaching up to stroke his second cock. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tasting him, and he let out a roar of pleasure.

“Yes, prey beast, yes! Ride my cock!”

You rocked your hips faster, slicking up his length with your wetness. At the same time, you stroked his length and licked at the head of his other cock. Your head spun and your pussy drooled; you wished you could take him inside you! He felt so good! You went faster, harder, until the warmth in your belly threatened to spill over. Judging by his grunting, he wasn’t far behind.

With one final grind, you orgasmed on his cock; your head was light and your body sung with pleasure. He jutted his hips, reveling in the friction, until you came to. You climbed off of his cock just in time for him to cum… all over you. You were drenched in dragon cum… Not exactly how you figured this day would go.

“There, little prey beast… I will leave your village alone. For now.”

You wiped your face clean. “For now.”

“Come back again in a week and we can… negotiate again.”

#iri writes #my fanfiction #star wars smut #smut

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Bond of Choice

Prompt: Merlin and Arthur discover that Aithusa the dragon has an unusually special bond with Arthur, of all people! She loves Merlin of course, but always plays around and makes a ruckus with him. With Arthur, though, she is stoic and protective. She senses something about the prince that no one else can- what if Arthur inherited a type of magic from his birth that isn't like Merlins? It can't be controlled or summoned, but other beings can sense it and will come without him saying a word.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: absolutely none my dudes

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 1606

It’s not as if they didn’t notice it, they just…didn’t think that it meant anything.

And, really, doesn’t that just sum up their whole thing?

Merlin and Arthur knew that Merlin got away with so much more than anyone else in Camelot, they knew that Arthur was able to make truly staggering leaps in logic when it came down to it. They knew that there wasn’t a single servant or guard in the castle who could hurt Merlin and get away with it. They knew that the knights were all ready to commit a coup should Arthur harm one hair on Merlin’s head.

But does that mean anything? No, of course not.

Anyways.

Aithusa is a bright young dragon. For such a small thing, her ability to move herself and control her own strength is impressive. Not that they have many other dragons to compare her to. Kilgarrah’s barely around as it is—something about the stench of Uther’s legacy gets under his scales, apparently—and, well…there are no more dragons. She carries no burden of her species, sniffing the air with the enthusiasm of a newborn and quickly taking flight into the still morning air.

Merlin sits back against the tree, his head tilting to watch Aithusia through the leaves. The field glows golden in the early morning, small tendrils of fog drifting up from the warming ground. They curl and dance around each blade of grass as she swoops low, letting the very tip of her snout skim their edges before diving back into the sky.

“She’s getting stronger,” he murmurs to himself as she coasts along a warm current of air, “and faster.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Merlin does not squeal and jump in surprise. Arthur chuckles as he sits down next to a Merlin who is panting for an unrelated reason, thank you very much. He nudges the warlock’s shoulder.

“After all these years, you’ve still never learned how to pay attention, have you?”

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Merlin retorts, rubbing his shoulder, “just not to you.”

“How dare you, I’m the most important thing here!”

“You keep telling yourself that, sire.”

“Merlin!”

Merlin is saved from having to listen to another I-am-the-King-appreciate-me-you-dolt lecture by Aithusia crowing in delight as she spins upward. They scramble out from under the tree to see her wings spread wide, the light gleaming off her scales, through the translucent part of her wings. She looks down to them and dives, landing gently in front of Merlin and shuffling her paws.

“You’re getting better at flying, girl,” Merlin says quietly, scuffing his hand across her head, “and you look stronger.”

Aithusa rumbles contentedly.

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re doing much better now that we’ve got you out here, hmm?” Merlin chuckles as she pushes her head closer to him. “Alright, alright, I’m here.”

The dragon snuffles at his tunic and nudges her nose right into his belly, almost knocking him over.

“Hey, easy! I’m much lighter than you!” Aithusa huffs and keeps pushing. “Aithusa!”

Arthur, the prat, takes a step to the left and turns to watch Aithusia bowl Merlin over onto the grass. The dragon rumbles happily and flops down onto the grass, her head planted firmly across Merlin’s stomach.

“Arthur!”

“Yes, Merlin?”

Merlin flails, trying to get out from under Aithusia’s head despite the fact that Aithusia very clearly does not want to be moved right now. She simply purrs louder, the vibrations almost strong enough to make his teeth chatter.

“Help me!”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “You certainly look comfortable.”

“I’ve been knocked over by a dragon, you prat.”

“Oh. So you have.”

“Are you going to help me up or not?”

He shrugs. “Don’t see why I should. She’s a good girl, she won’t hurt you.”

“She’s also quite heavy, Arthur.”

“Come on, Merlin, you could do with a bit of exercise.”

“Exer—after running around the kingdom after your royal arse all day, that’s enough exercise for a week!”

Arthur reaches out to stroke along Aithusia’s head, crouching down to make sure to scratch behind her ears. The dragon’s eyes close as the rumble gets even louder.

“Arthur!”

“What?”

“Y-you’re making it worse?”

“Can’t you hear how happy she is, Merlin,” Arthur smirks, watching as Merlin starts trying to push at his shoulder, “why are you trying to make me stop?”

“It t-tickles!”

“Oh, well.”

“Arthur!”

He chuckles, standing up. Aithusa lifts her head off Merlin’s belly, wondering where the pats went. She stares up at Arthur with—well, they’re not puppy-dog eyes if they’re on a dragon, are they?

“Come on,” Arthur says softly, “hop up, now.”

He half-expects Aithusia to flop back down and sulk for a few minutes. Instead, his mouth drops open as she gets to her feet and steps aside, her head bowed low.

Merlin sits up, eyes wide. Aithusa stands perfectly still, her wings tucked to her sides, gaze on Arthur. Arthur swallows, reaching out.

“Aithusa?”

The dragon huffs gently, reaching out to nose at his hand. After a moment, she gives it a lick.

“What…what just happened?”

“I don’t know.” Merlin gets up, crouching down in front of her and running his hand over her head. “I think there’s something magical about her.”

“Yes, well noticed.”

“Quiet, prat. I’m concentrating.”

“Oh, well, don’t hurt yourself.”

Merlin doesn’t take the bait, murmuring quietly to himself as he waves his hand over Aithusia’s snout. Her scales begin to shimmer, almost as if Merlin’s hand is another source of light. His eyes widen.

Invisible to Arthur, a stream of magic reaches from Aithusia’s chest to Arthur’s glowing softly in the morning light. As he watches, it winds its way around her wings, her paws, her snout, her tongue where it still laps at Arthur’s hand. It pulses gently, drawing them closer.

“Merlin?” Merlin blinks. Arthur’s staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no,” Merlin says quickly, “no, uh, nothing’s wrong.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “What is it, Merlin, it’s written all over your face, now tell me.”

“You’ve…um…”

“I’ve what?”

“You’ve got a bond,” he decides on finally, gesturing meekly between the two of them, “you’re magically connected.”

“I’m what?”

“Magically connected.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin throws his hands up. “I’ve never raised a dragon before, and neither have you, thank you very much.”

Arthur pouts, neglecting to answer and instead stroking Aithusia’s head again. The dragon rumbles, leaning her head into his hand almost as if she were a horse. A soft noise escapes as they watch her eyes drift closed.

“She’s…” Arthur swallows through a suddenly-dry throat as he holds the dragon’s head in his hand. “…she’s bonded to me?”

“I don’t know how,” Merlin says, still staring at the line connecting them, “but…yes.”

Arthur sits hurriedly, cupping the dragon’s head in both of his hands. Her eyes blink open, staring at him with such a level of trust that it makes his head spin. He leans closer, stroking over the ridges of her eyes.

“You…we’re connected, huh, little one,” he murmurs, his palms growing warm, “isn’t that something?”

Beside him, he can feel Merlin’s magic grow stronger, feeding off the energy from the earth and the bond between the two of them. He reaches out and tugs Merlin closer, sitting him between them.

“She likes you,” Merlin says softly.

“Well, I’d hope so.”

“Not like how she likes me,” Merlin continues, patting the dragon’s wings. “She—well, I, um…she kind of has to like me.”

“If you’re about to tell me you can make this dragon do anything it doesn’t want to—“

“First off, I’m perfectly likable—“

“That’s up for debate.”

“—and second, I hatched her. I’m the last Dragonlord. We…” Merlin shrugs helplessly and rests his head against Aithusia’s flank. “Destiny decided we should be tied together.”

Arthur swallows, looking at the two of them. They make a good picture. Merlin is the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Aithusa is the last dragon. They fit together in ways that no other living things could ever hope to.

“But you…” Merlin looks at him with a smile. “You are my destiny.”

Something in Arthur’s chest glows warm. Merlin reaches out to tug him closer by his sleeve. He shuffles forward.

“You are mine,” Merlin says quietly, “and I am yours. Aithusa…Aithusa chose you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Arthur’s hands tremble on Aithusia’s face. The dragon huffs softly, blowing warm air onto their chests. He looks back at the dragon’s eyes. Warm, soft, a forest fire.

“I choose you too,” he says as firmly as he can, “and I…I hope to be worthy of it.”

“And see, that’s why we waited until you weren’t a prat anymore.”

“Are you saying I’m no longer a prat?”

“Oh, no, you’re definitely still a prat, just not as much of one.”

Aithusa snuffles, using her head to knock Merlin flat on his arse.

“Hey!”

Arthur chuckles. “What was that about her having to like you?”

“You knock me about every chance you get and you seem to like me just fine.”

#merthur #merthur fic #arthur pendragon #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #fic #aithusa #dragonbabbles

[dzamie-oc]

Cynder's Spyro Picnic

AO3 Link: Cynder's Spyro Picnic Furaffinity: Cynder's Spyro Picnic Fandom: Spyro the Dragon (Video Games), Legend of Spyro Rating: Explicit Relationships: Cynder/Spyro the Dragon Characters: Spyro the Dragon, Cynder (Spyro) Summary: Cynder and Spyro planned a picnic. Spyro ends up being the food.

cw: NSFW (or nsft for filters), vore, dubcon, femdom. If you are a minor, or any of these are upsetting to you, DO NOT READ THIS FIC.

Once again, MINORS DNI

Spyro woke up to the feeling of a comforting presence moving away from him, then the unmistakable sound of his girlfriend getting up. Though hesitant to wake up, himself, the purple dragon cracked open his eyes to get a look at Cynder’s stunning, sleek form. The dragoness grunted as she stretched like a cat, arching her back as though to show off her flexibility and curves. Her wings, too, extended as far as they could, then flapped a couple of times, blowing some air in Spyro’s face. He smiled, and as a yawn from Cynder set off one of his own, he pictured the view from behind the dark dragon.

And then, in spite of the rest of his body, one part in particular stood tall, ready for action. Cynder turned to look at him, smiling. “Well?” she asked, “you ready to join the waking world with me?”

Spyro grunted. “Can’t the serial savior of the Dragonlands sleep in on occasion? The temple won’t get much dirtier with just another hour...”

“He could,” Cynder conceded, “orrrr, he could remember that he has no chores today, leaving him and his mate ample time to have that picnic they planned.”

“No chores? That’s great!” the purple dragon said, grinning, “that means even more time to sleep! See you in a couple hours, Cyn!” With that, he closed his eyes and laid his head down, then made exaggerated snoring noises that almost covered up the sound of Cynder’s claws clicking against the floor with her approach.

Suddenly, a quick, sharp pain in his tail sent a jolt through his system. Spyro immediately shot to his feet, nearly tripping over himself and his wings in his panic. He swung his head around to look at his tail, where he spotted a smug-looking Cynder holding the tip in her mouth. “Looks like Malefor’s influence hasn’t entirely left, after all these years,” he said, tugging his tail free.

His mate dropped the tail and stepped up against him, ducking under his orange wing. Her body was always a bit cooler than his, which he attributed to his firebreath and her lack of it. Subconsciously, Spyro extended his wing over her, hugging her black scales against his purple. “Then maybe some cute, purple dragon should show me what’s so nice about being on the side of good!” She winked and slipped from his light grip, using the shadow of his own wing to keep it open. A deft swish of her tail hooked their empty picnic basket.

And then started their game. Cynder was easily first to the door, and flicked her tail to the side, wiggling her hips to give Spyro a tantalizing view of the pink slit hidden below. Spyro rose to the challenge, and as he stepped through the door, he affectionately nipped at her horns. A light jolt of electric breath sent a shock down her spine. Cynder gasped and let out a small “eep!” as she stiffened; that was just the reaction the purple dragon needed to know he’d struck home. He dashed through the door before she could get her revenge that easily, and a glance behind him showed his mate hot on his tail. Nonetheless, Spyro was first to the next door. With a smug smirk, he spun around and sat while he tugged the door open, hind legs splayed slightly to show off his member like she’d teased him. Cynder slowed to a trot as she approached, then gave him a quick peck on the muzzle. Wind magic flowed from her jaws, swirling around the male dragon and sending pleasant tingles all over... just enough to make him miss her taking off to the next set of doors.

Back and forth, the dragons raced through the halls, stopping only to flirt with each other; the other occupants, Spyro reasoned, must have either been away or knew to avoid the duo while they were in this mood. Eventually, Cynder burst onto a grassy area, with Spyro soon barreling after her. And although the black dragoness soon slowed, her mate was not so lucky. Spyro shouted a warning, and Cynder turned just in time for him to plow into her side, sending them tumbling through the field.

“Ugh…” Spyro groaned, shaking his head, “did someone get the number of that train?”

“You WERE the train,” Cynder replied, her voice muffled from her position partially under his body.

With some effort, Spyro got up and shook himself, then offered a paw to help Cynder up. “Because I’m an unstoppable powerhouse, right?”

For his help, Cynder gave him a quick lick on his snout. “Oh, I dunno, I think I can freeze you in your tracks easily enough,” she teased, twining her tail around his. Spyro felt himself blush hot as his mate sidled up next to him, her flank against his and her tail twisting further around his. To make matters worse, the dragoness draped her wing over his back and purred low in his ear, “my, it seems I forgot to put food in the basket. It’s just us here, all alone, with no food.”

Spyro wasn’t about to be outdone, however. He nuzzled her neck and gently lapped under her chin and cooed back, “we’re clever dragons. I’m sure we’ll find something to do to occupy ourselves.” With their tails still entwined, he raised his and took hers with it. By the sound of Cynder’s breath coming slower and heavier, and the familiar scent of her arousal reaching his nostrils, Spyro’s play had worked.

“A-and what do you suggest we do, my love?” Cynder tucked her chin down, pinning Spyro’s head between it and her neck; surrounded by her scales, the male dragon smiled and sighed.

“Good question.” He unwound his tail from hers, strutted ahead of her, and laid down on his side. With a confident smile, he shifted his hind legs to show off the pink shaft poking out from his scales. “Maybe take a look around and see if anything catches your interest?”

Cynder’s dark scales tinted ever so slightly red, and her tail whipped behind her. Spyro’s smile became a grin when he saw it stay slightly raised as she approached him. The dragoness set one paw against his chest... and then shoved him. The world spun as Spyro rolled once and landed flat on his back under the shade of a nearby tree. Cynder stalked closer, licking her muzzle; when he tried to get back up, her forepaw was there again to hold him down. A slight weight crept up on his legs and wings, with a gentle coolness to identify it as Cynder’s shadow magic. From experience, Spyro knew he could only break free with his own powers, but he also knew he wouldn’t want to.

“Ah… I love this view,” Cynder said, grinning down at him. Spyro’s heart raced in his chest, the purple dragon unable to stop a hot blush and a broad smile from creeping onto his face. “The purple dragon of prophecy, pinned under me. Forelegs bound nice and snug-” she gently batted at his paws; Spyro tried to take her paw in his, but all he could do was strain against the shadows. “...and, more importantly,” the dragoness continued, turning around, “his hindlegs open. Everything on view, to browse at MY leisure.” The male dragon shuddered as she spoke, eager for her to “browse.”

Still, Spyro managed to push his libido aside to crack a grin. “So this is the plan of the dark Cynder! You won’t get away with this; even if it looks like I’m pinned down, my friends will hear me call for them!” He licked his broad muzzle, and when Cynder ducked her head down to look at him, they shared the same, sly smile.

The black dragoness didn’t respond for a few seconds, and Spyro followed her gaze to stare at her shapely, scaly rear. Her thighs and tail swayed back and forth above his head, dark scales framing the ruby ones between them, themselves drawing his gaze to the wet sliver of pink flesh visible in a slit in her scales. A drop of Cynder’s arousal fell onto his muzzle, and with an idle flick of his tongue, he lapped it up. Too small to taste, but he knew that wouldn’t be a problem for long.

“And how will you call for them, Spyro, when you cannot speak?” This was all the warning he got from his mate before that alluring sight drew swiftly closer, filling his vision with her ruby-red belly scales, and he felt her scales against his lips. The soft, smooth sensation soon gave way to a squishy heat as Cynder shifted her weight and ground her pussy against him while her tail slid against his - recently dulled - horns. Spyro once more poked his tongue out, only this time, it was not a drop of her juices, but enough to coat his tongue and more. It was a familiar, mildly sour taste, at once both sticky and slimy in his mouth, and one which he had grown to love for what it meant.

As his tongue probed deeper, filling his ears with wet smacks and squishes, Cynder added a new sound to the mix, a shaking exhale, audible even though her tail and thighs surrounded Spyro’s head. And when he tilted his head down to get at her clit, swiftly finding the sensitive nub of flesh with his tongue, his mate’s very un-villainous squeak was music to his ears. He swirled around a few times while Cynder kept grinding on his nose, then went back to probing the depths of her pussy, while her warm, slimy juices trickled down his muzzle.

