#also you could drown people easily. and just build a tiny room around child protective services people

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[tarithenurse]

Girl Power Challenge

Pairing: Thor x fem!reader Content: Heavy on the tropes (haters to lovers, denial); mission; cursing; sass; humour; degrading comments; mentions of drinking; pure, filthy smut with dom/sub-inclinations. A/N: My one-shot contribution to @captain-kelli​ ‘s 500 challenge, based on a dialog prompt (bold) and a sprinkling of Thor. I hope it’s alright ;) Huge thanks to my lovely friend maladaptive-ninja-returns for betaing this one.

Stronger

No vocabulary contained the swear words you needed so desperately at that moment. A few interesting options had already passed your lips as you worked through the crumbling building, using your skill to move aside blocks of concrete as though they were tumbleweed to get to survivors. One by one, you had tunneled towards the poor victims, shaping the earth and debris to prevent any collapses, and you had actually been thrilled when you sensed the vibrations of Iron Man landing to take a dirty, shaking body from your arms.

Despair diffused into hope while you worked side by side with the Avengers.

Then the oaf showed up, tossing slabs off concrete out of the way without any consideration to the balance of the ruins.

It happened fast, almost too fast for the movement to register through your feet into your legs. Lunging forward, you managed to grab the kid you had been working towards with one hand while maintaining a thin, wobbly pillar (once the corner of the building) beneath yourself while the rest fell away. Dust and embers billowed. Your heart hammered in the throat. The rumble managed to drown out the kid’s frightened scream. Out of the raging darkness, Stark appeared just in time to grab the poor child as the dirty fingers started to slip through the strained grip – then they were gone and you could focus on your own predicament. Tired and pissed off, you would have a hard time shaping the concrete according to your will (earth would have been preferable due to the malleability).

Then the air crackled, making the little hairs stand on end. Or maybe it was simply the anger simmering from the anticipation of what was to come: a big, strong, blond oaf in a red cloak propelling himself upwards and past you yet somehow still managing to snare an arm around your waist and swish you away.

No language in the universe held the curses you needed. It might have been a hint for Thor if he had noticed how the remainder of the building crushed into itself, becoming no more than dust. He didn’t. He was too busy looking smug, a beaming smile aimed towards you even before he landed with a tooth rattling jolt.

“Fear not, fair lady,” he rumbled with more pride than you could stand, “nothing shall harm you now.”

No restraint could contain the cold words slithering off your lips. “Who asked you to intervene?”

“I…beg you pardon?” Oh, the confusion in those electric-blue eyes was perfect.

“You think you have to rescue me?!” Forcibly wriggling out of his arms, it was wonderful to have steady ground beneath your feet. “You think I can’t take care of myself?!”

He was not off the hook yet, oh no. Not once did the Asgardian God of Thunder get a proper word in as defense while you chewed him out. The only reason you eventually stopped was because Stark came over, dragging you away with the promise of a spa treatment and a party – who in their right mind would say no to that?

…   …

The party had been a small celebration with those involved in the day’s heroing: dinner at a local diner followed by drinks at a bar that Stark rented for the evening, but despite the “free” drinks and cute bartenders the Avengers eventually went back to the Tower, dragging you along with them. Were you supposed to have said no? Maybe. But of course you didn’t.

Staying away from Thor, you still managed to have a great time and had no issues ignoring the sulking glances the blond brute sent you from across the room. Drink in hand, you allowed yourself to be sweettalked into some fun and games by Natasha.

…

Who knew that superheroes amuse themselves by something as simple as “Truth or Dare”? To be honest, so far it has been hilarious (especially when Sam tried to minimize the damage he’d done to his reputation after a truth-question).

“Dare,” Thor proclaims with confidence as he stares down the redhead next to you.

A smile curls Natasha’s lips and if you had been on the receiving end then you would be scared. Thor, of course, is not.

“Kiss the person you’ve known the longest and the one you’ve known the shortest.”

There’s a beat of silence where Thor’s eyes flicker in your direction, but the tension is averted by Stark practically throwing himself at the Asgardian in anticipation of what’s to come. Two people don’t participate in the ruckus cheering filling the room: Natasha, who is leering at you…and you, who leans comfortably into the plush pillows, a leg dangling over the other to allow the foot to wiggle along to the beat of the music. Think murder, you tell yourself before meeting her gaze. Steady. Unwavering.

