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#this is just an excuse to draw a pile of dragons
rosykims · 4 months
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my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.
dragon age origins — king!alistair x mistress f!cousland (elspeth cousland) | minors DNI | rated E for smut | 3206 words | reunion sex, riding, fluff, minor hurt/comfort, marriage proposals | ao3 link
Impatient as he is, he greets his uncle first. He’s the king, after all, and his advisors deserve at least the pretense of an attentive ruler.
Pleasantries are exchanged between them while his squire helps him out of his gaudy golden excuse for armor. Not unexpectedly, the elephant in the room goes undiscussed, as do the half dozen marriage proposals he's certain have piled up during his absence. After six years, Eamon knows better than to press him on that issue. Likely he'll try his luck in the morning, but tonight the wells of Alistair’s patience have been run thoroughly dry. It must read plainly on his face, given how bad he is at cards. 
As the arl's debrief draws to a close, Alistair's eyes, for the tenth time in half as many minutes, dart towards the exit. Eamon sighs. 
“Well, Your Grace,” he says, tactfully clearing his throat. “The hour is late indeed. I imagine you're weary from your travels?”
Alistair nods. “Oh, very weary. The weariest.”
It's not entirely a lie, but his uncle frowns nonetheless. “Then I won't keep you. Good night, Alistair.”
“You as well, Uncle.”
“I will see you in the morning for your small council meeting. Do try not to be . . . waylaid.”
Well. Hint received. Awkward. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he finally presses the door closed behind him.
Next up: a bath. It's sorely needed, after five weeks back and forth across the Waking Sea. His arrivals home are typically received without much ceremony, per his request, and so the palace is pleasantly quiet. A few saluting guards here, a scurrying servant or two there. It's for their benefit that he keeps his footfalls slow and measured, instead of breaking into the wild sprint down the hallway that he's aching for.
One of those servants must have drawn his bath for him already, he guesses, stepping into his chambers to find it warm and awaiting. He wonders if Teagan roused them from their beds for this, or if they've simply clued into his routine after so many years of it.
He forces himself to bathe slowly. For his own sake, but mostly for hers. The heat soaks into his bones, the grime and dust from the road melting off of him as if little more than a bad memory. He tries to enjoy it, despite his restlessness. And the excitement, Maker, like he's still twenty years old and the anticipation alone might just undo him. Or do him in.
He only hurries as he dries off, reaching for the fresh (and mercifully plain) clothes laid diligently aside for him. A part of him considers forgoing clothes entirely – palace denizens be damned. He wills himself to dress anyway, reluctantly. Quickly. It hasn't been that long since he last saw her, anyway, and they've gone far longer stretches before than this. Nonetheless, between Kirkwall's tyrannical templars and the lingering Qunari threat, he feels as if he hasn't held her in an age.
Clean and fully dressed, he frowns at his reflection. Older, harder, more weary. But happy, still, despite it all. Because of her. Her, waiting for him, just a few rooms away. 
Naked, ideally.
He does away with all pretense and hightails down the hall, paying no mind to his kingsguard and their poorly suppressed grins. Smile away, Alistair thinks. I'll be smiling too, in a minute.
Her door is up ahead. And then before him. The handle is inches away from his outstretched hand. He hesitates.
How’s his breath? His hair? He should have shaved, should have put in a little more effort. Can she hear his creepy breathing behind the door? He fixes his clothes. Squares his shoulders. Knocks. 
“Elles?”
A pause. Then, “Alistair?”
His heart tightens painfully in his chest. How he's missed that voice. If Ferelden could speak, it would do so through Elspeth Cousland. The strength of the Frostbacks in that voice of hers. The grim beauty of the Kocari Wilds. Rough like the Highever seas. 
He can tell she’s been brooding before he’s so much as closed the door behind him. Not that he’s surprised — Maker, does the woman know how to brood. She shoots up quickly to her feet, straight and rigid like a soldier standing at attention. Not, mind you, like a Warden-Commander; at this moment Elspeth more closely resembles a clammy-handed recruit, next in line for her Joining. She’s nervous, that much is obvious, with her hands white knuckled and clasped together with uncertainty.  From past experience, he’d wager anything she’s spent the last several days convincing herself he’s somehow fallen out of love with her in the time they’ve been apart.  
And they say he’s the idiot.
Life’s too short to waste on “hello”’s, or “I’ve missed you”’s, or "I brought you a souvenir, but silly me, I accidentally dropped it overboard on the voyage back”. They’ve got less time together than most, after all. Crossing the distance between them is a blur; one moment he's at the door, the next he's hoisting her legs up around his waist, arms enveloping every part of her he can get his hands on, lips working relentlessly against her opened mouth. Whatever insecurities she'd tried to voice in the time it took him to wrap her up in his arms, he doesn't care to hear. He'd much rather focus on ridding her of those doubts entirely.
She gets the message — they've always been in sync like that. Her lips catch up with his, matching the hunger and resolve of his kiss. Her hands, calloused and smelling perpetually of iron, snake around his shoulders. The rest of her smells like roses; she must have come just recently from the garden he’d had built for her, the one place he specifically forbid her from moping in. He takes a moment to refamiliarize himself with her scent, lost in the feeling of her fingers tangled up in his hair, pulling him closer, ever closer, close enough to lose track of whose body belongs to who. And still it's not enough.
He needs her. Badly. She can probably feel as much, too. He carries her to the bed, laying her down amidst the pillows and furs. He finds within himself just enough self restraint to stand back for a long, brazen ogle. Maker, everything about her turns him on. Her freckles, her fingers, her breasts. Her long ashen hair in that ever-familiar braid. Storm gray eyes, pale pink lips. Her nose, one of his many favorite parts of her, set crooked after one too many fists to the face.
That perfect, powerful body of hers, hidden away under just a few thin, tearable layers of clothing . . .
She's way ahead of him, of course, because at this point they've got reunion sex down to an art. She casts off her Warden-blue tunic with only a button or two lost in the process, then grabs him by the front of his own shirt (red, naturally, with a tiny embroidered ‘I love you’ she'd stitched so sneakily behind the hem of his collar) and pulls him down on top of her once it's properly discarded. Their pants and various stubborn affects follow suit, until they’re both left blissfully bare and pawing feverishly at one another, limbs tangled and lips locked. 
His fingers venture down the valley of her breasts, past her stomach to settle in between her legs. He smiles at what he finds, reassured by the proof that he’s not the only one so blatantly aroused. Her thighs part wider for him, hips lifting from the sheets to sooner meet his digits. She moans, perhaps less so from pleasure than the sheer relief of being touched — loved — for the first time in over a month. And he's right there with her. He sighs (or whines, if he's being honest) into the crook of her neck when her own hands find what they've been looking for, working him all too quickly into a frenzy. 
She stops just as suddenly as she'd started, pushing at his chest until he relents and rolls over. She straddles his lap, grinding once, hard and agonizingly slow, for good measure. He moves to drape an arm over his face in some futile attempt to cool his burning cheeks, but she cruelly intercedes, pinning his wrists by either side of his head. He struggles playfully for a bit, laughing breathlessly. His hips buck autonomously at the sight of those strong, muscular arms holding him firmly in place.
They used to spar together, innocently, when they first met. How time flies.
He needs so, so desperately to fuck her. He has all night — all week, all year, all of the rest of their lives— to savor her body the way it's meant to be savored. To make sweet, tender, Chantry sanctioned love to her. But what he needs right now  — what they both need, he recognises — is something desperate and ragged and mindless to the point of being no better than animals. The type of fucking that comes from a shared loneliness he's not certain anybody else has ever experienced before.
He's glad she doesn't give him too much time to dwell on that. Her hips rise just enough for the right angle, before guiding him slowly inside. They both sigh. Elspeth frees his trapped hands to splay her own out against his chest, steadying herself. Her nails dig into his skin as she sinks down onto him, inch by inch, although she's bitten them too short to do any real damage. Alistair fights to keep himself still inside her, waiting for her body to adjust, to give him the go ahead. An uphill battle, really. When he's fully sheathed inside of her she settles, save for the frantic contraction of her muscles around him, driving him to the brink of insanity. 
“I dreamt about this every night I was gone,” he manages. “Maker, I love you, Elles. I love you so much.”
Her eyes go glassy and her bottom lip quivers. It's that old, familiar grief, the one he's never been able to fully free her from after those long, bleak months in the Deep Roads. But as he moves his hips carefully against hers and feels Elspeth moving back, he's confident he can coax it down again, at least for as little as tonight.
“I love you,” she eventually whispers back, and then begins to ride him in earnest.
Ten minutes blurs into one long wave of curling, cresting euphoria. Alistair groans brokenly. He feels absolutely deranged, delirious, gazing up at her while she takes him so completely. Sweat beads at her forehead, and a deep flush creeps from her chest up to her cheeks. His own face must be beet-red, too. 
He's not going to last long, not with the angle she’s hitting and sounds coming out of her mouth. Though, taking those sounds into consideration, he suspects that she won't last much longer, either. They're both too keyed up to pace themselves and too jittery to try, so better to play it out in a wild crescendo. He grabs at her hips, lifting her up and back down onto him, coaxing out one hoarse plea after another. One hand releases its grip to run unfettered across her breasts, and she groans again, falling forwards onto his chest and wrapping herself around him as if she might never get a chance to again. 
Once, a hundred lifetimes ago, his friend Zevran gave him some unsolicited advice about arching. He really hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he does now, right in this moment, with the friction of this exact position to aid him in such an endeavor. She’s done in half a minute if he can keep her held firmly above him. He’s done, too. He doubles his efforts, recapturing her swollen lips and soon reaching with his tongue to greet the muffled cry when her pleasure finally peaks. Normally he would let her ride it out, but he’s rapidly approaching his own climax and his brain can focus on nothing but her gray, glazed over eyes, her hair in the candlelight, the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she writhes and bucks and bounces against him. Her muscles pulse and he feels himself twitching inside of her in response. 
He’s so close, at the precipice, suspended in mid air, floating . . . And then she tightens around him once more and he finishes inside of her with one long, obscene moan that vibrates through the room and every part of his utterly spent body.
They’re going to get so many looks from the guards come morning.
His every muscle sings with bliss. Their bodies grow slack and boneless together and their movements slow to lazy, drawn out rolls of the hips. He holds her, one hand rubbing her naked back and the other cradling her head as they find their breaths again, together, in the most comfortable of silences. He counts her exhales, and in the afterglow of their efforts he finds himself blinking back tears. Returning to Ferelden, to Denerim, to the palace itself . . . none of it had felt like coming home until this very moment, enveloped in one another, reacquainted at last with the sound of each other’s breathlessness.
He hates it when she rolls up and off of him, but he’s a grown up, apparently, so instead of whining about it he begrudgingly rises from the bed long enough to grab the nearest clean cloth. Then he’s right back in bed with her, his hand returning between her legs to wipe her down, followed by a cursory clean up of himself. She lets out her now thoroughly dishevelled braid while she watches him, not smiling as he’d hoped, but warm and tender nonetheless. Her fingers trace slow and deliberately along the curve of his bicep, frowning at the jagged scar she knows still gives him trouble in the colder months. He makes a mental note to get at least a half dozen laughs out of her before the night is through, just to keep that damned frown of hers at bay.
He offers her a worldless arm when he’s done tidying them both up, and he’s rewarded with a smile, sweet and sheepish, as she moves to snuggle into it. He pulls her close to pepper the top of her head with kisses, humming contentedly in the quiet.
“Marry me,” he says eventually.
Elspeth tenses, and then sighs. “You’re never going to give this up, are you?”
“Ha! Of course I will. The second you say ‘Yes! Yes! Oh, Alistair! One thousand times yes!’”
“I don’t sound like that. Also, do I have to say it a thousand times, or just the once?”
“Well . . . a couple times couldn’t hurt, right?”
And there it is: her first, exasperated chuckle of the night. Winning that laughter means more to him than every battle he’s ever come out of victorious.
“You know I can’t, Ali.” Her laughter fades back into her usual grimness as she runs her palm across his chest, charting routes in the space between his freckles. She places a kiss above his heart, likely in the hopes of avoiding his eye. “We’ve broken too many rules as it is, and I won’t be the cause for yet more unrest in Thedas. I bear responsibility for enough of that already. Besides, I can’t just abandon my men. The Wardens need me.”  
“I need you.” He scoffs as an afterthought. “And the Gray Wardens have Nathaniel, as much as it just kills me to credit that man with anything. But hey! Who said anything about giving them up? A king can be a general. I’m living proof he can be a court jester, too. Why can’t a queen be Warden-Commander?”
She ignores his quip, despite it being a really good one. “Because I don’t know how to be a queen.” She shakes her head hopelessly. “I barely know how to be a person most days. Maybe . . .  maybe I could have done it, once, but now, after everything —”
Better to stop this now before it turns into another one of her signature doom spirals. “Every Arl and Bann in the Coastlands calls you queen already, did you know that?” He grins, having anticipated the eyeroll. Of course she knows that, given how much her fellow Gray Wardens love to gossip. And tease. “The nobles have long been made aware that I won't accept anybody else by my side. And, Maker, it’s not like they would accept anybody else! ‘None but the Cousland Queen’ —  that’s what they say about you. I know that because half of the bannorn have told me. To my face.”  
Some small, dignified part of her — the part that still relishes being a highborn noble — stirs. Her eyes glint with cautious intrigue. “Bann Ceorlic?” she asks.
Alistair clears his throat. “Well, not him.”
 “Hmph.”
“Marry me,” he says again. “Don’t you want to?”
“You know I want to,” she says, “but —”
“— Any excuse you give me will just go in one ear and out the other. Isn’t that just so classically me? Hey, here’s a crazy idea. Let’s get maaaa-rried!”
“You’re just getting funnier and funnier in your old age, aren’t you?”
“And you’re getting grumpier.” 
He takes her face in both hands before she can deny it, kissing her slow and soft and with all of the comfort he knows she secretly needs right now, and likely always will. Now that he’s home - truly home - he can give her as much of that as she can stand, and then some. Tomorrow’s small council meeting be damned. “Marry me, Elles.”
She blinks up at him, searching his eyes for any sign he might one day get tired of waiting. She can find a lot in his eyes (he is really, really terrible at cards) but she’ll never find that. 
