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lokisgoodgirl · 6 days ago

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Two Gods, One Heart [Loki x Reader]

A link my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki comes good on a promise to have two of himself bed you. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Female Reader. MMF. Language. Oral. PV. Anal. Some Loki/Loki stuff.

“Come to bed,” Loki said, his long limbs stretched across the sheets.

One leg was draped over the side of the mattress, the other drawn up. His eyes glittered through shadow as they trailed over the curves of your body.

Two hands rested behind his head while another, familiar hand, worked his cock.

You swallowed, steadying against the doorframe. How ever many times Loki had whispered the details of your filthy fantasy into your ear; seeing promises made flesh hit different.

The loose babydoll covering your skin suddenly felt very tight.

“Keeping us waiting…” a second Loki chided, followed by a series of crisp tuts.

A shiver of arousal skated across your flesh as their voices mingled like cinders swirling up to an open, navy sky.

“Should we be offended?” The second Loki looked at the first, and their eyes narrowed lightly at the same moment. “Our love is adjusting…” the first said. In tandem, they smirked, before the first Loki’s head fell back with a groan. The second had tightened the grip on his cock, fist bobbing fluidly as amusement danced in his eyes and he swiped his thumb around the tip with targeted ease.

It was impossible to tell which one was the god you’d fallen in love with; which one you’d divulged your deepest secrets to, which one you’d comforted in darkness while he struggled with his past.

The two of them were identical except for the style of their hair; their silvery skin shimmering in the glow of a dozen candles. Their muscles flexed in all the ways you knew, distinguishable only by the fact that one’s onyx hair spread against the pillow while the other was tied up in a knot, several thick waves falling to his shoulders.

Loki said it didn’t matter, that the duplicate was a mirror image of his body and mind at that exact moment. ‘A breathing mirage who loves you as I do.’ And himself, it seemed.

The Loki propped on his side, working the other, turned fractionally towards you. You licked your lips, clenching immediately with a warm slip flushing between your legs. “Fuck us,” he growled like a command. His tongue nipped over the curve of his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth. “I fear we’re rather desperate to have you.”

The first Loki’s back arched from the bed, his eyes flying open in momentary terror. “Don’t waste it,” he snapped at himself as the second Loki’s thumb circled the tip of his heavy cock, slick with pre-cum. “Perhaps I just want her for myself…You could watch?” The first Loki’s chest rumbled in a guttural growl, wrenching the hand from his manhood. Of course they’re competitive. At least he was consistent.

The second Loki rolled on to his back, sliding the hand wet with his duplicate’s arousal down his stomach and beginning to tease himself. Your bare feet drew across the floor and mounted the bed, both Lokis’ propping themselves upright as you settled between them. “As we discussed?” the first asked, all sincerity. There was nothing but love in his voice. It's that one. That's the real one. You nodded, eyes sliding between them.

The second trailed a finger from below your ear down the curve of your neck, his lips ghosting the tip of your shoulder. “Then so it shall be,” he said. No, wait...that's the real one.

The world shifted as the second Loki guided you on your back, the first scooting down the bed and settling between your spread thighs. His hands slid down your legs, hooking beneath, his tongue tracing a soft path along your slit.

“Loki,” you groaned, and the one behind you whispered, “Good girl,” as his fingertips played with your nipples through chiffon. You gazed up at him, mind spinning. The points of his jaw threw shadows across the sharp planes of his face, eyes glimmering with black delight. One of your hands crept to the scalp of the god buried between your thighs, the other reaching up to hook in the hair of the one above. If you died at this moment; you’d die happy.

Your breaths grew short under the tender laps of Loki’s tongue: every flick against your clit, every suck between the flat licks that slipped against your sex.

“She’s close,” the one above you murmured, working your nipples, his breath hot on your neck. He moaned your name softly, praise dripping from his lips.

“Oh my god…Loki,” you gasped in a thin, fragile voice, back arching. The man between your legs let out a muffled grunt against your cum slipping against his mouth. You reached forward, burying your hands in his hair and drawing him up into a messy kiss. “My turn,” the one behind you hummed, and the mattress creaked under their weight. You were aware of a carefully coordinated shift as the Loki kissing you shuffled up your body. His lips broke away, and then he was towering above you with his thighs spread on either side of your chest; cock in his hand, stroking leisurely. Your palms slid up his iron-muscled thighs, golden in candlelight. And then, the second Loki’s tongue slipped inside your cunt. Your nails dug into the femurs of the Loki above.

His head fell back with a hiss, a mess of dark hair cascading around his shoulders. The hard cock bobbing between his legs tapped against your cheek and you immediately curled your fingers around it and guided it to your lips. Loki gurgled as you swallowed him, sucking gently in time with the second god’s expert tongue slide across your pussy. The two of them moaned in unison.

You wondered if they felt the same sensations; if one transferred to the other, and if the god hovering above with his cock in your throat could taste your fresh, liquid arousal welling in the other’s mouth.

The Loki towering with his hair falling free cradled the back of your head as mewls of orgasm vibrated against the velvet skin of his length.

“G-good, f-fuck, Darling,” he muttered as your nails scraped down his obliques. The tongue caressing your swollen, slippery sex vanished—but then a pair of large hands slid over your own. The second Loki appeared at the first’s shoulder, resting his chin on the ropes of muscle starting to strain under the effort of holding back blowing his load into your mouth. “Don’t be greedy,” the second murmured: dark, dirty. You released the cock from your mouth with a slurp, and its master frowned, panting heavily. “I’m giving her what she wants.” The second Loki snorted, before pulled the first’s earlobe between his teeth in the way that made your lover tighten with desire. “I think we both know what she wants,” he whispered, and both sets of eyes locked on yours. A thrill swelled between your legs with wicked force. “Yes, you do,” you said, and both Lokis’ eyes glinted with a mischievous spark. They moved like a dance, sprawling elegantly on either side of your body.