“So…” Your face is a perfect mask of calm innocence. “What’s the punishment when he fails?” Not if.

Although the words have been quiet, they manage to silence the room. Already, people are getting ideas as Thor recover from the first part of the Dare, his mind now also struggling with the suggestion that he, the Mighty Prince Thor of Asgard, should possibly fail.

“Oh! I know!” It might be Bruce piping up for once…or Stark if he has returned from his private heaven. “Thor’ll have to leave Mjølnir behind for research when he returns to Asgard.”

A collective “oooh” rushes through the group, undoubtedly fueled further by the blond idiot’s reaction. Perfect. He’s struggling to keep composure, nerves thrumming through his body - only finding an outlet through the punishing grasp that is threatening to tear off the armrest of the chair, and the curling of toes inside the big boots. But you? A tiny smirk tickles the corner of your mouth as you wait for the inevitable.

“Well, what a-are we waiting for?” Thor smiles falter when you do nothing but sip from the drink. “Surely, you cannot truly detest me…”

Oh, no? The slowest of looks from under your lashes tells him otherwise. Whether he has understood what he did wrong or not, it’s evident he realizes what is at stake at this moment while you have the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson for making a situation worse by running in like a driverless bulldozer.

“What’s this?” you drawl playfully, “need me to…save…you?”

Electricity sparkles in his eyes and you know the words hit the right spot, but then he blinks and it is gone, leaving behind a man in the place of a god. “Yes. Please…save me.”

You know the others must be confused, unsure of what to make of the untamed rivalry between the two of you. Frankly, the scene has taken a turn you didn’t expect either. It’s just that…backing down isn’t an option anymore. Pushing away the knowledge of their presence, you focus on Thor and your nails.

“Funny thing, knowin’ someone wants to be rescued. Really enables a certain drive, y’know? A need to do it right and not endanger other people by rushing in like a bumbling oaf…dontcha agree?”

“Uhm…”

“Soooo…the plan’s to save you…or Mjølnir…by kissing you?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve seen rocks I’d rather kiss.”

Somewhere, in the world you’ve chosen to ignore for the moment, there are shouts and jeering. Right in front of you is a tall, muscly god with arms crossed as he towers above you. Glaring. Finally letting go of the confusion as your last insult chips away the patience he has cultivated. He doesn’t budge when you stand, chest brushing against his wiry lower arms, and the temptation to stand on the couch becomes nearly overwhelming.

“I’m no rock,” he growls, “unlike your heart.” There’s a gasp from somewhere behind the Asgardian (it distinctly sounds like the word “burn”), quickly followed by shushing. “Though…mayhaps your cold façade serves to keep yourself protected from feeling any love?”

“Nice try…but no.” The last dredges of your drink flows easily over your tongue. Time for a refill. “Now, excuse me.”

Thor allows you to pass and get all the way to the bar counter where you deposit the empty glass before he calls out to you. “I did not take you for a coward, lady [Y/N].”

“I’m not.”

“Yet you dare not share a kiss.”

You’ve frozen to the spot, back still turned to the group and hand on the fridge. I can say no…I can say no…I can…not. Nope. Not gonna chicken out. Slowly turning, it’s all too evident that everyone is holding their breath in anticipation. Some are praying for a chance to study the bloody hammer while others just want some ammunition to pester either Thor or maybe you with for at least the rest of the night.

“Now that’s a low blow, mister.” He is in trouble and the way you walk back to face him shows it. “Let’s see what you got, then.”

He delivers.

A hand cradling your neck, and arm around your waist pulling you flush up against him. There’s a brief second where your entire vision is filled by the electricity crackling in his blue eyes before his lips are upon you. Surprisingly gentle, they slot onto your mouth with ease and you’re done for. The combination of his beard prickling your upper lip and chin is the perfect contrast to the molten heat parting your lips with a sweep of his tongue to deepen the kiss. You forget to breathe, forget to hold your eyes open and your legs steady. Instead you lean into his embrace and allow your instincts to engage in a dance you hadn’t intended to perform but don’t want out of.

You are breathless when he pulls away, hands supporting you until you have got your bearings again. Want.

“See?” By some sort of miracle, your voice isn’t reduced to a gasp. “Rocks could do better.”

Thankfully, the scientific part of the group are complaining loudly enough about the missed opportunity to move the attention from you and eventually the game continues for a few rounds. It gives you time - time where you keep pulling your gaze away from the blond god repeatedly. Sometimes, you imagine feeling the electric fire of his eyes scalding your skin, each time making you check to find him studying you unabashedly.