“Can I at least ask you how your trip went, first?” she asks finally, softened by the crack of a tiny, rueful smile.
“Ugh.” How could he forget? “Right. That little thing. It -” 
Alistair blinks, Kirkwall forgotten again just as soon as he’d remembered it. “That’s . . . not a ‘no’, by the way,” he says, dumbfounded.
Elspeth settles in closer against him, her leg wrapped around his, her ear pressed in snug at his shoulder. He knows she’s listening for his heartbeat, the thump-thump-thump she’d do anything - everything - for. He knows she put him on the throne to keep that heartbeat going for a few years more, and he knows that’s why it’s so hard for her to give up the endless fight for it now. 
He knows. It doesn’t mean he thinks she’s right.
She looks up at him only after she’s satisfied that his heart isn’t about to cease functioning in his chest. Her hand reaches out to smooth down the errant hairs around his ears, and she opens her mouth several times to reply before pursuing them together in frustration. Then - finally, bashfully - she nods.     
“No,” she admits softly. “I mean, it’s not. It’s . . . it’s not a no.”
‘It’s not a no’. Well, he’s certainly done more with less.
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effelants · 4 months
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Tagged by @mxanigel (thank you!!! <3) to find these words in my WIPs! I'll try to look for them in fresh BG3 WIPs, but if I cannot find it, I shall go looking in my Dragon Age WIPs, namely in Super Secret Fic Project!
The words I was given are NIGHT, COMFORT, and TREE!
1. Night (@anderstrevelyan's Valas DeVir x my Vierna II Do'Urden)
“I don’t know. I was raised by humans. My parents died when I was very young.” A lie — but a good one, Vierna had thought at the time. Her voice hadn’t faltered, and her eyes had been steady and sure on his.
His jaw had clenched, ever so slightly, and that, right there — that had been the first glimpse of the man: that flash of emotion, deep within that dark gaze she’d known to be violet. What she hadn’t known, however, was what that emotion was, and she hadn’t known it for many weeks to come.
Not until tonight, when she sees it once again flash across his face by the light of their campfire in the midst of conversation. Only now, she knows him well enough to put a name to it: fear. Valas is afraid — and, perhaps more importantly, Valas had been afraid, that first night when she’d turned him away without a second thought.
She leans into his shoulder, reaches over to take his hand and twine her fingers through his, and he glances down at her in question. It’s not the right time to discuss it — and so she says nothing, merely gives his hand a soft squeeze and settles more comfortably against him.
With the slightest one-shouldered shrug — which, coming from him, she is happy to construe as acceptance of her affections — he turns back to the others. Before long, the campfire dies down to embers and the conversation to sparse phrases and single-word answers. One by one, their companions excuse themselves to their respective tents, until Vierna and Valas are the only two left sitting there, staring into final glowing coals sizzling quietly against the eternally damp cavern floor.
And still she cannot bring herself to broach the subject, even as it claws its way into her gut, burrowing the guilt deeper inch by painful inch.
“I have the first watch,” Valas finally says. “Aren’t you tired?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll stay with you a while longer.”
“I’ll get us some more wood, then,” he murmurs and stands. “It’ll be cold soon.”
“Wait, Valas.” She’s on her feet before she knows it, taking his arm and pulling him around to face her.
And so he waits. And waits. And, finally, sighs, though he does an admirable job of trying to cover it.  “What am I waiting for?”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
“For…?” he prompts, raising a brow — whether in question or in amusement, she can’t quite tell.
“That night, on the beach by the nautiloid. Do you remember?”
He nods, and his mouth draws into a tighter line.
“You asked me about my parents, and I lied to you.”
“Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes searching her face, until they finally come to rest on hers.
“I was afraid, and I thought I was protecting myself. But tonight, I realized…” she pauses — but no, they are past tiptoeing around each other by now. They have to be, after everything they’ve been through together. “You were afraid too, weren’t you?” She feels him stiffen under her hand, and she hurries to complete the thought. “I just wanted to say that I wish I’d seen it, then. I wish I’d helped you, then — but I didn’t.”
“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter.” He goes to turn back around, to head toward their pile of firewood, but that’s not how she wants to leave it — and so she steps into him to wrap her arms around him.
“It matters to me.”
She hears a sharp intake of breath, but the rebuke she half expects doesn’t follow — instead, he pulls her closer against his chest.
2. Comfort (@owls-den's Alisterius x my Malice II Do'Urden, Fake Dating AU)
 “Please, my lady, it’s quite alright![," Alisterius said. "]I assure you, the fault was all mine. Perhaps you would indulge me, let me buy you a drink? To dispel your troubles, and to apologize for my boorish lack of care?”
What was it with this man and buying others drinks? Still, it got her closer to where she needed to be, and so she nodded — oh-so-demurely, of course, and still facing away from him. “Thank you, sir; you are most kind.”
He frowned ever so slightly before leaning to the side, gaze seeking hers as he softly, gently, swept the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. “Are you sure you’re alright, my lady?”
She lifted her eyes — and found herself swept up, held in the embrace of an expression that was all silk and gossamer, not iron chains and biting shackles. His eyes were warm and brown, calm and comforting on hers, and his voice was… tender. He was tender.
It was moments of eternity that followed until she was finally able to find her way back to herself enough to swallow heavily. “Um…”
He smiled — and, that, too, was soft.  “Might I inquire as to your name, my lady?”
“Malice.” The truth slipped out, unintentionally, unthinkingly, and the mistake broke whatever spell he’d cast over her. She pulled her hand from his grasp.
How could a mere man be so disarming? 
He glanced up at her, brow furrowing in confusion as he straightened to tower over her once more. She hurried to rearrange her expression before he could ask if anything was wrong — she could not explain what had just happened even if she’d wanted to, and by the gods did she not want to. 
Praise be to Lolth, he was all too eager to accept her smile with another of his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Alice.”
“No, it’s—” She stopped herself before she could stumble once more and ruin the blessing bestowed upon her by the cacophony of the tavern around them. “Yes, Alice. I’m Alice.” What in the Hells could this man have done to make her so quickly forsake the lessons her grandmother had etched into her skin — into her very bones? She needed to do better, to be better.
3. Tree (from the first chapter of Super Secret Fic Project! Moira Amell and Duncan heading to Ostagar)
For all he knew, she would be as useless a Warden as she was a mage, and he’d still taken pity on her.
Besides, no matter the cost of the Joining, it had to be better than the fate that would have awaited her if not for him. Irrationally, the thought made her feel better, and she nodded.
“Good girl,” he said, almost softly. He straightened to his full height, suddenly much more matter-of-fact: “and now, to business. There is a Warden in camp by the name of Alistair. He’s our most junior member, and so he will be in charge of helping you and the others prepare for your Joining. You should find him as soon as possible.”
“There are others?”
“Yes, we have two other new recruits here with us. You will all undertake the Joining together.” As he spoke, he moved off toward the camp, clearly expecting her to follow.
No sooner had she stepped beneath the next stone arch to do just that than she jolted to another sudden stop. What she had thought was a road ahead was, in truth, a bridge — which in and of itself would have been fine, were it not for the fact that it stretched over the steepest valley she had ever seen. Far, far, far below, a fine, gray mist swirled through the chasm, hurried along by the faintly howling wind so that it undulated almost like a river. But water it was not — the tops of a few fir trees, only just barely breaking through the soft tendrils of fog, ensured that it could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was: certain death, at least if her violently heaving stomach was to be believed. 
Duncan turned around to look at her, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. “Is something the matter?”
Yes, something was the matter, and he clearly knew it. Still, she closed her eyes and shook her head vehemently, as if that would somehow help.
“This bridge is sturdy enough for armies, let alone two lone Wardens. There’s nothing to fear. Come.” 
Footsteps clattered on stone as he moved off once again. Moira forced herself to open her eyes, muttering a foul word under her breath. Why did it have to be heights? 
Still, Duncan was right — the bridge certainly looked strong enough. With a deep breath, she stepped forwards, keeping her eyes carefully on Duncan’s back and resolutely ignoring the renewed twist of her stomach.
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mareenavee · 9 months
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WIP Whenever~
OH yes I'm tagging a bunch of the the mutuals again for we have suffered greatly in tossing words at the documents. Proof below the cut.
Tagged by the most esteemed @thequeenofthewinter <3
Tagging: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @friend-of-giants, @thana-topsy, @rhiannon1199, @snippetsrus, @tallmatcha, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @rainpebble3, @oblivions-dawn, @saltymaplesyrup, @the-storytellers-seer, @airiat, @elfinismsarts, @inquisition-dragonborn, and any others who have not been tagged :> Consider yourselves tagged. TAG ME. And always remember to re-tag mutuals even if they've been tagged, and especially if they've posted. Pile 'em on so we can outrun the notification problems on here and always be aware of each others' work LOL Below the cut we have NEW OC nonsense in a piece of an upcoming chapter 25 of The World on Our Shoulders!
“You have to help me,” the Thalmor said. “I cannot best her. And she will not let me close to my superior without leverage. If you recall, I shot you.”
Teldryn glared at the man, though he’d not be able to see through the chitin. He thought about it for a second. What manner of bullshit was this, anyway? He didn’t refer to himself as Thalmor before, despite the outfit. Despite the battalion and superior nonsense. Something was amiss.
“Yeah, that’s even less reason for me to help you,” Teldryn said, rubbing the inside of his elbow joint in distaste.
“See reason! All of that was for appearances. And, to be honest, my own safety. I saw how you cut down my associates,” the elf said.
“Appearances to who? The dead Thalmor? Sure,” Teldryn snorted. “Fuck you. Go figure it out on your own.” If he annoyed the elf just enough, his story would fall right out. That, or the details about Nyenna.
“Excuse me?” the elf asked, aghast. “And what, pray tell, do you intend to do instead?” His face and neck were slowly going crimson. Teldryn noticed his fists were clenched at his side. He smirked behind his scarf. Perfect.
“Sail this stupid fucking bucket back to Raven Rock. I don’t need a patron who summons dragons and demons,” Teldryn lied and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Not worth the coin. I’ll cut my losses.”
“Mercenaries,” the Thalmor hissed, the word sounding more like a curse than anything Teldryn had managed so far. Of course he wasn’t going to leave Nyenna stranded here. But the elf didn’t need to know that. The Thalmor huffed, drawing attention back to himself. “Fine. Fine, what is your fee? I’ll hire you instead. You speak in coin, right?” He fished around desperately in his robes and produced a coin purse. “They’re at a standstill. They’ve been since before we were sent to retrieve that Skaal bastard. And if my superior doesn’t die, not one of us is going to get out of this alive, even if the consequences take some time to catch up to us.”
So there it was. The superior was evenly matched with Nyenna, or at least held some kind of advantage she couldn’t overcome on her own. But what did he mean about the consequences? And why was he including himself in this problem? Not that Teldryn would normally argue about offing some Thalmor leader, but all of it was bordering on insane. Figures Nyenna would have gotten stuck in the middle of it. He eyed the Thalmor as he sat down across from him and placed the coin purse on the bench.
“Before I take this job, sera, you’ll need to tell me what you mean by consequences,” Teldryn drawled, “as I don’t see how this affects me at the moment.” He didn’t move. The Thalmor sighed and ran his free hand down his face. He swore in Altmeris, but relented, finally. Teldryn smirked behind his scarf. The s’wit didn’t think through much, it seemed.
“Fine. Here’s this, then, if it will sweeten the deal, speaking of fetchers,” the Thalmor said bitterly. “I am and am not Thalmor. I steal secrets from them and pass the information back to a friend. I have a part to play. Only, a scout returning on my own without my contingent will indicate failure. Failure will mean being sent back to Alinor for retraining. And who will keep the information about the Dragonborn out of their hands then, hm?” He interwove his own fingers in a nervous fidget. “I can only survive retraining unchanged so many times.” His voice trailed off as he scrubbed at some of the scars on his head.
“So you’re a double agent?” Teldryn asked, dropping just a fraction of his attitude. He tucked away the man’s apprehension in the back of his mind for later. “Why? Why not just escape?”
The elf was taken aback by the question, blinking as if the sentiment hadn’t occurred to him before. He sighed and twisted his fingers together for a moment before finding the answer.
“It’s not as simple as one would think to get out from under their control,” he said. “So I threw my lot in with — well, that part doesn’t matter. Suffice to say, our goals probably align closer than you’d think.”
“But you shot me,” Teldryn pointed out, “and poisoned me, no less. Then, you sit there and have the gall to ask for my help.”
“It was risk management and nothing more,” the Thalmor quipped. “Do not take it personally.”
“Then why did you not poison the Dragonborn?” Teldryn ventured. He’d already taken the coin purse from the bench next to the Thalmor without being noticed. He grinned as the man’s face twisted through several different emotions until he buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, please. At this point, you must know I never did claim to be a good double agent,” the Thalmor lamented. Teldryn let out a loud cackle.
“You can say that again,” he laughed and stood up with a stretch. The Thalmor peered up at him. “Let’s just go get my friend out of trouble.” He offered his hand. “Teldryn Sero, best swordsman in all of Morrowind.”
“Varlais,” the elf said miserably. He shook Teldryn’s hand. All in all, this one looked tougher than he was. He’d been a decent actor at first until the confidence melted away. There was an explosion from not far off, tearing Teldryn from his thoughts. He spun around in surprise looking for the source. Varlais sighed heavily next to him. “Yes, that’ll be the Dragonborn.”
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sketchmog · 8 months
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Some doodles from the plot that last gif is from. Ties into a larger plot but I really just wanted an excuse to draw my oc Leroy being growly and with long hair.
Plot and race notes below the keep reading. |'3
No name for it yet but it focuses on one very hard winter where an orphaned Nero ventures beyond the veil in one of the mountain gaps and finds an empty giant's camp. He steals some bits of unattended rations and finds a weathered pendant and takes it, planning to sell it the next time some merchants pass through... but his village is so empty it's doubtful.
Sadly for him, if he'd just taken the food he giant wouldn't have cared and left him be. But he needs that pendant. Because reasons.