You kissed one deeply, and then the other, settling on your left side facing the Loki with hair spilling over his chest like ink. Your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him wildly. His hand slid down your waist, pulling you flush to his abdomen; cock pressed tight to your stomach, the growl in his throat filling your mind with impossible filth. But nothing’s impossible with him, you thought, as the second Loki’s lips fastened to your neck from behind. Another hand skated over your ass, massaging gently. You swung a leg over the hips of the Loki in front of you; his greedy fingertips immediately sinking into the meat of your thigh. The tip of his manhood slid between your folds. “Are you ready, love?” he whispered. The Loki behind you paused, placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder-blades. You nodded, searching between your bodies and gripping his cock. It slid inside you like liquid, and the breath left your lungs.

‘Made for me,’ Loki always said. And it was true. The expression of the god in front of you tremored, lips parted in pleasure before his beautiful eyes fluttered shut. Your cunt stretched around him, swallowing the size, gripping him in a slickened, silken vice. The Loki sheathed inside you stilled, his hips trembling against yours with the determination not to fuck you senseless. That wasn’t the plan—not yet. He bit his lip as your peripheral vision glowed green.

You turned fractionally, seeing the second Loki empty a small, ornate phial of oil into his palm and warm it between his fingers. “Relax, love,” he murmured as a hand slipped between your cheeks, fingers playing against your ass. You clenched around the root of the first Loki’s cock. “Gods…” he groaned, and the one behind you chuckled. “Hold on,” he said, as his fingers played at your ass. One digit slipped inside, and then two. The tender wildness set your nerves alight, and you began to thrust on Loki’s cock, desperate for movement. A moan caught in his throat. “Wait, love,” he choked, steadying your hip and quieting your whine with a kiss. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, thumb playing at the angle of your jaw while the Loki behind you scissored his fingers: in, and out. “She’s ready,” he purred. The lover holding you pulled his mouth away, sucking on your bottom lip. He winked. “I don’t think she’ll ever be ready.” You smiled, turning to the one behind you as his hand slid over your thigh. Feeling down his body, your fingers curled around the second Loki’s cock at the moment you squeezed your cunt around the first’s. Both of them hissed in unison, and you almost came from sound alone.

The second, familiar manhood pressed against your asshole, slipping against the Asgardian oil. You took a deep breath, following the usual routine, as Loki let you shift backwards until he breached. The stomach flush to your spine spasmed, a sharp gasp splitting the air as you slid down his shaft and the Loki in front of you shuffled closer, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Isn’t she?” “F-fuck…” the one behind you stuttered, “Yes. Yes…” “Hold on,” the Loki deep in your cunt goaded to his duplicate, echoing the previous jibe. “Don’t ruin the fantasy for her before it’s even begun.” In lieu of words, the Loki behind you dragged his cock from your ass, teasing, stretching, before sliding back in. An obscene sound rattled in your throat as the first Loki rolled his hips, his effortlessly liquid thrusts stroking your g-spot. “Made for us,” the Loki behind you murmured, thrusting gently.

With every gentle slap of their skin, another plane of reality melted. Kisses slid one into the next: from the front, from behind. Your hands roamed over their bodies as they cradled you, suspended in syrupy desire, their mouths taking turns over your skin as twisting moans filled the room.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel this aroused, this full, this safe. Orgasm wasn’t a peak; it was a wave—foaming beneath the soles of your feet as you rode it across a sea of their need. You lost count after four.

Sweat slid between the three bodies on the bed, one folding into another as they fucked you, wringing their name from your lips in every conceivable octave. “Come inside me,” you sobbed, feeling the next climax boiling in your blood. Both Lokis’ breaths hitched. The one behind you sank his teeth into your shoulder while the first palmed your breast upward before slipping a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. Loki’s voice at the best of times was enough to send you over the edge, but hearing two of him in the throes of ecstasy was too much to bear.

Their breaths became more urgent, the thrusts sloppier, the sounds of your bodies driven by some unquenchable need shifting into its final gear. Loki, buried in your ass, fastened his hand at your hip; pulling you onto the base of his cock again, and again, and again. The god buried in your pussy trembled, his jaw clenching, spirals of hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wild, pumping up into your cunt with targeted, lethal ease. Fuck, you were so wet. Cum coated the insides of your thighs, slipping against each buck of his hips.

And then, they splintered.

You’d been so excited earlier you’d forgotten to check if he’d made sure the silencing enchantment was in place. But it was too late now, and to be honest…you didn’t care. Your only regret was you couldn’t see them both at the same time, so you glanced between them, drinking in the sight of their faces screwed up and pleasure wrenching from them in violent, guttural sounds. Twin sets of fingers sank deep into your curves, their sobs of your name ebbing like snow melting into hard, winter earth. True to form, neither Loki stopped the churn of their hips as they came; reluctant to spin a second less of pleasure from your willing body. Hot cum swelled against your insides: white, sweet, perfect. The one behind you collapsed his face between your shoulder-blades, condensation misting your skin. The second followed, his messy kisses covering your mouth between wild strands of hair.

And then, their ragged breath eased with a singular, staggered sigh. “Happy, Darling?” the Loki in front of you murmured. You nodded, cupping his face. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. This one. Definitely.

In a shimmer of green, and with a knowing smile, his body dissolved.

The arm around your waist tightened, cock still buried in your ass. Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and you grinned into the pillow. “I love you,” he said tenderly against the skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”

Thank you for reading❤️ Come say hi! Alternative Version/Part Two of the THIRD Loki ...yes that's right. The Spare (w/c 1.5k)

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki #lokismut #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki x female reader #loki x yn #loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson smut

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katzkinder · 4 months ago

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people in universe would have common misconception about both Giotto and Tsuna being super honorable in a fight etc etc

They’re mean and they play dirty if they don’t like you, but ESPECIALLY Tsuna.