…

By the time the party ends, you’ve been offered to sleep over rather than make your way home. Tony has already staggered off to his room, leaving Natasha in charge of finding a bed for you a few floors below the lounge and instruct you on the little stash of spare clothes hidden behind a panel in the wall.

“Most are gonna sleep in t’morrow, so don’t worry ‘bout getting up early,” she yawns. Just before the door closes behind her, she adds, “Oh, and if you hear snoring it’s just Thor…his room’s across from this.”

I didn’t hear that.

Snooping around the room and en suite bathroom entertains you for a while and even yields rather luxurious results – the hottest shower you have ever indulged in as well as overly fluffy towels and a dark blue, silk nightshirt that reaches the middle of your thighs. The place is fit for a princess. A highly modern one, but royalty, nonetheless. Even a Prince of Asgard.

Just the thought makes a delicate sweat break out on your skin. Logic and lust battles within you, painting pictures in your mind of a strong body displayed naked before you, muscles moving like sand beneath the tan skin and a stone-grip on your thighs.

I’d be weak if I give in, you pout as you toss and turn in the enormous bed…and regret it if I don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place there’s no rest to be found while the fire burns within. The problem is not the risk of love or hurt feelings but rather to become “just another of those girls”. The kind of chicks that sigh while waiting for Mr. Right to find them; the type of female who needs a provider and protector for whatever reason. None of those are you. Strong and independent, no one is above you. Sure, you got morals (the wish to help people and not hurt them intentionally is there), but all your life you’ve followed your dreams and aspirations, ensuring you got what you wanted.

“Why not this time?”

The darkness doesn’t answer the whisper, but perhaps that is a reply in its own right.

Yeah…I want him. I’ll have him. Slipping from under the duvet, bare feet listen to the information carried like a mumble through the concrete to guide you out of the room and across the hall where a sliver of light cuts below the door. You can feel his footsteps pacing back and forth. Is he waiting? Considering his own options?

A deep breath finds its way into your lungs in an attempt to steady your nerves. Rather than knocking, you open the door resolutely, finding the god at the far end of the room in all his naked glory including a semi-hard cock. The once-over becomes a twice-over as the door closes behind you.

“Might wanna lock when walking ‘round in your birthday suit.”

The specimen of a man doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion or nudity but minimizes the distance between the two of you with all but a yard. “My own door was of little concern,” he rumbles, “while yours became an insurmountable obstacle from which I’ve retreated numerous times…afraid my sins were irredeemable.”

Oh really? “I…could forgive you, I guess…”

“Tell me how!” The tall man literally drops to his knees before you, large hands reaching for your hips but not daring to touch. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

It’s a rush to be in charge of Thor, not just due to his natural alpha-vibes or his royal title but rather because he doesn’t begrudgingly follow your instruction as you order him to get up and turn to display himself. He moves with a slow purpose, flexing his limbs lazily as you carve the sight into a memory that time never will erode. Sandy skin glistens in the dimmed light while shadows shimmy across the mountains and valleys of his muscles.

“Undress me.”

There’s not a lot of clothing to remove. Nonetheless, he extends each part of the task to the infinite, making sure not to touch your skin as each button of the silk shirt is popped to allow the cool fabric to slide off your shoulders and pool at your feet. Once more, he kneels. Calloused fingers reaching for the hem of your panties.

“Wait.” His hands stop mere millimeters away. “Before you remove them, feel free to touch me as you wish.”

Even without direct eye contact, you can sense the flicker of lightning playing in the blue of his irises – a convenient explanation to why every hair on your body stands on end when you still don’t want to admit it’s pure excitement.

His first touches are featherlight strokes up and down your thighs, curving to the back where the large palms fit so well under the ass. Fingertips tug at the thin fabric of your undies, pulling them partially below the hips so only your mound remains hidden, baring sensitive skin for Thor to lavish with subtle kisses. The first tremors dance deep within you, early warnings of an earthquake only he can set off.

The grip is much stronger, needier, when his hands frame your waist to pull you flush against his chest. Nose in navel, deep breaths inhale your scent. The smile of his lips can be felt against your abdomen, growing wider as he cups one of the breasts where his fingers stroke the peak and tweak the hardening pebble to make you gasp.

