#drabble project

[illwynd]

drabble project. 

Mercy

(thorki)

Sweat drips from lip. Muscles strain in battle. 

Let him, a voice inside whispers. He’s smaller. Be nice to your brother, Thor.

Loki would be furious, wouldn’t he?

Loki is furious now. 

Thor gives in, takes the defeat. Tries to feel surprise when Loki forces him further down.

Loki does not know mercy. Younger brothers don’t. 

Thor can take it. Older brothers can. 

Sweat and skin and legs shoved wide, and he groans at the brutal, delicious pain. Loki inside him.

Loki’s mouth near his ear. Breath panting, wet. 

Let him, Thor thinks as he arches in delight. Let him.

[heresathreebee]

Other fics from the March 2022 GFS Drabble Project!

On the first of each month, each member of the GFS will write a drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman.

Jailbreak by @babblydrabbly

Savior by @fairchildflag

Silver Ghost by @heresathreebee

What Matters by @11thstreetvigilante

Invincible by @lacontroller1991

I Can't Do This Again by @loverhymeswith

Liebchen by @yespolkadotkitty

The Only Way by @a-reader-and-a-writer

[shimmershae]

"Did they hurt you?"

Season 6.  Because I don't think Daryl would have let it go so easily after they were reunited in The Same Boat.  Honestly, I think he wouldn't let her stray far from his sight.  He would always keep one eye on her like he did after Terminus. 

But maybe that's just me. 

 He asks her again when they’re safe behind Alexandria’s gates, when it’s just him and her and the evening shadows, and his voice is soft, gruff with concern.

  “Did they hurt you?” 

  “Doesn’t matter.”  She shrugs, and he doesn’t miss the wince she cannot hide from such a simple action.   

  “The fuck it does.” 

  His blue eyes flash steel in the darkness, and she soothes him with lies wrapped in truth.  “It doesn’t, Daryl.  Because I’m still here.”

  He won’t be placated for long, though.  His chin lifts, defiant and knowing.  “Naw.  You’re here, but you ain’t.  You’re someplace else.”   

[illwynd]

drabble project. loki show. don’t bug me with details.

Requiem

He cannot go back. 

He doesn’t trust a word they’ve said to him, doesn’t believe a single image he was shown, but somehow he doesn’t doubt that. 

Maybe there was no way back for him regardless. Maybe there never has been. 

He is not weeping over the sight of his own gruesome death. (Again, he does not trust it.) But instead over this loss: that he will never see Thor again. 

He spends some minutes before the brown-suited man returns, trying to use the little device to send himself to the distant future. 

To a time when he is dead.

[illwynd]

Valentine’s

“—turned into candy! Buildings, streets—!”

Quiet snickering carried over the voice emanating from the television.

“—warning citizens not to consume it, as its safety has not been confirmed, along with concerns about structural—”

Loki jumped when the door of his apartment slammed open, and the thunderer thundered through it.

“Is this your doing?” Thor demanded.

Loki gave his best “who, me??” expression. “Does providing sweets to mortals seem like something I would do?”

Thor glared. “I simply note that the city has been turned into, particularly, my favorite types of sweetmeats.”

Loki hid his grin. 

“Really? I had no idea…”

[illwynd]

i was doing drabbles, wasn’t i? here’s one

blond

Loki buries his face in blond. The reaction by now is almost innate. Silken gold against his brow, a sweet masculine scent—it means he has Thor beneath him. Sprawled, bent, spread. Moaning, writhing. 

Tomorrow he will catch a glimpse of Thor casting a thick lock back over his shoulder, frustrated at keeping it out of the way. Perhaps Loki—ever helpful—will offer to plait it for him. Sit behind, feel it between his fingers as he turns it into ropes that perhaps he will hold tomorrow night like reins. 

Loki fucks him deeper, breathes him in, savors every whimper, every strand.

[illwynd]

I have a yearning for those good old bromoerotic Avengers-era nemesis days, Illy

I’m not sure whether this counts. Also I might still have mpreg on the brain oops.

*

Taking his brother captive is always simply too much fun.

His legs Loki leaves unbound at the start of their night, knowing he will perhaps regret it, yet he wants to see where it might lead. Otherwise he chains Thor down, works the spell, teases till his brother welcomes his fingers. 

“Villain, you dare not—!” Thor protests. 

A smirk. “Don’t I?”

Blinking blue eyes, uncertain mouth. And as Loki moves himself lower, Thor’s feet cease trying to kick him and instead… 

Loki’s smirk remains, smeared in wetness, as Thor clamps his thighs around his wicked brother’s head while he licks.

[illwynd]

Plea and Prayer

On his knees, wrists chained close before his breast. It is a posture of plea or prayer, and his throat is filled with both, he cannot decide, only that he murmurs them frantic while Loki—seated on that throne—yanks him nearer, glares down at him with demand. 

“Suck.” 

Thor’s mouth is filled with more than begging. Prayer drips down his chin, smears cool on his skin. 

He is a wreck, trying to do as his brother bids. He feels it sharp as the fist in his hair.

His worship culminates in a hot flood upon his tongue and in his chest.