Zev isn't thrilled to have to take a detour to the realm of man but he needs that pendant for this trip. He's already in a bad mood and planning to take some of his frustration out on whoever would be stupid enough to steal from him... but that all kind of melts away when he realizes its a kid. He tracks him down and decides the runt will fare better with him than freeze and starve to death in an empty house.
Can you really kidnap someone with no family to claim them? Either way, he quickly finds himself adopting Nero along his treks through the frozen terrain of the giant realm.
They meet Leroy along the way. He's a very different sort of giant than Zev. A bit feral and worst of all at least half Ragor. Ragor are the species most people base their generalized legends about giants on .
Big, angry, almost always hungry, and very much carnivorous.
But to their credit they only eat humans on the off chance there is absolutely nothing else. They're more feared in the giant community for hunting other giant races.
Leroy's intentions are clear on making a meal out of Zev but between Zev's quick thinking, Nero's puppy eyes and a very unlucky fox, Leroy puts that plan on hold.
It's strange because Ragor normally travel in hunting gangs but he's a loner. Nero convinces both Leroy and Zev that letting Leroy tag along is the better idea. Leroy strikes a deal with Zev that if he promises to get him to either the spring or autumnal borders he won't eat him and he'll help keep an eye on Nero. Zev, seeing no other real choice, agrees.
Leroy basically adopts Zev and Nero as his new gang (the term Ragor use for their familial units) and calls Zev his brother.
Leroy hates the cold and often demands cuddle puddles to preserve body heat. He doesn't look it too much in the doodles except the dragon paw one, but he's the tallest and will often trip Zev in their camps so he can catch him and carry him to the furs pile and demand bed time because it's too cold. :T
Ragor have little regard for personal space once they feel close to someone so cuddling and touch and being in one someone's face is a show of affection. Most Ragor have rounded ears but considering he's some kind of hybrid it's not surprising for him to have pointed ones.
Ear wiggles for Leroy are similar enough ti tail wagging in animals. Can be a sign of happiness or a warning he's annoyed. Just depends. :'3
Leroy also has an affinity for fabric and sewing so he tends to patch up torn packs, clothes, and even makes warmer wear for Nero.
Zev views Nero as a mix of little brother and son while Leroy just sees him as a little brother.
The animal nicknames are:
Badger: Nero gets this nickname from both Leroy and a reaper whom he challenges to save Zev's life.
Wolf: Zev gets called this by Leroy mostly because the Jättese (his race of giants) are most associated with wolves.
Moose: Leroy is terrified of Moose. Zev calls him this not to tease him but because Leroy reminds him of a moose. Big, can be aggressive, and even though he won't eat them he's still an ever present danger. Also because nothing can stop him once he starts charging/puts his mind to something. Leroy finds the explanation acceptable and relishes it.
It's gonna be a story about loss and what grief can do to you if you let it. And that while things can disappear from your life in the most painful ways there will always be things and people that will come in after and help to you move forward if you let them.
Because damn do I need a story like that in my life right now. |'3
This plot meshes into another plot I was thinking on and happens along side the start of it. It eventually blends in with it later into the future when the 4 main humans of focus are grown and stumbling into or back through giant related adventures.
I at least want to try for an animatic of this. We'll see if it works with me!
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jjtheresidentbaby · 5 months
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Flip Amerie Wadia headcanons
♡ attached to day 5 moodboard for fictionalagerechallange
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when little:
she’s more of a toddler/kid regressor than a baby regressor
so so energetic!! she just wants to run around and play 24/7
her main caregivers are Harper & Malakai but Quinni & Darren babysit frequently
her sweet tooth is like no other — Harper & Malakai have to put a limit on the amount of sugar she’s allowed to have because it makes her more hyper and she won’t sleep at all if she has too many sweets
finds any excuse to turn something into a game— if she has to do something it’s suddenly a timed challenge or there’s imaginary dragons she has to beat after she finishes the task or she’s trying to do it better than one of her cg’s
makes Malakai battle with her for everything — races, drawing competitions, etc (he let her win every time at the beginning but eventually Harper tells him to actually try to and win)
dance party’s are a must, she has at least ten separate playlists for when she’s small and she’ll blast them full volume if she can
loves to go swimming/be at the beach in general
her and Quinni build sandcastles together and stick little sticks & shells into them to make it “fancy”
loves when Quinni does her makeup and uses some of her stickers/glitter — Amerie runs around showing everyone how pretty she looks, all of her cg’s freakin melt seeing her
she’s so clumsy and Harper & Malakai have to keep bandaids on them at all times, and in turn a stock pile of lollipops too (for comfort ofc)
even if she’s regresses a little older she still uses sippy cups, she’ll spill everywhere if she doesn’t, and pacifiers cause she likes the oral stim of having one
when caring:
she’s still energetic but not as much as when she’s little and has a much easier time dialing it back if who she’s watching needs calm
the most versatile babysitter of her friend group, she’s watched over every little at least once (and yes this includes the trio of problematic boys™️)
she can’t cook for the life of her so there’s lots of takeout nights, though she does try to make it at least a little healthy for whoever she’s watching
loves to listen to rambles about her littles favorite thing — as someone who talks a lot herself she really enjoys letting her little have that time to talk freely about whatever they please
she might not always understand what’s being said but she will always listen and be enthusiastic about it!
if her little needs babysitting she usually calls Malakai first and then Quinni if he can’t — she knows she could call Harper but she likes to give Harper some time off from caregiving since she watches Amerie when she’s little so frequently
she always seems to be the one to find a little regressed at random times — this leads to a lot of impromptu moments of caregiving on her part (and maybe some lectures about how dangerous it is to regress without a caregiver when they aren’t at home but it’s all done in good heart)
her tote bag is like magic in the sense that it seems never ending and has a million things in it
if a little can’t find their toy or pacifier and Amerie looked after them chances are it’ll be somewhere in the bottom of that bag
not the most organized cg but she does like to plan days out when there’s time for her and her little to spend time together without interruption
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shiroi---kumo · 4 months
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[ @kazeofthemagun is sketching away... ]
Stretched atop a pile of boxes in the corner of an empty storage room, the Windarian surveyed his territory. There was nobody else there, which pleased him greatly - he enjoyed his silence. An object slipped out from underneath his spacious cape - a notebook of yellowed paper, laid over a leg.
Kaze took out a pencil and began sketching. A picture clear from his memory. There was some form of irony with how precisely he recalled every inch of the sharp sword-creature, when the face of its master remained a blurry mess on the canvas of the life they used to share.
It was almost photographic, even if the rich, dark graphite smeared somewhat. It stained his fingers as he wiped on the page, creating shading. The likeness of the serpentine beast was striking; But then again, how could it not be, when he spent so many years dreaming of its blade skewering his heart?
The truth was one thing, the nightmares seared into his brain - another.
...Ah, and he was no longer alone, it seemed.
He shifted slightly to create space, should White Cloud wish to take a seat beside him on the makeshift summit. He did not hide what he drew, but he also would not speak of it unless prompted. It had been some time since art tugged at his spirit and he answered. In all honesty, it felt.. warm, an assurance that his hand could still create something, even if that something was as insignificant as a projection of old hauntings.
The Sword Dragon's snout was stained with blood - an inky blot of smudged graphite.
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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He's humming to himself as allows himself to float through the halls of the Comodeen compound. It's been a minute since he's been up. He's been far too tired to do anything and since his last glance at himself in the mirror he knows why. It's been hard to come to terms with but Cid knows now so he needs to explain this all to him in full.
Everything has been so ...quiet... lately. Everyone just leaves him alone and all he can bring himself to do most days is sleep. The curse is spreading faster as the rot infects. It's hard to come to terms with knowing his time is so short now. It was difficult before knowing that eventually his soul would give out but he can feel Death's cold breath lingering down the back of his neck every day and he's terrified of the day she will finally ask him to dance.
Even if he knows every beat and every step, that doesn't mean he wants to dance that pas de deux for eternity. That was not the eternity he imagined when he thought about it. He was supposed to keep going. He was supposed to stay by his side. He was supposed to keep his promise. He was supposed to do ... so much more than this... but he'd be gone before the year was out.
He couldn't keep lying to him about it and he needed to tell him - didn't he? How could he? He doesn't know. The man doesn't talk to him anyway. It's not like he owes him anything. So then, why does it feel like he does? Would it be another lecture? Of course it would be. Why is he even -
Jade is peering deep into one of the storage rooms knowing damn well the doctor he had sat out with the intention of finding wouldn't be there but the likelihood of a far more shadowy denizen residing in such a place so lonely was high. There is a sigh that escapes him as shoulders drop when he sees the man so focused on a task.
Was he ....drawing?
Ah.... he noticed.
He's making space.... and he wonders for a moment how he's supposed to state something like his extreme loneliness so plain to a man who never speaks.
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"Ah Sorry." He sounds dropping his gaze to avoid eye contact. "I didn't mean to bother you. I was just ... looking for... Cid. He wanted to talk to me and he's not in his office. I'll - I'll leave you be. Excuse me."
He can't do it. Not now and perhaps with the way his clock was ticking ... not ever.
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raamitsu · 2 years
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I know that big Tokrev twitter account you’re talking about and yikes…Now they’re trying to spearhead the theory that whenever Mikey is in dark impulses mode that it’s actually Shinichiro possessing him and I—Can we just have Mikey be accountable for his actions?? Like I love Mikey too but we need to stop giving him a pass for the things he’s done and stop blaming other people for his actions.
And then them being shocked that a person who is grieving is behaving...Like a person who is grieving. You can really tell that the OP has never experienced true grief before for them to think that the way Shinichiro was behaving was bizarre (and people who supported OP too). Like you stan literal murderers but a guy who’s grieving the loss of his family is apparently where you draw the line?? Get out of here >.>
Wow who are you anon and why are you spitting ?
Tbh it’s affecting a lot of TR stans’ minds to believe Shinichiro was still a bad guy like ?? I thought we’re collectively agreed that none of these characters are either good or bad? Funny cuz no one is saying Shinichiro was a perfect saint guy, but we can somehow grasped the idea of what kind of a guy Shin was from other characters that spoke highly of him. “Bad role model” “excuse violence” - Idk man. Shin brought Mikey to Black Dragon’s last gathering is not equivalent to teaching or educating violence, am I wrong? Like what do people expect? This is a manga that revolves around delinquents after all and most of them are involved heavily in it so don’t expect to see sunshines and rainbows all the time. As far as I remembered, she made a couple of tweets shitting on Shinichiro after the first one she let up still. I guess she deleted them due to the amount of people calling her out.
Aside of that, reading Chapter 270 makes me feel heavily bad for Shinichiro, as he worked hard to the bone to manage his family’s basic needs after their parents passed away, while both Emma and Mikey were just a kid. Being the first born and an elder brother holds a huge responsibility - in fact, he even had to bear all of that by himself. Furthermore, after Grandpa Sano passed away and Emma ran away from home, it’s possible to think all sort of emotions he tried to conceal were piling up, and it got even darker after Mikey passed away a month later. Shinichiro was the parent figure of Sano family, yet she and the people agreeing with her wanted to come at him just because he took down some disrespectful losers at the club :/
Seriously though, are we gonna forget what Mikey did to Sanzu? are we gonna forget the day he wanted Kisaki to realize his dream + said he wanted darkness and he didn’t care whatever method Kisaki used - then suggested Kisaki to join Toman even after Baji, Draken and Mitsuya were fully against it? are we gonna forget that he massacred all of his friends in the future timeline and the fact he never hesitated to show that side of him? are we gonna forget how he let his dark impulses took control of him and took South’s live and put Takemichi in koma? He was entirely conscious and knew what he did. He also uttered Takeomi’s name after he kicked his face. For someone who claimed to not be able to differentiate what’s wrong and what’s right, that is still not an excuse for whatever he has done, so I hope his stans are not being blinded by “how young and traumatized he is” till they can’t rightfully criticized his unforgivable acts.
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a-ladyman-in-waiting · 5 months
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A Ladyman in Waiting (2)
Chapter 2
A story in the works
When we last left off, a fellow named Brendon had led an uneventful life.
bOrING
Let’s change that shall we?
Chapter 2
I…I woke up to a terrifying void…
Pitch black everywhere…
I tried blinking my eyes and nothing changed.
I tried again and still nothing changed.
I sat up immediately expecting to wake up, only to be met with a bright light.
“ACK!!” I yelped, flinching with my eyes shut.
My eyes are so sensitive to light that I needed prescription shades (aka sunglasses) to walk around outside. I can’t handle regular sunlight.
It took me a while to readjust my eyes before I opened them again.
And once I did, I saw…grass…glowing blue grass.
I think it was blue, blue-green.
I was looking down at the grass and then as I looked up, I saw a colosseum, like right ahead of me.
‘I could get there within like five minutes.’
I stared at it for moments and the only words that came out of my mouth were, “Holy damn.”
I got up and trekked across the glowing fields, heading straight for the humongous ruins.
“No way, it’s a real colosseum. I’ve always wanted to see one. I’ve only seen pictures of these.”
As I got closer, I began to see more features of the ruins, such as the piles of stone
around the building, the empty rooms that were shrouded in darkness, and the fact the entrance was on the left.
I walked over the piles of stone to get to the entrance…and when I peeked inside…I saw a dragon.
I instinctively hid behind the wall.
‘Holy shit’, I thought to myself, ‘That’s a real dragon. No way.’
I peeked again…there it was.
It was lying down in the middle of the whole ruin, illuminated by some kind of yellow-ish light? Or was it a natural light?
‘Seriously, the grass was blue-green, how is it shining in natural light?’ I thought to myself.
Excuse me
“HOLY JESUS SHIT.” I blurted out. “Sorry Lord.”
Oh…you must be religious.
“Not that religious! I’m NOT a preacher.” I retorted.
Hmm…would you like to come in?
“Sure.” I answer.
I walked into the colosseum, the dragon, who was pearly white with black eyes, held their head high.
Suddenly, my stomach was infested with butterflies, I kept my head forward while my eyes darted around trying hard not to ogle at them. I swear that I could feel their eyes on me.
‘Last time I checked, they had a fe-’
I suddenly trip on a crack on the ground.
‘MMMMMMMmmmmm’ I screamed internally.
I spent the last 6 seconds shuffling up to the dragon…god I’m such a nervous wreck.