“M’lady,” he murmurs against your hip, tongue tracing the shift in your flesh to where the bundled undies hinder further advances, “please allow me…?”

“Alright.”

Barely have the words left your lips before you feel the fabric slip down, reluctantly letting go where they have soaked up the wetness between your legs already. He knows. A deep sigh escapes him, immediately followed by kisses claiming the path towards your sex.

A few inches and his lips will be on your clit.

One inch.

“Enough.” The words are more ragged than sharp as intended, but Thor accepts the command. “Get on the bed.”

You follow him closely as he scoots backwards until his head rests on the pillow. Damn. Every tensed muscle you touch could be carved from sun-heated marble. Shivers erupt from where you hands glide over his skin – all running towards the proudly erect cock which in itself is a godly masterpiece that twitches in anticipation as you straddle his thighs.

It’s so obvious, the craving in those electric eyes devouring you whole, the tremble caused by self-restraint. Waiting for the order, huh? Reaching for his hands, allowing fingers to entwine as you lean down to nibble at his throat. Sensitive nipples sweep over his chest. Each stuttering breath escaping Thor tickles your ear as your lips find their way towards his until the connection finally is made and he can steal your breath away, drinking it straight from your mouth. Hips roll, his or yours – it barely matters – but you won’t let go and allow his hands to roam. Not yet at least. Tearing away, a smile plays on your lips at the whine he utters at the lack of contact.

“So eager,” you purr, “for this?”

Not once do your eyes stray from him. Your own hands are much smaller, doing little to imitate what Thor might be able to do if he was the one to cup your breasts before a hand slides to the apex of your thighs to splay the folds and spread the glistening wetness there. Blatantly taunting him, moaning and rocking against your own touch as you expertly swirl the clit. Beneath you, the man groans and you do the same when you tweak the nipples, one after the other as the hand works. There’s a distinct sound of fabric ripping when a few of your digits enter the core.

“Please. Goddess,” the desperate man gasps, “please.”

Rolling the pelvis (and shuffling slightly forward on the knees) you drag your sobbing cunt along Thor’s shaft, the tip teasing the entrance enough for him to pout as you repeat the maneuver. So tempting. All it would take is a little lift and then a slow, breathtaking slide to bring his cock inside. To feel the width and length press ever right spot as the walls of your cunt would stretch and quiver to accommodate him.

“Show me how to treat a goddess, then.”

The mask of meek desperation crumbles in seconds, revealing a predatorial greed gleaming like sharp crystals. Rather than grab your hips and guide you until you are impaled on his cock, however, he surges up to embrace you tightly. A demanding mouth captures your lips, stealing your senses by the flexing sweeps of a tongue matched by bites. When Thor’s hands begin to roam, you find yourself unable to do anything but hold on to him, nails digging into the muscly back, as your body grinds against him with a will of its own.

You’re vaguely aware of the room turning around you and the firm softness of a mattress against your back, but nothing truly stands clear until the nibbling kisses and licks travel down your body. Clavicle and shoulders, breasts where each hypersensitive nipple is treated heavenly before Thor proceeds across the expanse of your stomach.

He uses every part of his body to tease you: his voice sends vibrations into your very soul, the press of him is deliciously insistent between your legs, his reddish beard a devilish contrast to the sweetness of his lips, and his hands…oh god…his hands are everywhere. Pinching, massaging, stroking.

“O-ah!” The sound slips out of you in whimper.

Thor is paying full attention to your clit, licking broad stripes all along the folds before spelling out the alphab- wait. Each flick of his tongue does trace a letter around the tight bundle of nerves, but they aren’t random instead spelling out your name before a broad lick starts it all over until your toes curl and legs shake from the approaching orgasm and your moans have changed to keening cries for more.

In a flurry, the strong man sits back, hauling you along to ensure your legs are clenching his flanks firmly and his cock breaching the entrance to your core. Strong hands under your ass is holding you steady, allowing you to look down upon his face where your juices glisten in the beard.

“A word from your…lips is a law…in my…life,” he gasps just as eager as you.

“Give me ev’rything.”

The muscles shiver under the Asgardian’s skin from holding back as he impales you slowly. Your back arches. Your walls flutter and squeeze in a pulsating rhythm, soon matched by Thor’s thrusts and pulls at your hips the moment he shifts the hold on you. Deep, dragged out movements hitting all the right spots within and outside of your core.