Never gonna forget that Tsuna pretended he was gonna poke Iemitsu’s eyes out only to blast him right in the face with an x burner when his wrist was caught and even reborn was like “lol nice get his ass”

Then there was also him just straight up snapping Mukuro’s trident in two bc he got pissed off

Ripping Byakuran’s wings off… Burning them to cinders right in front of his face while he was in agony because uh hello that’s part of his body you’re fucking CRAZY

Literally just standing there and allowing Bermuda to take himself out by flying straight into Tsuna’s fist. The sheer disrespect was so immense I screamed irl.

Even against Mochida, before he has access to hyper mode. Tsuna pinned his punk ass and tore all his hair out while making a stupid pun. King shit.

Tsuna’s not a sweet little muffin who talks people down with the power of friendship, he’s a piece of work when he wants to be

He’s just also so… Very kind. And forgiving. As long as you show him you mean what you say, that you no longer mean any harm, that you want to make amends? He will forgive and forget.

This isn’t always a good thing. This opens him up to a lot of pain. But I also think it’s the proof of his strength.

A heart which loves no matter what aches it endures. This? This is what makes him so easy to adore, both in universe and out of it.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi

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astraloverflow · 18 days ago

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Depraved and Obsessed König Teaser

MDNI please :) Been working on this fic for a little while now, let me know what you guys think!! It's my first time writing and I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received, but I'd LOVE some feedback!! Basically, König's chasing poor reader through the woods, oopsies. There's gonna be so so so much build-up to this point though in the final work! WC: 762 words, planning to be about 15-20k once it's done, so get ready 😩

You could taste the blood in your mouth as you ran, lungs constricting with each heaving breath, trying to take in enough oxygen to sustain another quick stride. The corners of your vision were going black— you were fucking exhausted, but the adrenaline kept you going, it had to. Your legs burned, barely able to feel them anymore; the only sensation reaching your brain was your soles against the floor of the forest, as they destroyed leaves beneath your sprint.

That and the pitiful burn of your heart.

Turning to look behind your shoulder every other second frantically, you were met with nothing but the deafening silence of the night. Shivers of lightning struck through your body, and the entire situation started to feel too real. The gasping inhales and exhales of your collapsing lungs, the sound of your pulse beating harshly in your ears, the shrubbery crumbling apart in your tracks, wind blowing, cascading the broken leaves into the mix of ground, almost as if trying to obscure where you were going, it was all too much. No animal dared to make a noise, not a peep, maybe they were too afraid to draw attention to themselves, you should have been too, but that thought was far gone from your head at this point.

Considering his sheer size, you’d expect someone like him to be loud, stomping on the ground, practically shaking and breaking the earth beneath his feet, just as you desperately tried to. Your heart, being bludgeoned by your over-exertion, tried to keep up, but your throat tightened up with each desperate breath. You had no idea if he was meters behind, or waiting around the corner to grab at you when you thought you were safe. You knew he could swallow up the distance between you two with ease, you have seen it time and time again. On the field, in training— you saw it anywhere and everywhere he was able to fully display his incomprehensible prowess and brute physical strength.

But tonight, tonight he was quiet, calculated, and cruel, which made your anxiety spike to unknown extremes. The dread that grew deep in your stomach felt like it weighed twice what you did; it tried to hold you down, tried to pull you into the ground. It almost did, in a way you almost wish it did— if the earth opened up and swallowed you whole, you would be away from him. The cold embrace of the earth, enclosing you in, threatening to turn you into an artifact for archaeologists— you would take that over this sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake. You tried to drop this anchor of a weight, but it clung to you like a cinder block, tightly tied around your waist with thick rope, before being tossed off the edge of a boat, forcibly pulling you into a fluid body of salt, sinking, struggling. Then it hits you. You feel your body hit the ocean floor and it rips the air you tried so hard to keep, straight out of your chest. Water fills your lungs, rushing in mercilessly, and it burns. It hits you.

All this time you were wondering where he was, why he wasn’t chasing immediately after you. At a point, you almost thought he gave up and left, but that was too merciful for him.

This was a game to him, he was toying with you.

You stumble slightly, and it brings you back to reality harshly, the situation demanding your attention, heart feeling like it was just resuscitated. Not noticing the jagged ground you had just tripped over, inhaling sharply, your arms fly out in front of you to steady yourself so you wouldn’t crash into the ground. Catching yourself, you continued to work your legs, trying to cover more ground, trying to get as far as possible, though a small part of you knew it was hopeless. Initially, you had hoped to run back to the barracks, somewhere safe, somewhere away from him, somewhere with people, somewhere with witnesses. But he had rounded the corner, so quickly that it made your head spin. He cut you off completely, and in a haze, you had made a last-ditch for the woods encasing the base.

You couldn’t see it now, but he was smiling to himself, watching you stumble over your every breath as you dug your grave deeper, heading nowhere useful. As he analyzed your desperate attempt to evade him, he chuckles before speaking to no one but himself, starting a steady saunter towards you “So fucking predictable.”

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azsazz · 2 months ago

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Infest (Part 2)

Stalker!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is on assignment to watch over you. He really really likes you.

Warnings: Stalking, mentions of guns.

Word Count: 2,116

(Part One)

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You’re sound asleep, and Azriel’s never felt more awake.

It’s been an hour and sixteen minutes since you stumbled back home without a care for your surroundings and your phone falling halfway out of your purse.

Azriel kept his distance, as he always does. As he was told to do. He’s always been a good soldier. Never gone rouge. Never abandoned a soldier even when he maybe should have. His finger has never slipped from the trigger.

There’s something about you that makes him want to, though. Remove his finger from the trigger just to run it down the slope of your jaw, tuck that piece of hair back behind your ear that falls dangerously close to your soft, parted lips.