Are you alright?
“No…” I muttered.
Well, if it’s alright, may we see each other eye to eye?
“…sure…” I muttered again.
‘ realized that I had been staring away from the dragon…
‘Aaaayyynooo….’ I internally moaned in regret.
‘Ok…just a peek…’ I thought to myself.
I took a deep breath before I turned around to faaaacee…
‘Ther-they’re…they’re gorgeous…’
‘I feel like shriveling up…I embarrassed myself in front of a gorgeous dragon…’
Well, that’s a first.
‘Yea…it iiiii…wait hold on…I…I…I can’t believe I’m drawing blanks at a time like this…’
It’s alright, you can do this.
‘I-I-I…have met…a pearly white dragon…who can…read my mind?’
Correct.
I began to internally groan/scream while holding my head…I really messed up…
Would you like a moment?
“...yes…” I squeaked.
The embarrassment lingered on for moments before I was able to collect myself and ask about them.
“Ok..I’m ready…” I said, trying to keep my tone of voice from going too loud or quiet.
Splendid.
The dragon sat up in a regal pose while keeping their gaze onto me.
I am the Dragon of Dreams, a guardian of the ethereal, I’m one of many who can grant your one wish.
“Holy damn…” I said.
Holy damn indeed. Now I have a rule for what you ask of me…
“Ok, what rule is it?” I asked.
Be honest, if your wish does align with your heart, then you must forfeit that wish…you only get one chance.
“Ok…gotcha…” I uttered.
‘Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I know exactly what I want to wish for…but I really think that she’ll decline…even worse be offended.’
‘Wait…she can read my mind…so basically whatever I’m feeling and thinking must match with what I choose to say.’
‘Oh lord. Oh lord…’
‘Let me take a deep breath…I think…I think…I’m gonna do it…If she didn’t mind me making a fool out of myself…then I can try…NO.’
‘I’m gonna blurt it out…ok…here goes something’
“I wish TO BE A SEXY DRAGON GIRL WITH A SEXY OUTFIT…”
The dragon looked at me…
Astonished…
That’s…an unique wish…
I honestly feel like shriveling up.
You wish to become a hybrid…with one of our own and yourself?
“Say what?” I asked with butterflies filling my stomach.
Yes, a hybrid species with an illustrious human body. You gave me an answer where you didn’t fight your true feelings.
“Oh! Yes. A sexy dragon lady with sexy clothes…just like the one in my drawings…” I voiced with embarrassment.
At least you have an idea of your appearance.
“Hah…”
Let us continue,
“Ok”
For this grandiose wish, you’ll need to harbor a Dream Dragon Soul, one of my own more or less.
“Oh dear lord.” I groaned.
Indeed. No mere mortal can withstand their power alone.
So we must establish your limits:
“Ok, so what are they?”
One, you must stay within the light of the moon until you can survive the breath of the sun.
“So I become a complete night owl…oh shit.”
Hmph, most people assume they’ll become vampires. We are not unholy beings.
Two, your pendant harbors two souls, a dragon soul and yours, removing the pendant will kill you.
“Oh Shit. Oh Fuck.”
I understand your worries, many of my own had theirs ripped out.
“Oh God.”
Three, your main abilities are tied to your personality and will awaken from your habits. However, to learn a new spell or skill…you must practice.
“Gotcha.”
The dragon flinched at the comment.
“Sorry...wait...why did you—”
Moving on,
“Oh o-“
Third, your powers are rooted in your personality.
“Ohh…Kay…How do I unlock them?”
They’ll awaken through your habits.
“…huh…”
‘Wait…how do they activate using my habits, I mean, I repeat myself. But what can repeating myself really do for me?’
I try to rationalize it…only to end up confusing my brain.
To end up thinking about nothing.
Like my brain was wiped clean.
While I was in the middle of undergoing a brain malfunction, the dragon began to monologue.
Oh dear, that’s…a new case…could…they be…they can’t be…maybe…
I have met many people throughout my life…
but I fear that he may not survive…
“…”
I remain speechless…I honestly have no words.
I apologize for this…
“Wait…what do you mean by—“
I woke up…
To a starry night…
On top of a cloud.
End chapter.
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fishtrouts · 3 years
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Goblin dragons discover what a pillow is
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Flimsy
Summary: Despising how your robe was so effective in concealing the marks he leaves on your skin, Grima has had enough. 
A means to show his claim on you.
Thankfully, a solution has finally come to mind.
He would just need to make you a mother in the process.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: F!Reader/Grima
I WAS LOOKING UP GRIMA’S VOICE LINES WHILE WRITING THIS AND HE REALLY??? DOESN’T HAVE AN ALT YET???
IF F!GRIMA GETS HALLOWEEN, THEN I FEAR FOR SUMMER HFKALFHA
ANYHOW!!! Thanks so much to the lovely commissioner who requested this piece! ; v ; I hope you enjoy!!! -------------------
That damn robe.
How the mere sight of it never failed to draw Grima’s ire.
To the Order of Heroes, it was the symbol of persevering hope.
To him, it was a pestering obstacle that constantly got in the way of his conquest of you, the Summoner.
On one hand, the ivory fabric complemented by golden trims and royal blue lining served as an amusing contrast to the deep dark wine color of his own robe.
The virtuous beacon of peace who stood in opposition against the corrupted harbinger of ruin.
It was a duality that should have kept the two of you apart, save for the pact that bound him to serve under your leadership.
But Grima did not need some ordained obligation to keep him to your side.
Rather, he was willing to eliminate any one who would dare to think they were worthy of even looking at you.
Any of those blasted princes and kings who fancied to make you their queen, that inferior excuse of a counterpart Robin.
It should be clear to any one who looked your way that you belonged to none other than Grima with the shades of red left by his lips and teeth upon your skin, the splashes of pearly white that seeped out from your drooling core after he had his fill of ravishing you to no end within your quarters.
But no one could see that.
Not with that damn robe in the way.
Considering the tension that Grima’s presence caused amongst the Order of Heroes, it was understandable that you--as the organization’s leader--wanted to keep your relationship with him hushed. And while your mystery only continued to entice suitors, you were quick to dismiss any courtings sent your way.
Your reasoning made sense.
He just didn’t like it.
You were his and he did not want to yield you to any one else.
A means to declare his ownership on you that no amount of adjusting or tugging of your robes could even begin to obscure his possession of your body.
The solution did not occur to him until the day you were to deliver an address on the future of the Order of Heroes to the rest of warriors who resided within the castle headquarters.
Ever your shadow, he lingered behind in your quarters while you were going through your speech as you stood by your desk, now just a passage away before you were ready to head down to the assembly room.
While you were in the midst of tugging on your robe, it was while he was admiring the shape of your physique that he realized just how much that accursed fabric draped over your body whenever you had it on, your curves hidden away with ease the moment you finally slipped into the garment completely.
But there was one curve to your body that could not easily be hidden.
Grima’s eyes glinted with wicked intent, a quality matched by the smirk that soon spread onto his features.
A curve that did not exist just yet.
The clock hand then ticked once more, bells ringing to signal the dawn of the next hour.
The assembly was to begin soon.
But you were nowhere near the door of your bedroom.
The notes you labored to study and recite were left in a pile on the floor, joining the shredded and torn ribbons of ivory, gold, and royal blue.
Helpless mewls of his name and labored breathy pleas for him to refrain until after the assembly could not stand to match the thunderous slaps from each and every time he pounded his cock into your awaiting core.
You remained beneath him, your face burning with flustered heat, all while you were left captive under the tremendous strength he imposed onto your body, your legs trapped in place while he squeezed your thighs and kept them pushed down onto your chest, the merciless pounding of his thrusts making it difficult to move, let alone think straight.
Smirking with sheer satisfaction at your vulnerable state, he mused in a sneer, “You can hide that pretty neck all you want, my dearest Summoner. I will see to it that no matter how you decide to wear that robe of yours, everyone will know--”
His crimson eyes glinted with wicked  glee.
“--that you live to serve my cock--”
His mouth watered at the thought of creamy milk trickling onto his tongue from your nipples.
“--that you, their Summoner, will be the mother to the Fell Dragon’s kin--”
His hands squeezed your thighs even tighter.
“--that you belong to no one else but me once they see your rounded belly!”
The last of his temperance eviscerated, Grima snarled as hot spurts of his seed soon flooded into your core in a sticky rush. And though he just came, his cock did not soften in the slightest--rather he just felt even more invigorated to keep going, to keep pumping your womb full of his cum.
You were not going to be attending the assembly any time soon.
Not after he finally attained the solution to this irritable dilemma.
And it was all in thanks to that damn robe.
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twilighthiro · 3 years
Text
Claws and Fins: 3
"Bird boy." came from behind.
"Yes, salt mine?" the captain retorted, keeping his voice light while his face serious.
Warriors heard Legend bite back a retort.
"Just... Come on."
Intrigued, Warriors follow, shouting an excuse when Wild called to them.
Nestled into a clear patch in the woods, Warriors waited for Legend to speak.
"May I see your wings again?" Legend asked, slightly nervous but completely serious.
Warriors raised an eyebrow. "What for?"
"To try and identify the species."
Well. That certainly was a cause worth letting someone stare at his wings.
Warriors sat on a boulder, unraveling his scarf from his neck before releasing his extra limbs.
Meanwhile, Legend brought out an item with the sheikah symbol-no doubt one of Time's things-and slowly went over the unhurt wing.
After ten minutes or so, Warriors noted the stack of pictures of various birds-and even a few mythical creatures-by Legend's foot.
The salty veteran muttered as he worked, a type of energy Warriors had experienced himself when he'd found a way to weaponize the dominion rod and wind waker.
Two hours passed. The only reason Warriors knew such a time had passed was because his back muscles had begun to hurt from staying still for so long, with minor shifts so Legend could see something better.
Finally, Legend gave a huff of frustration, pulling a sheet from the bottom of the pile.
"Care to share your findings?" Warriors asked, snickering at Legend's jump.
"The wing shape doesn't match any bird. Either too long, too thin or both." Legend began, using a professional tone. "Most of the mythical beasts has bat wings, with only a few feathered characters."
"And...?"
Legend frowned. "The only one with possibly wings like yours-especially the brown and gold combo-is... the harpy."
Warriors blinked. The name sounded somewhat familiar, but no information came up.
Thankfully, Legend explained without prompting. "Basically, harpies are known for voices so bad it drives men mad, using gravity to kill their prey, and being very, very possessive. Besides that, nothing agrees with anything else."
Warriors chilled.
He put his wings back into their ink disguise, wrapping his scarf around him.
Likewise, Legend put away the paper and Time's item before sitting down next to Warriors.
"I'm guessing the one who cursed you is kinda like a harpy." Legend stated, that slight nervousness he always bore when dealing with Emotions and Caring in his voice. "Am I right?"
"At least... the possessive part." Warriors specifies, distractedly rubbing his scarf and chainmail.
Twilight called, and Warriors started their bickering as they walked back.
Fortunately, no one asked.
That night, Warriors asked to see Legend's tail at a later date, to identify it as well.
LOADING...
The bubbling of the hot springs is the first to greet Legend's ears the moment he wakes.
The second is the shuffling of someone beside him, both the sound of their steps and the rustle of loose cloth.
"Legend?" comes Warriors' voice, breaking any intention to go back to dreamless sleep. "May I talk to you?"
The veteran rises, grumbling an affirmative as he and Warriors tiptoe out of the snow-clear camp, into the snow, and then next to the burning heat of the hot spring.
Like what the general had done for Legend, the veteran waits for Warriors to speak.
"May I study your tail?" he asks, as if he feared Legend had forgotten his request from a few months back.
Legend nodded, slipping his boots off and into the pool. The captain follows close behind, a thick book resting next to his own boots.
Now settled comfortably, Legend lifted around half of his tail out of the water, twitching from time to time as Warriors slowly made his observations.
Fortunately, Warriors didn't subject Legend to nearly the same amount of time that Legend had to Warriors, but it still took a few hours as Warriors mentally rejected fish after fish with one of Wild's dragon scales in his hand and having Legend slowly roll over inch by inch and swapping between upper half and lower half of his scaled limb being in the air.
Finally, Legend broke the silence, impatiently growling. "Okay, what'd you find?"
Warriors huffed at being interrupted, drying his hands. "There's a couple. But first, getting dry."
They climbed out, shivering slightly as the two dried in the icy Hebra wind.
Once dry and boots reequipped, Warriors moved the book to his lap, opening it to a tagged page in the first part of the book.
"First of all: the scale interlocking pattern." the captain began, using a professional tone. "There's no perfect match-the closest I have is the salema porgy; a tropical fish known for inducing hallucinations when eaten. It's in my Hyrule."
Warriors turned to the second tagged page, this time in the far back.
"The scale colors are closest to the sanke carp-an endangered species the sheikah protect in this Hyrule." he indicated the brightly colored scales and their various patterns-blue and orange included.
The third tagged page-this time in the middle.
"The shape of the tail-the fins and gills as well-match the koi fish; a species I found books on in your Hyrule." he tapped the highly-detailed drawing. "There's a legend about a koi persevering through everything, and becoming a dragon as a reward."
Next to him, Legend wondered when had Warriors gotten into a library. Or even had left the group for long enough to get this information.
The general was far sneakier than the veteran had realized. Or even Warriors had realized, judging by the no-secrets simplicity in which Warriors had presented his encyclopedia of.. fish, apparently.
Warriors closed the book, getting up. "Besides that, there's a fish in Time's Hyrule known for climbing waterfalls by using suction, if you're interested."
"I'm good."
They went back to camp, covering with a debate about snow physics as they spotted waking fellow Heroes.
END.
Harpy!Warriors isn’t mine. He belongs to @reine-does-things, and you can find it on the LU discord if you search bar.
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undercoveravenger · 3 years
Text
The Scales of Justice
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Creature Week 2020: Day Five
Pairing: Cato x Dragon Shapeshifter!Male!Reader
Request: “Hi so I just saw your ‘creature week announcement’ and was wondering if I could ask for a hunger games one again lol. A Cato x male reader, but the reader is a shape shifter(turns into a dragon). Could it be a fantasy AU? One where Cato is hired to hunt down the male reader but Cato ends up falling for reader because he sees that the reader isn’t a bad person/creature? I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense.”