As Spyro continued to explore Cynder’s soft snatch with his probing tongue, he became vaguely aware of her pressing against his belly-scales. A moment later, he was suddenly made MUCH more aware of his mate when a soft, wet sensation wrapped around his hard shaft. The dragoness suckled on his draconic pride, making him moan into her slit; out of habit, Spyro tried to reach up and grab her ass to get even deeper into her. Naturally, however, her shadows held him fast, reducing his efforts to a mere wiggle.

With an audible, wet pop, the heat around his cock vanished, followed by a playful giggle from his mate, one which only grew when the needy male tried to buck his hips up to meet her, only to once again find his body bound by shadowy restraints. “Oh? You want more?” Cynder purred. Spyro grunted in affirmation and nodded his head, rubbing his snout against her drooling slit.

To either side of his head, Spyro saw her powerful, black thighs shift positions, just before the dragoness dropped her hips down hard on his face. He closed his eyes as that soft, hot embrace slid against - no, around - his snout. The heat of her netherlips stopped just before his eyes before retreating. Rather than pulling off of his muzzle, Cynder instead grinded her drooling snatch against him; Spyro could hear her moan even over the wet "slck... slck..." of her inner walls clenching around his snout.

Breathing through the corners of his mouth, Spyro got back to work, exploring his mate’s insides and twisting his head back and forth. Cynder gasped, and this time, she muffled her moan with Spyro’s cock, turning into a low, guttural groan. Her own tongue, warm and slick and oh-so-talented, swirled around the male dragon’s member. With his vision surrounded by scales of ruby and obsidian, his snout held in place by the tight grip of Cynder’s netherlips to dominate his smell and taste, and his ears filled with the repeated squishes of her well-lubricated pussy walls and her needy, desirous moans, Spyro could barely take the sensation of his lover’s maw and tongue wrapped possessively, hungrily, around his rock-hard member. Each time he felt himself tense for his orgasm, however, Cynder drew away, leaving him straining helplessly against her shadows, and his cock twitching, close but not quite to his limit.

After what felt like an eternity of carefully-controlled bliss, the weight against his face increased as Cynder sat back with a cry of ecstasy; Spyro leaned into her, shutting his eyes once again and feeling her soaking-wet pussy walls slip over his face. Her hot, soft snatch took the base of his horns before everything went tight. His lover clenched around him as though she would never let go, forever claiming him for her perpetual pleasure toy. A brief moment - a split second - was all the relief he got before the quick, repeated spasms of Cynder’s orgasm tugged, squeezed, and kneaded at his snout, and although he would’ve loved nothing more than to taste her at that moment, trying would have had him bite his tongue off when the dragoness forced his muzzle tightly shut.

Finally, the weight around his head and snout vanished, and Cynder’s heavy breaths became the loudest sound around him. Still covered in her juices, Spyro didn’t dare try to open his eyes, but could hear her footsteps in the grass nearby... and just like that, he remembered where the two of them were. Well hopefully, he thought, nobody else in the dragon temple had seen them. He tested his limbs again, hoping to wipe her arousal from his face and “repay” her for the intense facefucking; to no avail, however, the cool and light-but-strong grasp of solid shadows still held him fast.

“Oh! I made an absolute mess. Here, let me help with that...” Something soft, warm, and wet pressed against his face - doubtless Cynder’s tongue - but only managed to replace her pussy juices with her saliva. “How’s that, Spyro?”

Unable to tell if she was asking seriously, Spyro decided to answer seriously. “Probably better, but it’s hard to wipe off my eyes with my paws bound.” A moment later, he felt warmth creep into his scales. Or, rather, the slight chill of Cynder’s shadows left him. Immediately, Spyro wiped his eyes clear and blinked them open to stare up at the gorgeous visage of the most lovely dragoness he knew. He grinned at her. “Some picnic, huh? You got a nice mouthful of cock, and I ate my fill of pussy.”

Cynder dipped her muzzle, and the warm touch of her tongue glided up the side of his muzzle a couple of times. “Mm-hm. We should have these picnics more often. I rather like the available meat!” Then, she changed sides, her forked tongue lapping gently at his scaly lips.

Spyro laughed. “Oh, by all means, feel free to have as much of the available meat as you want! Especially with a tongue like that.”

“Believe me, Spyro, I thoroughly intend to.”

Cynder licked just under his chin, then a bit lower, and lower still, working her way, tiny lick by tiny lick, down his lower jaw and neck. Spyro’s heart beat faster in anticipation of the dragoness reaching her destination between his legs, still standing proud and waiting for the much-needed attention. So he raised his head, brow furrowed, when she suddenly stopped mid-chest. However, when she started going back up, inching her way back to the tip of his snout, he set his head back, groaned, and smiled, his paw covering his face.

“Oh, you tease. One of these days, you’re gonna skip this charade and just blow or fuck me, and I’m gonna be too surprised to cum.”

The dragoness’s tongue glided achingly slowly up the underside of his neck and chin, warm drool quickly cooling in the air as she left it. Spyro felt her paw against his chest, where he knew she could feel his heart race from her affections. “Well, you’re in luck, my love,” Cynder said in a low, husky voice, “because I really, REALLY want you inside me. Right now.”

As he stared down his muzzle at her, she playfully nipped at his snout and gently held it closed between her jaws. Spyro’s smile at the cute display soon faded and fell as she continued to watch him with an increasingly smug look on her face.

“Oh no,” was all the purple dragon could make out before Cynder opened her jaws again, wider this time, and treated Spyro to a clear view of the pink inside of her maw, before her head darted forward and swallowed his snout in one go.

He groped blindly at her head and neck, but her paws swept his forelegs back along his body, and another swallow introduced his whole head to the grip of her throat. It wasn’t as tight as her pussy was when she came, but almost as hot, and the pressure didn’t let up. A number of firm points pressed into his neck scales; Spyro’s hide was tough enough to resist her teeth unless she really wanted to hurt him, and, as she tugged his head up and forward to bring him into a sitting position, it was clear that she didn’t.

Nonetheless, the dragon struggled. Twisting left and right to free his forelegs, unfurling his wings, anything to brace against her hot, gentle jaws and stop - heck, even slow - her feast. To his relief, she released his limbs, but before Spyro could push her head back and away, the dragoness wrapped him in a tight hug. Chest to chest, the purple dragon felt her heartbeat and breath against his own, and her warm breath ran down his neck and back, punctuated by a soft, tender grunt. The intimate display relaxed Spyro slightly, just enough for Cynder to stretch her jaws wider still and fit them over his wing-wrists and chest. Inside her snug throat, Spyro’s own neck was similarly made to bend along with it; as the dragoness’s drooling jaws slid down over a purple-and-gold torso, Spyro’s muzzle dipped past her collar, the magical metal expanding to let her prey in.

“Nnf, Cynder, please, I was gonna hang out with Sparx and stuff!” Spyro protested. The constant squeezing made it difficult to open his mouth, let alone speak, but Spyro managed. His mate-turned-predator once again freed him from her scaly grip, but that was little comfort, with his scaly chest now only a large bulge in her usually-slender neck. Again, he tried to move his trapped limbs, but all he got for his troubles was another swallow. His snout squeezed through a tight ring of muscle and into a more open, and somehow hotter, chamber.

Just then, a familiar soft, wet feeling slithered down his underbelly, ahead of Cynder’s jaws. As his head slipped fully into her gut, his other “head” sent spikes of pleasure up his spine when the black dragoness’s tongue curled around his tip. Spyro let his legs and tail go limp as she tenderly swirled the warm, wet muscle around his shaft, and Cynder eagerly took the opportunity to lift him up and tip her head and body back, sticking Spyro’s scaly purple ass towards the sky.

Her tongue ran up and down his needy cock even as the hard length slid into her jaws proper, carefully protected from her teeth. Distracted by this strange variation on a blowjob, Spyro hardly noticed as, bit by bit, he slid deeper, his cock slipping from her tongue to her throat while he helpfully curled his neck and body around to conform to the shape of her gut. Each swallow squeezed his cock between his drool-slicked, scaly underbelly, and Cynder’s soft, wet, squishy throat. Some part of his mind registered the heat of her insides creeping over his legs and tail, or the sensation of her tongue wrapping leisurely around the yellow, cone-shaped tip of the last appendage before it, with the rest of his tail, was finally slurped inside, but Spyro was far more focused on trying to thrust against the throat above his curled-up form.

Finally, his pink tip slipped into Cynder’s stomach, granted a reprieve from the constant stimulation. Spyro pants, catching his breath as his hindlegs and tail tumble in with the rest of him. It’s a tight fit, but Cynder seemed to have no difficulty taking all of him. With some careful wiggling and creative limb placements, the male dragon manages to right himself as well as he can while curled tightly into a ball of scales. “Alright, very nice,” he grumbled, “now let me out. I had plans for later today!”

Her stomach squeezed a bit more firmly against his body. As the pressure moved around, Spyro realized Cynder was rubbing her swollen belly. “Mm, once I’m ready. You feel good in there. But... I’ll give you some kind of release, if you know what I mean.”

“Cynder, c’mon! I know we took awhile here, I’m sure Sparx is gonna be waiting for me!” Cynder’s paws rove over more parts of her gut, and after a few seconds, Spyro splays his hind legs apart as best he can, giving in. “...lower and to the right.”

Aided by her paws, Spyro found her hot, slimy stomach walls pressing against his dick, shifting slightly as she tried to stroke him off through her gut. He braced himself against her stomach, awkwardly squirming against their soft embrace. The two dragons soon worked themselves into a rhythm, Spyro panting in the already hot, humid air in Cynder’s gut as he grinded his twitching, sensitive cock against her insides, and Cynder kneading between his legs, through the layers of muscle, scale, and fat. Deep in her body’s embrace, surrounded by slimy flesh grinding back against him, tension built in Spyro’s body, driving him closer and closer to climax.

With a lustful groan, Spyro gave himself over to pleasure, thick, white cum spurting from his cock, only to immediately land on Cynder’s stomach walls, rubbing against the purple dragon’s scales - not that he could tell, with the dragoness’s heat and slick stomach juices all around him. Spyro breathed hard, recovering from the release, and affectionately rubbed his partner’s belly from within. “Thanks, Cyn...” A few seconds later, he pushed out again, firmer, and reiterated, “but seriously, I was gonna spend time with Sparx today. How long are you keeping me?”

“Oh, I’ll let you out for dinner. And if you really want to spend time with your dragonfly friend, I can always go get him for you.”

Spyro was silent for a few seconds as her words sunk in, then he groaned. “Please don’t. I like your stomach better as the sole occupant.” Cynder’s gut shook with laughter, before starting to slowly sway back and forth as she walked away to spend some alone time with her tasty partner.

#fanfiction #commission #spyro #cynder #dragon #nsft #fanfic #writing #endosoma #safe vore #soft vore #v/ore #v.ore #legend of spyro #shipping #writers on tumblr #text

[monstersandmaw]

Leyil’s Christmas (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Hello! Happy Christmas folks! I hope you’re having wonderful days, whether you’re celebrating or not, and I’d like to offer you a little thank you for being such a fabulous bunch of people.

Content: fluff, a chilly and grumpy merman, and some nsfw Wordcount: 2112

Also check out this stunning artwork by the immensely talented @ilustrariane​ of Leyil

( Part One | Part Two (nsfw) )

___

You heard the distress call way before you realised that it was snowing.  

Bolting out of your door into the late morning light, still wearing your pyjamas (because hello? It’s Christmas Day?!) and a long coat, you rushed to the lake shore to find Leyil lying out on the ice, looking like a landed carp, howling miserably at you.  

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s so cold,” he whined. His claws scratched and scrabbled pathetically on the thick ice as he stretched out towards you, the tiny circle of his breathing hole visible just behind him.  

“You’re lying on your belly on bare ice, of course it’s cold!” you scolded him. “What did you expect? And I thought your kind hibernated for the winter anyway? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” And you’d missed him too, and all his shy but somehow still sassy humour. He’d recovered well, and had nearly fished the little lake dry while he’d been recuperating, but things had calmed down now that he was healthy again.  

“I… I should be hibernating,” he grumbled, rolling over onto his back and whining. “I just… You were talking about Christmas and snow and you seemed so excited about it…”

Your eyes went wide and you sank your hands onto your hips, astonished. “So you waited up for weeks just to see if the hype was worth it? You’re worse than a kid waiting up for Santa.”

He fixed you with his deep green eyes and shrugged. “I suppose. What’s Santa?”

You ignored his question, a plan already forming in your mind. “Well? Was it worth getting frozen on ice like a market-day catch?”  

“Not so far…”

You rolled your eyes. “You want to come in and warm up?”

He blinked slowly, his third eyelid raking horizontally across his weed-green eyes. “You’d be ok with that?”

With a nod, you sighed. “Stay there. I’ll get the wheelbarrow.”  

He’d been in the wheelbarrow a number of times before, exploring your tiny smallholding as you’d showed him the chickens and how to plant artichokes, but the metal of the barrow would be cold against his back so you nipped inside and flung a lurid, red tartan rug over it and then hurried back to where he lay on the thick ice of the pond.  

“Tell me you’re not actually stuck to it,” you said and he shook his head.  

“’M just cold,” he slurred. His skin was pale as the snow on the ground, and his black hair stood out in stark contrast, sticking pathetically to his scalp and his shoulders. It had grown even longer since you’d rescued him that summer, and somehow it made him more attractive to you. His body had filled out a little after the months of starving homelessness he’d suffered since his shoal had been forcibly moved from the lake, but his frame was still birdlike in its delicacy.  

You’d got the hang of hoisting him up by his armpits into the wheelbarrow by now, and it was never elegant but it worked well enough. His siren’s tail was long, but he grabbed hold of the iridescent fluke and hoiked it out of the way while you wheeled him towards the house.  

“I’ll run you a warm bath if you’d like,” you said. “Now that I’ve got the boiler running reliably, I’ve got more hot water than I know what to do with.”

“Really? Hot water?” he asked, practically wiggling out of the barrow in his excitement at the concept.  

“Keep still, you overgrown eel,” you laughed and he dutifully promised to behave.  

Leaning to one side, he trailed his clawed fingers through the six inches of snow, raking four furrows in the perfect whiteness, and he sighed. “I’ve never really seen snow before,” he said dreamily. “Normally we just sleep at the bottom of the lake until the water warms up enough for us to start hunting again…”

“The novelty wears off after a few days,” you muttered. “I’m fed up with scraping it off the truck so I can drive into town. You’re going to have to haul yourself into the house,” you added as you neared the steps. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to push the barrow up the steps.”

“That’s alright,” he smiled before slithering out of the barrow like a fresh catch into a soft bank of snow, which made him yelp, but it had to be warmer than the water and the ice back out on his frozen lake. Using his powerful torso, he dragged himself easily up the steps to your little farmstead and you shoved the front door open for him.  

He’d been inside before, and he immediately made for the sofa, curling himself up on it with a luxuriant sigh. It was only as he lay back and opened his eyes again that he spotted all the decorations. “What… What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the tree covered in baubles and glittering cut-glass decorations.

It took a while, but you explained the concept of decorating the house to celebrate the festivities, also showing him what Santa was, and he gasped when he saw the cut-glass mermaid’s tail you’d bought at the market the week before.  

“Let me see it,” he begged, holding out his long-fingered hands until you brought it over to him. He turned it over and over in his hands, grinning dangerously until he finally asked, “Why do you have this?”

You shrugged, embarrassed. “I thought you’d never come indoors in the winter, so I wanted something that would make me think of you while you were asleep in the lake…” you admitted.  

His pale cheeks flushed, the scales darkening in colour on his shoulders too, and you grinned.  

“You like it?”

“Mmm” he hummed, offering it back to you.  

Feeling brave, you leaned down and as you took it from him gently, you left a kiss on his cold cheek. His hands flashed up and grabbed you, drawing you close until you toppled down onto the sofa with him. It took a bit of adjusting, but finally you lay practically on top of the entire length of his body, and he grinned, nipping playfully at your neck. “It’s still strange to me that you have no gills,” he murmured after he’d raked his dangerously sharp teeth over your skin, following the gesture with a broad lick of his tongue. “And your skin is always so salty…”

“Hey,” you complained, but you realised it was probably true in comparison to his.  

“I like it,” he smiled. “And you’re so warm…”

After a while, however, he started to shuffle. “What’s wrong?” you asked.  

“I’m drying out…”  

His fear of drying out again was completely understandable after having spent so much time begging near the chlorinated fountain in town. “Let me run that bath for you…”

His face did something complicated before he hid it behind a smile. “Thank you,” he said.  

“I asked you here,” you said as you stood and headed towards the little bathroom next door. Your farmer’s hut was a very simple shack really, with an open plan living room and kitchen on the ground floor, and a bathroom at one end, and the staircase that led to the rafters on the second floor, where your low bed sat. And that was it.  

Lying back in the tub a while later, Leyil let out a deep groan of pure joy. “This is wonderful,” he said, humming softly. Your ears began to buzz as his music filled your mind, and you remembered then that he was no ordinary merman, but a siren.  

As if he too recalled that, he suddenly stopped, apologising.  

“It’s ok,” you said as you sat on the floor beside him while his tail flopped out at the other end of the old tub. “I know you’re not going to lure me into a stupor and eat me by now.”

He surprised you again by taking up your hand from where it rested on the edge of the bath, and pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Not everyone is so generous to my kind, you know?”