You barely made it home. Barely made it out of your costume that sits in a crumpled pile on the floor, heels kicked off in two different directions and red cape draped over one of the posters of your bed. He can hear the snores of your friend Cassian from the living room, each rumble of his chest grates on his ears, the serenity he usually has when he stands at the foot of your bed and watches you sleep.

Cassian is a fly buzzing in his ear, is what he is. He could barely hold himself up better than you, and he wasn’t in seven-inch platform heels that looked as heavy as cinder blocks. Azriel wondered if he was going to have to scrape you off the sidewalk if your friend tripped and took you down. At least his mission would most likely be over.

But there’s something about spending his days and nights watching over you, waiting for the inevitable other shoe—heel—to drop, that keeps his head screwed on straight, keeps him calm. Keeps him ready.

His eyes trail your body again. Arm folded up beneath your pillow, the other resting over your side. The fabric of your sheets draped barely over that sinful red bow tied at the waistband of your panties. The oversized shirt you managed to wrangle yourself into hides the curve of your breast, the smooth skin of your stomach and shoulders that he wants to sink his teeth into to taste.

You didn’t have it in yourself to scrub the makeup from your face. After a pit stop at the local late night pizza joint with your friends, you parted with Cassian in tow, bright-eyed and giggling about your favorite rom-com you were going to force him to watch. Your favorite. You’ve watched it nine and a half times since Azriel started assignment.

If he never hears Matthew McConaughey’s voice again it will be too soon.

He stays by his spot at the end of your bed. Watching. Never touching. He hasn’t even lain himself upon your cozy looking comforter, the one scrunched between your legs right now, hasn’t slipped between the sheets and held you to the mattress like he’s thought about.

There will be time for that.

You shift, murmuring something incoherent beneath your breath, and roll, taking the silky sheets with you. Azriel watches for a long moment, counts in his head the time it takes you to sigh, for your shoulders to ease as you fall back into that heavy slumber.

He strolls lightly to the window, dodging abandoned jeans, a yoga mat that he’s never seen you unroll, but he uses when you’re otherwise occupied. There’s a pair of well-worn slippers that he avoids, along with a shoebox stuffed with photos you dug out of your closet and never put away.

Your apartment is lived in. Azriel’s not sure he can remember a time where he had things that would clutter his room. His life has been hospital corners on beds and a gun tucked under his pillow. Fully geared up while he slept on the cold, hard ground. Leaning up against a wall with a gun cradled to his chest. He would never have photos or trinkets that could compromise him, not that he has anyone nor anything that could be used against him. He is a solid, steel trap of apathy.

A void.

The sky is dark with cloud cover, no moon in sight. He scans the skyscrapers that surround your apartment, searching for any signs of movement. It brings him back to his time in the military, scoping out perimeters, keeping an eye out for snipers. He hates the location of your apartment. Anyone in a higher level could peer into your open windows, because you always forget to close your curtains. If there were anyone like him out there, you’d already be dead.

Motion in the corner of his vision rips his gaze to the boulevard. Streetlights line the street, the second one from the corner flickers, going dark for one long second, and when it bursts back to its short-lived brightness, a figure stands below it.

Azriel recognizes the body in point one seconds flat.

His jaw grinds as he examines the figure. Arms crossed over his chest, sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, top button undone. One leg crossed over the other as he leans casually against the pole. He’s sure there’s a satisfied smirk on the pricks face, knowing that Azriel has clocked him in an instant, and is already making his way to the door like the well-trained hound he is.

It's easy to skirt the hibernating giant on your couch. Azriel shoots him a dirty look on the way out, just because he can. He reaches behind into the waistband of his pants, palming his pistol, the metal of the weapon a comfort against his hand.

He takes the stairs, never the elevator. Shoves his way out of the lobby door and scans the street quickly. Not a car in sight, not another soul besides the one still lounging beneath the light. If he had a soul, Azriel might be surprised.

The closer he gets, the wider that foxlike smile grows. The harsh, yellow glow makes his teeth look sharp. Amber eyes glow like hot coals as Azriel approaches, halting just outside the ring of light.

Azriel doesn’t start the conversation. He never does. He gets his assignments, makes his reports, and finishes the job. He doesn’t ask questions, and his boss doesn’t question him.

So, what the fuck is Eris doing here?

There’s a reason his boss chose Azriel for this particular assignment, because Eris would have already thrown a bag over your head and tossed you into the back of the sleek, black SUV parked at the corner and towed you back to the mansion. Azriel isn’t Eris, doesn’t think they share a single trait, and he’s never been grateful about anything in his life, but he sure is about that.

Eris’ eyes flicker to your apartment window and if it were possible, Azriel would still. He’s well-trained. He keeps still. Doesn’t let a sliver of the white-hot rage that flashes through his body reach the surface, even when Eris’ gaze seeps that familiar glimmer of wickedness.

“What were you doing up there?” His voice is silky, a prowl almost. He quirks a brow, and it’s always been his mission to try to get Azriel to crack. Not once has his little jibes worked. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch from your car?”

Azriel doesn’t respond, only stares at Eris.

If only he could unleash a bullet from the chamber and empty it in his pompous face.

Following a long beat, Eris releases an impatient exhale. He rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a surprise they don’t stick. A glimmer of pride builds into nothing more than a whisper of a hair dragging across Azriel’s skin. He plucks it away easily; lets it float away with the gentle breeze.

“It’s been over a month. Boss is getting antsy.”

Boss. As if it isn’t his father that’s one of the most powerful mafia dons on the east coast. As if he’s not his son.

“She hasn’t shown any signs of knowing,” Azriel gives him this. The same seven words the reports he’s sent back to his boss every week has contained.

“Maybe she knows you’re following her.”

Azriel’s features sharpen in the darkness. Hazel eyes narrowing a fraction. Muscle of his jaw popping. Lips thinning a hairsbreadth.

“She doesn’t know,” he refutes, tone monotonous. “She doesn’t know anything.” Not about him, not about the world he lives in, not about herself.