A/N: God, I love dragons.
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There were few honors that meant as much as being personally selected for a mission by the Gamemakers, the ruling class of the Capitol. It meant you were talented, skilled, trusted with knowledge about the goings-on of the court, even if only the pertinent details were shared with you. It meant that you could expect honor and wealth upon your return.
Cato supposed that that was why he hadn’t been surprised when the messenger came to find him. He’d been one of the kingdom’s most valued knights since he’d been old enough to join the academy. He had known that it was only a matter of time until he was given a high-stakes mission of his own, but this? To be the one chosen to slay a dragon? Cato couldn’t be prouder of himself.
He was still glowing with pride as he scaled the mountain that the beast had made its home on, though there was a slight tremor in his hands as he approached the wide entrance to the cave the dragon was dwelling in, wide and dark like a gaping mouth ready to swallow him whole. He took a deep breath as he came to a stop on the narrow ledge outside the dragon’s den, steeling his resolve before drawing his sword from its scabbard and  making his way into the cave.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the relative darkness of the cave, but he was stunned by the sheer size of the cavern around him. He turned in a slow circle as he took in the towering ceiling and curved walls, easily the size of the grand ballroom at the castle, with every surface carved so smooth that he could almost see his reflection in the gleaming onyx stone. He gaped as he realized that the smoothness of the rock must have been caused by the dragon’s scales and wings dragging over them as it made its way further back into the cavern each day.
His brows furrowed as he realized something even more peculiar about the dragon’s den: there was no dragon to be found.
Cato slowly wandered deeper into the cave, remaining on alert even as he reached the back of the huge room and found that it did not end there. Instead, a sharp turn behind an outcropping of rock revealed a much smaller antechamber that had been dug meticulously out of the inside of the mountain. The smaller room was filled with piles and piles of gold and jewels that towered over him, though unlike the larger chamber, the walls and ceiling of this room were rough, as though the dragon was not in here often enough for its scales and spines to wear away at the rock. The blond was amazed at the sight of the beast’s hoard, though he was still confused; everything he had ever heard about dragons had taught him that they were notoriously protective of their hoards, so the very fact that it had put its hoard in a room it couldn’t even fit in was odd.
Cato whirled around as gold coins came cascading down a pile on his left, brandishing his sword high in anticipation of the great beast itself. He hesitated at the sight of a (h/c)-haired male that looked about his age picking his way slowly down the heap of treasure, clad only in a worn pair of breeches. Cato found his eyes tracing the stranger’s features longingly, fingers itching to reach out and cup his face in his hands and lips aching to tell him that he’d make sure that nothing could do him harm again, for surely he must have been some stolen prince for as handsome as he was.
The (h/c) froze at the sight of him, visibly tensing like he was going to try to run away. Cato could see his eyes darting from the knight toward the entrance into the larger cavern.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Cato called up to him, a soft smile twisting his lips upward as the (h/c) looked back toward him. “I didn’t come to hurt you.” He sheathed his sword and held up his hands to show he meant no harm, unsure as to whether the presumed captive could understand him at all. “My name is Cato, and I can protect you from the monster.”
The (h/c)’s eyes narrowed suddenly, flashing dangerously in the low light as he turned away, carefully making his way down the pile of gold until his bare feet met the cold stone of the cave floor. “I doubt that very much,” he huffed, shoulders tense as he strode further into the antechamber.
“Excuse you?” Cato asked, a little offended. “I’m a knight of the Capitol! I’m sure I could handle myself against an overgrown lizard!” he protested as he followed after the stranger.
The stranger snorted in amusement, though he didn’t turn to look at Cato as he ducked into yet another small chamber, this one with a small fire smoldering in a pit dug into the floor. Sunlight streamed in through a small hole that had been carved into one of the top edges of the room to let smoke out. “I’m sure you could.”
The knight was beginning to think that his imprisonment had driven the stranger mad. “Then why did you say-” 
Cato was cut off by the (h/c) turning sharply to look at him. “I did not say that you could not hold your own against a dragon. I meant that I doubted you were not here to hurt me.”
The blond’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared in confusion at him, “Why would I hurt you? You were put at risk from the dragon the same way my kingdom has been, if not worse. You can come with me back to the Capitol, and then, when you’re feeling up to it, we can return you to your own kingdom.”
The (h/c) rolled his eyes, turning away again and heading for the fire. He dropped down to sit before it and dragged a piece of roasting meat from a skewer that Cato had not initially noticed. “I have never been at risk from the dragon that lives here and neither has your city. The only humans he injures or kills are those that would take his life if he did not defend himself.”
“How do you know that? Dragons are vicious! They’d sooner turn a city into an inferno than live in peace!” Cato snapped, now fully convinced that there was no saving whoever this guy was, no matter how attractive he may be.
The (h/c) raised an eyebrow challengingly, “Then why haven’t I done it yet?”
Cato’s mind went blank as he stared down at him. “Why haven’t- what?”
The (h/c) set aside his food and pushed back to his feet, turning his back to Cato and revealing an intricately detailed pair of batlike wings tattooed down the length of his back. As Cato watched, the ink seemed to dance and shift against his skin, the lines and shapes lifting and spreading as it became three dimensional. As the formerly tattooed wings came to life color faded into them, turning black and white shading into gleaming scales the colors of rubies. Each wing extended above the (h/c)’s shoulders by nearly half his height and flared wide on either side of him.
The (h/c) turned to look at Cato, formerly (e/c) eyes glowing golden with the power emanating from him. “I’m the dragon that lives in this cave. If I were going to destroy your town or the people that live there, I would have done it.”
Cato’s azure eyes were wide as he eyed the dragon, “You- You’re the- But why…?”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I just want to live?” The shape-shifter’s wings pulled tight against his back, storming back into the treasure chamber. He snatched up a small pouch from one of the heaps and scooped a few handfuls of gold coins into it. “Here,” he held it out to Cato, “Take this and disappear. It should be more than enough to buy you transport and a new start somewhere far away. It’s the same deal I made every other knight that your Capitol sent to kill me.”
The blond’s brows furrowed, a little disappointed in his fellow knights. “That worked on all of them?”
“Not all of them.” Cato was confused for a moment until he understood the remorseful look on the (h/c)’s face. “But I did what I had to.”
Cato hesitated, torn between what his duty demanded of him and what his heart told him. Eventually he found the strength, “You didn’t have a choice.”
“No,” the shape-shifter said softly, eyes fading back to their original color. “But you do.” He held out the bag of gold, “You can take this and leave, or you can draw your weapon and try to do what those before you could not.”
The knight’s eyes flickered between the offering and the hilt of his sword as he considered his choice. He slowly pulled his sword from his scabbard, examining his reflection in the gleaming blade for a long moment before throwing it aside. “What if I want another option?”
“And what would that be?” The (h/c) replied, raising an eyebrow.
Cato bit his lip, lowering his eyes nervously. “I want to understand you better.”
The dragon-shifter’s face remained blank for a long moment, but relief washed over Cato when a pleased grin found its way to the (h/c)’s lips. “That can be arranged.”
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theloverofdragons · 2 years
Text
First Dates
“Would you, um, would you like to come on a treasure raid with me?”
Those were the words that Quenelda had uttered to Vilmor in Sunbreeze Grove, and knowing how fond the other woman was of her treasure and it was a good excuse to spend time with her, Vilmor had agreed, growing Cryozen Jr to his titan size and setting off with Quenelda and Two Gulps and You’re Gone, without asking who the target was.
“Quenelda? Remind me why we’re robbing Sepulchure of all people?”
Flying alongside her, Quenelda looked over, blonde hair blowing in the wind, and gave a tinkling laugh that made butterflies flutter in Vilmor’s stomach. “Because I have it on very reliable information that he has a magnificent hoard, despite Fluffy robbing him twice, and we know where it is. We can get in and out quickly, and it will really annoy him.”
“Well when you put it that way…” Vilmor laughed, not noticing Quenelda’s cheeks reddening slightly, as the two dragons soared forwards – Cryozen Jr beating his wings twice for Two Gulps’ once – until the Flying Fortress came into view.
Two Gulps manoeuvred himself closer to Cryozen Jr and Quenelda held out her hand. “Two Gulps can get us to the nearest balcony unseen and then come back here. He’ll make sure nothing happens to Cryozen Jr, don’t worry. We go in, grab what we need and get out where he’ll pick us up again.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Vilmor nodded, stroking Cryozen Jr’s neck and murmuring comforting words to him, with her young dragon crooning in response, before taking Quenelda’s hand and stepping onto Two Gulps’ back, neither of them noticing the other one’s blush. The battledragon waited until Vilmor had settled down behind Quenelda before surging forwards in a flash of light with a powerful beat of his wings, angling himself so he was alongside a balcony.
“Now!” Quenelda gripped Vilmor’s hand and the two of them leapt off Two Gulps’ back, landing quietly on the balcony. Quenelda exchanged a glance with her battledragon, the two of them evidently communicating, before turning back to Vilmor as Two Gulps sped off again. “He’ll be waiting for our call. Now let’s go get some treasure.”
“After you,” Vilmor grinned, indicating the open doorway. Quenelda winked (a move which resulted in both of their hearts beating a little faster) before slipping through, Vilmor following her.
From the hill he had settled down on, Cryozen Jr raised his head as Two Gulps appeared and landed. “They really like each other, don’t they?”
Two Gulps sighed. “You’re right there, kid.”
****
The inside of the Flying Fortress was pretty much exactly how Vilmor had pictured the inside of an evil fortress to be like. Long, dark corridors with the helm and insignia of the DoomKnights everywhere, be that statues, on banners or on rugs (although curiously they did come across an empty space on the floor of one corridor where a rug was meant to be but had been taken from). The information that Quenelda had been provided by Fluffy was still correct as they were able to avoid patrolling undead – although Quenelda had her sword by her side just in case – until they came across a seemingly innocuous wall.
“Is this it?” Vilmor glanced around for any intruders before looking back at the wall. “A hidden in plain sight type thing?”
“Bang on,” Quenelda nodded before motioning them both to step back and drawing a Darkness rune in the air. Her eyes flashed gold as she jabbed her index and middle finger into it, sending a concentrated blast of Darkness into the wall, which shuddered open.
Quenelda grinned, turning to Vilmor. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” Vilmor grinned back, checking one last time for any unwelcome guests before the two of them entered the treasury. The sight of piles of gold and jewels made Quenelda give an appreciative rumble, her eyes glittering, and the butterflies to return to Vilmor’s stomach before she cleared her throat.
“This is…quite the hoard. How do we get it out of here?”
“That’s no problem, Vilmor,” Quenelda winked again. “We’ll use an old dragon trick to get it out of here and we can then split it between us back in Sunbreeze Grove.”
“I defer to your judgement, my lady,” Vilmor smiled.
Quenelda blinked slightly, trying to ignore her heart fluttering, before coughing slightly and turning back to the treasure. Her eyes glowing gold again, she stretched her arm out, extending her fingers towards the treasure and muttered a spell in draconic. The gold shimmered before the majority vanished, leaving two small piles that could easily fit into bags.
“There! It’s been sent to my lair, that is Sunbreeze Grove, and we can carry some out for the aesthetic.”
“So that’s how dragons do it,” Vilmor noted, withdrawing two bags and striding forwards to pile the remaining treasure into them.
“They do like their treasure raids, and it is nice to partake in one with company…” Quenelda trailed off as their eyes met. A few seconds passed, before Vilmor blinked and held out one of the bags she was carrying.
“Here…”
“Oh! Thank you…” Quenelda took it before glancing back at the open door. “Let’s get out of here and back to Sunbreeze Grove.”
Vilmor nodded and the two of them exited the treasury again only to stop still at a very unwelcome sight; Prince Drakath.
The exiled prince blinked a couple of times in surprise before opening his mouth. “Hey! What are you–?!”
Before he could finish his sentence, Vilmor lunged forwards and sent a stream of ice at Drakath, freezing him to the nearby wall. Quenelda darted out from behind her as Drakath spluttered, her wings shimmering into being and clubbing him over the head, knocking him out cold.
“Wow, Luna was right; it is really easy to beat this guy,” she mused before shaking her head. “Quick, let’s get out of here before someone more competent spots us.”
Nodding in agreement, Vilmor followed her back down the corridors to the balcony they had started from, where Two Gulps was already waiting. Effortlessly leaping onto his back, Quenelda once again extended her hand for Vilmor and pulled her up, Two Gulps soaring away from the Flying Fortress and back to where Cryozen Jr was waiting.
“Now, back to Sunbreeze Grove!”
****
“We just found him like this, Lord Sepulchure,” the minion grovelled as the DoomKnight entered the corridor, giving an exasperated sigh at the sight of the unconscious Drakath frozen to the wall. “We have no idea who could be responsible.”
“Just get him down,” Sepulchure snapped, clenching his fists. “We’ll find whoever did this and make them pay.”
“Yes my lord,” the minion bowed as several undead arrived to help try and pull Drakath off the wall. As they worked to free him, Sepulchure glanced around, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the open treasury door. Surely not…not for a third time…! Charging through the door, he stopped still as once again, the sight of an empty room met his eyes.
“DRAKATH! YOU IDIOT!”
****
The flight back to Sunbreeze Grove was uneventful and Cryozen Jr and Two Gulps touched down in the dragon training arena. Vilmor shrunk Cryozen Jr back to his baby size and Two Gulps transformed into his human form once Quenelda has disembarked. Outside the arena were the piles of treasure the two of them had obtained, being examined by another nine dragons in their human forms – Fluffy the dracolich and the Primary Dragons themselves! – while Lady Celestia and Elysia sat nearby drinking tea under the shade of the trees.
“I’ll go check in with Celestia and Elysia and make sure those ten aren’t up to mischief,” Quenelda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for coming with me, Vilmor. I had a good time.”
“I did too,” Vilmor replied softly, watching Quenelda walk towards the treasure before feeling Cryozen Jr nudge her leg with his head. “Come on you, we’d better get back to DragonsGrasp.” Looking up at her with his big blue eyes, Cryozen Jr gave a warble. Vilmor smiled and picked him up so he could drape around her neck. “Okay, we’ll have a little break and maybe even a snack and then we’ll have to go back, okay? You’re the Great Ice Dragon; you deserve the best care possible.”