“I know.” Letting your fingertips play along his glacially pale arm, up to his shoulder, you watched as he shivered and then rolled his head back against the curve of the end of the free-standing bathtub.  

“Leyil,” you breathed. “You’re so beautiful…”

His breath hitched visibly and his chest heaved once. Taking that as an encouragement, you worked your way down his white marble torso, playing lightly over the base of the fins at his hips until he whimpered and gripped the rim of the bath in a white-knuckled grasp.  

“You want me to stop?”

“Never!” he gasped, his face flushing swiftly with embarrassment, right down to his prominent collarbones.  

“Never?” you asked playfully and he groaned.  

“You know what I mean…”

You did. You watched as the slit in his tail began to swell slightly, and as you ran your fingers inside the rim of the opening, you discovered a slickness that had nothing to do with the warm water.  

“Ohhhh,” he sighed, and water sloshed over the side onto the tiles and into your lap as he bucked.  

You didn’t stop.  

In a few minutes, his slit began to pulse beneath your touch, and the tip of his pale blue cock began to emerge. Leyil was gasping and moaning, not holding back the power of his voice, and you began to touch yourself in a matching rhythm.  

“Leyil, look at me,” you hissed as he arched his spine powerfully, fins flaring, neck on show as he tipped his head back again with a loud moan.  

Leyil’s eyes rolled open dazedly and he fixed you with an unfocused look. “What?” he murmured. “Oh spirits, look at you…” he added when he took in the sight of you touching yourself. “Let me sing for you? Let me… please?”

You nodded and his cock slid all the way out, writhing idly in the warm water. It was ridged and slick beneath your fingers, and so hard that every time you slid your hand up to his arrow-head tip, he let out a panting whimper. “Sing for me then,” you murmured.  

His song was like nothing you’d ever heard. Sure, you’d caught snatches of the refrains he sung to himself out in the lake as he hunted or patrolled the edges of the body of water that was now his own, and he’d even sung gently for you that time you’d nearly drowned wading out to apologise to him for some empty words spoken in anger, but he’d never unleashed the full power of his siren’s voice, and never just for you.  

As you worked him harder, your fingers gripping him firmly, working him from base to tip, he called a wild, ululating song, part chorus of moans, part love melody, until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it was going to explode.  

“Leyil, I’m close,” you said, still with your other hand tending to your own body, even as you worked him closer and closer.  

All his fins fanned wide again as his back arched and he yelled. His cock broke through the surface of the water and you came hard at the sight of him, his song filling your head like a summer day. As your concentration was broken, so your attentions on his painfully-hard cock slowed, and he choked something in disappointment, but when you recovered, you found him watching you, his voice silent now but his eyes still speaking volumes.  

With a trembling finger, you ran your touch around the inside of his swollen, slick slit, and he jerked wildly again, more water slopping over the edge of the bath onto the tiles. You repeated the gesture, leaving his cock untouched for the time being, and as he began to tremble, shake, and almost convulse, you wondered if you could make him come from this alone.  

After the fifth time stroking his sheath, you felt it contract and pulse, and he bent forwards, his abs tensing, almost folding himself in half, and he screamed his pleasure so loudly that your ears almost hurt. He covered his chest in his release as he twitched and flailed, voice cracking with the force of his orgasm.  

When he finally slumped back into the half-empty tub, he was spent and exhausted, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and his cheeks flushed pink.  

“Happy Christmas, Leyil,” you smiled when you saw the state he was in.  

“Definitely worth it,” he slurred without opening his eyes. “Happy Christmas…”

___

Don’t forget that I’m doing 12 full length stories - a new one every day between now and 6th January - over on my Patreon, which is the equivalent of a whole year’s worth of stories in just 12 days!! The first one went up today and is a whopping 10k words long!

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[patricianandclerk]

Our Own Eden

"A cottage?” Aziraphale asked softly. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Crowley said, shifting his grip on the wheel and giving Aziraphale a smile. “It’s bought and paid for, I have a catalogue for you to pick out furniture... And you know what, angel? You know what the best part is?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Middle of nowhere. Five miles of disused farmland on all sides.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and then he shifted in his seat, turning to face forward. His cheeks flushed brightly pink, and the car smelt of fresh flowers and new grass. “Oh.”

The problem with being an ethereal being (or an occult one, take your pick) is that one doesn’t really fit in a corporeal body. This manifests in different ways. For angels and demons, they often burst out of the physical bodies they’re allotted by their departments: gold flakes shine from beneath the skin, or scales burst through where flesh should be; creeping, crawling things slip out from ears and nostrils, or you exude such a delightful cloud of fresh lavender that every allergen-sensitive human within half a mile of you bursts out into hives and anaphylaxis. 

For Crowley, a lot of his inhumanity was inhuman - he had a funny, snakey spine, a long tongue, yellow eyes, scaley feet. For Aziraphale... Well, he looked normal. He looked very normal indeed, aggressively normal, actually. It was his presence that was the funny thing. It was probably the garden that had done it - Eden, all that time ago.

The last time Crowley had held his hand, flowers had bloomed in their wake as they’d walked through St James’ Park. When Crowley last kissed him at the Ritz, the vase of three roses on their table had shattered when the pretty blooms laid down their roots and formed a bush. And when Crowley, on a picnic, had suggestively slid his hand over Aziraphale’s thigh...

Well.

He’d had to miracle up a machete to hack their way out of the six-foot tall wheat sheafs that had sprung up on every side of them.

But this time? This time, Crowley was ready. He’d bought the cottage. He’d planted the seeds. He’d set out his greenhouse, and he’d planted the young trees. For the past few weeks, he’d been hard at work, sprinkling wildflower seeds and fruit seeds and vegetable seeds, all around...

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, and he leaned his head against Crowley, letting Crowley wrap his arm around the angel. The lavender-scented air freshener became much more lavender-shaped, and grew two leaves. “You’re going to deflower me.”

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, “I am going to do anything but.”

--

Aziraphale watched, fidgeting, as Crowley laid out a picnic blanket. From the car, then, he set out some thick pillows for Aziraphale to lay back on, some more blankets, in case they got cold, some wine, a picnic basket… He wished he could control it. It would get easier, he supposed, but when Crowley touched him his whole spirit seemed to thrum to meet him, and instead of meeting Crowley, it met— Well, everything else. It was so embarrassing…

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, and he could scarcely help the way his heart swelled, how warm he felt, the anticipation tingling beneath his skin. He wanted, oh, how he wanted. He had wanted Crowley since the Beginning, but this want, this was new, edged with a sharp set of corners, for Crowley to touch him, hold him, devour him… Crowley grinned up at Aziraphale, and then he knelt on the blanket, gesturing for Aziraphale to come forward.

Aziraphale knelt down. He could have—

He could be more involved. He could reach for Crowley’s clothes as much as Crowley was reaching for his, could kiss him, could perhaps even pin Crowley beneath him – his skin thrilled at the thought – but it was… Difficult. He felt nervous. It was— It was always so much easier, when he let Crowley take control, let Crowley be in charge.

Later. There’d be time, later, for Aziraphale to initiate things, for him to drive, but for now—

Crowley kissed him, and Aziraphale sighed into his mouth, his hands trembling before they alighted gently on Crowley’s skinny hips. Crowley’s mouth was warm and soft, his lips smacking quietly against Aziraphale’s own, and then he tilted Aziraphale’s head back and let his tongue slide against Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale yelped. He knew it was happening, knew, but he just couldn’t bear to stop, not when Crowley’s lips yielded so perfectly before his own, drawing Aziraphale closer to him, drawing closer, in turn, to Aziraphale.

“What sort of effort should I— should I make?” Aziraphale asked against Crowley’s mouth as they broke apart, and Crowley chuckled, setting his sunglasses aside.

“Well, what effort do you want to make, angel? Penis? Vagina? Cloaca?”

“What’s a— A what?”

Crowley laughed, and he kissed the side of Aziraphale’s neck: for a few moments, Aziraphale’s mind was a hot, white blank. He heard, at the edge of his focus, the rubbery, shooting sound of a sapling coming out of the ground far faster than it ought.

“Why don’t we try one first, and then the other?” Crowley asked, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, and Aziraphale shuddered.

“What do you have?”

“Right now? A penis. Hand-crafted, sixteenth-century, gothic arches, one owner from new.”

“You’re not funny, Crowley.”

“Aren’t I?” Crowley’s fingers brushed against the side of Aziraphale’s jaw, and Aziraphale looked past him at the grass around them. It was definitely looking… Colourful. Flowers had burst up from the ground in a circle around them, and near them, a young apple tree had sprung up where there’d been no tree before. “Why don’t you start you off with a cunt, Aziraphale? I watch you eat all the time – you can watch me.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale said, and Crowley smiled at him. He radiated such confidence, and yet Aziraphale could feel his heart thumping out a samba beneath his handsome black shirt, and he didn’t miss the way Crowley’s hands trembled as they began to unbutton Aziraphale’s clothes. He was awfully, mercilessly slow about it, gently caressing every line of Aziraphale’s skin as he pushed off his suit jacket, his waistcoat, his blouse, his undershirt, his trousers, his fucking spats…

Aziraphale shivered as Crowley unclothed him entirely, left his clothes neatly folded on a conjured chair beneath the growing shade of the apple tree, and pushed Aziraphale gently onto his back, reclining on all the pillows.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, angel?” Crowley asked, pressing kisses down Aziraphale’s chest. “You know how long I’ve wanted you spread out beneath me? Like a feast…” He bit at Aziraphale’s belly, nipping at the soft skin, and Aziraphale gasped, his legs falling open entirely without meaning to. “Oh, smell that…” Crowley’s pupils dilated quite visibly, thickening until they were almost like discs, and his tongue, forked at its end and most dextrous, slipped out of his mouth and tasted the air. “You know what that is, angel?”

“Mm-mm,” Aziraphale hummed his negative, scarcely trusting his mouth to make proper words, and Crowley’s lips shifted into a dastardly smirk.

“That’s you, angel. Getting wet and dewy for me, aren’t you?”

“Oh— Oh, Crowley—”

“That’sss it, angel,” Crowley hissed, pressing his fingers into Aziraphale’s thighs and grabbing at him, squeezing the flesh there. “Want the big, bad demon to fuck you in the dirt?”

“I want him to make love to me,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “in a meadow of our own making. Our own Eden, Crowley, that’s all I ever wanted—”

“Bless, angel,” Crowley swore, and cupped his cheeks to kiss him again. He was hot between Aziraphale’s legs, and Aziraphale could scarcely bear the hot tingling on his skin, that ran between his thighs like water, the flesh hot and aching. He could feel Crowley between his legs, not coming close enough to brush against him, and oh, oh, Aziraphale felt—

Empty. Not in an obvious way, but he could feel himself open, feel the wetness of his own flesh, feel a place where Crowley could slip in, closer, closer—

Crowley dragged away, kissing and biting down the spread of Aziraphale’s chest, and then he slipped between Aziraphale’s legs and licked him, and Aziraphale’s cry echoed over their garden, making bulbs and seeds burst out of their casements and rush up to brush the sky.

--

Aziraphale tasted a thousand times better than Heaven ever could, and Crowley wound his arms around the angel’s thighs, putting himself to his task with enthusiasm and noise. He swept his tongue sloppily either side of Aziraphale’s outer lips, feeling the pink flesh twitch and jump under his mouth, and Aziraphale was making so much noise that he thrilled – and this was just the start! He hadn’t even started properly yet, and Aziraphale was gasping, choking…

Crowley closed his mouth around Aziraphale’s clit and sucked, delighting in the way the angel arched right off the blanket, and he inhaled, took in the scent of Aziraphale (ozone and wing oil and fresh tea and books and want and velvet and clotted cream) and the scent of the garden around them (lavender and bedelias and lilies and poppies and daisies and new grass and new everything) mingling together.

“Good effort, angel,” Crowley said, putting his hands either side and playing gently over the outer parts of him, massaging either side of his cunt and feeling him, watching the way a little attention on his outer lips made his inner ones twitch and jump. Aziraphale was dusted with white-blond hair here, too, neatly trimmed.

Crowley squeezed, just slightly, and he watched Aziraphale sigh, his head tipping back.

“Oh,” he said blissfully, slurring his words just slightly, “your tongue, Crowley…”

“My tongue?” Crowley asked, playing his wet thumb over Aziraphale’s clit and watching it jump, watching his muscles clench around bare air. “What about it, sweetheart?”

“I should like to sample more of it,” Aziraphale mumbled. “If you please.”

“Oh, and I do please, angel,” Crowley said, and dipped his head down again, pressing sloppy kisses around Aziraphale’s cunt, delighting in the way his thighs twitched and spasmed, spreading even further apart, and then Crowley slid his tongue in.

The apple tree beside them shot upward, throwing out its branches, and Crowley could feel the sharp, sudden movement of plants growing at maddening paces on every side, could feel the ground shifting and quaking beneath them as it was disturbed by sprawling roots, and he closed his eyes, fucking Aziraphale with his tongue.

He took it slowly.

No harm in drawing it out a bit – not teasing, not being too cruel to his angel, not bringing him to the edge and then grabbing him back, but just letting him inch closer, little by little… It was wonderful, seeing the tension coiling in Aziraphale’s thighs, seeing them get tenser and tenser, feeing him coil up so tight, and this cunt—

“Might not let you have a cock, angel,” Crowley murmured, pressing his face right up against Aziraphale and not caring of the wetness on his chin, on his cheeks. “This is just too perfect.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said urgently, and one of his hands, which had been tightened in the blanket, came to grab at his hair instead. “Oh, Crowley, please, I do— What’s it like?”

“What’s it like?” Crowley asked, and interrupted himself to suck Aziraphale’s clit again, sliding two fingers into him and pressing down just a little bit, just to give him a taste of what it would feel like, when Crowley slid inside him. And Crowley… He was excited. He’d tried sex, a little, right at the Beginning, with other demons down in the Pit, but he’d never really kept up with it, never been interested like they were, and this was Aziraphale, this was him— “Mmm, it’s like— It’s like you’re a bowstring, angel, drawn tighter and tighter, and when you get to the edge, it’s like the bowstring’s let loose.”

Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley suckled at him messily, laving his tongue around Aziraphale’s clit and feeling the tension build up on the air, felt Aziraphale’s want fill the atmosphere with desperate tension. He was hot now, too, and he was hard in his trousers, hard, and desperate, but he wanted to see Aziraphale come first, just once—

There were flowers on every side, now, every flower under the sun, and more than that were the plants: thousands of bulbs had given way to bushes and shrubs, roots and tubers, hedges, vines, and the trees…

Crowley sucked, crooking his fingers up, and the noise Aziraphale made—

It was ecstasy, just hearing it, a choked up, hoarse moan that came from low in Aziraphale’s throat and echoed over the fields they were slap-bang in the middle of. Crowley heard a smash as one of the panes in his greenhouse shattered, an olive tree forcing its way up through the glass, and the earth shook, flowers blooming and shooting up on every side.

He could barely hold himself back, letting Aziraphale ride it through, sobbing, gasping in his wonderful, wonderful noises as Crowley mouthed at his clit; Crowley was unbuttoning his trousers even as he took him through it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, breathless, “oh, Crowley—”

“I need to,” Crowley moaned against his thigh, “I need to, angel, can I, can I…?”

“Please—”

Crowley scrambled on top of Aziraphale, feeling the way Aziraphale grabbed clumsily at him, his fingers weak, his body loose and easy, lining himself up and sliding in. Aziraphale was hot and wet on every side, and as Crowley choked out a desperate, yowling moan against Aziraphale’s neck, smearing the skin with the wetness still lingering to his chin, the heavens opened, and the skies thundered as water poured down in steel sheets.

--

“Oh,” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley thrust within him, wrapping his arms around the demon to pull him closer, and he felt the air grow a little cooler as rain came down heavy and hard, but they were under a natural umbrella, now: the apple tree had sprawled into a great canopy over their heads, its boughs thick and heavy, as if it had been there a hundred years already. “Oh, Crow— Crowley, that storm— it isn’t m— me, oh—”

“No, angel, sss’me, can’t help it, you’re so perfect,” Crowley all but growled, dragging his teeth down the side of Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale sobbed out a noise, wrapping his legs more tightly around Crowley’s, trying to pull him in closer. “Feel good? Not hurting you?”

“It’s splendid,” Aziraphale assured him, and unheeding of the mess, pulled Crowley to kiss him again, tasting himself on Crowley’s infernal tongue. It was exquisite, too, the sensation of him: Crowley’s prick within him, the hot pulse of him, so hot and flush, a wonderful filling…

And when Crowley came, the hot spatter of it, the way his whole body drew up so deliciously tightly—

They were both breathing heavily, although strictly, they didn’t need to.

“You want me to get you off again?” Crowley asked, and the way he was lying on Aziraphale’s body, sprawled over him, so relaxed— It was quite nice. Heavy, but warm, like a weighted blanket.

“I think— I think one was alright for now,” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling the burn of his skin all over, so pink and flush as he was, and Crowley pulled back. The sensation when he slipped out was— Well, frankly, rather odd, and he certainly felt the loss of him.

“Well, look upon your work, Aziraphale,” Crowley said smugly, kneeling between Aziraphale’s legs and absently massaging Aziraphale’s trembling thighs. “Do you see that it is good?”