He’s beginning to think that this mission is a lost cause. That you’re not the girl they’re looking for. Azriel doesn’t give up on missions, he sees them through, and he’ll wait as long as he has to, as long as he’s told. It’s not like it’s a hardship watching over someone so pretty.

“You can’t tell me she’s flown under the radar for this long without slipping up,” Eris exhales in frustration, shoving himself from the lamp post. So quick to anger. If Azriel knew anything about choosing an heir to a mafia empire, Eris would not be the next in line. He wouldn’t even be fourth in line, the pretentious asshole.

But Azriel is just a soldier, a mercenary at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Perhaps it was the right place at the right time.

“Read my reports. They’ll tell you all you need to know.” Azriel beings to turn to head back to his post. He’s been gone for just over six minutes now, and he knows better than anyone how much can happen in such a short period of time.

As always, Eris opens his fucking mouth. “Your reports don’t say shit. One might think that you’re sleeping with her for Mothers—” He doesn’t see it coming. Doesn’t have the chance to get the last word out of his mouth before the muzzle of Azriel’s pistol is pinning his jaw shut.

“Want to say that again?” Azriel asks, voice gruff. He’s not fucking around. He never does. His hands aren’t trembling like Eris is in his grip. His finger is poised, steady on the trigger, waiting for the moment to pull.

He doesn’t care that he’s aiming a gun to his don’s son. Doesn’t give a fuck if Eris runs right home to tell daddy what he’s done. It’s not the first time Azriel has pulled a gun on the impatient heir, and it isn’t the last.

Right now, Eris is a compromise to his mission. You don’t leave his sight, yet he had to leave his watch post in order to entertain the amber-eyed fool that glares up at him. Fucking idiot.

Not even the harsh metal of Eris’ gun digging into the flesh just above Azriel’s hipbone does anything to strike fear into him. He’s felt worse.

“Get…the fuck off me, man,” Eris bites, carefully so he doesn’t trigger whatever hairline tripwire Azriel lives on. He’s a fucking psycho. Which is probably why his father employs the ex-military man.

Azriel’s credentials never fucking lie. He wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse if he pulled the trigger right now. Boss has six other sons, even if most of them don’t show any promise to take over the family business.

Well, maybe one. Azriel always keeps an eye on that one.

“Get the fuck out of here, Eris,” Azriel says, deathly calm. He releases the auburn-haired man who stumbles back like Azriel pushed him. “If you compromise my mission again, you won��t be so lucky.”

“Fuck you,” Eris spits. His gun is clutched tightly in his grip, white-knuckled. He won’t use it. Azriel wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never killed a person a day in his life. Privileged in a fucked-up world, but privileged nonetheless. Eris takes another step back, the darkness of the city block draping his shoulders in black. The familiar blacked-out SUV screeches to a halt at the curb. Azriel knows who’s driving, who sits passenger, and the number of guns pointed in his direction. Eris’ hand lands on the handle, he tosses one, final scathing look over his shoulder, pinning Azriel with the harshest look he can muster. It’s all for naught, since it doesn’t affect Azriel in the slightest. “He won’t wait forever, you know,” he spits, and climbs into the van.

Azriel watches the vehicle take off down the street before the door even closes behind Eris. The engine revs, and whoever is driving blows right through the stop sign.

Azriel watches until the taillights disappear from view, and then some, before he tucks his gun back into the waistband of his pants and treks his way back to your apartment.

He’ll wait however goddamn long Azriel wants him to wait.

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Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @ushijima-stits @peaceandcrackers @sveretrice

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #stalker!azriel #dark romance!azriel #azriel fanfiction #modern!azriel au

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spahhzy · 1 month ago

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Jaune: Cinder, you better stop causing destruction!

Cinder flying around like a deranged maniac.

Jaune, with some 'Arc ingenuity', procured himself a rope and tried lassoing the fall maiden back to the ground.

Unfortunately Cinder, in all her evil fall maiden powerness(?) was a bit stronger than Jaune thought, as she proceeded to drag the poor knight all around the city.

Jaune: You better stop this evilness right now!

That only served to make Cinder turn up the jets to max, but Jaune held on valiantly!

Jaune: Im not letting go, not even for *gasp* GOTH GIRLS IN FISHNETS!?

Ruby: Uh, you sure this is gonna help me talk to Jaune?

Yang: Of course Rubes, it's practically foolproof

Weiss: Says the fool!

Yang: Weiss, let's go somewhere so I can kick you on the mouth.

Jaune was weakened but did not let go!

Jaune: Im. Not. Letting. Go! Not even for *gasp*

POWER BOTTOM!?

Pyrrha: Uh... Are you sure being direct with Jaune is necessary?

Nora: That man is dense as a black hole, you got go in their and explode the black hole!

Ren: What nora means is...be up front.

Pyrrha: *gulp* up...front?

Nora: Renny! She's sweating again! Quick get the water!

Jaune groaned in agony but still held onto the rope!

Jaune: If you think I'll let go for a little *gasp* PSYCHO SHORTSTACK!? OH NOOOO!

Roman: Seriously? You stole a mech? For him?

Neo: 😁

Roman: I don't know what you see in him, but hey, who am I to tell you who to love?

Here lies Jaune... defeated...by himself.

#jaune arc #neopolitian (rwby)#rwby silent knight #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #cinder fall #rwby lancaster #rwby arkos #rwby pyrrha #spongebob

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saphronethaleph · 2 months ago

Text

The Dragon's Fire

Smaug, the Dragon Dread, the Terror of the Lonely Mountain, furled his wings and chuckled slightly as the last of the smoke rose from his muzzle.

That, he was sure, was one wizard who was not going to be sniffing around here again. Gold was scattered all across the floor to the sides of his mighty hoard, coins and artworks that he had piled up to serve as his bed and that had been cast aside when he had burst from the gold, but the surprise had been either total or as near as made no difference at all.