“Um…hey.”
Vilmor turned to see Quenelda, whose cheeks were quite flushed, evidently from the ride, holding out a silver bracelet studded with sapphires and diamonds; the bracelet itself looked like dragon scales and the jewels looked like snowflakes.
“Oh wow, that’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?” Quenelda’s eyes glittered with a hint of gold before returning to their usual tawny. “Here, you can have it. It reminded me of you.”
“Thank you,” Vilmor felt her own cheeks reddening slightly as Quenelda pressed the bracelet into her hand. It’s so beautiful…like her…but she’s just being friendly! Nothing more…
Over Quenelda’s shoulder, Two Gulps glanced over before his eyebrow shot up at the sight. He opened his mouth as if to say something but a quick look from his human had him shut it again, an odd expression on his face.
His sister, however, was not so subtle.
“Wow, sharing treasure?” Blue Horn folded her arms and gave a fanged grin. “You really do like her.”
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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years
Note
64. I didn’t know my ex moved so you find me curled up on the floor in front of your apartment door
Ot4, nsfw, please!
Here you go!
Duck didn’t mean to fall asleep in front of her cave. But there was no one home and the rock in front of it is just the right temperature to coax him down into a nap in the spring sunshine.
“Um, can I help you?”
His nose tells him the voice belongs to another dragonborn before he opens his eyes. It’s just not the one he’s hoping for. Instead of blue scales and muscle, he finds blue eyes staring down at him while black and white scales glint in the afternoon light.
“Uh, I, uh, do you know the dragon who lives here?” He didn’t think she’d move on that fast.
“I am the dragon who lives here.” The other male adjusts the satchels on his shoulders, one laden with food and the other with books, “I moved in a week ago.”
“Well...fuck.” Duck slides off the rock with a groan, “sorry, didn’t know the place changed hands. Didn’t mean to, uh, crash on your front porch.”
“It’s okay. I was hoping to meet more of our kind here.” He writes a glyph on the door and it opens, “do you want to come in? I got some nice wine from town and, um” he scratches at the stone, “no one to share it with.”
“Sure.” Duck follows him through the familiar front hall and into the kitchen. The furniture is different, all clean lines and polished wood, and there’s new art on the walls. He reads the spines on the stack of history books on the table while his host pours them each a glass of wine.
“Thanks” he takes the goblet, “I’m uh, I’m Duck by the way. It’s a nickname.”
“Joseph.” The other dragon sits across from him, “I take your...ex lived here?”
“Yeah” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “we end things a month ago but, uh, I was missin her and I, uh, I, I, fuck, nevermind.”
Joseph sniffs the air, “surprise heat?”
Duck nods, “I was kinda hopin for, uh, for a pity fuck or somethin. Fuck, that sounds pathetic.” He rests his head in his hands.
“There’s no shame in wanting intimacy.”
“Guess not. Uh, enough about me, how’d you end up here?” He prays Joseph takes the hint.
“I travel around studying humans, trying to bring a greater understanding of them to our kind. My hope is it’ll help keep the peace, since we’re less likely to fear or attack things we understand. Kepler might be the place I settle; the town is a great mixture of dragon and human cultures.”
“So you just...study everythin they do?”
“Right now I’m focusing on technology. Hence the, um, the scars.”
“Oh shit” the white zigzags and bursts that Duck assumed were simply markings are, in fact, scars, “what happened?”
“Mostly minor accidents, like you’d get cooking or gardening. This one” he gestures to the white on his cheek, “is embarrassing; I was so engrossed in my research I didn’t notice the experiment I was running was about to go haywire.”
“Ouch.” He hazards a joke, “hate to see what your hoard is like, probably, uh, shock me.”
Joseph smiles, “I don’t really have one, it’s a pain to move it every time.”
“Not even a little pile?” Duck raises a brow; there’s a magpie-ish quality to the other dragon that suggests there’s a collection hiding somewhere.
A faint dusting of gold on his cheeks, “I do have a, um, a small stack of books.”
“Can I see?”
“Of course. This way.” He leads them to the master bedroom. A wave of unwelcome nostalgia hits Duck as he enters, and he’s about to excuse himself back to the kitchen when a giggle climbs up his throat.
“A small stack, huh?”
Joseph settles on the cushions at the center of three towering bookcases, each crammed full, “I don’t have that many. I once met a wyvern who had whole hills of books. I like them like this so I can actually find things.”
“Hate to say it Joe, but this is an honest to gods hoard.” Duck kneels near him.
“Joe....huh, I like it when you call me that. Normally I hate it. And it’s a library, not a hoard.”
“If you say so. Uh huh, what’s this?” He crawls to where a pile of puzzles toys and games is hidden between the bookcases, “seems like the makings of another ho--oh hell yeah” he grabs a box, “Minotaurs Riddle, I fuckin love this game. Haven’t played it in years, lent mine to a trio of centaurs and never got it back.”
“Do you want to play a few rounds? I, um, I don’t have anything urgent tonight but if you have things to do-”
“Nah, got all my shit taken care of early in case...uh, well, you know.” Humiliation at his earlier desperation rears its head.
Joseph drags a low table over, “Then it sounds like we could both use a night off.”
Three hours and two bottles of wine later, they locked in a stalemate, Duck scanning his cards for a way to break it. He’s never had this intense an opponent before and it’s so fucking fun.
“I play the hero's spear BUT” he flips a card facedown, “on my own chariot, which opens up the way for my chimera to attack.”
Joe’s eyes flick between his hand and the board, pupils no more than slits as he concentrates. Then he sets his cards all facedown, “I don’t have a counter-move, so you win.” His grin is fairytale perfect, “that was great! And now I know your method of play so I can beat you next time.”
“You wish.” Duck doesn’t mean to growl as deeply as he does.
“It’s not a wish, it’s a promise.” Joe boxes up the game without ever taking his eyes off Duck.
“If you say so. But if you break it” he curls his tail around to stroke black scales, “think I oughta get a prize.”
Joe’s responding click-growl is unfamiliar, could be anything from agreement to “leave me the fuck alone.” He starts to retract his tail only for Joe to close his claws around it.
“I think you should get one for your win tonight, too. You did come here in a, um, a certain state.”
“Ain’t you the polite one.” Duck shoves the table aside and prowls across the pillows, “offerin that stylish tail up for meWHOAH, fuck.” He laughs as Joe, lightning quick, lunges forward and traps him on his back.
“Sorry, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since you got here. Gods” he undoes the wrap at Duck’s waist with a hungry growl, “do you have any idea how hard it is to think strategically with all of this” he runs his palms up Duck’s chest, “on display. Once I’m done give your body the attention it deserves, then I’ll put my ass in the air for you.”
“You drive a hard bargain Joe, but I’ll take it.” He grins as the other dragon gropes his thighs.
“Good. Besides, this is a proven way of getting over heartbreak.”
“Think that theory might need a little more testin. So get down here and kiss me.”
------------------------------------------------------
“Interesting.” Joe taps the bottle with a claw as he studies the ship inside it, “you really don’t know how they do it?”
“No fuckin clue. I can build model ships outside bottles, but this? This is wild to me.”
“I wonder if we-” Joe raises his head, inhales, and breaks into a dazzling smile, “dinner’s here! You can come in Barclay, we’re in the sunroom.”
Footsteps on stone announce the cook, who Duck usually sees at Amnesty Lodge down in Kepler.
“Didn’t know y’all did delivery.”
Barclay sets a bag crammed with tins and bottles onto the table, “We don’t usually, but Joseph’s a special case.”
Duck spots the blush on his friend’s cheek, “Oh yeah?”
“He, uh, he lets me test new recipes on him?” Two pink patches bloom under Barclays' beard, “there’s a berry custard tart in there today.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Joe’s tail is subtly twitching, “do you want to stay a bit and eat?”
“I’d love to, but I gotta get back before the dinner rush.”
“Right, right, of course, oh, right, your tip” the dragon darts into his study, returns a moment later with a small purse of coins, “here you go, thank you so much it, I’ll be ready for our cooking lesson on Tuesday and, um, it’s always nice to see you.”
Barclay pockets the money, smiles softly, “you too, Joseph. Bye Duck, see you in town.”
Joe watches him go long after he’s out of sight. When he turns around with a sigh, Duck smirks.
“You got it bad, Joe.”
“I know.” He slumps down in a chair, “I think he feels the same way but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Coming out to a dragon’s lair and getting hit on, all while you’re at work? It would stress me out if I was human.”
“You pay him for those cooking lessons?”
“No. I, um, I guess I could ask him then but dragon/human relations are understudied outside of things like midnight weddings. I’m not even sure how something like sex would work, if it would work at all. The books I have on it are out of date and, honestly, most likely written by dragonborns who never had firsthand experience.”
Duck stands, circles the table to drape his arms over Joe’s shoulders and nose his neck, “You could still just ask. Learn what he likes instead of fussin over research.”
“You’re right. I’ll ask. Eventually. Maybe.”
He chuckles and nips a sensitive patch of scales, “It’s a start.”
----------------------------------
Duck’s busy in the back garden when the chanting starts. It sounds enough like an angry mob that he draws the thicket of brambles across the door to be safe before heading for the second floor and the window to the front yard.
The crowd isn’t from Kepler, people there know he isn’t much for offerings or other forms of intervention into human affairs. He inherited his position from a true dragon who was once considered a forest and weather god. It took years for humans who came to understand that while he could help them identify what was killing their orchards or blighting their fields, he couldn’t summon rain or quash frosts.
Not only do the humans out front seem unaware of those facts, they’re constructing a convoluted, cobbled-together, ceremony. There are offerings of food, but the chants have something to do with slaking his deep hunger. Which is weird, because when you offer food to a dragon it’s meant as a gesture of kinship, not fear. The music doesn’t match either of those dynamics, the robes on the elders are white, which indicates surrender in war, and the incense they’re lighting is too heady; if he eats with it in the air, all he’ll taste is myrrh.
Wait, those are the bundles of incense humans used to burn during weddings. No one’s held a midnight wedding in decades. And holding one when it’s not yet sunset is really baffling. He’s about to write it off as yet more cultural miscommunication when two men drag a bound figure, all dressed in black, out from the crowd and drop it near the door.
“Fuck.” He tromps down the stairs, peers through the thicket for a closer look. The figure is a young man, dirtied silver hair tangled across his face and shattered red spectacles on his nose. His ankles and wrists are tied, and when he tries to scoot back from the cave entrance the crowd jeers. The man looks sluggishly between the crowd and the cave. Resigned, he crawls Duck’s way.
The dragon sets a hand on the thicket to will it away and tell everyone to get lost when he scents blood beneath the incense. Members of the crowd are getting agitated, suggesting they light a pyre to hurry the process along. That’s not even remotely how a midnight wedding works, and were Duck a certain other dragon he might tell them that. Instead, he makes a gap at the bottom of the thicket, grabs an enchanted rope from his work closet, and whips it through the opening. Two seconds later he has a cheering crowd outside his house and a petrified sacrifice inside it.
He kneels, undoing his rope and the bonds. The humans brown eyes lock onto his claws.
“Please. Please just make it quick.” His voice is raw, his pleas continuous, but he doesn’t pull back when Duck cups his chin and touches his forehead.
“Fuck, you’re burnin up. Your eyes a pretty glassy too, wonder if-”
“Drugged. To keep me from running or fighting. Not like they needed to. They, they did enough before that.” He hiccups and Duck smells exactly what plants they put into the mixture. They’re meant to make the human body more pliant. More receptive.
Fuckers.
“Okay” Duck keeps his voice soft, “here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna take you somewhere you can lie down and look you over. Once you’re patched up, you can rest.”
He nods as Duck scoops him into his arms, “Need my strength.”
“Yeah, but not for, uh, for what you think.” He nudges the light with his elbow, illuminating the rumpled green of his bed. When he sets the human down on it, he tucks his arms across his chest.
“Can you get your shirt off for me?”
The man reaches one skinny arm under his back, whaps it about, then shakes his head. Duck eases him upright, let’s him slump forward onto his shoulder why he undoes the eyehooks and buttons. The sight that awaits him is grim.
“Fuck, what’d they have against you?” He counts gashes from four different instruments intermingled with bruises in every color.
“Outsider. Came looking for work. Angered the wrong person.”
“They get you on your legs too?”
A weaks nod.
“I’m gonna have to slice the pants off; got a bad feelin I might re-open wounds if I try to pull ‘em free.” He runs a clawtip up the outside of one leg; the human grips him, afraid, though when he runs a thumb soothingly up a newly-bare spot, he sighs happily. Duck’s instinct is right; there are half-healed wounds now oozing blood thanks to the man being tossed about. He instructs the human to lay on his belly, fetches his bandages and disinfectant from the bathroom, and starts water for the tea that will clear the potion from his system.
When he starts on the wounds on his back the human whimpers, weakly clutching the blanket.
“Shhh, it’s okay sweet thing. Know it hurts, but you’ll feel better soon.” He runs the claws of his free hand through silver hair, undoing tangles as he goes. He is sweet; long legs and wiry arms, a face that’s odd but impossible to look away from. Duck wishes he were a worse dragon than he is; he could slip his threadbare underwear down and relieve the effects of the potion another way. Instead he patches and cleans, tips tea between parched lips, and finds one of his smaller robes to protect the skinny frame from falls oncoming chill. When he’s done, the young man is asleep. So he draws the blankets up and goes to sleep in the garden.
---------------------------------------------
His body feels like it’s been through a wine press. No doubt a result of the dragon “marrying him.”
No, wait. He’d taken him to bed, run his claws tenderly through his hair, but then he’d tended his injuries and let him sleep unmolested. Indrid rubs his forehead, wishing his foresight hadn’t been so weakened by his weeks in jail; it would be nice to know if this is a sign the dragon is harmless or if he just prefers his food uninfected.
The bedroom door slides open and a scaly figure walks in, nose firmly in a book. It’s not the same dragon as yesterday; this one is sleek, with midnight scales and long, narrow horns. The one who tended him was bulkier, with scales like a forest viewed from above, dozens of greens and golds melding together. His horns were shorter, Indrid remembers because in his fevered state he wanted to rub them. They looked soothing to touch.