No metaphor covers the sensation as you cum, riding Thor’s cock as you sit in his lap. Maybe an earthquake, a landslide that sends you flying into a void containing nothing but the two of you, his arms holding you while your body relents control in favour of unbridled euphoria. And just as it feels as though the orgasm wanes, the man’s thrusts stutter and a tingle of electricity runs through your core bringing you to a new peak together with Thor.

Breath by shuddering breath, you descend from the high wrapped in each others’ arms while foreheads rest against each other. Eventually you reach between your bodies, holding in his cum as he slips out and lies you down on the bed.

“Don’t leave, [Y/N],” he asks from the place beside you.

How could I? “Just let me freshen up.”

…

Cleaned up and watered, you’re back in Thor’s bed, allowing him to tug you closer.

“My lady…if this be the punishment for my wrongs then I may have to interfere more often…”

Hmmm…potential. “I’m imaginative,” you laugh, “so stay sharp.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

[hiilikedragons]

drunk blogging involves uploading chapters of sacrifice au that aren’t finished yet

After weeks without them, the sounds of Astrid’s sleeping breaths are insanely soothing. Even in the dark, in a room of a thousand people, Hiccup’s quite sure he’d be able to pick out her soft inhales and sighs over anyone else’s. Any other night, they would lull him into blissful unconsciousness, but tonight, not even a blow to the head could put him out.

She finally gave into exhaustion long after midnight. It took a lot of reassurance, of trying to convince her that the more rested she was, the faster she could recover. And then even when she began to drift off, she would wake with a start a few moments later, clutching at her abdomen in nightmarish fear. It wasn’t until he stayed leaned over her bed, slowly stroking her hair, that she ended up truly slipping into deep sleep.

He hasn’t stopped touching her hair since. In the dim candlelight, left behind by the village healer, he’s been staring at her face and wrapping blonde locks around his fingers for hours. Even before they left their island, when they fell asleep wrapped around each other and he would trace the tiny scars on her skin-- it was never so comforting as this. Maybe it’s because of the heights that his panic reached earlier in the day-- the heart-stopping dread that clenched his whole body when she told him something was wrong.

But really, it’s just been so long since she’s been willing to tolerate his presence. He’s ached for so long to be next to her, hold her hand, bury his nose in her braids. Even tension he didn’t know he had locked into his muscles is coming unwound.

When they arrived, touching down on the decently sized port village nearest to the sanctuary, Hiccup didn’t bother hiding Toothless or concealing their presence. Instead, they landed in the middle of a cluster of large buildings. There was some screaming, some rush to action. More than one axe was raised in threat. But once Stormfly arrived just moments later, along with a few other dragons who were loyal to Hiccup and had sensed his urgency-- the villagers’ hostility was accented with hesitance.

“We need a healer,” he demanded, voice as loud and authoritative as he could muster. He had to gently unfurl Astrid’s fingers from his arm before swinging his leg over Toothless and dismounting. Her eyes kept flicking between him and the villagers.

“Be careful,” she murmured, voice shaking.

He stalked into the orange glow of their torches. Lifting his helmet, he held out a hand to stay anyone who might be tempted to make the first move. “The dragons won’t be aggressive unless someone tries to cause us harm.” He played up the Dragon Rider persona just a touch, instructing the dragons to be calm and easy.

Then only once he was sure that all weapons were lowered did he finally turn back to Toothless and help Astrid down.

“C’mon,” he whispered, holding his arms out to her. She’d ridden side-saddle the whole way, leaning against him with one hand fisted in the fabric at her waist. There were wrinkles in the dress when she accepted his help to stand.

She-- of course-- made all the difference. Once he helped her into the light, everyone got a look at her pained expression and hunched posture. They saw a helpless young woman, watched the protective way that Hiccup orbited her, and must have realized that even intimidating dragon masters have vulnerabilities.

It was the chief’s wife that approached them, in the end. Broad and serious, she went to Astrid’s other side and began asking questions without pleasantries. If she was injured, where it hurt. As soon as Astrid mentioned that she was with child, though, things went very quickly. They were taken to the healer’s house, and a midwife was summoned.

She hardly let go of him that whole time, and nobody was brave enough to try and tell him to step aside. More questions were asked, and she was instructed to lie down on a tiny corner bed. But what Hiccup would remember most was when Astrid lifted her tunic for the midwife to inspect.