“I hardly think there’s any call for that sort of irony,” Aziraphale muttered, but he let Crowley pull him to sit up, looking out over the sprawling garden. When they’d started, it had been flat, green plains on all sides, but for the hedgerows, and now…

The grass was a few feet high in patches, and all manner of flowers bloomed in a technicolour carpet of wondrous petals; an orchard had sprung up, too, and Aziraphale saw that the trees were weighted down with oranges, lemons, pomegranates, pears, currants, figs… Bushes, too, with blackberries and blueberries, with gooseberries, and oh, pineapples, and then, more than that, were the vines and crawling plants… Crowley’s poor greenhouse had lost a few panes to an olive tree that was most unusually tall, and the cottage, which had been painted in a neat white-wash, was now covered over in green ivy and pink rambling roses.

Above them, its leaves still dripping with the rain that had stopped as suddenly as it had started, was the apple tree, and just above them, red as rubies and hanging tantalisingly close to where they lay down together, was an apple.

Crowley reached up, lazily, and it dropped into its waiting palm.

Aziraphale looked down at it, seeing the way it shone in the summer light, its crisp, burnished skin, and he could smell it, too, perfectly ripe…

“Our own Eden, you said,” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale looked at him, at his yellow eyes, his smirking lips. “Want a bite?”

“Tempter,” Aziraphale murmured, still feeling dazed and bleary. “Yes, please.”

And Crowley gave it to him.

---

Very much inspired by Lie Back And Think Of Dinner by jessthereckless!

 My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

#as defined by dictionary #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #fanfic

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sparks Fly (12/12)

A/N: This is THE FINAL CHAPTER. So there’s some smut and an epic battle. Because reasons. Also some fluff and a little angst. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!

Thor watches in fascination as you run TOWARDS the giant garnet scaled dragon with blazing red eyes. “Matari! You’re back!” you cry. The Dragon lowers themselves onto their belly and puts her snout on the ground so you can kiss her hello. “Greetings, little one,” she says, laughing. Her voice is surprisingly quiet, like wind sighing through the trees. You wipe away tears and the Dragon shifts over gently so you can take a seat on one of her clawed feet. “You look like Talona,” she says sadly, “I was sorry to hear of her death. And even sorrier that I was not here to prevent it.” You pat her jaw softly and shake your head, “Madoc only would have tried again. And Again. And Again. He still hasn’t given up. He means to declare war, I think.” Matari nods, “Indeed, my queen. I think you are correct. 

The Dragon looks towards the stone sentries you are constructing and then towards your husband and the Asgardians that are looking on in mixed fear and fascination. “You have found worthy Allies, it seems. But, I would be remiss in my duties to the realm if I did not also pledge my support. She nuzzles you, remembering you as much smaller with a much flatter belly. “Hear me,” she said to the crowd, “I am Matari. The Guardian of The Golden Glen. A keeper if the Secret Knowledge. I pledge my support to the House of Story and Song and to the Kingdom of New Asgard.

For now until the end of my days.” A cheer goes up from the Fey, and to you, Matari says, “If you call, I will come. I will not allow a Bright Court to fall to the Night.” You stand, getting to your feet carefully, the growing swell of your belly, making it complicated. “Thank you, Matari,” you say, “I’m glad to see you, old friend.” The Dragon’s eyes lighten, and she nuzzles your belly, “I’ll be back soon for a Royal birth, I see.” You smile and take your husband’s hand, nodding. “Be well, little one,” she says as you kiss her snout again. Matari stands and stretches her massive wings, black and leathery like a bat’s, before shooting into the air. Thor puts an arm around you and kisses your hair, “A dragon?” You smile up at him, “She was my tutor when I was small. She taught me to read and taught me languages.” 

The god laughs and lays a hand on your belly, getting more round by the day, “I was afraid you were about to be her snack.” You shake your head, “The only creatures that have anything to fear from Matari are livestock. And Madoc.” Thor takes your arm and turns back towards Loki and the other advisors. Loki looks relieved when you switch. He had genuinely thought that you were about to be eaten for a moment and the heir to the throne with you. He desperately did not want to actually be king. He’d done it once, and it hadn’t suited. Thor knew that seeing Matari had soothed you a little. Some of the tension had left your shoulders, “Sweetheart,” he said gently, “You need to get off your feet for a little while.” You sigh, “But the sentries...” you start. Thor kisses you quiet and rubs your belly. “No buts,” he said, “You were supposed to have been off your feet a full hour ago. Your workmen are doing fine.” You start to keep protesting, worried frustrated tears about to fall, “Please?” he said softly, “I’ll be right up. We’ll have dinner, and you can play for me.” Thor can’t bear to see you cry. He hates it.  Loki coughs, slightly uncomfortable and says, “Y/N, we’ll call you the minute we need you. Really. But everything is fine. This is a solid design. For both Asgard and Here.” Thor gives Loki a grateful look over your head, and they all let out a breath they didn’t know they held when you nod. “Very well,” you say softly. It’s a tone that doesn’t make any of them believe you’re happy about this but as you go up to your private rooms Thor sighs. 

“We need to get this resolved as soon as possible,” he said quietly, “I don’t want the Queen worrying about being attacked while she’s in labor.” Kamesh nods and Loki watches you go, “I’ll oversee her sentries for the moment,” he said, “I’ll make sure the plans get followed to her instruction.” Thor nods, “Thank you, brother,” he said. He knew that in his own way, Loki cared for you. He was frequently irritated at you. Annoyed with your insistence on being involved in everything. But he respected you. Thor oversaw the troops and made his own arrangements before stopping by the kitchen to ask that they make sure to put peaches on the dinner tray. And dark chocolate. The two things you had the worst cravings for at the moment. By the time he got to the bedroom, you were in the bath, luxuriating or sulking he couldn’t tell. You were reading, trying to distract your mind, but he could see that it wasn’t working. “Want some company?” Thor asked softly. You look up at him, smiling despite the worry in your eyes, “Only if you have time for me,” you say. Your husband starts undressing and smiles a little, “For you, my love? Always.” He removes his undergarments and steps into the water, sitting on his knees in front of you and rubbing your belly as he kissed your breasts. You sigh softly and close your eyes, “Oh,” you say, “That... Inspecting your handiwork?” Thor chuckles and the baby moves under his hands, “You’re even bigger than I thought you’d be,” he teases, “I think next time we’ll try for twins.” You wince a little at the thought. You feel heavy and sluggish now, and you’re not even due for 7 weeks. You can’t imagine what twins would be like. The god of thunder and fertility is enjoying himself as he applies soaps and oils to your skin, tracing stretchmarks with gentle fingers. He loves this, seeing you full of his heir, feeling the baby turn and kick as he lavishes attention on you. Most importantly, you’re distracted. You’re too busy wanting him to make love to you to be worried about Madoc. 

When Thor does slip a finger into your folds, you moan softly, parting your legs a little more and leaning back a little to get your belly out of his way. He smiles, “What’s this, sweetheart?” he teases, “Already full of my baby, and you want more?” He finger fucks you in earnest then, putting three fingers inside you and toying with your clit until your pleasure makes you cry out and cling to him. Thor kisses your neck and kneads your breasts gently as he brings you down. They’re fuller too, your whole body is delectable to him. “Please,” you ask softly, “Make love to me?” The god preens a little on the inside. He’s so proud of you, asking for what you need. He kisses you, hungrily, and you wrap your hand around his throbbing prick, “I need you,” you insist. “Do you?” he asks softly, “Well, my queen. Far be it from me to deny you.” He helps you out of the bath and dries your skin, taking the time to rub oil into it, mostly as an excuse to tease you some more. Prolong your arousal so he could give you more pleasure. And then he lets you tend to him, allowing you cuddle his belly and cautiously tease his prick. You’re getting more confident, and that pleases him on its own. You’re the perfect storm of everything he finds attractive in a woman, and so, when he takes you to bed, it’s always exactly what he needs.

He positions you on all fours because that’s been most comfortable for you. It’s not his favorite position with you, but your comfort and safety are his first concern. Riding him tires you out and being on your back makes it hard to breathe. Being on your side is fine, but he wants to fuck the worries out of you, not put you to sleep just yet. Thor swats your backside and licks some of your juices off your dripping lips tenderly, “Look at you,” he tuts, “I’ve been neglecting you, my queen. You’re in desperate need of pleasure.” All you can do is moan as he uses his tongue on you, holding your hips steady as he brings you to another couple gentle orgasms and then nips your fuller backside, making you yelp in surprise and then giggle. Your giggle turns into a moan as he slides home, “Yes,” you say softly, trembling, “Don’t- Don’t stop.” Thor laughs as thunder cracks in the distance, “I haven’t even begun yet, sweetheart.” But he obliges you, fucking into you and teasing your clit until you shudder around him. He’s single-minded. He’s going to fuck you into a mess of satiated, panting pleasure and make you forget about anything for a little while. When he’s reduced you to speaking in fey that he doesn’t understand instead of a Language he does understand, he lets himself spend inside you, resting his head on your back and letting his hands roam over your belly. You’re out of breath and sweaty when you cuddle into him, pleasantly tired out. Thor applies himself to fussing over you, kissing your stomach and rubbing your sore feet until you’re half asleep. He takes his duties seriously, he insists when you ask him why he’s always so sweet to you. “You’re growing a baby,” he insists, “My baby. You’re my queen.

And most importantly, I love you. It’s my job to pamper you and protect you. And I enjoy every second of it.” 

He helps you into a robe tenderly and walks with you to the dinner table, helping you settle comfortably in a chair. He’s gotten in the habit of making your plates for you before making his own. Perhaps as just one extra thing he enjoys doing though he insists that it’s to make sure you eat enough for both you and the baby. He also likes to make sure you eat whatever it is you have cravings for, and you find dark chocolate all over the place. Thor swears that in a few days you ate more chocolate than most people eat in a year. You only shrug and pat his belly fondly, reminding him that the little one probably gets their sweet tooth from him. 

That night as he tucks you in beside him and helps you arrange yourself comfortably on your side, he’s happy. You’re relaxed and well fed and sleepy. The little one is moving, getting stronger and for a moment as he listens to your breathing, listening to you drift off to sleep, everything is right. The next weeks are quiet as your time edges closer. Thor is fiercely protective of you. He won’t let you venture much farther than the stables before he sends someone, probably a midwife or healer scurrying after you to check on you. 

Loki is mildly amused, but mostly he feels irritated on your behalf. Thor seems to have forgotten that his queen has a vibranium core. The trickster watches you say several silent prayers for patience one day before finally saying something when you turn away to go to the library and hide the frustrated tears that are about to fall, knowing that if you cry Thor is only going to feel bad and be angry at himself for upsetting you. “Thor,” Loki said quietly, watching you waddle away, “Let the poor woman do things,” he said. Thor opened his mouth to protest, and Loki held up a finger. They were alone, so he didn’t have to stand on ceremony, “You have a capable Queen,” he said, “She isn’t made of glass.” He sighed, “Yes, I know. She’s due almost any time. I know. You like to take care of her. And I KNOW you’re anxious about her labor. But she isn’t a pretty piece of furniture. She’s got more than common sense and birthing hips. She doesn’t need you to wrap her in cotton wool and order her to take naps. She isn’t a child.” Thor winced but nodded, “You’re right, it’s just... She’s so tiny.” He doesn’t say more. Anything else would be unnecessarily candid. But he does let you ride into the field a ways on Declan’s back. Slowly. And only with an attendant. Any attendant it didn’t matter who as long as you had someone with you in case you needed help.

Thor is a wreck for an entire mission when he’s called away. He can’t bear to leave you, but he goes for fear of what might happen to Midgard if he doesn’t. He leaves strict instructions that you’re to be protected, and when he kisses you goodbye, it takes all your will power to hold back tears. You know if he sees you cry he won’t go. Loki, not usually physically affectionate, pulls you against his side and holds you firmly. You’re not sure if it’s to keep you in place or comfort you, but he does offer you a handkerchief and a smile, “It’ll all be fine,” he says, “Thor’s not going to let anything stand between him and being here for the birth.” You nod and let Valkyrie help you up to the steps to the Throne room. You had business to see to. With Thor gone, both Kingdoms were in your charge now. It goes this way for two weeks, working with advisors, hearing complaints, attending council meetings. 

One particular council meeting is what Loki and Brunhilde will later swear to Thor was one of the most excellent pieces of Queenship they had ever seen. It drags on, everyone is arguing. You’re obviously tired and uncomfortable, but your judgment is clear and sound. Aside from a couple pained looks that Valkyrie catches and just assumes is the little one kicking your ribs, nothing is amiss. It isn’t until after the rest of the council has left and it’s only your closest advisors that you calmly ask for a midwife and some assistance getting to bed, “I think,” you say with a wince, “That the little one is getting impatient waiting for Thor to come home.” There’s a flurry of activity. It’s been a long time since a royal birth. Matari is summoned to help guard the castle in case of attack, and you give strict instructions that whatever battle Thor is fighting, he’s not to be told anything until it’s over. You won’t have him hurt because he’s distracted. 

When Thor does half stagger off the field, bloody and tired, a messenger is waiting, “Your Majesty!” the little sprite said, “The queen bids me to tell you that The princess is healthy and all is well in the kingdoms of New Asgard and Story and Song.” Thor hardly hears the words and doesn’t even answer the questions being fired at him before racing home. When he bursts through the doors amidst cheers and bells, Loki rushes forward Thor grabs him, worry all over his face, “They’re fine. They’re both fine. Healthy and Safe.” he said. That’s all the king needs to know. He bolts up the steps pausing outside the door, worried you might be angry with him. He can hear you inside, your musical voice telling the newborn in your arms all about her father. You tell her that he’s brave and handsome, and kind. That he’s a great king and a good man. That he loves her and he can’t wait to meet her, he’s just a little busy right now. The giant man almost cries at the door when he hears the mewling little noises his daughter makes in response. He opens the door, treading as lightly as he can. You’re in bed, tired and still pale but smiling at the small bundle in your arms. Thor can hardly breathe. He moves forward, and you smile at him, “You’re home,” you say, “Come say hello... I tried to wait, but someone was a little impatient.” Thor smiles, tears flowing down his cheeks, “Let me bathe first. I’m dirty, and I smell of death.” You nod, and the big man goes to the bathroom, bathing as quickly as he can before coming to hold his first born. 

When she wraps her tiny fingers around his, he knows instantly that this child is going to be spoiled and he’s going to do the lion’s share of the spoiling. He cries and holds you both to him, overwhelmed by his joy and by the guilt that he wasn’t by your side.

_______________________

When Madoc declares War, you’re all prepared. Two months after the birth of your daughter, Frigga and the day after the birth, you carried her with you in your arms as you oversaw preparations. Thor had pleaded with you to rest. To heal. But the message Madoc had sent after the birth was clear. War was coming whether you were ready or not, and you would NOT allow him to take your home. To hurt your child. Or to subjugate your people again. 

As his forces poured over the plains you watched from the ramparts, Frigga fussing in your arms. Your tension had upset her, and you readjusted her in her sling, cuddling her to try and soothe her. Thor found you there, tilting your chin up and kissing you softly, “I’ve spoken with Matari,” he said, “She thinks this day will go in our favor.” You look up at him, “Let me go with you.” Thor shakes his head, “Y/N, you’re not a warrior. You’re a queen. Frigga needs you, and I need to know you’re here and protected.” You don’t protest you lean into the kiss he gives you and brush hair out of his eyes before he leans forward to kiss his daughter on the head and let his fingers brush against what would one day be a mane of dark auburn curls like yours.

Matari was wrong. Madoc had mercenaries and more mercenaries. They poured into the city. You cuddled Frigga as you activated your Sentries, letting their massive stone bodies crush as many of Madocs troops as you could. You could hear The screams and cries but Frigga, cuddled at your breast was silent. Blessedly asleep with her belly full. You came to the steps, staff in your hand, eyes glowing molten gold as you Stared down at Madoc who had thus far evaded capture. Lines on the floor shimmered as you called for the power of your staff and the emerald glowed brighter. Thor watched from a distance As Declan flung you onto his back, becoming a snarling white wolf as he ran forward. He heard you howl, actually howl, calling the spirits of your ancestors forth as wolves. Madoc quailed but snarled. He clearly meant to fight you though you had a child in your arms and wore no armor. Declan side you, your progress forward was steady. An unstoppable force, inevitably moving forward. Spectral wolves decimated any of Madoc’s forces which drew too close, tearing into their flesh through their armor. Your staff shot bolts of magical energy that left visible marks on your attacker, chipping away at his armor and weapons. The chaos of the battle slowed, and you found yourself with an audience. Thor paused, terrified, and ready to spring forward to snatch you out of danger if only he could get to you. 

But Madoc was shrinking away from you as you moved forward. There was fear on the man’s face. The king of Fears was afraid. He stumbled backward, and you raised your staff, “Hear me now!” you said, not just your voice but many coming out of your mouth filling the air in a roar. “This battle is done. I will not have more blood spilled this day.” You turned to the cowering Madoc with a wicked smile, “Not even yours,” you say, “The King of Fears is a coward. He preys on scared little girls and insecure men. He is a coward, he is a traitor, and his life is not mine to take. For his crimes, he will be sent to the Enchanter, his father. There he will stand trial.” The Enchanter slid from Matari’s back, and everyone dropped to their knees, even you. He was old and powerful, but he still had the face of a young man with thick black hair and your golden eyes.

"I have been asleep too long it seems,” he said, his lilting voice filling the air. He raised you up gently, “I have grandchildren I have never met.” He kisses your cheek and touches your daughter’s head tenderly before turning to Madoc, “My son,” he said, “You have always been a brat.” He hauled Madoc up by the Scruff of his neck and threw him onto a horse. The Enchanter looked to you and smiled, “Have you any recommendations?” You smile, “I only ask, Grandfather that you show him the same kindness he showed me.” The Enchanter barked a laugh, and before it had even faded from the air, both of them were gone, and Madoc’s army had disappeared.