“Oh, good morning.” The dragon closes his book, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just came in for some scale oil and I’ll be out of your hair.” He grabs a purple bottle from a shelf.
“Wait, please.” Indrid struggles to sit up, “can, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“We were sort of hoping you could enlighten us. From Duck’s description, your delivery was so garbled he couldn’t figure out what they wanted. Or, um, it was clear what they wanted done to you, but not why it should be or why they chose him.”
Indrid’s about to answer when a second voice drawls, “Joe, you better not be pesterin our guest with questions.”
The black dragon looks over his shoulder into the hall with a sly grin, “He asked me first.”
“Uh huh, a likely story.” The green dragon, Duck, steps into the room, pausing to kiss Joseph’s cheek. Oh gods, Indrid understands now; he wasn’t fucked or eaten yesterday because Duck was waiting to share him.
“Since you’re up we can--whoa, whoa what’s wrong?” Duck kneels by the bed as Indrid tries to scramble backwards.
Joseph sets his book and bottle down, “You still think you’re dinner, don’t you?”
“Wh-why shouldn’t I?” Indrid pulls the blanket up to shield himself.
“For starters, we don’t eat humans. And we sure as hells don’t fuck ‘em without them bein’ real eager. Even then, some of us stall.” Duck gives Joe a pointed look, “beyond that, someone dropped you here after torturin you. You need lookin after more than anything.”
“We should get these fixed too” Joseph picks up his shattered glasses, “I might have what we need in my workshop, or we could go into Kepler-”
“We’re near Kepler? Thank the gods.” Indrid slumps against the wall, “It was the last place I stopped before things went south. I should have just stayed there. Instead I got it into my head to keep travelling, find an enchanter to train under and got...well, you saw.”
Duck carefully sits on the bed, as far from Indrid as possible, “Yeah, I did. I promise, nothin like that’s ever gonna happen to you again.”
“And if you’re interested in learning magic, most dragons have some. I’d be happy to share what I know if you’re willing to assist in my research.”
“That means makin sure he don’t fall asleep too close to his experiments.”
Indrid has no idea what those experiments might be, but he decides he’s very willing to find out.
----------------------------------------
Voices echo from the back garden, so Barclay curves left instead of going to the front of Duck’s home. Joseph asked him to bring his next few meals here since he’s helping Duck with an “unexpected house guest.”
He’s anticipating another dragon, almost drops his cargo when he sees how wrong he is.
“Indrid?”
“Barclay! I, when Joseph mentioned we were getting dinner from town I hoped it was the Lodge but seeing you is better still.” The other man is in a thick sweater and is wearing one of Duck’s wraps as a makeshift skirt, “I’d get up to hug you but I’m a bit weak at the moment.”
“I got you.” He sets the bags down and leans in for an embrace.
“I’m glad you fellas know each other.”
Barclay remembers burying his fingers in fine, silver hair while Indrid kissed him and worked his clever fingers inside him, promising he’d make him feel wonderful. He did. Every time.
“Yeah.” He blushes, spots Joseph registering this information and--knowing him--storing it away for later.
He was already making frequent trips to see the dragons, but as weeks give way to months he finds that whenever he’s not working, his feet ache to wander up into the hills.
Tonight, he and Joseph made dinner for the four of them (Indrid’s taken up residence in Duck’s home, and the dragon seems deeply uninterested in making him move). The dragons are on dish duty, so he and Indrid wander back to the library where Joseph has lit a fire.
“You really ought to tell him how you feel.”
“Is it that obvious?” Barclay fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist.
“Very. Then again, I know what desire looks like on you.” Indrid bumps their shoulders together playfully.
“But he’s, uh, he’s got Duck. He wouldn’t want a human, no matter how much we like each other.”
Indrid wordlessly moves to the bookshelves, smile widening as he finds a tome bound in blue leather and brings it back to the rug, “I found this when I was fetching books for him the other day.”
“Holy fuck” Barclay stares at the drawings, faded and labeled with draconic runes but undeniably that of a dragonborn fucking the living hells out of a very happy knight.
“I believe it tells the story of a knight who agrees to take a fair maiden's place as an offering and ends up enjoying his new station in life. It’s clearly been read often, though the anatomy is off in places.” He indicates a drawing in which it’s obvious the human doesn’t have balls to go with his enormous cock.
Barclay wants to say something witty, but all he can think about is gripping Joseph’s horns while he twines his tongue around Barclay’s cock.
“Yes, it’s giving me ideas too.” In the firelight, Indrid’s uncovered, brown eyes are almost red.
“Yeah?” Barclay sets a hand on his knee, “I’m no dragon but, uh-”
Indrid leans in, kissing him gently, “While dragons have their appeal, you are what I want right now.”
Barclay lets himself be pulled to the ground and is suddenly very glad dinner required so many dishes.
------------------------------------------------------------
“I didn’t realize you’d be taking notes while you did this.” Indrid smiles, amused, as Joseph scribbles something at the top of a fresh page. They’re heading down the hall in Duck’s home, Indrid having agreed to be the subject of a very exciting day of research.
“I’m not. Not, not that I’m uninterested but, um, since I need to be able to observe everything, Duck will be the one actually fucking you.”
Indrid stops dead, heart fluttering in his chest, “He...is he just doing this as a favor to you?”
Joseph smiles, shakes his head, and Indrid understands that he was reading all the times Duck looked him over with those green eyes correctly.
They reach the bedroom and step across the threshold wearing twin expressions of confusion; Duck forgoes nesting in favor of a bed, but the mattress, a dozen blankets, and every pillow in the house are now on the floor, the dragon busily arranging and rearranging them. Then he sniffs the air and turns, pinning Indrid to the spot with a toothy grin.
“Why the nest?” Joseph drags a chair across the floor and positions it between the pillows and the fireplace.
“Dunno, ever since you told me that today was the day, I’ve had the itch to build one. Gotta make sure you’re comfortable, sweet thing.” Duck holds out his hand and Indrid reaches for it.
“Not yet. Indrid, please undress so I can make some notes.”
“You’re killin me here Joe.” Duck growls as Indrid moves towards the chair, peeling off layers until he’s naked. Joseph scribbles some notes. Indrid would feel like a scientific specimen were it not for the way the pupils in those blue eyes dilate each time he looks at him.
“I just need some measurements.” He pulls a ruler from the pocket of the notebook and kneels down, gingerly taking Indrid’s cock in his palm.
“I, I should mention that is generally frowned upon when it’s just humans.” Indrid squirms as hot breath skates up the sensitive skin.
“Humans are touchy about size.” Duck adds, settling his claws on Indrid’s hips from behind. He’s good foot and a half taller than the human, which always makes Indrid feels safe in his embrace; those have been more frequent these last few weeks, Indrid using the cold weather as an excuse to cuddle with the living furnace whose home he shares.
“Hmmm, if they have less genital variation than dragons, I could see how size would become the point of competition.”
“Variation?”
“Dragons got all kinds of set-ups” Duck grinds against Indrid’s ass, “Joe and I happen to have the same kind, where we can lay in someone and get, uh, laid in if we want.”
“Laying?” Indrid squeaks, “I, I’m not opposed but I’m not prepared either.”
“Nah, won’t do none of that today.” Duck blows hot breath down the back of his neck, “if you want, we can try some other time. Can even let Joe take notes. And if he’s good” Duck rests his chin atop Indrid’s head and looks down, “I’ll even save some for him.”
Joseph’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and for an instant Indrid expects to be sandwiched between two dragons, which sounds deliciously warm. Then Joseph collects himself, “Yes. I’d, um, I’d like that. But for now, I need one more measurement” his tongue flicks the air near the head of Indrid’s cock, “may I?”
“Please. Ohhhhhhhyes” He moans as Joseph licks his shaft, “that’s lovely, so veryOHgods” he bucks his hips as Duck digs his claws into the meat of his thighs.
“That’s very helpful, Duck, he’s getting wonderfully hard.”
“I aim to please. Now hurry up before I start fuckin him here and fuck up your data.”
“Just a second..there, done. Duck, please kneel, Indrid do the same but keep facing me.”
“Yessir.” Duck pulls them both to the floor. Claws spread his ass open and the tip of one pokes the base of the plug he put in earlier, “heh, you let Joe help you with this?”
“N-no” Indrid cranes his neck back for a kiss.
“I didn’t want to overstep.” Joseph replies matter-of-factly.
Indrid runs his mouth along Duck’s jaw, “next time I’ll make him warm me up with his tongue before putting it in.”
A moan from the chair as Duck rumbles, “good thinkin, he’s fuckin incredible with his tongue. But you better let me watch.”
“Of course.”
Fabric shifts behind him and then Duck’s wrap falls to the floor. The plug joins it and then a solid, ridged cock is teasing his cheeks.
“You ready, sweet thing?”
“Yes.” Indrid pushes his ass back, whines when only the first half-inch is pushed in.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the whole thing. Just gotta go slow, don’t wanna hurt my mate.” Duck pauses, “huh, sorry, that just came out.”
“I don’t mind.” Indrid sets his hands on top of the dragon’s.
“Fascinating.” Joseph scribbles more notes.
“You like the idea of bein my mate?” The question is shy, Duck hiding his face in Indrid’s neck.
“So very much. You make me so happy, Duck, you take such good care of meEEEoh, oh I see.” He snickers as Duck thrusts shallowly and laps at his throat, “you like being a good mate, don’t you sweetheart?”
“Fuck yeah. Wanted to, to do this months ago, wanted, when they gave you to me I wanted to climb into bed with you, fuck you sweet and slow and tell you nothin was gonna hurt you now, that you were all mine, keep this cute little body safe under the covers. Under me.” He thrusts several inches at once and Indrid moans, bounces in his lap in search of more, Duck click-growling each time he pushes down.
“Please, please, I want it all, Duck, pleasepleaseAH, AHhnnnngods” he grabs Duck’s arms as they wrap around him, the dragon bottoming out with a groan.
“Holy shit.” Joseph stares at them, and Indrid follows his gaze down to his lower belly, where the outline of Duck’s cock is unmistakable.
“Oh I like that a great deal.” He whispers, biting his lip as the outline slowly moves.
“Me too. Fuck, fuckin love how small you are, you barely fit on my dick and you’re still beggin for it.”
“How could I not?” Indrid purrs, relaxing against Duck’s chest, “this is going to sound very silly, sweetheart, but please, please” he tips his head up to kiss Duck’s chin, “take me?”
A tender, deep purr, then “anythin’ you want, sugar.”
Indrid lets his mouth fall open, spilling moans across the floor as Duck fucks him with abandon. It’s so much, almost too much, but it’s all he wants, to be taken and cared for by the magnificent, loving creature behind him.
The stretch and drag of Duck inside him is so intense he barely registers his own orgasm, though he cums hard enough to splatter some on Joseph’s leg. Then he’s holding on and whimpering as Duck spills into him, hotter than a human and so plentiful it drips down his thighs before the dragon even pulls out.
“Got what you need?” Duck pants, still holding Indrid to him.
“Yes.” Joseph is purring, gaze drinking in the two of them.
“Good. C’mon, sweet thing, let’s do see how my nest holds up to me mating the fuck outta you.”
-----------------------------------------
Duck said it was fine to use the glyph to come in without knocking, so that’s what Barclay does. He sets the cake he made in the kitchen, wanders down the hall in search of the others. They weren’t at Joseph’s, so odds are good they’re here. Muffled voices direct him towards the bedroom, but when he arrives his libido kicks all sensible thoughts from his mind.
There’s a giant mound of cushions on the floor, at the middle of which he can see Duck’s tail, the spines of his back and, occasionally, his head. Indrid’s feet and calves are just visible, so limp he’d worry he was asleep except for the little moans he knows quite well. And sitting by the fire, watching the scene with an obvious tent in his lap, is Joseph.
Two scales snouts snap up into the air. Duck notices him, whispers something to Indrid, who waves and then pulls the dragon back down. The same can not be said for Joseph, who is licking his lips like he’s just seen a gourmet meal.
Barclay smirks, moves to the chair but stays standing, stroking one horn as he does, “I’m not interrupting research, am I?”
“Um” Joseph’s cheeks go golden, “yes and no. I, I really was making notes at first but for the last hour it’s been, um, hard to focus.”
“Wonder why. Wait, holy fuck, they’ve been doing this for an hour?”
“One hour and twenty-four minutes.”
“Knew Indrid had stamina but that’s impressive. Uh” he trails a finger up Joseph’s leg, scales as smooth as he’d hoped, “how long have you been dealing with this?”
“Most of that time.” Joseph’s breath catches charmingly as Barclay straddles him.
“Babe” he kisses the warm column of his neck, stopping to pay special attention to each scar, “I know you’re dedicated to your work, but I’m pretty sure they’d let you join them.”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
“My polite dragon” Barclay nuzzles his cheek, “you still deserve to be taken care of, you know that, right?”
Joseph nods, tips his head to the side so Barclay can nibble his throat while undoing his wrap. What he finds is spectacular; a pointed cock with circular ridges and, beneath it, a slit just begging for his tongue to tease it. But since he’s not done kissing him yet, he adjusts his balance so he can close one around the shaft and slide the fingers of the other into the slit.
The dragon makes a series of hurried clicks and growls, throwing his arms around him and kissing his face, “Barclay, you, you’re so wonderful, I never thought you’d want this, ohgoodgods.”
“I do, babe. I wanna know what my whip-smart, handsome dragon likes, wanna make you come apart” He squeezes lightly and Joseph growls.
“I did not wait this long to cum on you while you’re clothed.” Clawed hands grip his ass as Joseph stands and carries him to the nest on the floor, dropping him into it with uncharacteristic carelessness. Which he then remedies by methodically removing Barclays clothes and folding them into a pile.
“Mmmm, hello dearest.” Indrid turns his head to kiss him as Joseph rolls him to face the other two.
“Hey. Gotta say, you look really good like this.”
“Damn right he does.” Duck’s hips stutter and Indrid squirms happily, “heh, shoulda known Joe would pick that for you. He’s got a thing for thick thighs.”