Leaning down, Smaug examined the scorch mark, which was glowing faintly as the stonework cooled and which had a drift of ash around it… unfortunately, his experience with the clothing of mortals was not sufficient to actually work out in any detail what he was dealing with here.

Clothes, perhaps? In the moment’s glance at the wizard, as his intense flames reached out, he had seen… robes, a hat, and a staff that glowed with light and might and power.

Perhaps it was the staff that was part of it?

Regardless, either the wizard was dead or he had received a clear warning to never return. The light was dim, here in the depths of Erebor, and there was smoke aplenty, but the glow from the scorch mark was sufficient that Smaug could identify two of the burning cinders as parts of a snapped wooden staff.

But there was something else odd, as well, and Smaug leaned more closely.

The glow of his scales, sign of the flames that burned within him, flared a little lighter. It illuminated the stonework, and Smaug’s paw picked up the metal circlet.

In the dim light, it looked… quite pleasant, really. Understated, a golden band with a red ruby set in a housing. Perhaps it was some sort of diadem, if wizards were prone to wearing such things… and, more than that, it was a trophy of his victory.

Toying with it, Smaug realized after a few seconds that it was of a size to fit onto his foreclaw, and slid it into place. It fit quite snugly, and he chuckled.

If wizards were going to bring him such trophies, he could almost look forward to the next visit.

-Smaug awoke with a jolt.

His paws clenched into claws, and he growled, then shook his head.

There had been something he was dreaming about – something that had woken him up.

But what had it been?

He tried to remember, turning his mighty mind to the task, but it was a struggle… for all that he tried, it seemed that the details attempted to slip away regardless of how much effort he put into holding onto them.

It had involved… flying, Smaug was sure. Soaring above the earth below, with clouds all around him, such as he had not done since he had first burned his Devastation many years ago. Flying, wings caressing the air, carrying his immense but light form in sweeps through the clouds.

And there had been… other dragons, as well. Drakes of different sizes and colours, winged cold-drakes and fire-drakes alike, soaring between the mountains that ringed the Withered Heath…

...but as he tried, the last elusive details slipped through his claws, and Smaug’s paw smote the gold of his hoard. Gold coins and halves of gold coins flew everywhere, and there was a minor avalanche, but Smaug cared little.

There was an ache in his heart, and it took him a long moment to work out what it was.

Loneliness.

He growled, and thrashed his tail against the wall.

He was a mighty fire-drake, greatest of the dragons. He should not be feeling this pain over loneliness!

Smaug needed nobody else.

Smaug had nobody else.

And that had never bothered him before.

The faint light filtering into the hall told Smaug that it was during the day. The dwarven hall was well designed, and it allowed shafts of light in so that the burning torches that would have thrown light were an adjunct, rather than truly necessary. They would have needed them by night, but not while the sun was in the sky or even when the clouds veiled it.

And Smaug rested his great bulk up on one of the high places, a mezzanine thirty feet and more above the main hall which was filled with his hoard, and he glowered down at it.

As if it had offended him.

As if it posed an impossible challenge.

Because… in the final analysis, what was he going to do with it?

He was a mighty dragon, that much was obvious. The greatest of the dragons that yet lived upon Middle-Earth. He had won this hoard, mighty gold and treasures almost beyond counting, himself.

It was his.

And yet… since winning it, all he had done was sleep in it.

“This is foolishness,” he growled, then almost winced at the echoing sound of his own voice – so long had it been since he had had cause to speak.

But it was foolishness.

He had everything a dragon could ever desire! As a young drake in the Withered Heath, he had dreamed of wealth, and the hoard of the Lonely Mountain was greater even than he had dared to dream.

And all he had done was sleep on it, sleeping away a hundred years and more. He wasn’t even sure of the exact number, just that… he had dreamed his dragon dreams submerged within the wealth that had been his goal, and it no longer brought him the least pleasure.

It might as well have been a pile of rocks.

After a moment’s thought, Smaug shook his head, for – no, it was not the case! Gold was gold, and rock was rock, and no dragon would ever sleep on a pile of rocks!

Except… all the others.

If there were others.

His thoughts were going around in circles, and he growled, then looked down at the hoard again.

What was he going to do with it?

Sleep here, buried in gold that would never again do anything, until he was too large to fit through the door? Or until the ages of Middle-Earth had turned again, and again, and the Lonely Mountain itself wore away and there was nothing left? Never gaining anything from the gold beyond a sleep that was troubled by unquiet dreams anyway?

Or go elsewhere, use the gold to do something?

The idea felt like a sore tooth.

Anything else he tried to do with it would mean giving it up, surrendering it, letting it slip out of his control. It was… a sickening thought, one that made his stomach roil.

What else could a dragon value but his hoard?

But… in what way could a dragon value his hoard?

It was a bed.

A bed.

Smaug yawned, wings half-flaring, and clambered down from the mezzanine.

He was tired, and sleep might bring him more insight. Or a solution to his conundrum.

Though it would… probably not. He had had these thoughts too often, lately.

The feeling that something was missing. And that what he had was… nothing.

Sunlight slashed into the main entrance of Erebor’s dwarf hold, and Smaug held a fine coat of silvery mail in the light. It was tiny, to him, a mere trinket.

But he knew what it meant.

He knew, roughly, how it would have been made.

Every one of the links was made of mithril, a metal that was difficult to find and difficult to smelt. First it would need to be mined, the ore taken from the ground, by miners who tunnelled through the rock with pickaxe and hammer and chisel, and that would give them rocks.

To smelt the metal would have required… charcoal, or coal, cut and burned once to make it into truly black material that could be used in a forge, and then burned again to fuel the forge. Turning the ore into a bloom of the metal, then shaping the metal into wire, then turning the wire into links of tiny metal.

The links of this particular coat were so fine that Smaug could barely see them, even when he looked his closest, and there were a lot of them.