He could see her ribs, she was so thin. And her hip bones jutted to either side. He’d felt good about her getting adequate nutrition after she’d been taken from Berk, but it seemed that since the last time he’d seen her undressed, she’d lost all of that progress. And yet, where her stomach was once hard, defined muscle, it was now smooth and swollen. Not much, just a protrusion large enough for him to fit one hand over, but for the first time, he could see the beginnings of life inside her body.

Something inside him trembled in awe. He ducked his face away, afraid someone might see how overwhelmed he suddenly felt. How terrifying it was, to be suddenly so attached to something he could so easily lose. He wished he had the power to stop time, make everything stop. To be able to keep anything from happening to either of them.

And then, the alarm was drained from the room.

“Bedrest for a while,” the midwife instructed, after touching and prodding and pressing. An older woman, she gave Astrid’s head a fond pat and adjusted the blankets around her. “Stay off your feet for at least a couple of weeks. More, if the bleeding doesn’t subside within the next couple of days.” Hobbling away from the bed, she folded Astrid’s ruined, dark-stained leggings and sat them in a nearby chair.

“So it’s okay?” Hiccup asked warily, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.

At the same time, Astrid shook her head, unsure. “Everything’s fine? I didn’t…?”

The midwife waved a hand, dismissing the rest of her sentence. “I can’t say there’s no reason for concern.” She was an old woman, and it was hard to read the wrinkles in her expression. “The placenta is detaching slightly. It’s alarming and bloody, but there’s no immediate danger for the babe as long as it’s given time to heal.”

Her beady eyes fixed on Hiccup. “And she needs to put on weight. Bread. Milk. Meat.”

“She hasn’t eaten much today,” he admitted guiltily, but Astrid spoke up.

“I can’t keep much down.” The tone in her voice was a little firm, as if she was interjecting to defend him. He tried to not let the ache in his heart show. “I don’t usually have an appetite.”

“Well, you’re getting one tonight,” the old woman insisted. “I have some things for an unsettled stomach. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

The chief’s wife was the one to bring it. And even though Hiccup himself was starving, he made sure he watched his wife eat several substantial bites of chicken and gravy-slathered potatoes before touching his own food. She only paused once to breathe deeply through her nose and then resumed her chewing. If she had any other nausea, she didn’t show it.

After Astrid had cleaned her bowl and fallen into a fitful sleep, the chief’s wife-- who, admittedly been very gracious to the strangers who disrupted her village and mildly threatened their people-- informed him that they could stay the night. Just the night.

“I don’t like those dragons lurkin’ about,” she said lowly. Her accent was thick, and with her blonde hair sticking out from her head, she reminded him a little bit of Gobber. She stabbed a finger into the tabletop. “They haven’t broken or attacked anything yet, but they’re watching our flocks and licking their chops.”

“They won’t bother anything.” He swore, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb his sleeping wife. “They stay well-fed, and they won’t take anything unless I allow it.”

“Oh aye, we’ve heard of you.” She leaned forward on her elbows, narrowing her gaze at him. “Word’s travelled. They call you different things, but it’s all the same--” Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You and them dragons of yours come through, stealing and burning. Leaving villages destroyed in your wake.”

Hiccup felt a slice of nerves open through his gut-- not for himself, but for Astrid. Asleep and helpless. Without any way to protect herself, she could easily be used to hurt him. All it would take would be a little bit of spite, and from the sound of the old woman’s voice, they had plenty of it.

“Don’t worry so much, boy.” Something like amusement flashed in her dark eyes. “You’re not quite the demon of fire and fury I was led to expect.”

His panic must have shown on his face. He tried to offer a twist of a smile as a vague sort of thanks. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Aye, well…” She shrugged, sitting back and crossing her thick arms over her ample chest. “I won’t say all the rumors are false, but the way a man treats his wife speaks for his character. And that one,” She nodded, gesturing to Astrid. “That one hasn’t let go of your arm since y’arrived.”

Something tugged in his chest. Oh, if only she knew how cold Astrid had been towards him recently. How deeply he’d wounded her. But there’s also something that pulses warmly through his veins at her words. Astrid hadn’t let go of him. She looked at him with fear and anxiety, searching for reassurance. She’d called for him, and she trusted him to get her to safety. That had to mean something.

He made sure to promise that they’d be gone as soon as they were able. That seemed to satisfy the chief’s wife. After refilling his mug with ale, she reminded him to call for the midwife if anything changed and left them alone.