“Huh? OH! Ohfuckyeah.” He moans as Joseph manhandles him to thrust his cock between his thighs. Teeth nip his neck as golden pre-cum streaks his skin. The scales of his cock rub wonderfully on the base of Barclays own, and soon he’s so hard he’s ready to promise Joseph anything he wants for the chance to cum.
Cool, human fingers encircle his shaft. Indrid grins, “I may not be able to move much, but Joseph seems to be more than capable of getting you to fuck my fist.”
Barclay dips his head forward with a groan to kiss his shoulder.
“You don’t gotta worry about movin’” Duck grunts, tongue darting out to Indrid’s cheek, “all you gotta do is lay here and take my cum like a good little mate whenever I say.”
“Yes, yes, oh goodness Duck please, take me, use meAHnnnnn” a whimper “so much.”
“Shhh, s’okay sweet thing, I’m almost done.”
Joseph purrs in his ear, “cum for me, big guy, cum for me while I coat your thighs and, gods, and Duck breeds your boyfriend into next week.”
“Fuuuuck.” Barclay spills helplessly into Indrid’s hand, holds tight to his shoulder and Joseph’s right arm as the dragon cums between his legs. There’s a muffled curse and an “eep” from beside him, then Duck rolls off Indrid and begins licking the humans cum from his stomach.
“I, I think you built a very sturdy nest.” Joseph curls his body around Barclay and drapes his tail over Indrid’s legs to brush Duck’s.
“Thanks, handsome.”
“I also think living with Indrid for months has made your mind assign him the position of partner, hence the nesting.”
“Makes sense.” Indrid murmurs.
“And--oh” Joseph sighs as Barclay kisses him.
“Promise you can share more theories later, babe. Right now, how about napping with your boyfriends?”
Joseph purrs deeper as they all cuddle closer, “I like the sound of that.”
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itsclydebitches · 3 years
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Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.
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The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.
They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.
So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up — and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"
Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:
He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.
And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"
Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?
Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.
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kiribakuhappiness · 4 years
Text
Strawberries Were the Fucking Worst
by KiriBakuHappiness
KrBkMonth2020 - Day 1 Prompt; Strawberries!
Read under the cut!
This was such fucking bullshit.
Katsuki glared at the mechanical crane as it clenched around his squishy reward and started lifting it from the haphazard pile of stuffed animals and badly scuffed pre-packaged gadgets. The lights from the claw machine whirred silently, flashing obnoxious colors of bright ass blue and neon pink and blinding yellow. He watched with growing agitation and dissatisfaction as the crane swayed dangerously over the hole before dropping the embarrassing excuse of a consolation prize out to him.
“Tch.” Fucking bullshit.
He’d been playing this game for close to twenty minutes now, trying and pathetically failing to snag the headphones near the back of the tank. He would have even preferred nabbing that stupid fucking dragon plushie with the ridiculously bulging eyes or that dumb little keychain of a bomb with an explosion over this piece of shit.
Scowling, Katsuki snatched up the soft toy from the machine, squeezing it as hard as he could between his fingers.
What the fuck even was it? A fucking strawberry? What kid in the entire universe has ever looked at a strawberry and thought to themselves, hm, I’d love to fucking cuddle the shit out of that bitter ass ball of jaw-aching natural sugars. Strawberries were the fucking worst. And now Katsuki had a dumbass plushie of one.
It grinned up at him with a crooked, badly stitched on smile and the dumbest set of crossed eyes Katsuki’s ever seen. He couldn’t really help but snort unattractively at how fucking stupid this thing looked. Jesus fucking Christ. What a horrible end to a horrible day.
Katsuki grumbled as he turned his back on the claw machine – because what a fucking waste of time and money – before he started out of the arcade. A gaggle of pre-teens took one look at the red atrocity clutched in his hand and they giggled so repulsively that it made Katsuki grimace and hunch in further on himself, drawing his shoulders up to his ears defensively. He shot them a heated glare that had them squirming before he disappeared out into the night.
He stopped on the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the cool, damp air.
He hadn’t really wanted to go out tonight, but fuck, the idiots back at the dorms were being especially loud and annoying and he’d just wanted to get away from all of that unnecessary chaos. He didn’t know how Kirishima could stand being around them for longer than a few hours. He could stand Tape-Face on a good day, he supposed, and sometimes Pinky didn’t totally piss him off, but stick them all together and let Pikachu fucking rile them all up over stupid bullshit to the point where they’re all screaming and Katsuki just has to fucking get out of there before he explodes them all – which, according to Kirishima, he’s not allowed to do for some reason.
It’d been a horrible fucking day.
Between his mother calling him at the ass-crack of dawn before classes to bitch about the fact that he hadn’t been home in months, him snapping at Kirishima because of the residual frustration in his chest resulting in the pouting red-head to practically avoid him for the rest of the day, and the way he’d almost failed his test that afternoon – Katsuki was wound up fucking tight. Close to snapping, even.
So, he’d done the only thing he really knew how to do. He’d gotten on the bus and trekked his ass down to his favorite arcade.
It was reflex at this point to find himself at the arcade when he was stressed the fuck out. He’d been going there since he was a kid; Deku trailing behind him and whining some dumbfuck nonsense like, but Kacchan, this is a big kid’s arcade, they don’t want us here. As though Katsuki didn’t already know that. As though he hadn’t felt the annoyed glares and aggravated side-eyes of all the edgy fucking teenagers rounding on the pair of them after Katsuki had confidently waltzed inside.
He just hadn’t cared about them the way Deku had. He hadn’t been scared. What the fuck were they going to do? Beat him up? They’d never be allowed back into the arcade if they did that. Katsuki had been too smart for his own good at that age, because he was right. Apart from a few mean snickers and well-placed glowers of distaste, nobody bothered them or said anything as they clambered into the too-big seats of some racing game that he was sure was still operational, even this many years later. It wasn’t worth getting banned over just to pick on a couple of kids.
The arcade had become his sanctuary.
He found himself there a lot – after a heated argument with his mother, or when the world just felt too fucking loud, or when he thought he was losing control and he needed to reset himself. Restart. Replay.
He’d always been good at video games. Playing them helped develop his incredible hand-eye coordination, which also helped with his quirk, and the more violent video games stirred the creative part of his brain into coming up with more ideas for ultimate moves and new ways to blow shit up. He’d even go as far to say that playing video games was similar to training for him, though his mother would scoff and roll her eyes if he ever said that shit out loud.
But he hadn’t really been thinking about any of that when he’d barreled across the threshold into the arcade earlier that night. He’d just wanted a distraction. He’d just wanted to sit and tap vigorously at some dumbass buttons and maybe win a fucking prize.
Which, in the end, he supposed he had accomplished exactly that.
He glared down at the stupid fucking strawberry still grasped in his right hand before he huffed and started back towards the buses that would take him up to campus. He knew, realistically, that he could throw the damn thing away. He could even just set it down on the sidewalk and walk away from it, if he really wanted to. Some snot-nosed kid or homeless dog or some shit would probably find it and make it their own. But he had won it, even if it was fucking stupid, so he just balled it up as much as he could to try and save some of his dignity as he flashed his UA ID to the bus driver and meandered to sit in the very back of the bus.
He’d always preferred the buses at night. They weren’t as crowded and the air conditioner was always on, making it cold enough and uncomfortable enough that most people elected to walk wherever they were going if they could.
Plus, he always got to see some really weird ass shit and he fucking loved it.
Like tonight. Seated a few rows away from him was a man sitting casually, limbs sprawled out all over the place, with his shirt slung over his shoulder as he bobbed his head along to music that he wasn’t even listening to. Like, who fucking does that? What a weirdo. Where was he even coming from? Why was he shirtless? What song was he muttering and gesturing his hands around wildly to that Katsuki wasn’t privy to hear? Didn’t he see Katsuki sitting there? Or did he really just not care? It was fucking wild.
He reached into his pocket and slid his phone out before he discreetly tried to angle it so that he could take a picture of the guy. He made sure his flash was off and he waited until they were passing under a streetlamp so he could really capture the effect of this funky ass dude just chilling in a pair of shorts and nothing else in the middle of the night.
He texted the picture to Kirishima, like he always did when he found something weird happening out in public. Which was pretty much any time he walked outside the gates of UA into civilization, honestly. People were always doing weird ass shit.
 Bakugou Katsuki [9.38pm]: Image-Attachment297.jpg
Another fucking weirdo
 He stared down at his phone, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the power button and waiting for Kirishima to answer. He always came back with something dumb and amusing. Like that time Katsuki had sent him a picture of some woman dressed like a mermaid on roller-skates and Kirishima had said something hilariously stupid like, Maybe she’ll roll off the peer and just splash into the water. Never to be seen again. Like, what the fuck even was that mental image? Katsuki had cackled for about five minutes straight just thinking about that dumb woman speeding her way along only to yeet herself off into the water and ‘return home’ or some shit.
He frowned down at his phone when a few minutes ticked by and he didn’t get an answer. What was Kirishima doing? Katsuki figured he was probably still hanging out with the other idiots, but even then, he usually texted back. Was he still trying to avoid him or something?
Katsuki sighed through his nose and shoved his phone away, gripping tighter to the strawberry plushie in his lap.
He wasn’t very good at friendship. Fuck, he knew that he wasn’t. He wasn’t some oblivious idiot. He knew he was a lot to handle, and he knew sometimes he blew up about shit he probably didn’t fucking need to blow up about and his doctor has been worried about his blood pressure for as long as he could fucking remember. But he wasn’t used to Kirishima avoiding him like this. He was usually more resilient than that.
Katsuki scowled at the dumb toy.
Kirishima would probably like this stupid thing. He’d say something about how it matched his hair or whatever. Dumb fuck would probably even keep it on his bed. He’d probably be pretty fucking happy if Katsuki gave it to him… Right?
His fingers gripped harder as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t very good at friendship. He didn’t know what it all entailed. Sure, he’d had friends before. He wasn’t a fucking loser. But they had all sucked. They were shit at video games and they were fucking stupid as all hell and they always grated on Katsuki’s last nerves.
But Kirishima wasn’t like that.
He kicked ass at video games. And he wasn’t annoying. And Katsuki supposed he liked how shamelessly the big oaf threw himself on top of him; arm slung tight around his neck and that stupid beaming smile of his fucking blinding him. He was always warm. Plus, Kirishima was strong, like he was. It was really fucking cool that Katsuki could literally howitzer the motherfucker and he’d still be standing, grinning like a dumbass and yelling something like, Did you see that? Did you see me?
As if Katsuki didn’t always see him. As if Katsuki wasn’t always looking.
Maybe that was weird.
Maybe that was a little out of bounds of what normal friendship required, but Katsuki didn’t fucking know any better, and it was hard not to automatically look for the idiot’s appalling red hair whenever he walked into a room. He didn’t want to be around anyone else, they were all so fucking weird, sue him for wanting to hang out with his best friend. What-the-fuck-ever.
Katsuki huffed again as the bus pulled to a stop in front of the gaping gates of UA’s campus. He balled the dumb strawberry up as much as he could before he labored to his feet and started the short trek back to the dorms. The campus was mostly empty at this point – curfew was at 10 o’clock so there really wasn’t any point to be out this late. Not that he was fucking complaining. He always needed some more peace and quiet.
He didn’t stumble across another person until he was almost at his dorm room.
Kirishima’s door opened just as Katsuki was about to walk past it.
“Oh,” Kirishima’s eyes widened a little before he rested a hand on the back of his neck. “Hey dude.”
Katsuki scowled at him. He wasn’t even hanging out with the fucking idiots. Why hadn’t he texted him back? “Hey.”
Kirishima leaned against his door frame and slid his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was teetering on the edge, but he couldn’t force himself over. Katsuki sneered. Why was Kirishima acting so fucking weird? It was really starting to piss him off.
He shoved the strawberry plushie into Kirishima’s chest. “Fucking here.”
Kirishima blinked in surprise for a moment before he glanced down at the toy with its stupid fucking crossed eyes. He beamed at the dumb thing and Katsuki hunched in on himself to avoid feeling… fuck, whatever it was that he was fucking feeling right now.
“Dude, this thing is so cute,” Kirishima said, as if it really was.
Katsuki snorted and rolled his eyes. “It looks like you.”
Kirishima’s eyes boggled a little and his cheeks blossomed into a deep red color.
Katsuki scowled. What the fuck? Did he really not get it? He reached out and tapped impatiently at the strawberry’s dumb face. “It’s all red and shit like your fucking hair.”
Kirishima blinked at him one more time, his face still impossibly flushed, before he let out a loud laugh. He shook his head, gripping the toy and inspecting it more. “I can keep this?”
“I’m not gonna fucking keep it,” Katsuki grunted, scratching awkwardly at his cheek.
Kirishima smiled at him and, shit, Katsuki couldn’t look away from it. It was too fucking soft. “Thanks man, I really like it!”
Katsuki felt himself brim with something that vaguely resembled pride for some fucking reason. “I knew you would, that’s why I fucking gave it to you.”
Kirishima’s smile softened even more and Katsuki physically had to stop himself from moving closer. It’d been a horrible fucking day and to top it all off he hadn’t gotten to hang out with Kirishima at all. He didn’t want to be a bitch about it. They literally saw each other every goddamn day, Katsuki could afford to spend one fucking day by himself.
But…
It’d been the worst fucking day he’d had in a while. And the first day in a while where he hadn’t hung out with Kirishima. Those two things couldn’t be connected, right?
“Are you gonna go to bed?” Kirishima asked as he fiddled with the toy, not looking at him.
Katsuki shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. Why was he so fucking sweaty right now?
“I don’t know…” Katsuki hesitated. “What are you gonna do?”
Kirishima glanced up at him through the fringe of his hair. Katsuki really liked it when his hair was down like that.
“Hang out with you, maybe?” He grinned sheepishly, and Katsuki’s dumbass heart did a dumbass flip or some dumbass shit.
“Tch,” he reached a hand up and scratched at the back of his head. “Then I guess I’m fucking hanging out with you, aren’t I?”
Kirishima beamed and it distracted Katsuki enough that he didn’t even bother chastising him for bringing that dumb fucking strawberry into his room or for cuddling the damn thing on his bed for the rest of the night.
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