Then they would all have to be fit together, tens of thousands of rings, all assembled and held together with tens of thousands of rivets.

And it was just one item. One part of his hoard.

The artisans of Erebor had been able to make so many things, with their skills at working wood and metal and stone. Beautiful things. So many things that were so beautiful, not merely mining out gold but then shaping it into the things that were far more appealing.

He would not have been so pleased with a bed of lumps of solid metal. It was that they had been turned into coins, or finer things, that gave them much of their value.

And… he had killed so many of those dwarves. Struck them down with flame and tail and claw, and driven out the rest.

For what?

For his hoard, of course, which was his by right. But… Smaug could not help but look at this tiny, exquisite suit of mail.

And wonder what they could have made for a dragon.

Wonder if something that had been made for him, at his direction… would have closed the ache inside him.

Wonder why he had never even considered it, before.

“Are you sure that this is a good plan, exactly?” Bilbo wondered, looking up at Thorin.

Thorin grumbled.

Bilbo supposed that, really, that was all he could hope for.

The original plan had been for each of them to get an enormous part of the share of a dragon’s hoard, and Bilbo’s role had been… well, to put it simply, to be a thief.

But they had been captured by Elves, and one thing had led to another, and after a rather significant amount of negotiation and a rather more significant amount of arguing between Thorin and Balin and Gloin, with Bilbo’s assistance, the way it had all worked out was that now the shares they were going to get of the dragon’s treasure were somewhat less enormous – but still sounding like quite a large amount of gold, all things considered.

The Elves would be getting some, for their own help – a fine way of saying that they would release the Company from captivity and accompany them to Erebor, while keeping them safe from spiders and goblins alike in the dangerous Mirkwood – but they would not be getting the Arkenstone that Thorin so valued and they would not be getting the mountain itself, either.

Bilbo still remembered the decisive question that had turned the trick – which was when Balin had asked Thorin what he would give to restore Erebor to its old glory.

And Thorin had admitted… he would give much. Even, when pressed, half the treasure from the dragon’s hoard… a deal which Thranduil had rejected, as too generous to the Elves.

Bilbo didn’t quite like Thranduil, because he could only compare the Elven king unfairly to Lord Elrond of Rivendell who was rather more like the sort of Elf that Bilbo liked. But he was rather taking a shine to the Prince.

Not least because Legolas seemed willing to actually tell him things.

“Is it a good plan?” he asked, then, looking back at the noble Elf.

“Perhaps,” Legolas replied, with a slight shrug. “A lot depends on if there is a dragon there.”

“Do you think that likely?” Fili asked.

“It hasn’t appeared in over a century,” Dori noted.

“I think it more likely that goblins have moved in,” Legolas suggested. “And if they have, we will be glad of our outriders.”

He looked up. “...though it seems trouble may be on our way.”

“Why do you say that?” Thorin asked, roused out of his general sullen mood.

“Hoofbeats, moving fast,” Legolas explained, then looked around. “There’s a ridge – there. We should get a good look.”

He scrambled up the rock with a grace that was enviable for anyone, and especially enviable when the one doing the envying was a Hobbit, and Bilbo did his best to follow.

Then Dori picked him up, and did his best to follow, which worked a little better.

By the time they reached the top of the ridge, though, Legolas was already scanning the northern horizon in worry.

“There,” he said, pointing, and Bilbo squinted.

There was a sort of smudge, he thought.

Thorin’s expression was stormy.

“A goblin host,” he said.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “I make it eight or nine thousand.”

Bilbo looked back at the Elven army, which was significantly weaker – maybe sixteen hundred, all told. They were better armed and equipped, he knew, but a difference of this size was going to be a large problem.

“We should find a place to deploy,” Balin said. “Set up where they can’t-"

“They’re closer to the Mountain than us,” Thorin pointed out. “If they’re going for it, we need to try and head them off.”

“They have wargs and warg riders,” Legolas warned. “We have scarcely a hundred horse, we don’t want to fight in the open plain.”

He pointed. “Our outriders are coming in. Father will be asking them…”

His voice trailed off.

“What is it?” Thorin asked. “Out with it.”

“Dust, on the horizon,” Legolas said, nodding to the northwest. “There’s another army coming this way – I doubt they’re friendly to us.”

“It’s the wrong direction for the Iron Hills, that much is true,” Balin said.

Then a flash of movement caught Bilbo’s eye, and he turned to look – and his jaw dropped.

A massive creature with red-golden scales was emerging from the mountain, huge wings flaring, rising into the air like a hawk taking flight, and it had to be well over a hundred feet in length though Bilbo didn’t have a great sense of scale. It circled once, then swooped down towards the goblin army, and Thorin made a grim sound.

“We will have to sell our lives dearly,” he said. “Elvish prince – can you or your elves put an arrow through the scales of a dragon?”

“It’s not something I’ve tried yet,” Legolas admitted, as the dragon – as Smaug – hovered over the goblins, presumably having some sort of fell conversation. “But I’m sure I can find my mark.”

He reached for his bow, then paused.

“Look!” he said.

Bilbo followed Legolas’s gaze, and a jet of green and scarlet flame flashed down from the enormous dragon… and doused the goblin army in flame.

“They were loosing arrows at it,” Legolas said. “At him. Then he just… destroyed them.”

Bilbo could only see smoke, now, hovering over the ruin of what had once been a mighty force of goblins. Then Smaug’s wings cut the air, sweeping away the smoke in coils, and he approached them at speed.

It had to be at least two or three minutes that the dragon took, to reach them, but to Bilbo it felt like an onrushing avalanche. Then the massive creature landed on the far side of the slope, wings flaring before they furled like those of a bat, and Bilbo found himself regarded by a head that rivalled for size the largest entire creatures he had seen.

“Greetings,” Smaug said. “Hmm… two Elves, thirteen Dwarves, and a creature I know not. And an army, besides… what brings you to the Lonely Mountain?”