Thor surged forward and pulled you against him, kissing you fiercely and wiping away your tears, “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he scolded, “I thought you were going to be killed.” You look up at him, defiant and smile, “just as long as you don’t leave me behind.” Frigga who had slept through all of that cried her agreement, and Thor’s booming laugh brought cheers, “It seems,” he said, kissing you again, That I am outnumbered, My queen. Do you forgive me of my oversight?” You smile, “It seems, your majesty that I don’t have much choice.”

Tags: @lancsnerd @amalthea9 @golddaggers @sweetkenzo @innerpaperexpertcloud

[quietzap]

Something x

Hey Marie, 

Happy Birthday!!!   There was a reason for my questions earlier.   Here’s a little birthday story for you.  Hope you like it.

I’m submitting it to you rather than posting it on my own blog so you can keep it just for you if you like.  Don’t feel you have to post it at all unless you really want to.  

And again, happy birthday! xxxxx

**

There are few things more quintessentially British than sunshine, a cricket pitch in a village in the country with trees scattered around it and families having picnics.

Okay thinks Zayn, add in a chippie, a whole heap of rain and dog shit or chewing gum that you step in wearing newly bought shoes the minute you’re off out for a classy night out.  

Zayn prefers this version though.  Here all relaxed, in a pair of comfy shorts and an old t-shirt and sunglasses with sandals he’s had for years.

The scene in front of him right now as he walks away from the ice cream van and licks at the vanilla ice cream escaping down the cone on both 99′s he’s holding.

It’s a glorious day in the middle of a village that doesn’t care about celebrity.  Just cares about the 13 men on the pitch right now. 

Where he and Liam can be among family and outside and not worry and just be the family they are. 

“Oi you, stop hogging all me ice cream.”  

Liam’s in front of him, lips curved downwards in a frown but the moment Zayn looks at his eyes which are well, not to be cliche, twinkling with mischief he holds up Liam’s 99 above his shoulders.  

He’s not prepared for the fingertips that tickle his right side briefly and as if in slow motion, Liam’s ice cream starts falling and Zayn’s thinking ‘what a waste’ when Liam catches it just before it hits the floor.

Liam straightens, smile wide on his face. 

“You should be on that pitch son with skills like that,”  Geoff calls from where he and Karen are sat on a massive blue and yellow checked blanket.  

“He’s right you know, Li.” 

Liam licks at a bit of ice cream before nibbling at a bit of chocolate flake and then raises his eyebrows at Zayn.

“And miss out on hi-jinks over ice cream with Mr Fumble fingers over here?”

“Cheeky sod, I was decent at cricket when I was a lad,”  Zayn responds, fingertips reaching for Liam’s side to tickle him as he’d just been tickled by Liam.

The boxer in Liam comes out though as he expertly dodges and weaves and still manages to take another bite of the flake while Zayn’s hand holding his own ice cream wobbles. 

“Ah, you’re right definitely not Mr. Fumble Fingers, more like Lord Fumble Fingers,” Liam teases and you’d think after almost 10 years of knowing Liam, Zayn would have been able to master the faux-annoyed glare for longer than ten seconds.

Instead, though the rogue noise that bubbles up and turns into a giggle betrays him and after a lick of his ice cream and with his fingers reaching out for the back of Liam’s shorts and a moment where he pulls Liam in closer, he grumbles.

“You’re an idiot.”

It’s momentary, Liam’s lips barely touch Zayn’s neck but that’s okay, it still does something to Zayn after all these years.

“Yeah, and so are you Fumbles,”  murmurs Liam with a smile that’s bright and a tenderness that says so much more than the words he just said.  

“You two stay decent, if you carry on like this the batsman won’t get his 50 if he ends up retiring hurt cause you two are being your soppy selves again.”

Karen’s laugh is contagious but she manages to gather herself enough to chide Geoff. 

“Leave ‘em Geoff,  now you two come over here and eat some of this food rather than just these ice creams and we can all relax.”

So they do.  

As the day goes on, several more families gather to watch the cricket.  Some with dogs on leads and others with their own bats and balls.

The sound of the cricket ball hitting the bat as the batsmen sweep the ball away to the boundary over and over again is a comforting soothing sound alongside Liam, Geoff and Karen’s conversation about things that are so normal and domestic, it’s wonderful. 

As Zayn lies on the blanket, head resting on Liam’s lap while Liam’s fingertips play gently with Zayn’s hair, he’s relaxed to the point that he’s almost asleep.

Till a small voice cries out ‘Uncle Weeyum’ and moments later, a small body collides with Zayn’s and does what’s pretty much a belly flop onto his stomach and legs.

“Ooof,” Zayn lets out a breath as he hears a ‘Get off Uncle Zayn, you silly sausage, sorry Zayn,” followed by a cheerful ‘Hiya’ from Ruth to everyone. 

Four-year-old Ashton raises his head then, a flush of pink on his cheeks from running to them from the car Zayn guesses, and a grin on his face.  

“’iya Uncle Zan,” he yells cause four-year-old Ashton is all about testing how loud his voice can be and how far his voice can carry. 

Zayn sits up then, as Liam stands up to hug his sister and brother-in-law, and holds his arms open to his nephew.

“Bring it in Ash mate, come on,”  he doesn’t need to ask twice as Ashton stands up and throws himself into the hug.  

“We were meant to be going to that birthday party today,”  Ruth’s explaining, “But the little ‘un went down with chicken pox the other day so they’ve postponed it for now and we thought what a lovely day for his first cricket match.”

Everyone choruses a welcome and then Ashton pulls away from the hug, turns around a little bit and peers up at Liam, his hand reaching out to pat his legs.

“Uncle Weeyum,”  he says, his voice quieter, a little bit lost now almost then when he doesn’t get a response, he pats harder, repeats his version of Liam’s name and this time his voice trembles a bit, perilously close to tears just like a four-year-old can switch in their emotions from one second to the next.

“Uncle Weeyum,”  Zayn says too to get Liam’s attention as he crouches next to Ashton, a hand steadying his nephew’s lower back as Ashton wobbles a bit where he stands. 

Liam glances down at Zayn’s voice, “Don’t you start with that Zan,”  then to Ashton, “Mate, I’m sorry, I was talking to mummy so I didn’t hear you,” then he’s reaching down to lift up Ashton and as he does, he high-fives him which makes Ashton giggle and it’s all too far endearing as Liam straightens then with Ashton in his arms and points towards the cricket field.

“See what those people are doing?  They’re playing cricket, love. One day you can play cricket.”

Ashton watches transfixed as Liam talks quietly to him.   

For his part, Zayn watches transfixed too. Ashton’s definitely a mini version of his own parents, but sometimes even now as he grows up, with his chubby cheeks he’s like so many of the pictures of his Uncle Liam.

And there’s something that gets Zayn about Liam holding children. Whether it’s Brooklyn or Ashton or Beau, seeing Liam with a little person, it melts him.  The tattoos on his arms, the way each child is fascinated by them, just like they are with Zayn’s.

The way Liam talks so softly, the way they hang on his every word. 

There’s also the promise of a future they’re not quite ready to rush into just yet.  They settle right now for being the best uncles and ‘faux’ uncles to all the other kids they know. 

After a while, it settles down and Ashton’s wanderlust means he gets bored by the cricket, and instead he clambers all over his parents, his uncles, and his Nan and grandad. 

Eats cucumbers and strawberries and eventually falls asleep on his granddad’s lap while being told all about the rules of cricket.

“Dad, he’s four, he’s not going to be absorbing it all yet unless you tell him that if he plays cricket, he’ll meet Sponge bob who’ll present him with a bowlful of jelly and ice cream if he manages to hit the ball.” Ruth says.

“She’s right, love,” agrees Karen as she leans over and puts the sunhat on Ashton’s head and covers his legs with a blanket as the summer breeze gets stronger. 

There’s a distinct smell in the air of the cricket tea being prepared from the small pavilion and the smell of suntan lotion too all around them.

There’s laughter and conversation not just for Zayn, Liam, his in-laws and the Gibbins’ but from the other spectators and just this warm feeling of being around family. 

Of just being a normal person who no one cares who Zayn is or Liam and no one expects anything from them. 

At one point Tom goes and fetches the tricycle Ashton’s recently mastered from the car. 

Eventually, the batting team is all out and forty minutes later just after 3pm and having no doubt consumed tons of freshly prepared sandwiches and cakes which Karen had done her best to replicate on a smaller scale, it’s their turn to field and Ashton wakes up at the rumble of applause from around the boundary as they and the two batsmen walk out. 

He wipes at his eyes and face and the hat falls off his head as he sits up and looks around him then his mouth opens to the shape of an O as he stares past his family and Zayn looks to where he’s staring.

There’s a family not far from the ice cream van with a mini wicket a few feet from each other, and brightly coloured bats and balls that their children, one who’s about Ashton’s age and the other a couple of years older Zayn reckons who every so often play a bit of cricket themselves. 

Zayn leans over to Ashton, pats one of his knees.

“’Ey love, you wanna go on your tricycle and go and watch them play a bit closer, we’ll get you an ice cream too if mummy and daddy don’t mind too?”

“Fine by us,” smiles Tom as Ruth nods alongside him.  

“And Uncle Weeyum?”

Liam’s already standing up and placing the tricycle with the helmet hanging off the handlebars close to Geoff and Ashton on the ground as Karen reaches over and takes the sunhat off Ashton’s head.

“Especially Uncle Weeyum mate,”  Liam confirms with a grin and then gestures Ashton to come over. 

“OK!”  Ashton exclaims happily and clambers over his granddad’s legs to where Liam’s stood with the tricycle. 

A bright green tricycle with a bell on it which Ashton climbs onto confidently as Liam leans down and places the bright red helmet on his head and fastens it in place under his chin. 

“Off you-.”

Liam doesn’t get chance to finish his sentence before Ashton’s pedalling away confidently from them. 

“GO! Ashton, wait for us mate.”  Liam starts running after his nephew and Zayn follows suit as the laughter from their family still sitting on the blanket travels with them. 

Ashton starts to slow as he nears the family playing cricket.  His mouth formed in an ‘o’ shape again as he does. 

Liam’s already crouching down next to him pointing at the older of the two children who’s holding the bat confidently as his dad bowls underarm at him and shouts encouraging words to him.

Zayn crouches down on the other side of Ashton, hand holding the back of the seat, watching Liam and Ashton intently once more. 

“We’ll get you one of these sets too Ashy if you want us to, would you like that?”  Zayn asks, “Wanna play cricket with grandad and Uncle Weeyum?”

“And Uncle Zan too” adds Liam. 

Ashton looks from one uncle to the other and nods. 

“Would your lad like a go?” The dad, presumably, of the two lads calls over, approaching them. 

“He’s our nephew,” Liam explains then to Ashton, he repeats the question the man had asked, “Do you want to play?”

Ashton screws up his eyes as though he’s thinking and then shakes his head vigorously, lips set firmly in a pout.  

“Ah, come on, not even a little go?”  

“It’s alright, our youngest Peter refused to do it for ages too, and now we can’t get his hands away from a bat, he’ll be an England captain by the time he’s 20 I hope.”

Zayn smiles.   

“Also,” the man comes a bit nearer, his attention on Ashton, “The ball’s a lot softer so it doesn’t hurt even if you don’t hit it and it hit you instead,” then as he’s only a few steps away, he adds in a quieter voice, “Though I reckon you’ll always hit the ball, yeah?”

Ashton stares at the man curiously. 

“How about it then Ashy?” Zayn places a hand on his shoulder, “If you don’t want a go, I would and I need someone to help, would you mind helping?”

Zayn catches Liam’s eye, sees the soft smile, the appreciative gaze and he can’t help the blush that always creeps over his face even these days.

“OK Zan, I help you.” 

Before Zayn can react properly, Ashton’s climbing off the bike and walking away from him and Liam and past the Dad and towards the wicket.  

“He’s like you Li, once he makes his mind up, there’s no faffing about.”

Liam nods, “Can’t argue with that.”

“Uncle Zan!”  Ashton waves at Zayn and then the older of the two children hands a bright yellow plastic bat to him which he stares at fascinatedly as Zayn joins him by the wicket and leans down. 

“We’ll leave that helmet on eh? Just like the big lads on the field,  Now, stand to the side and hold onto the bat with both hands.”

Ashton peers up at Zayn, a frown on his face and his eyes screwed up as he concentrates and tries to do as Zayn says. 

He manages the holding onto the bat with two hands after a fashion but not quite the standing to his side bit so Zayn adjusts him where he stands and then as Ashton’s attention wanders, he places his hands over Ashton’s, never not a little bit overcome with how small a child’s hands are next to his and moves them to the top of the bat, to the handle of it.  

“Now, what we need to do is watch as the man runs towards us and focus on the ball, don’t take your eyes off it and then as it gets near to us, you swing the bat slightly and hit the ball ‘kay?”

Ashton glances up at Zayn and nods so Zayn nods at the Dad who smiles and shouts “Here I come mate.”

There’s no speed at all really so Zayn can predict exactly where the ball will come and there’s enough time to move to get it but Zayn doesn’t do it all himself, there’s a small gasp from Ashton as the ball leaves the man’s hand and Zayn moves their hands and the bat so that it’s certain, they’ll hit the ball.

The loud giggle that Ashton lets out as he hits it and then drops the bat and yells ‘DID IT DID IT DID IT’ makes Zayn’s stomach do a somersault.

The look on Liam’s face.  The affection and love making the sun seem extra bright and Zayn feel like he never wants this day to end. 

The excited peel of laughter that he lets out as Zayn says, “Now we have to run to the other end,” which is actually just a few feet away and with Zayn’s urging he runs to the other set of plastic stumps and falls onto the grass happily makes Zayn think he’ll never be unhappy again if he can remember this moment. 

And the way he yells as Zayn falls to the grass beside him, legs outstretched as Ashton climbs on his chest and shouts, “Again, Again, AGAIN!” will never ever get old either he reckons as he tickles his nephew and then picks him up and runs back to the other end for another go.

And another.

For another thirty minutes of just being a pair of normal people with their favourite nephew, okay their only one but still, and the man whose name is Terry and maybe Terry and his family know exactly who Zayn and Liam are, maybe they’re curious but if they do and if they are, they don’t show it and it feels like a breath of fresh air, something to sustain them for the days when everything is only about who they are.

It’s magic.

Till it all gets too much for Ashton anyway and he’s even too bored/tired to appreciate the way Zayn and Liam have taken to fielding and in Zayn’s case ‘comically’ or so he claims, dropping the ball to try and make Ashton laugh. 

They’ve sat away from Terry, his lads, and the wickets now, closer to the ice cream van and Liam’s holding the helmet with one hand while Ashton’s hair is askew in different directions. 

Liam wipes a tired tear from Ashton’s cheek. 

“Hey love, almost time to go home so how about an ice cream and then we can go back and tell mummy and daddy about how you’re the king of cricket and how Uncle Zan should be renamed Uncle Fumble fingers.”

Behind Ashton’s head, Zayn lifts up the middle finger towards Liam who leans in closer to Ashton and stage whispers conspiratorially, “Yeah I know he’ll love that.”

“ice cream Uncle Mumbles?” Ashton says to Zayn who rolls his eyes at the gleeful expression on Liam’s face but smiles at Ashton. 

“Uncle Mumbles is even better Ashy, for that you can have two.”

“Pipe down Weeyum or I’ll change your @ on Instagram to that if you’re not careful.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“ICE CREAM!” Ashton yells ignoring them, all tiredness temporarily forgotten as he stands up and runs to the side of the van, pointing upwards at the woman who’s leaning out of it waving at him.

Zayn stands up, makes to follow him when a hand grabs his left hand and Liam’s stood next to him side on. 

“This today has been everything I want one day, maybe not that far off I dunno.  This right here, this anonymity, just a pair of blokes with a bonkers little nephew and no one’s blinked,”  then with a smile that Zayn feels and then some and returns he adds, “and then there’s you and I always knew you were ace at this, but seeing you with him and playing cricket and how you’ve been with him, it’s, you’re.”

Zayn shakes his head.  

“Not just me, you too.  All this today reminded me of being in the yard at home with me dad, best memories, and yeah we’re doing well. we’ve had brilliant influences, your parents, my parents, we’re learning as we go and one day it’ll be us and we’ll be a pair of bickering old buggers but we’ll love them, all that matters, it’ll be brilliant,

“Uncle Fumbles and Uncle Weeyum, what a pair.”

“We do alright really.” 

Liam smiles, squeezes Zayn’s hand and nods in agreement when a small voice that’s impressively loud but close to a wail exclaims.

“ICE CREAM!” 

It’s so domestic, it’s so real and Ashton’s delight as they join him, as Liam lifts him up and he sees his first ever 99 that he can hold, after a fashion, be made is what it’s all about.

Family and sunshine and a day like today.  As good as it gets.

***

Toni @somewhereisaplacethatziamknow wrote this wonderful fic for me today and I couldn’t be happier! Again, thank you so much. I love you ♥️

#decided to post it so that more people can enjoy it #this fic is just so good and heartwarming #i already profusely thanked toni but yes i'm just so happy you're the best xx #:') #Best birthday gift #Birthday fic #Ziamfanfiction #submission #ziam drabble

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Seventy-Six: Show No Fear ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood, gore ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

Though not one of the land’s monster hunters, Sasuke’s come face to face with a beast or two in his time. While nothing’s ever been a true terror - a gryphon, or an ogre, for example - he’s whetted his blade with beastly blood more than once.