Now that the worst of the fear has gone, his whole chest has been left sore. Like he just ran a sprint or nearly drowned. His relief is so potent, he’s a little drunk on it. For the first time in a long, long time, he sends a small prayer of thanks towards the gods. He stays by her side, playing with her hair and watching her expression for any hint of pain or fear.

Hiccup’s hand pauses as Astrid stirs, shifting in her sleep. Her face turns towards him, and her fingers curl around his wrist so she can nuzzle into his palm. He can’t completely stifle his quiet laugh. Valka was right-- she is just like a dragon.

His chuckle must wake her. Her lashes flutter, and she exhales a little sigh. “Hating you is so exhausting,” she mumbles, lips brushing his thumb as she speaks. She shifts so that her body is curled in his direction. “Can’t I just go back to being angry tomorrow?”

Hiccup doesn’t answer at first, not sure if she’s really fully conscious. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s caught her talking in her sleep. Just in case, though, he whispers, “Whatever you want,” and brings her knuckles to his lips.

As long as he has tonight.

*

Unfortunately for Astrid, Hiccup takes the healer’s instructions very literally.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but begrudgingly, she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him lift her from Valka’s bed.

“Healer’s orders,” he quips. She considers smacking the smug smile off of his face. After walking just a few steps outside, into the aviary, he sets her down on the fur that’s become her designated spot.

“I don’t think she meant I couldn’t walk to the other side of the room.” She doesn’t try to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but if she’s honest, his obsessive tending to her is slightly endearing. He’s been attentive and gentle and patient. She almost doesn’t know how to respond to this new, affectionate Hiccup.

“So far as I’m concerned, your feet aren’t meant to touch the ground.” He drops down next to her pallet and stretches out, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You can gripe and complain all day long, but if I see you walking unattended, I will tie you down.”

At the sight of him, a gaggle of baby Gronkles comes waddling over. They crawl over his arms and legs, turning circles before settling down against him. He lifts his forearm for one trying to rest its head on his chest and scratches it behind the ears once it’s snuggled in. Astrid tries desperately to bite down a giggle at the scene.

The past couple of days have been quiet. Shockingly easy. She sleeps a lot and-- thanks to the village midwife-- eats a lot. Hiccup made sure to over-pay everyone that night. The healer, the midwife, the village chief, and especially the villagers who sold him an absurd amount of food. They certainly made at least triple than what was required for their services. The villagers can now spread rumors about the Dragon Rider flying in with a horde of dragons if they want, but they can’t say he’s not generous.

In a way, it’s almost like the days in their cave. Half ignoring each other while still hovering close. She can’t say that she hasn’t had moments of doubt and anger, but for this brief space of time, she’s okay with just letting things lie as they are.

He sleeps. Astrid plays with the dragons that wander by and struggles with the little Night Fury she’s been trying to make from fabric scraps. Certainly she’s gotten better at sewing since she started mending all of Hiccup and Valka’s clothing, but the legs are still coming out a little crooked, and she hasn’t dared to try embroidering the face yet.

It’s an uneventful afternoon. At least until a Windcutter comes blowing in with a masked woman hanging onto his ankle. Valka deftly releases her hold and uses the wall to slide downwards before Stormcloud even has a chance to land. She lifts her mask.

“Astrid!” Valka croons, her face filled with such maternal affection. Hiccup stirs at the sound of his mother’s voice, lifting the arm that he has shielding his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Astrid says with a smile. As Valka kneels, reaching for her, she sets aside her sewing and accepts a fond hug. The older woman has a chill hanging to her skin and clothes from the cold wind, but the way she pats Astrid’s head is warm.

“Any news?” Hiccup asks, grunting a little as he sits up. He scratches sleepily at his scruffy jaw.

“We’ll talk about it,” Valka assures him, waving off the conversation. She settles on the pallet across from Astrid and distractedly fields the hatchlings running to meet her. “How are you feeling? Have you been resting?”

“I’m alright. Hiccup has been a tyrant about letting me exert any energy whatsoever.” She gestures to the fur and small pile of her things as an example.

“She complains when she does chores and she complains when she doesn’t have to do chores,” Hiccup is sure to insert. “I can’t win here.”

Valka clearly finds their banter amusing. The corners of her mouth twitch. Then she lowers her voice just slightly and asks, “And the babe?”

Astrid inhales at the sharp flare of anxiety that jumps to her throat whenever she thinks too much about it. But she tries to make her tone sound calm and assured. “As far as we know, everything is fine.”

