Inspired by this wonderful piece of art by mtomauw
| Jayce & Viktor (can be read shippy or gen) | General Audience | AU - another timeline | Viktor is a child | read it on AO3 |
Viktor was on his way to collect herbs for Singed. But there was somethign else hidden at the shore …
“Can you fetch me the herbs again, Viktor?”
“Yes, of course.”
It was a long way, especially for a boy like Viktor. But Singed was too big to squeeze through the cracks, so he had to do it. They had to keep Rio alive. The secret shore was nestled between the cliffs at the edge of the Undercity. People didn’t come here, usually. But Viktor enjoyed the quiet.
He plucked some of the rare herbs out of the ground when he suddenly felt like he was being watched. Viktor looked around and saw it. A … structure. He frowned and carefully walked towards it. It looked almost … human. Almost like it was alive. Viktor hesitated, then he stretched out his hand and touched the rough surface. The face was broken in half, as if it was missing a part of itself, the colours changed depending on how the light hit the surface. He had never seen something as beautiful.
“Fascinating”, he whispered as he gently touched its face. There was a force pulling him towards it. For a second it felt like there were long forgotten memories rushing through his mind, creating a whirlwind of colours and emotions and taking his breath away. He pulled back again, and fell onto his butt, staring. What happened?
He took a few deep, calming breaths, then he grabbed his cane again, pulled himself up and rushed back to the crack that he slipped out of.
“Viktor.”
He heard the voice of a man call out for him, but when he turned around to look, there was still only the strange, lonely structure. For a moment he looked at it and felt a longing in his heart that he didn’t understand. As he turned away, he knew that he’d have to come back.
Warnings: Very mild smut | NSFW | Bondage - Hand ties
Wordcount: 300 words
Summary: Melkor submits for the first time.
Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+
Rules and tag form here.
"Submit." It was what Mairon wanted—something other than lord and master. "Out there, I bow to you," he insisted, "but in here, you belong to me."
Melkor had scoffed. He was the true elder king, the greatest among them all. He would never submit to another.
And yet, it was what Mairon desired. Submission. Melkor finally yielded. And he found it to be different. Submitting to Mairon was different. It felt right, like that was how they were supposed to be.
And now Mairon's lips were a hair's breadth over his own, the flat of his palm cupping his cheek. That touch blazed like a furnace, but Melkor felt no pain. All he felt was pleasure shooting through him like bolts of white-hot lighting.
"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice already thick with need.
His name. Just his.
"It does not, precious." Melkor moaned when lips that tasted of cloves and honey opened over his, and warmth flooded his entire being. Mairon pressed into him, their fanas cleaving to each other while he moved. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a silent cry as each thrust brought him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Melkor only encouraged him; his words and pleas and cries inflamed him.
It felt so strange to be the instrument of another's pleasure. To have to lay there, hands bound to the bedpost, unable to touch or possess, to be at the mercy of another, was indeed strange. And overwhelming. And exhilarating. Melkor yielded to hungry kisses, to caresses that went from gentle to frantic in the blink of an eye, to the nails that left a mark of their own all over his fana. He drowned in Mairon's desperate moans, his name spilling off Mairon's lips.
parker x lairre, 113 123 133... choose or combine :P
This drabble went trabble or tribble, whatever the term is. Fanlore says it can be both. Anyway- massive thanks, friend. How about I do all three of them?
“Are you…are you trying to flirt with me?” Parker asked, Lairre discerning the meaning of her words more from gestures and the way her mouth moved than anything else. The music was too loud. They were too, but the alcohol both had consumed had a significant effect on them.
"In your dreams, babes." Lairre had half-shouted back at her.
Later that night, after she'd said bye to Marcus and Ness, she found herself struggling to drag a half-drunk Parker down the steps to the tube. It was a nightmare trying to get her to swipe her Oyster card without her pretending she was in some spy flick but somehow, she'd managed.
Eventually, after a turbulent tube ride, they found themselves in Lairre's flat. One thing led to another and well… drunk Parker was a lot louder and loose lipped than she was sober. Lairre herself was much the same, but at least she still put thought to her words. Parker was less so, and flirted blatantly.
“Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you!” Lairre exclaimed. It was a recipe for disaster. She liked Parker. A lot. But getting into bed with her would spell trouble for the rest of their working relationship. She didn't want to compromise that. None of it. Still, they were seated pretty close together, and she could feel Parker's breath on her cheek.
Of course, through pink-tinted glasses, Parker took her comment for permission and leaned in, bridging the gap. The witch's hands tangled in her hair. The kiss itself was a bit sloppy and she could taste the alcohol on her lips but Lairre's stomach flipped, and she found herself kissing back with abandon.
Lairre couldn't help but laugh when they parted. “You’re completely ridiculous. I can’t believe I find you attractive.”