He’d considered doing so on contract before setting out with his current band of companions. A way to make some coin to help his family, perhaps find a decent herbalist or medic for his brother. He’s been skilled with a blade since young, and a bow too when the time calls for it. Add in his igni bloodline, and he’s a formidable foe for many a creature: even those with ven like his own.

But instead, he’s been traveling with a group of other ven wielders: his brother, a lux mage to heal him, and an aqua mage. All in order to get back to the abandoned capital of the lands once claimed by the disciples of Luxeria.

And their travels haven’t been all a cake walk. Not by any means. Bandits plague the roads, cities are hosts of dangers, and even beasts have taken the odd shot at them. Mostly common creatures like wolves or bears, but regardless, each is a threat in its own right. Itachi attempts to aid him, but his lingering illness stunts his stamina and strength. The light elf has mighty defenses, but...no real way to attack. Nor does she want to, given her deity’s call for nonviolence. 

That leaves the water mage. He’s been slowly teaching her about their elemental energies and how to harness them, but her actual experience is still lacking. Much to her chagrin.

“What about a blade?”

“What?”

“Can you teach me to wield a blade?”

Sasuke perks a dark brow at her. “...do you really want to?”

“Well I need some way to defend myself in the meantime, until I can better call upon water!”

That earns a snort. “It will take just as long to learn swordplay. There’s no easy path, Hinata. No shortcuts.”

“Then I just need more training!”

“I’ve been teaching you as much as I can. But travel makes us all weary, and we can’t get overly tired. If a threat shows up -”

“You need to be ready, I know, I know…” She huffs a curt breath. “...I still managed to slay that ogre.”

“That was a stroke of luck.”

“No it wasn’t!”

“Yes, it was. Are you telling me you feel like you could do that again and again without fail? No mistakes? No hesitation?”

Her pause is telling enough.

“...you need more training before you can take more of a mantle in the group’s defense.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“I can’t give you more time than I already am, Hinata. It’s all limited. Time, energy, safety to sit and frolic with magic. I appreciate the want to help, but I can handle it.”

That earns him a cold shoulder that night, everyone too tired to spare time for training, saved instead for taking watches.

The next time they do manage to set aside some time to practice, she’s steely-faced and determined, listening with rapt attention. At first, he can’t help but be a little amused. Seeing Hinata so...serious is a far cry from her typical character. Sure, she can be stubborn...but this is a whole new level.

...she really does want to master her element.

Half an hour into their lesson, taking a break for water, Sasuke holds up a hand to beg for silence. Keen eyes of red flicker to the nearby treeline, pointed ears perking with attention.

Something is out there.

The pair hold completely still, listening. At first...nothing. But then a twig snaps, and their eyes both flicker to the sound. Two orbs glow in the shadows of the boughs, watching them.

“...don’t panic,” he murmurs, moving slowly to set aside his canteen. Instead, he grips the hilt of his blade. “Show no fear. If we hesitate...it will attack.” He still can’t yet see whatever’s lurking in the wood, but his gut tells him it’s nothing friendly.

“...what should I do?”

“Be prepared to run. I’ll distract it.”

“But- ?”

“But...nothing. Do as I say, Hinata.”

For a moment she swells in indignation, but pauses as a low hiss echoes from between the trunks. Then there’s a rustle. That’s got to be scales...a few different beasts flicker through his mind, but what emerges isn’t among them.

Twelve above...it’s a naga.

Serpentine body slithering across the grass, she gives another hiss, jaw hanging open to an unsettling degree: unhinged and waiting to sink fangs into their flesh. Claw-tipped fingers spread, reaching eagerly. It’s clear enough: she’s risking a confrontation in the hopes of a meal.

Sasuke’s grip tightens on the hilt of his blade, drawn to his front and glinting in the fading afternoon sun. “...get back to camp. Warn the others. I’ll try to stop it here.”

“I can help -!”

“Yeah, you can. By going back.”

Body winding, the naga tenses before using the tightened muscles to spring across the remaining distance. The mages leap apart, forcing her attention to split...but not for long. Loosing a volley of fire, Sasuke draws her gaze to him with a taunt.

“This way! Your business is with me, monster…!” Even now he doesn’t succumb to any fear, staring into the beast’s eyes with a glower of his own.

Giving another hiss, she makes to loom toward him, only to screech, back tensing. Behind her, wielding water like a whip, Hinata drives the element against her back. As the monster turns, Sasuke gets a view of the nasty welt along the skin of her human torso.

Does this woman never listen to him?! Ever?!

Spewing oaths under his breath, he trades his blade for his bow, setting the string and nocking an arrow. One zings through the air, skimming his enemy’s arm and earning a cry.

The next bolt, drawn quickly, whizzes past her head as she lowers to the ground, sliding along both bellies toward him with alarming speed. Sasuke throws his bow over his shoulder, drawing a dagger at his hip. He counters several slashes of her deadly claws, swiping at her face in an attempt to drive her back.

“Hey!”

Hinata’s cry goes ignored...until a tug yanks the naga backward. Water encases the lower third of her tail, guided by Hinata’s ven. Teeth grit in a snarl, she gives a mighty roar, every ounce of her strength whipping the creature back over. Hands attempt to slow her movement, but the naga is hurtled against a tree, spine concussed around the trunk and knocking the wind from her.

Taking his chance, Sasuke draws his bow once more, firing a bolt. It lands dead center in her gut, an ear-splitting shriek cutting through the air. Ignoring it, he follows up several more until she goes limp.

The mortal pair pant, Hinata making to cautiously approach.

“Don’t.”

Looking back, she watches him draw his sword.

“...kill a snake, and it can still bite.” Aiming his blade, he decapitates the creature with one swift strike.

The jaw gives several searching bites, uttering a last hiss before going still.

Hinata stares in horror.

Clearing the gore from his weapon, Sasuke then retrieves his arrows and does the same with their heads before tucking everything back into place. “...what part of ‘run’ do you not understand?”

“I saved you. Again. When are you going to stop doubting me?” Hinata counters, exasperated. “I might be a novice, but it’s clear I’m doing s-something right!”

Sheathing his sword, Sasuke scowls. “...you still lack experience. Which means you lack the knowledge to predict a fight well enough to last in one for long. One wrong move, and you could be dead.”

“And how else can I garner experience than by fighting?”

“A naga is not a beginner’s foe!”

“Well we handled it, didn’t we?”

He breathes a curt sigh through his nose, ears pinning. “...you don’t need to throw yourself into every lick of danger. There’s a difference between showing no fear, and disregarding it completely. Fear isn’t something to ignore - it’s something to temper. Being wary will keep you alive. Acting as though you have nothing to lose? Nothing to fear? Is a surefire way to end up dead.”

“...but I wasn’t afraid.”

“And why not?”

She stares at him. “...because you were with me.”

That...leaves him without a retort.

Seeing as much, Hinata moves to collect her gear. “...we better head back. We’ll need rest after...all of that. And we need to make sure the others are okay. There might be something else skulking around wanting to k-kill us.”

Watching her incredulously, Sasuke just shakes his head...and follows.

                                                          .oOo.

     Looong day, so I'll be brief.      More of my original fantasy verse! A random, middle-of-the-story one. That verse hasn't really been in any particular order like some of the others...whoops. Just some random training between mages, no big deal. It's just a naga. No biggie. Nobody got hurt, so...win-win, right?      C'mon, Sasuke: stop being such a stick in the mud lol      Anywho...that's all I've got, aha~ Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #blood // #gore // #divine light [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[arzuera]

No one is going to hurt you pt 1 (Prince Sidon x Reader)

These are getting longer and longer... why can’t i write short things?

 Oh this was bad. This was very very bad.

 Arrows flew by your head as the sound of horns blared a warning to all creatures in a ten mile radius. The monsters were in pursuit and they did not want to be disturbed. Though the bokoblin were not alone. If it had just been the stupid goblin-like monsters then you would have gotten away already. No. They were teamed up with a band of corrupt Hylians that were keeping the chase going with their intellect when it would have been called off the moment you were out of sight.

 Your lungs burned as your feet hit the ground. The poor horse you had caught and tamed years ago laid dead in the plains from the countless arrows it had been struck with. Leaving you to try and escape the group of thugs and monsters on foot. A losing battle. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.

 Despite your body’s protests, you ran to the left in an attempt to distract. A large mountain looming above but it didn’t intimidate you. It’s large mass looked like salvation. Horses didn’t like steep cliffs so the bandits would be hard pressed to keep going on their steeds. This was your chance.

 You booked it up the mountain as fast as your adrenaline filled body would allow. Ducking behind trees and rocks to keep any stray arrows from hitting their mark. They had already been successful a few times. More monsters joined in on the chase. Chu chus fell out of the trees and you pivoted in a different direction so that you didn’t run into them. All the while you kept climbing higher. You may have been running yourself into a corner but at least you couldn’t hear the thundering steps of the horses anymore. That was a plus.

 Rain began to fall from the gray clouds above as you neared the top of the mountain. Making the terrain slick and you almost fell back towards your pursuers on more than one occasion. You reached the top. Running to the edge, your stomach plummeted. All that was below you was a large river with two guard posts connecting to a bridge. A bridge you wouldn’t be able to reach without dying from the fall.

 “There she is! She’s got nowhere to go!” The bandits cackled behind and you heard the bokoblins blare their horns again as if to signify that their hunt was successful.

 You turned around to face them with your mouth set into a grim line. The men and monsters filled the opposite side of the mountain top. Effectively preventing any means of escape from their side. There was no way you would be able to run by them without being grabbed and you didn’t want to know what they were going to do with you if you were caught. It wasn’t going to be good.

 “End of the line. That was some of the most fun I’ve had in a while in a chase. You’ve got some legs on ya, girlie.” One of the bandits stated as he took a few steps forward and you mirrored them back. A bokoblin blared it’s horn again in victory. It was checkmate. “Now come nicely or we ain’t going to be as nice when we get back.” He licked his lips and you shuddered at the implication. Your body feeling dirty from the way he was eyeing you alone. Without thinking, you took another step back only for your foot to slip on the wet rock beneath your feet. Gravity kicked in. You were falling.

 Curling into a ball, you bounced off the edge of the rock face as your body plummeted towards the earth. Shouts of surprise were lost to the sky. The scream torn from your throat was deaf to your ears as the sound of roaring water drowned it out. It wasn’t long until you were suddenly enveloped in the rushing water of the river below. Your limbs flailing about in an attempt to right yourself and get to safety. The water carried your body effortlessly as you breached back up for air. Eyes blurry from the water and hair in your vision but somehow you were able to make note of a cave on the side of the river you were closest too.

 Finally.

 Somewhere to hide.

 You pushed your tired limbs just a little more. Fighting against the current until you reached the shore. Hands grasping at anything so that you could pull yourself up and out of the water. The blind panic from the fall giving you the last adrenaline boost you needed to drag your battered body into the back of the cave. Huddling behind a rock so that you weren’t easily noticed.

 Your chest heaved as you coughed up water and saliva. Mucus trailing down your upper lip while you sniffled. Blood seeped into your clothes from fresh wounds and spread due to your soaked state. However, you didn’t care. It was a good thing. The more on your skin meant that the pale glow your skin normally had was less noticeable.

 With the imminent danger gone, the adrenaline began to leave your system. Leaving your body aching as the wounds it earned made themselves known. Your heart hammering in your chest from the marathon you had just endured.

 Hopefully, those thugs would leave you alone. They didn’t seem like the type to search the entire river but then again they had chased you up a mountain from Hyrule Plains. You shivered. Why couldn’t they leave you alone? You didn’t have money. All of your belongings were on your dead horse. You didn’t have anything to give. Why go through all of this trouble? Was it because they knew you weren’t normal? That you had some sort of ability they could use to their advantage? Sure, you had powers but not ones they would benefit from.

 Your head fell to rest on the rock that was hiding your body. A break. That was all you needed. Once you could move again, you were going to book it over to the next town and not exist for a few weeks. At least in a town you weren’t completely in danger.

 “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

 You immediately tensed up at the voice that echoed around in the cave. They had found you. They were going to catch you and then you were going to be used and then die when they were done. This was it. There was nowhere else for you to go.

 While trying to make yourself as small as possible, your hands flew across the ground and your body. There had to be something you could use as a weapon. If you were going to be caught then you were going to give them a fight. The only thing you managed to find was the retractable ladle that you had bought from some inventor somewhere. Its handle going inside itself so that it was easier to carry. Oh well, it was better than nothing.

 “Hello?” The voice was significantly closer and you readied your weapon. “I know someone is here. You left a trail from the river.”

 A large shadow fell over your body as the figure made it’s way to the back of the cave and around to your rock. You shrunk back against the wall. Fear coursing through your veins. This was not one of the bandits that had been pursuing you. None of them had been this big. This was someone new.

 The figure moved into the light your body naturally gave off as you brandished the ladle. “Ah! There you are. I was beginning to get worr-”

 “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” You practically screamed as your entire body shook from cold and fear. This was definitely not one of the men pursuing you. It was a Zora. A LARGE Zora. Red scales lined the top of his body molding into the white of his belly. Jewelry glistened in the light, catching it just right so that it was noticed but not overwhelming.

 His golden eyes widened in surprise and he quickly brought his hands up in a submissive gesture. “Okay, okay. It’s alright. Here…” He took a couple steps back before crouching down opposite you in the cave. Enough space that he wasn’t towering above you but not enough for you to run out. Then again, you doubted you would be getting to far on foot so soon. “I heard the horns being blared and saw you fall from the mountain top. Are you okay? It looked like you took a couple hits on the way down.”

 Bullshit. Your eyes narrowed at the male zora in front of you suspiciously. No one was this nice to you. They either wanted something or they were going to hurt you. That was how this always turned out. “I’m fine.” You rasped out at him, while not moving from your position.

 The golden eyes roamed your body for a moment before he looked you right in the eye again. “All of that red on your clothes is telling me otherwise and I don’t think you are a Zora. So being two colors is probably bad.” He smiled softly at you and your eye twitched a small bit at the joke but you remained resolute. “I think we are getting off on the wrong foot here. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sidon. Prince of the Zora. I was on Inogo Bridge with my guards when you fell. And you?”

 You pursed your lips. “Why should I believe you?” A prince? Seriously? This was a new one.

 “Ahah… yes, I can see why that would be suspicious due to what you just went through but I can assure you that it is true.” the small smile on Sidon’s face morphed into a full show-stopping grin that left you even more confused than before.

 Your arms were getting tired, even the ladle you held was beginning to feel heavy in your grasp. Tears pricked your eyes. There was no way. This wasn’t happening. “You’re lying! You’re just waiting for me to let my guard down. Then you’ll hurt me too!” The ladle was now shaking in your hold from the effort to keep it pointed towards the Zora. Noted, it wouldn’t do much to him anyway. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn’t you live your life in peace? The tears crested and ran down your cheeks. Why were you always alone?

 “Whoa whoa!” Before you could even react, you were being picked up and cradled to the white chest that had been across from you. Your initial instinct to fight kicking in as you struck the ladle weakly against any spot that you could. “Those men have been captured and the bokoblin are dead. You are safe. They will not harm you. Not anymore.” He caught the ladle and you dropped it because there really wasn’t any point in trying anymore. You were in his arms. You were caught. You were at his mercy. Tears continued to fall down your face and the glow in your skin dimmed even further. “I promise as Prince of the Zora, as long as you are in my domain, no one is going to hurt you.”

 His voice was sincere. His face betrayed nothing but good intentions. He was trying. He was honestly trying. Sidon’s arms were big and nothing but muscle. If he wanted to hurt you right now then all he would have to do was squeeze. Instead, he held you as if you were the most fragile thing in Hyrule. What was with him? What did he gain from this?

 You slumped against him. “How do I know you can keep that promise?” He shifted your body so he could hold you better and started making his way out of the cave.

 “Mmm, I guess I’ll just have to prove myself to you. Now how about we see to your wounds?” The showstopping smile was back on his face and you opted to hide your face in his chest.

 “Prince Sidon! You found them!”

 “The bandits have been apprehended. What are your orders?”

 “Take them to the palace for interrogation. There might be more hiding. For now let’s fall back to the domain. This one needs to be checked out.” The hammerhead Zora’s voice was nothing but authoritative and you heard the other two salute in agreement before leaving. Looks like he hadn’t been lying after all. Unless this was an elaborate scheme of some sort.

“Sorry but you’ll have to get wet again. It’ll be faster this way.”

 You didn’t have to look at Sidon’s face to know that he was giving you an apologetic smile right now. With a huff, you looked back up and noticed he was about to enter the river. “(y/n).”

 “What was that?”

 “My name is (y/n).”

#prince sidon #fanfiction #botw #arzuera #drabble #they keep getting longer

[tatticstudio55]

Jon&Dany parallels in ASOS, ADWD

in “...the gruesome detail of the boar eating barsena's guts spilling out is shown but then drogon comes in and not only attacks the boar and eats it but also barsena's body and then someone tries to attack drogon in the pits and dany decides to choose him over the people burning down below”

(So she’ll turn into an antagonist)

Wait... what?

Ok, this is nothing new tbh. I’ve seen that argument before. But I’m not sure how it’s supposed to be taken. Symbolically? Literally? Surely not the latter, or else you’d be implying that Drogon wouldn’t have attacked anyone if Dany had only stayed besides her husband in the tiers (????) If anything, Dany saved people’s lives by managing to get Drogon outta there faster. Climbing on his back and urging him to flee was the best thing she could do (for Drogon AND for the meereeneses, at this point - I mean, let’s be honest, the spears weren’t going to kill him) and she almost got killed for trying. 