“When I got your message, I was so worried.” She reaches over to her son, cupping his face in her palm. He leans into it, clearly used to this display of affection. “I don’t know if I’ve told you-- Hiccup arrived early. He was so small and frail.” Her brow furrows, clearly aching at the memory. “It’s something I’ve been concerned about with this one.”

Astrid remembers her mentioning that once before, but she had never considered that it was something that would be repeated with their child. She feels her fingers crawling nervously across her belly. Odd how just a couple of months ago, this child felt like a death sentence. Now, it somehow feels like she might die without it.

“Not gonna happen,” Hiccup says, gently pushing away Valka’s hand as if it holds the very idea. “I’ve always been the runt of this family, and we’re keeping it that way.”

Despite herself, she feels her mouth tightening with a smile she doesn’t want to give. But she can’t help but glancing at his determined expression. He catches her eyes and winks.

Gods be damned! Where does he get off making her heart flutter like that? Astrid forces her lips into a frown and looks away. She desperately searches inside her chest for some of the icy anger that has sustained her for the last several weeks, but she only finds tepid annoyance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Valka begins, distracting her from her thoughts. “I’ll try to keep from flying too far for a while.”

Astrid nods. Of course. She has a feeling that there’s something going on that Valka and Hiccup aren’t telling her about. Something to do with Drago’s traps. It’s easy to pick up on their alertness, because she spent her life on an island anticipating attacks. And she’s not surprised that they’re keeping her in the dark, trying to protect her. She’ll have that argument another day.

“I’ll just be happy when I’m back to my old self,” Astrid sighs, half joking and half serious. “I can’t even protect myself like this, much less somebody else.” She feels almost as if her body isn’t her own. This frail, weak thing. Her legs crave a run, and her fingers itch to dance along the handle of her axe.

Valka tilts her head, evaluating her with sea foam eyes. “I know you’re not used to being taken care of. But will you let us? Just for a little while?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She can’t meet Valka’s gaze. “Just for now.”

She can’t stop thinking about that night. The sharp, knife-like pain and the even more terrible fear. But as awful as it was, it’s not the ache or the panic that she recalls. It’s the firm brace of Hiccup’s arms around her on the flight to the village. It’s the murmur of his voice as he soothes her frayed nerves. It’s the way he never left her side, and the relief in his expression when the midwife informed them they’d be okay.

She wants to be angry. Gods, it would be so much easier if she could be angry. But over and again, she thinks about waking to find him next to her.

It was the wee hours of morning, and she was wrenched from a nightmare. She’d dream of blood and the midwife’s grim face, and she’d just know that her baby was dead. And then she’d gasp awake, usually to Hiccup reaching for her hand. Or caressing her hair. Or telling her it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re alright. But he must have fallen asleep not long before dawn, because she woke when it was the dark blue of near-morning outside. He was leaning over with his head cushioned on his folded arms at her side.

Astrid watched him for a long few moments, letting her racing heart slow and her breathing even out. For some reason, an overwhelming wave of bittersweet peace crashed over her, leaving a knot in her throat. For so long now, she’s craved being this close to him again. Feeling the slightly too-warm heat of his skin and smelling his smoke and leather scent. But she didn’t dare letting him close enough. She kept her righteous wrath like a shield between them, keeping her safe from the dangerous lure of his new promises and devotion.

And now-- now he was here. It would be easy for him to leave her to her own devices, to risk a miscarriage and absolve him of any obligation to her. She would’ve thought that was what he wanted-- to be free again, to not be guilted into staying by her. But he hadn’t left. Hadn’t run. He risked his safety and his identity to get her help, and kept watch while slept.

She wanted to reach for him. To brush his messy too-long hair out of his face and trace his features with her fingertips. Her heart ached just to touch him.

But she didn’t. She shifted slightly to make more room on the edge for him and then closed her eyes once more.

She didn’t have anymore nightmares after that.

Part of her wants to tell Valka about all of this. His mother has become such a confidant, a wise advisor and attentive listener. Part of her wants to tell someone how hard it’s become to hate him. How her heart is beginning to jump into her throat when he holds out a hand to caution her or insists that she eat more.

But that would mean she’s softening. That he’s getting to her. Valka would surely look at her with amusement in her eyes, her lips pressed into a knowing smile. She’d say something about healing or forgiveness. And Astrid’s not quite ready to hear it just yet.