“I am sorry Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was low as he leaned slightly forward. There was a note of desperation to him that Merlin had never seen before.
But everything in him screamed it would just be better to leave. Even when a small part of him wanted to stay right here.
“How can I watch you marry her, Arthur?” Merlin tilted his head slightly to the side as he looked at Arthur. He always knew that the day would come that Arthur would need to marry he just didn’t expect it to arrive so soon.
“I will not marry her, Merlin. I would never do that to you.” Arthur pulled Merlin against his chest. His fingers gently ran down Merlin’s back. He could feel the stress radiating from him.
Merlin closed his eyes, smelling the scent of the forest. For a brief second, he could feel himself calm down.
“But..” Merlin trailed off, unsure of what to say.
“But nothing Merls. You are the one I love. You are the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Not some princess that I barely know.” Arthur closed his eyes, pressing his nose against Merlin’s head.
“What about your father?” Merlin’s voice was low.
“I will handle him Merls, just believe that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no one else. So please don’t leave.” Arthur leaned slightly back as he looked at Merlin.
He gently whipped the tears off Merlin’s cheeks. “I love you.” Arthur’s voice was soft.
“And I love you.” Merlin leaned against Arthur. Everything would be alright, he just needs to believe. Together, they would get through everything, but first, he would need to not walk out of the door.
They were stronger together, no matter what life throws.
Ok as far as ship names for Gable and Travis go, we can do WAY better than Trable and I think we should try n come up with a new one while it’s still nebulous.
Summary: Melkor watches while Ancalagon makes his first flight.
Rules and tag form here.
Ancalagon was small, no bigger than a half-starved cat. He curled his slender tail around Melkor's arm, sniffing at the air while he was carried to the world outside. Steam poured out of his nostrils every time he breathed.
Such a tiny thing. Melkor ran a finger down Ancalogon's spine, his lips tugging at the corners when the dragon hatchling purred and unfolded beautiful crimson and black wings more than twice his length. But strong.
But how strong was strong? Ancalagon was the first of his kind—a winged behemoth that would cast shadows over the earth when he flew overhead and reduce everything beneath him to ash in a single breath. Melkor felt a creeping sense of trepidation. Such deeds were years into the future, and the success of it all hinged on the now.
By the time they reached the courtyard, the sky was already black from the thick smog of smoke from Angband's many furnaces. Melkor was pleased. Today was a good day.
Perhaps it will be a good day for him as well. Melkor lifted his arm and whispered, "Fly."
Ancalagon screamed and flapped his wings. First, he rose only a hair's breadth over Melkor's palm. Then, a few inches. Then, on the third attempt, success.
Melkor watched with bated breath while Ancalagon shrieked and flew. His wings struggled with the current; he dipped and nearly fell more than once, but the little dragon refused to yield.
Determined little thing, Melkor thought with pride. That pride grew when Ancalagon circled stone columns, his desperate flaps slowly morphing into an easy glide that made him soar higher and higher.
Melkor's trepidation turned to triumph. Ancalagon's first flight went better than he could have dreamed. He stretched out his arm and waited, smiling when the dragon returned to him.
Summary: Manwë and Eönwë share an intimate moment through Ósanwë
Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+
Rules and tag form here.
Eönwë was abed when he heard him.
Close your eyes, my love. Honeyed words came to him, each as clear as a spring morning. I will see to the rest.
A simple request. The Lord Commander closed his eyes. And gasped when his naked fana trembled beneath another's touch.
My king... He let out an otherworldly growl when raw and insatiable lust coursed through him. How is this possible?
Manwë laughed sweetly. Osanwë. You know that. Now, do you wish for me to go on or no?
The next touch undid him. Eönwë moaned, the sound low in his throat. Far be it from me to deny my king. Please. Go on.
The Elder King chuckled. It felt like he was there in the featherbed with him. The air smelled of him, of the sweet, cooling winds that would sweep across Taniquetil. Eönwë sighed in ecstasy. Manwë's gentle touch wove a spell he had no intention of breaking. His fana shook while an unseen hand glided over him, setting fire to every inch of his being. He willingly surrendered, his breath growing ragged and hoarse when that unseen hand brushed over wisps of his hair and over his lips.
Manwë felt so much, even with vast halls and corridors separating them. He could feel Eönwë quivering beneath his palm. His moans were like a heady wine that intoxicated the king to his very core. It was not enough. Manwë went further and further, growing drunk on his herald's whimpers. And he was ceaseless, his ministrations going from tender to rough and hungry.
Hurry! Eönwë pleaded. Hurry!
Manwë took his herald over the cliff, not stopping until his name was heard in a whisper and Eönwë's orgasm ripped through him.
Stay there, Manwë groaned with need. I will come to you.