Symbolically? It could mean a lot of things. 

Who’s the beast?

"Kill it," Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearmen. "Kill the beast! " - Dany, ADWD

Who’s the beast here? The dragon in the pit devouring a boar, the human riding a dragon, or humans spectators being entertained by gladiatorial shows? 

“Drogon landed on the carcass and sank his claws into the smoking flesh. As he began to feed, he made no distinction between Barsena and the boar.”  - Dany, ADWD

The line between beast and human is deliberately blurred here. 

(One might say that Daenerys chose the beast clothed in scales over the beasts disguised in tokars.) 

“Hizdahr zo Loraq's long, pale face - part fear, part lust, part rapture. He licked his lips.” - Dany, ADWD

(Because Hizdahr is described in a very “humane” way here.)

The theme of “feeding” off of the pit’s “products” is also brought up a page or so earlier:

“Next a bull was set against a bear in a bloody battle that left both animals torn and dying. "The flesh is not wasted," said Hizdahr. "The butchers use the carcasses to make a healthful stew for the hungry. Any man who presents himself at the Gates of Fate may have a bowl." - Dany, ADWD

Dark/Evil doesn’t = animal (not necessarily) 

In fact, embracing our animal side can even be a good thing! ASOS’s last chapters, for instance, gives us a Jon Snow Stew of misery, guilt, indecision and identity crisis:

“Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . .” 

“He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. "Ghost?" He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. "Ghost!" he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. "Gods, wolf, where have you been?" Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. "I thought you'd died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I've had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams." The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon's face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.” - Jon, ASOS

Jon is then on his way back to Castle Black, only to find out that he’s been nominated (and elected) Lord Commander. Reuniting with his animal side clearly worked out for him. (In a good way)

“Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. "The beast," he gasped. "Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This . . . this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!"

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. "My lord," he said, "will you tell me what's happened here?" - Jon, ASOS

Jon doesn’t only reunite with his animal-half, he can also tame it. (Which is equally important).

“Dany darted underneath the flames, swinging the whip and shouting, "No, no, no. Get DOWN! " His answering roar was full of fear and fury, full of pain. His wings beat once, twice ...

... and folded. The dragon gave one last hiss and stretched out flat upon his belly. Black blood was flowing from the wound where the spear had pierced him, smoking where it dripped onto the scorched sands.” - Dany, ADWD

We could draw a few parallels between Hizdahr and Lord Janos, mmm?

"Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand.

“the dragon caught him in his jaws and tore his belly out.”

“This beastling is not fit to live!"

"Kill it," Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearmen. "Kill the beast! "

“He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood.”

“Black blood was flowing from the wound where the spear had pierced him, smoking where it dripped onto the scorched sands.”

All in all, does “choosing the beast” means flipping on the antagonist’s side? Blurrier than expected huh? 

#jonerys #jon x dany #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #a storm of swords #A Dance with Dragons #asoiaf #game of thrones

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Dog - Chapter 11

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with multiple trigger warnings on a range of subjects.

A/N: Thank you, @murmelinchen, as per! :). And thank you all so much. I had a little iddy biddy break away but I have seen and read all the reblogs and likes. Thanks again. 

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter // 4th Chapter // 5th Chapter // 6th Chapter // 7th Chapter // 8th Chapter // 9th Chapter // 10th Chapter

Tags:   @pathybo@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts@ariwolf14@bcat1291@tomarisela@romanchronicles @colours-of-my-heart @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lol-haha-joke@thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @tiyetiye @titty-teetee @microsmacrosandneedles @btslee15

For a long while, Avery had peered out across the land, waiting silently, beginning to see the curl of her breath as the temperature dropped rapidly and darkness began to shroud them. She pulled the furs further across her shoulders, not giving in to the thought of defeatism.

Ubbe had told her that he was riding out to Wark to speak with the Earl. He was going to tell him that his battle plans were changing, feeding him lies of their small army marching past both Keeps, not coming into contact with either. They would merely just rest a few more days. Whether it was the truth or not, Avery didn't know or care. But she would wait until Ubbe got back.

"My lady, please, it's cold," she heard Indra say from behind her as she came out to sit with her. She'd said the same thing over an hour ago.

"It's fine. You may go if you want. But I will stay here."

Neither of the women moved. Not until something grabbed Avery's attention, small dots far in the distance growing larger. It would be Ubbe, his brother, Hendrick and a few others. Indra snapped up before Avery, for she had two lovers on the field - whether she wanted to admit that or not.

Tiredly, Avery stood too, still clutching the furs. "Is it them? It's them, isn't it?" Her voice bled desperation and worry, and it was time for Indra to ignore her. The camp had swelled to life, obviously whoever on guard had spotted them and now came thundering back and alerting those left in charge.

As they raced up, Hendrick immediately dropped down into the field, handing over the reigns of his horse, his eyes searching. In another life, he would have raced to Indra. And to Avery's surprise, a sadness seemed to radiate from Indra when she spotted him.

But her own body felt urgent, despairing almost. The crowd fluctuated, trying to get the news, cutting her off from getting to Ubbe so easily. She had a hand up in the air, calling his name with her silly translation, "Ooh bear!" But Avery's voice was nothing compared to the congregating Vikings around her. So with reluctance, she waited, letting him debrief those smothering him.

"From the looks of it, the plan has worked," Indra noted distantly, leaning up on her tiptoes, still watching. Avery's worry had been the threat of anyone approaching the Christian Keep, that they may have found reason to attack rather than talk. "Ubbe was right about those cowards." She took a sharp intake of breath. "Forgive me."

"I'm not offended." She couldn't be, not when Ubbe scoured the crowd and landed on her, his white teeth visible from a distance. He waved the others off, pushing through and leaving Hvitserk with them. And when he got to her, he paused, a bashful sway to her posture before he reached out and pulled her closer. Indra slipped away.

Avery had only just fallen back upon the furs when Ubbe graciously tumbled after her. Due to the impending battle, there was a sense of urgency to his meanderings. Her mouth, her neck, her chest being lavished at any given opportunity. While she was bare, he remained clothed, but jutting his hips into hers, pushing hard into her crotch, so she could feel his need without a doubt. It gave her an idea of what he would be like as a lover. And it was overwhelming.

"Ooh bear," she panted, using both hands on either side of his face to get his attention. And it was all he needed to slow himself, propping himself up to look down at her. He appraised her slowly, drinking her body in before slipping down and taking her nipple into his mouth. She cradled him there, until he went further to her ribs and then to her lower belly.

"Like your silly stories, I'm going to eat you now," he growled.

Avery struggled to get up to her elbows, seeing him squatting between her legs. "What?" She smiled nervously, breath still stolen.

"Watch," he replied, licking his lips.

Ubbe rubbed his thumb once over her clit, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. She snapped her eyes open to watch him kiss his way down her inner thigh. And when he finally reached her core, enveloping her with his mouth, tongue flat against her, she pathetically withered back against the furs, unable to control the sounds that filtered through her lips.

Heat rose in her cheeks, his unrelenting care alternating between fast and then slow, making her hips twitch. But the distance between them was too much. Her hand flailed for him, and he choked back a laugh, reaching up to calm her, interlocking his fingers against hers.

Her legs began to shake uncontrollably, and he moved up until they could rest on his shoulders, which only eased it slightly.

"You taste as beautiful as you look," he mumbled, watching her body writhe and heave with each shaking breath.

"Mm-hmm… Don't stop." He chuckled at her desperation as she begged for him to not to stop over and over. With her eyes shut tightly she tried to reach him with her other hand. And when her fingers curled into his short hair, he greedily complied, not minding her nails digging into his hand as she felt herself being perfectly pushed to a physical limit, then bursting into a million melting pieces.

Ubbe crawled back to her side, very pleased with himself. "I think you just woke the whole camp." But she was still lost, beautifully lost. "Are you okay?"

"I think I saw Heaven," she sighed dreamily.

Ubbe tried very hard not to laugh but couldn't help himself. "If that is Heaven then why don't we go sooner rather than later?"

"Maybe that is pleasure then. Maybe comfort, love… I don't know. I find I don't care either way. Not right now." Rolling onto her side, she felt the need to sleep wash over her.

Sitting up, Ubbe discarded his tunic, unbuckling his pants and slipped them off without falter, then covered them both in the furs.

"This is only the beginning," he sighed, curling up behind her. "Soon I will make full love to you, and every passing moment until you are with child, and every moment thereafter." Ubbe looked at her over her shoulder but she was peacefully asleep already.

"Why won't you speak with me?" demanded Hvitserk. Indra turned away from the entrance to the tent and went further inside. "Have I done wrong? Have I hurt you somehow?"

"Hvitserk, please. I told you before, it was too serious. I didn't want anything serious and then you spoke of marriage," she said incredulously, pacing as much she could in the small space. "You know that you and the word marriage don't go hand in hand."

"What does that mean!"

"Please stop this. Please just leave." Her voice shook and she still couldn't face him. "Leave me alone."

"Is there another?" He put his hands to his hips and looked to the ground, stepping forward when she didn't reply. "Is. There. Another? Because I swear to the Gods, if there is, blood will be shed!"

"There is nobody. I want nobody else!" He stepped toward her and she swung at him, missing and falling into his arms. Memories surrounded them, the short, sweet days they had spent together, loving so much in such a short amount of time.

Between her tears, she turned and kissed him, stumbling across the room.

"Will you be gone long?" Avery's voice was intentionally quiet, so no one else could hear. Ubbe wore his helm, fully armoured, looking much taller than usual as he stood ferociously in front of her. The army waited to divide beyond the trees, splitting to hit both Keeps. Homecamp was moving itself too as soon as they would set off, for safety.

"Will you miss me?" His touch was gentle against her cheek regardless of how he looked. "What did I do to deserve to come across you in this life? How were you chosen to live - for me to see you?"

"I stabbed Hendrick." She smiled. "Life is strange." He stood in silence, studying her face still and her cheeks began to warm. "What...? What are you looking at?"

"I'm drawing you into my mind so that I have it with me. I believe Freya watches me on this day. I see her through your eyes."

Avery became bashful and blinked away. "Stop it."

"Is it not normal to express what I'm thinking? You don't like to hear compliments or how I appreciate you?"

"I'm still getting used to it." She crossed her arms, tightly smiling. She wasn't used to the attention, nor revealing herself to anyone. And he knew her better than anyone now. "Ooh bear, be patient with me. And… and come back."

"Are you ordering me?" His smile beamed.

"That is an order." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, nicked her chin, then turned towards his waiting raiders.

She watched them leave, like a parallel of the previous night. "My lady," Indra whispered behind her. "We will be moving shortly, you must prepare."

"I'm ready."

As the light died, Ubbe marched upon Wark, while Hendrick took the Keep in the North-West. They met with their scouts at the wall, hoisting scaling ladders against the downpour of arrows almost knocking Hvitserk from his climb. When Ubbe turned to check on him, he was laughing wildly, climbing quicker.

Ubbe pulled himself over the lip of the outer wall, upon the stand where the churchmen stood guard, noticing only a small number of soldiers. He pushed the thought from mind, using his axe to maim a man almost upon him.

Quickly he moved to open the gates, a zig-zag stair descent. Hvitserk was with him, having his back until more of the northmen joined them as most waited to be let in. They pulled the lumbering wood from the door, and Ubbe heaved them open, calling for this battle to be fast and favoured by the Gods.

The tents they had strung up were not as big as usual because they were not going to be staying very long. They would move to the Keeps after they were conquered and reside there until the next. Indra stayed with Avery, huddled together for warmth, fearing what was happening to their men.

Their conversation had changed several times, and there was no chance of sleep. It got so bad they fell silent and Avery hugged her knees, listening to Indra hum. After a while, she turned her head, still resting on her arms, just enough to see Indra on her back and looking up to the top of the tent. "I don't think we will sleep at all tonight."

"The battles make me afraid. Whatever outcome comes from them, changes our plans each time…" She furrowed her brows, lost in thought. "And we lose people sometimes."

For some reason, Avery thought of Benedict, the closest person she had had left from her old life. The last time she had seen him, he was half eaten by crows and still strung up. She pressed her hands together and silently prayed.

Indra glanced to her. "I do not doubt them. But the Gods are unpredictable, and so are people."

"I wish I was smarter," Avery blurted, causing Indra to sit up on her elbows. "All these Earls I could have learnt of, all the layouts of the land. Instead I know nothing. Instead I kept away from them as much as possible because I feared for my life... After what happened at Benedict's Keep, I suddenly snapped and was no longer fearful. I had a purpose and it was those children. They were my only vision." She paused with a sigh. "I told them they were in there but they ignored me. Though, now I know ooh bear understood exactly what I was saying."

"The Christians don't care for us. We don't care for them. He didn't know anything about you and for all he knew it was a ploy - a distraction."

"They kill innocent children. I'm still learning how I can live with the knowledge."

Indra bit her cheek. "They don't want to. They have to. There is a difference. And I wish you would stop talking about us like that. You may forget but I am a Viking too."

"Would you kill children?"

"Not by my hand but I would leave them to their fate," Indra said sternly. "Don't judge me, Avery."

"I'm not."

"You know nothing of the land, aside from what happened to your village and Benedict. You walked alone for a while but fell into luck, then luck again with us."

"I shall say no more." Avery scoffed in disbelief, turning onto her side to lay down, away from her.

"Forgive me. Everything is perspective," Indra said as Avery stared at the skin of the tent. "I'm not feeling all too well, I'm sorry." A shadow moved from outside, forcing Avery to quirk up. "It was not my intention to be offensive…" While Indra spouted her long list of apologies, Avery scrambled across to their single candle and blew it out, moving to Indra who'd already clocked on. With both their eyes wide, watching the entrance, Indra pulled a small blade from her ankle.

"Give me that, quick," Avery held her hand out, went to the side and slit the skin enough to see out. She watched as shadowy figures crept across the land - a lot of them. They didn't speak a word, only signals. Avery almost gasped in shock as a man walked directly in front of her hand-made eye hole, his hands covered in blood. She guessed it was from the guards watching over the camp Ubbe had left behind.

She turned to Indra, considerably paled and grimaced. "Churchmen."

It only made Indra fiercer, her features scrunching up viciously as she got in front of Avery and took the knife. "They won't take us." Avery didn't want to know exactly what she meant, and didn't ask. "I will do us both if I need to," she whispered.

Someone must have woke and spotted the invaders. A roar went up and the rush of noise erupted around them. Avery put a hand on Indra's shoulder.

"Where is he!?" Ubbe shouted across the courtyard. Many had stopped, wiping their dirtied faces while Hvitserk stood close, spitting onto the land. Ubbe took off his helm, peered quickly around. "Where is the Earl and where is his men?!" Nobody answered. He strode past Hvitserk, landed a heavy hand on the shoulder of one of his men and whispered, "Go to Hendrick and get word." The man nodded once and raced off for a horse.

"What shall we do?" Hvitserk said.

Ubbe was frowning. "Something's wrong… We've missed something. They have averted us." A surge of anxiety swirled in his gut. "We need to head back. We need to go. We need to go now!"

Thick gloved fingers slipped over the edge of the entrance, peeling it back slowly. Indra made a feral sound in her throat, pushing Avery back, guarding in front of her.

The churchman must have suspected they were asleep or the tent empty, only to be caught with the sight of them huddled together, a glint in his eye.

"Get back!" Indra warned him, waving her small blade.

He merely whistled, another face emerging after a few short seconds, and they grunted a laugh between them. He almost knocked the stakes from the ground with his shoulders as he busted his way inside. That's when Indra launched herself at him in such a way, which Avery could only describe as cat like; her feet planted firmly on the ground in a wary crouch, and then jumping towards him effortlessly.

Outside rang the calls of death, and suddenly, the fear of the past cast over Avery, the fire she saw in her mind's eye, the cries, freezing her on the spot. Wherever she went there was death, continuously affecting the ones she loved. When she thought she couldn't breathe from fright no more, Indra was caught in one hand around her throat like it was child's play, and Avery went after her with a new cause.

She grabbed Indra, trying to pull her back. The other soldier barged forward and lifted her completely off the ground, flinged her to the other side of the tent. Indra swung her knife in a flimsy hand, nicking his cheek and finally freed herself. However, between the man's arms she could only watch as the churchmen pinned Indra by her hair in sheer spite and rained down blow after savage blow onto the small woman.

Unable to bear Indra's screams anymore, she thought quickly and yelled, "I'm from Benedict's Keep! Stop! What are you doing!" She felt the heat and pain, tasted the blood before realising she'd been slapped and bit her cheek in the process.

A fierce yell from outside remenated until Asger burst into the tent and tackled the churchmen who held Avery, sending them to the floor. Dazed, Avery stumbled up, crawling towards Indra, seeing the knife on the ground. She wasn't going to hide anymore. She couldn't.

She wasn't anything like a trained man, nor someone who had attacked in such a way before, but she jumped onto the churchman's back before he could straighten. Indra lifted her head and stuck a leg out regardless of the pain radiating throughout her face, and he tripped, both women using their weight on his arms as he thrashed helplessly on his back. Avery held up the knife, but Indra took it from her, panting, and slit his throat while screeching in triumph. When she fell back, Avery went and scooped her up, looking to Asger still struggling. He shouted something thickly towards them, and Indra tugged her in urgency. "He says 'run'."

Both of her eyes were almost swollen shut and Avery didn't even know if she was focussed on her as her eyes rolled. She was bleeding from multiple places, staining the cloth they wore. And for a moment Avery disassociated, turning her hands over to look at the blood on them.