“Revenge,” Thorin replied.

“Revenge, is it?” Smaug asked, sounding quite amused. “Revenge, on me, I’d assume? Well, I’ll admit that I assaulted your mountain, and slew many Dwarves – and Men, as well – but I don’t recall killing any Elves, and nor do I know what that other fellow’s race is at all. So what brings hither the Elves, and their army, terrible with banners?”

Thranduil had ascended the hill, as well, and Bilbo realized that Legolas must have informed his father about the… battle… that had its smoking ruins in the distance.

“We are here in alliance with the Dwarves,” the King of the Mirkwood Elves declared, and Smaug nodded.

“A reasonable thing to do,” he said. “If, that is, you were planning to fight goblins. But one of the goblin armies here has been destroyed, for they made the mistake of attacking me – and that is something I will not abide.”

His eyes flashed. “Of course, I could leave you to fight the other goblin army yourself, if you wished. They seem at least twice as strong as the one I destroyed, and I do not think you would have brought so few to fight so many… so let us dispense with the subtleties. You are here to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, and to take from me the hoard that I took from the Dwarves of Erebor so many years ago. Am I wrong?”

“Revenge is not the least of our motives,” Thorin said, displaying a lack of concern for his own safety (and the safety of everyone else who was in flaming range) which quite worried Bilbo, but Smaug raised a paw to his chin.

“But not the most of it, either, I think,” he replied. “As you would have brought far more if you wished to fight me.”

Incongruously, Bilbo noticed something on Smaug’s forepaw.

It was a ruby ring, which caught his eye, though he knew not why.

“So consider this,” Smaug went on. “What makes me different from someone else, who came in with fire and the sword to conquer a land and make it their own? The Men and Elves and Dwarves did the same, as did the Orcs and the Goblins – history is a long tale of battles fought and agreements made.”

“Do not try to bewitch us with your words, worm,” Thorin said, and Bilbo noticed that several of the other Dwarves were edging away from him.

“Would you prefer we argue?” Smaug replied. “But, very well, then… the mountain is yours, and the contents.”

It was such a sudden shift that Bilbo practically fell over.

“...what?” Thranduil asked, completely baffled, and not the only one.

“However,” Smaug continued. “I will be offering protection, in return for which I would appreciate tribute. Not acres of gold, but… fine things, few in number and wrought with a purpose.”

“You give us back our ancestral home, and then ask for some of our wealth back?” Fili asked. “I’m – don’t get me wrong, I’d rather not be set on fire, I’m just very confused.”

“What is a kingdom?” Smaug asked, his voice stern. “An empire? Any state, or monarchy? It is, at the core, farmers who grow food, and an organization which takes the surplus food from them, in the form of tax. Surplus Men and Elves and Dwarves, to work its armies. And it uses that food to support those who do not farm, for a purpose… and that is how art is made, and how you all can enjoy yourselves, and march to war wearing weapons and armour and clothes that would take you all years or decades to make yourselves… if you can. You offer protection, and you take tax, and sons, and horses, and that is how your kingdoms work.”

He stretched his wings.

“I am proposing the same thing… but I will not demand sons. All else, all the specifics, are negotiation.”

Thorin still did not look happy.

But… Bilbo had seen that expression before.

It was quite possible that the Dwarf could be… brought around.

The peak of the Lonely Mountain was just the right size, and – after decades – there was now a ridge around it, in just about the right place. It was perfect for a dragon to rest on, and to curl around, and that was exactly what was happening.

King Smaug the First, Smaug the Golden, King Over Mountain and Dale and Lake, was looking out over the Long Lake, at the spot about halfway from the nearer end to the further.

Water splashed and fire spurted, and though it was far too far for him to hear, he could imagine the shouts of laughter and growls of protest rippling across the smooth waters of the lake.

Two of the six young dragons down there, he was fairly sure, were his children. His journeys to the Withered Heath had resulted in a few dalliances, and a few recruits only, but… the example was slowly taking hold.

The amount of gold and treasure a dragon got from the new arrangement was far less than it would have been under the old. But he now bore a chain of electrum and gold around his neck, and a mail coat of his own, and they were really quite precious to him.

The other four young drakes down there… cold-drake or fire-drake, they were young, and they were interested. And, right now, they were playing.

Smaug lay his muzzle on his paw, feeling fond, and lounged in the evening sunlight… then his head twitched, as he heard the sound of someone ascending the stairs.

A white-robed figure, white-bearded and carrying a slender white staff with a latticed shape at the top, came into view, and halted some steps below the top of the mountain.

“Greetings, King Smaug,” he said, sounding pleasant enough. “I must ask you the same as I asked King Thorin – have emissaries of the Dark Lord come this way?”

Smaug considered, then nodded slightly.

“They did,” he confirmed. “I bade they leave immediately.”

Smoke leaked from his nostrils. “Then they offered me one of the remaining Dwarven Rings, and I set them on fire.”

The white stranger nodded.

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for your answer.”

Smaug tilted his head, slightly.

“You are Gandalf, aren’t you?” he asked. “At first I thought you Saruman, but the staff is wrong…”

“Quite,” Gandalf confirmed, pleasantly enough. “I also wished to ask you if you were willing to help with the defence of the Free Peoples, beyond the Mountain, Dale and Lake. There is a war coming, and it is not known where the Enemy will strike.”

Smaug frowned.

“I will think on it,” he said. “I have a responsibility here.”

Then something occurred to him, and he raised his paw – showing the ruby ring.

“Do you want it back?” he asked. “I… suspect that this is yours… originally, at least.”

Gandalf smiled.

“I don’t think I do,” he said. “You have been gaining quite the benefit yourself, and I would not wish to punish you for becoming who you always could have been…”

#Lord of the Rings #The Hobbit #Smaug #Narya #Bilbo #Bilbo Baggins #erebor #thorins company #legolas #uncorruption #Gandalf #dragons

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