"Avery!"

"Yes, I heard… Let's get you up. Come on…" She began pulling Indra, got an arm over her shoulder, stumbling out of the tent while Indra held her ribs and whimpered with every step.

It was like walking out into Hell itself. Man against man, a horse running straight through the middle of the temporary camp, carts on fire. She saw it for what it was. That they were no different. There was no such thing as negotiating, surrender, or peace. Both sides, with a plan or idea in mind were demons on either side of the ocean. It was a reverse image of her village, though this time she sat on the side of the Vikings.

"We have to hide…" Indra wheezed.

"Yes, but where?" Avery frantically looked around, the treeline wasn't far but wandering out towards it could make them a target. There was nothing else to try. A howl came from the tent behind them, something smashing as Asger battled inside, and Avery took off towards the trees.

Every step was effort with Indra hanging off her, their pace too slow for the urgency inside her chest. She almost dropped her multiple times. "Come on, Indra! We are almost there!" Their skirts caught their legs and tripped them up, crashing into the dirt. "Indra!"

"Just go, Avery!"

"I'm not leaving you." With new strength, Avery managed to get them to their feet, turning towards the woods.

Hitting the treeline safely was beyond relief.

How long they had walked - or more stumbled through the woods, she didn't know. They could have even gone in circles, and Indra was near collapse. All that she knew was that it was dawn, morning burning through the tops of the trees. It could have been even later than she thought as the darkness was obscured through the overhang above their heads, the forest cloaking them from time.

It was also quiet. Too quiet.

Indra gave out suddenly and tumbled to the ground, eyes closed, and Avery joined her. They laid in silence, just breathing, looking up to the trees, covered in dirt and blood while sharp stones and branches stuck into their backs.

Avery found she was trembling when she sat up. "Indra, we have to find somewhere to rest…" With no reply, she checked Indra, to find she had passed out, exhausted, and probably in a lot of pain. It was cold too, making her hands feel raw and feet numb. "Indra, wake up." Avery shook her, only for her to groan in response. "Indra, please! Please! Don't leave me…" she trailed off, looking out to a wooded wilderness where everything looked the same. A weird call from an animal pricked her ears, the howl of the wind filling her with horror. "Indra!" She shook her more violently, to receive nothing this time.

In fright she scrambled away from Indra on her hands and knees. A realisation - a probing, dreaded thought washed over that perhaps Indra was dying and she could do nothing about it. Perhaps she would get lost and end up dying from the cold or fright herself. Touching her face, she only just now became aware of the sting on her cheek. It burned and felt wet, but she was unable to see what real damage the churchmen had done.

Her thoughts went to Asger and she wondered whether he had gotten away. But did any of it matter if the both of them now died in this wood? At least Indra knew some hunting skills whereas she did not. If she started a fire, would someone she didn't want see the smoke? Could she even start a fire? She needed the right tools, something to spark, rocks, twirling dry sticks against each other. But in the morning dew how would that be possible?

Her mind raced with every thought possible. Figuring that they were going to die anyway.

So, this time she wouldn't run. She wouldn't leave Indra. She'd learnt from her mistakes.

Avery crawled back over to Indra until she could snuggle up to her and push her chest to her back, hugging her as close as possible.

Through bad dreams and terrors, Avery had dreamt of some strange things. At one point she'd floated up through the trees, lightweight like a breeze and could see the two of them huddled together, cocooned, like potential butterflies.

Avery began to giggle. The only sound in the vast darkness that surrounded them. She wondered if she'd be a blood red butterfly between the cream coloured rags of her dress. If she'd have torn or long floaty wings. Lifting a hand up to the sky, she opened and clasped it, pretending she was flying up and away.

"My wings are broken…" she heard herself say.

She laughed harder, snorting and coughing at the morbid thought. "I'd be a butterfly with broken wings! Indra, what type would you be?" Of course, Indra didn't reply and hadn't for a while. "I'll choose for you. I think yellow… with green flecks, possibly owl like eyes on each wing. You could fly me around because mine are broken…" She dwelled on that thought a long moment. "I know you would. We could fly together-"

"Avery…" a voice drifted into her thoughts.

"But you would be a bigger butterfly…" she trailed off, unable to connect the voice to a person.

"Are you hurt?" She felt warm hands against her ice cold skin and only now did she notice that her eyes hadn't even been open. "Avery?"

Ubbe had heard her laugh while scouring the forest, an off-chance as he'd already walked through most of this side of the wood. And now that he had finally found her, he worried for her sanity, she didn't make any sense at all. She blinked her eyes open but didn't even see him, and was floppy when he pulled her from Indra. The two women had been out for over a day.

He grabbed her face to steady her. "Avery, look at me!" His voice was tight, laced with panic. He hadn't rested since the battle, since he returned to the camp, since Hendrick had come back with news of lies the Earl had spread. He owned and ruled both Keeps single handedly, and set up a ploy to split and weaken the northmen. But he had underestimated their strength in such small numbers.

Where the Earl was, was unknown for now. He'd misjudged the courage of those left at homecamp. It was a desperate move made by a desperate man in utter fear.

Ubbe looked up when Hendrick rushed over and clattered to the ground. "Indra... Indra, open your eyes, my sweet girl." He put his ear to her chest, relief washing over his features as he glanced at Ubbe. "She is alive!" And in one strong scoop, picked Indra up from the floor, the woman looking small and feeble against him.

Sighing, he slowly looked down to Avery. This time her eyes were wide with recognition, staring back so deeply, so calmly up at him.

"You would be a blue butterfly."

"What… Wha..." He smiled as he shook his head, cradling her against him. "You want to go home?"

She clung to him rawly. "What?! No! You can't send me back… There is no where… My home is here-"

"With me."

Avery calmed at once. "With you."

The colour was lost on her face. Shrouded with a hood, Avery kept her head turned to the wind, letting it sting her cheeks, the large bruise having formed over one and a slightly puffy eye while the cart she sat on bumped and groaned over the landscape. Every now and then Asger would catch her eye from next to her and smile as he drove the cart.

They were moving to the Keep, continuing on their journey. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Indra among two others resting behind them. Indra said it hurt when she held her head up; her face and head was severely bruised, including a split lip and a black eye. The other women had used elixirs Avery didn't know of to aid her, helping minutely, looking shiny on the skin. They'd smeared her cheek with the same oily substance too, but she didn't specifically find any relief, and Indra faired worse than her, so she could only imagine the pain.

Trailing behind them was Hendrick, keeping his eyes solely on Indra. And behind him rode Hvitserk, drinking from a skin.

Ubbe trotted back down the line on his horse, and Avery moved the material of the hood to cover her face. "How are you feeling?"

Avery was aching from every muscle, with barely the energy to keep her spine straight. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to lie."

"Sore," she settled for. "I've had worse though."

He didn't speak for a long moment. "I don't doubt it." Then he breathed in and out like he was about to say something but didn't know how to word it. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"I'm getting used to fearing for my life that now it isn't even fear…" she spoke quietly. "It will never end so why fear it?"

"This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I didn't know-"

"It's not your fault, ooh bear," Avery interrupted him. "It was a good plan. It ended well regardless of what we were confronted with-"

"We?" he questioned, his turn to interrupt her.

Avery kept the material drawn over her face as she looked to him. He seemed more handsome than before; strong, alert, even through the expression of concern. "I don't see my home as a land anymore, but as the people around me. Wherever I've been it's always been the people. The land is immortal but the people are not. It will thrive far beyond us. It should be the people around that we love that we should hold close. Without them, what is there?"

"Darkness," he said, frowning. "A lot of darkness." He rubbed a thumb over his lower lip and exhaled. "Avery, I must tell you of what happened in my past so you can put your own judgment on me. So that you know what you are getting into." She shook her head to refuse. "Avery, it wasn't an option." His voice changed; deeper, one of authority.

"I want you to know that I knew my last wife would be killed and I did nothing to stop it," he blurted. "I didn't want to stop it because she went behind my back, many a time. I also fancied another that I shouldn't who brought me much trouble."

Avery was speechless, trying to process the new information.

"I haven't found an easy way to tell you, so this is me trying…" he said with an air of aggravation.

"It's fine. Then please tell me what I need to know," she said calmly. "Because you don't seem to be that man anymore. So tell me... Tell me what I need to know."

The earnesty in her voice stumped him a little, so he managed to find a place to start. "My brother Ivar punished me for not taking his side. Every night I dreamt of carving my name into conquering lands, that my own ambitions or wants did not control me, to find a seat back at my brothers table as family. It only took me the days to ride with you alone to know that I am not that type of man either. I was not the old me, nor the new one they'd created or viewed me as. And I don't want to be either of them. It does not make me happy. But you..." He then struggled, taking another deep breath.

"...I don't want anything from you."

"No."

"That is all there is to know." She still hid her face, an idea forming, though she tried to fight it. "When I lie with you will you still want me after? When I'm no longer young, when I'm old and tired. Will the longing for battle when you're finished change you? Will you take another - become bored with me?"

"Avery, I am not that kind of man." He rubbed the back of his neck quickly. "Though I can only offer you words, not actions of proof. But that is not me."

"No," she said, almost mimicking him from earlier. "Then there is nothing you need to tell me."

"When did you become so wise?" He tilted his head at her, smiling enticingly in that certain way that she had to look away, because it made her forget about her God, even if only momentarily.

He reached out to her hand in her lap. "And don't ever hide your face from me."

Hesitantly, she let the hood drop, revealing the discolouration, the redness under her eye. When she looked at him, she could see that he was trying to hide his worry behind an encouraging smile.

As if to ensure her that she was safe now, he tugged at her hand. "Do you want to ride with me, stulka?"

The words she wanted to say in reply were too suggestive, too unordinary for her. But one thing she'd realised was that life was unpredictable, and she didn't know how long she'd be granted to stay. So, already full with regrets, the last thing she wanted was adding yet another. "I want to lie with you, ooh bear."

#vikings #the dog #ubbe #ubbe vikings #ubbe fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #chapter 11 #beautifulramblingbrains #hvitserk #slowburn #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #ubbexoc #ubbe x oc #avery

[paperficwriter]

Trapped

A little dragon!Kiri drabble that took longer than it should have. Cut is for length, not for content. This is just a cute thing.

Also posted on the Twitter!

There were three things that Bakugou had known about dragons before he started travelling with Kirishima: that they existed, that they breathed fire, and that they were tough as hell, which made them hard to kill. But if anyone had asked him what it was like for a dragon to be anxious or upset or stressed out, he wouldn’t have even tried to answer, and if he did, it would have been to say something like, “Why the fuck would they get like that? They’re fucking dragons. What do they have to worry about?!”

But now…

Kirishima was snorting as he walked, wings twitching slightly from where they met the thick muscle of his back, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. It was hours since their spat with the bandits, and Kirishima still stayed in his red, four-legged form, pupils widening and narrowing sporadically. The group had gotten the drop on them, and, sure, they had been annoying but nothing they hadn’t been able to handle. One did manage to knock Bakugou to the ground, though, and Kirishima had roared with enough ferocity to shake the trees to their roots. It was a noise Bakugou hadn’t heard him make before, and even he had shrunk back.

But why was he still like this?

When they paused at a stream for water, the dragon huffed into it, sending steam rising into the air in small clouds, and he didn’t stay still, pawing irritably at the ground and nearly bumping into Bakugou. “What’s your problem?” Bakugou snapped, reaching out to shove his leg. He recoiled when Kirishima snapped at him, jaws coming close to his arm, and Bakugou snarled with more heat in his words. “Calm the fuck down!”

The tone was like a slap, and Kirishima’s body folded in on itself, remorseful. A thrumming whine shot out of Kirishima’s throat, his eyes going fearful, sorrowful. His head moved around like he was looking for somewhere to run. What was wrong with him?

“Kiri. Talk to me.” When he moved in closer, the beast backed away. “Come on. You said you’d serve me or whatever bullshit you spouted, so. Shift and tell me what the fuck is eating you.”

For a few moments, Kirishima sat heavily on the ground, clenching, his body shivering. Now and then, his scales would turn a pale pink, but then they would return to their crimson hue. When he realized that he couldn’t do it, that he was stuck in this form (at least so far as Bakugou could tell) Kirishima roared, smoke billowing from his nose, wings flapping, teeth coming together like rocks smashing against one another.

As “typical” as Bakugou might have found this behavior from a dragon before now, seeing it from Kirishima was alarming. Because he wasn’t like this. Not usually.

“All right,” Bakugou said definitively, loud enough that Kirishima would be able to hear him over the din of what could only have been described as a tantrum. “I’m making camp for the night.”

Kirishima shook his head, turning it and gazing across the forest toward their destination: the mountains beyond, where Bakugou was supposed to be meeting some warrior tribe. If they made camp now, it would mean having to compensate hours of travel time the next day. Fewer breaks. An arrival after dark.

“Camp,” Bakugou said again. “Don’t give me any shit about it, ya hear?”

He didn’t - he couldn’t really, not like this - but he also wasn’t happy. As Bakugou gathered water from the stream and cleared space for a fire, Kirishima paced with nervous energy, his tail between his legs shamefully as he kept glancing in the direction where they should have been going. Bakugou tried to ignore him as he made a stew from a rabbit he had come across in their travels, but it was hard not to notice when Kirishima started scratching at his scales, high-pitched notes of distress as flames licked from inside his mouth out into the evening air, as though he was panting, and broken bits of the stony fragments covering him rained onto the grass.

“Kirishima, stop.” The dragon stared at him mournfully. “Don’t hurt yourself. Come here.”

Bakugou reached out for his jaw when Kirishima crept forward, and he let him, allowed him to be guided until his head was in Bakugou’s lap. Kirishima’s great red eye looked up at his, and with the firelight reflecting in it, it was like gold touching the scarlet depth. Under his fingers, the scales felt soft, like a snake, but he knew that in a moment’s notice, they would be harder than any rock. His nostrils flared and with each breath Bakugou smelled heat, the gas inside, a scent he had never experienced before Kirishima.

There were many things he had never experienced before Kirishima.

After a moment, Kirishima’s nose lifted toward the pile of innards from when Bakugou had gutted the rabbit, and his tail rose and fell when he picked them up. “If you bite me,” Bakugou warned, “you’ll be hunting for yourself from now on. No more scraps.”

Kirishima nodded and opened his jaws. The humidity was dense and thick, but it didn’t bother Bakugou as he reached inside and deposited the guts on Kirishima’s tongue, wiping his hand off on it before removing it. Even that was soft, he thought to himself as Kirishima swallowed, a rhythm that he could feel as much as hear, going down his throat and disappearing into his belly.

“You can stay like this tonight.” Bakugou stroked the underside of Kirishima’s chin, and something like a purr vibrated under his hand. “I guess you’re stuck anyway, but...this has been fine so far, so…”

He stopped talking, hoping maybe Kirishima would just figure he was referring to this, this moment, his heavy weight on his lap, and not the now-countless nights they had shared before this curled up together by the fire, because according to Kirishima that’s how clans of dragons slept, together in a pile. And Bakugou would huff about not being a dragon, but when Kirishima put his arm around him and pressed his face into the crook of his neck, humming the way he did, his little smile revealing his sharp teeth...Bakugou couldn’t imagine sleeping without him. Even his horns would lie flat at his cheek, unthreatening, and Bakugou ran his thumb over it fondly as he fell asleep, wondering if Kirishima could feel it.

Now, Kirishima moved slightly to raise a wing and drape it around Bakugou’s shoulders, and despite everything, Bakugou leaned down to press his forehead between those brilliant eyes. “Sleep now,” he ordered softly, “before I knock you out.”

A brief shudder - a chuckle? - was the last response before the dark night coiled itself around the fire, the dragon and the warrior, and they both let it take them elsewhere.

---

When Bakugou woke up again to the subdued glow of sunlight entering an approaching gathering of clouds, a wind kicking up the remnants of the fire from the night before, he felt more exposed than when he had closed his eyes. The wing that had sheltered him was gone, the dense bundle of muscle and bone that had occupied a spot atop his thighs was now…

Kirishima. Not the dragon but the redheaded, kind-looking young man who, were it not for the scattering of red scales or the horns would have seemed very human. But gods, Bakugou liked looking at him, just the way he was.

Tiny nostrils flared as Kirishima blinked up at him. “Bakugou-sama…” he murmured, rubbing his face against his abdomen like a cat. “I'm in my human shape again!”

“Good. You were tearing up the woods. And I told you not to call me that.” His hand that had, for some reason, remained in Kirishima's hair, carded back through it. “Do you feel better? I don't need you slowing me down.”

Kirishima nodded and sat up, his gaze downturned. “I’m sorry for being such a bother to you. If not for me, you wouldn’t have had to stop so early last night, and --”

“Shut up.” Bakugou moved in and pressed his lips to Kirishima’s, and when he startled, Bakugou deepened it. Kissing Kirishima was always so different from kissing humans (not that Bakugou had kissed many, but he had seen his fair share of kisses certainly) because instead of reaching out for him or clutching his neck or clothing, Kirishima would clasp his taloned hands to his chest, and when he pulled away he brought them up to his cheeks, and his tail would wag to an obnoxious degree. “Can we go now?”

“Yes!” Kirishima giggled - had he seriously been a dragon just hours before? - as he bumped Bakugou’s shoulder affectionately with his wing. “I missed doing that before going to sleep last night…”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“It’s true!”

“Who fucking cares if it’s true?!”

#my paperfics #boku no hero academia #kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #dragon!kirishima #fantasy au