#i have a wrath of a thousands suns

[atemu-remus]

It breaks my heart that one of my friends had resisted getting a cane for so long because she was terrified of being treated differently until I got a cane myself to help with my feet. She had the courage to get one herself because she knew at least one other person had that shared solidarity with her if she needed to get one also.

While I'm happy and proud that she did so, it shouldn't have gotten to the point where someone else in the friend group needed to take the plunge for other people to feel comfortable and safe enough to get the same help themselves.

The way people are treated for having physical disabilities is abysmal if we (yes, we, because I am realizing my cane is going to be an as needed basis for the rest of my life and had to make peace with this for the sake of my anxiety) are so terrified of being treated like freaks and monsters, of losing any and all rights and autonomy just by having a visual aid.

I am not someone to be pitied, I don't owe you explanations for why I need my cane or why I don't use it all the time, and I demand the same respect you expect out of me no matter the circumstances. Visual aids do not justify being treated as helpless, incompetent, or seen as a freak. And if you need my health information for you not to judge me, suck my dick.

People that want to oppress me are not entitled to an explanation or sob story just to treat me like a person, even if I know they won't treat me like an equal even with the information anyway.

[grapefruittwostep]

Me: oh I gotta look out for men I work with sexually harassing me on the jobsite

-men instead try to “save” me when I haven’t asked for it and just getting all up in my business-

Me: oh cool I will burn this whole fucking place down

[syrupfog]

When Sanji runs from Germa, he doesn't make it far. He hides away in the brig of a merchant vessel for a short time, but as soon as he's found, they recognize him, and don't want Judge's wrath coming down on them, so they dump him the next time they make landfall.

The island he ends up at is one that's felt the threat of Germa for years, and they too recognize him, whether Sanji tries to deny it or not. Afraid of the omen that they see him as, they send him to an old manor at the edge of town and lock him away. 

He grows up there.

Like the dungeon, he's again alone and despised. 

But he tries to make the best of things. He can see the sun here, can wander the halls without fear, can cook what he wants from what the town delivers to his doorstep, which is often a little rotten but edible. 

He lives.

He assumes this is as good as life will ever get for someone in his position. There is nowhere he could go that they wouldn't know and fear him, despise him; at least here he's free from his family. At least here he can breathe fresh air. 

And then, one day, a man appears.

"Appears" is maybe a generous word. He comes crashing through the front door, armed to the teeth (literally), a sword in each hand and one in his mouth. Sanji, who had been simmering a bouillabaisse, comes running at the noise, spatula in hand for defense. 

The man looks at him.

He narrows his eyes. 

He charges right at Sanji. 

Sanji yelps, ducks behind his spatula as if it will protect him, and cowers. At the last second, his childhood training kicks in. He manages to dodge a swipe and RUNS for it. 

The man, who has made a crater in the wall, follows.

The manor has a maze of rooms, but Sanji's closed most of them off. It's just him here, after all. He runs into one of the first doors he finds and is faced with cobwebs and dust as he slams it behind him. 

He hears heavy footsteps behind the door slow to a stop. 

"Open up."

Oh he is NOT doing that. 

"Hey," says the man who has broken into his home with SWORDS. "I'm not going to attack you." 

"I do NOT believe that," Sanji shrieks. There's a spider in here and he's trying not to run screaming back into the hall. 

"I should've knocked," the man says.

Sanji stutters. "Swords!" he manages to get out. 

"They said there was a monster," the man says. "Paid me fifty thousand to kill it." 

...Oh. 

"Well," Sanji says. "They're right, that is me." 

The townspeople have probably put up with him for long enough. 

He opens the door.

The man is down to just one sword. He eyes Sanji. "Don't look like a monster," he says. "What, you transform in the moonlight?" 

Sanji snorts. "Nah, this is all there is. Was just born a monster. Surprised it took this long for them to try to get rid of me." Cowards, he thinks.

Maybe he's a little bitter. Maybe something inside of him still dreams of something better. T

he man cocks his head. "Pretty shitty monster," he says, sliding his last sword back into its sheath. "I don't need beri enough to cut down someone who defends himself with a spatula."

Sputtering, Sanji realises he's still holding it. "Shut up," he says. "What would you spend it all on anyway? A FOURTH sword?" 

The man shrugs. "Or food," he says. "Got washed up here a week ago, didnt exactly have a lot of pocket change on me." 

And, well. That's the magic word.

"I have food," he says. The bouillabaisse is still simmering. 

The man grins. "Not going to turn you down," he says. "I'm Zoro." 

"Sanji," Sanji says. "If you're not going to kill me, what do you know about fixing doors?" 

"Absolutely nothing," Zoro says.

Zoro... doesn't leave. 

Sanji feeds him, and Zoro has NO manners. He eats like he's never known what it means to be full. He's not talkative, although he's quietly hilarious. In return, Sanji's conversation is stilted. He's not used to talking, especially not to a real person.

But Sanji feeds him and he feeds him again, and Zoro doesn't leave. He leaves his dirty shoes on the carpet and cleans his swords on the kitchen floor while Sanji cooks. When they do talk, the words jump between polite niceties and petty arguments. 

It's... It's good.

Sanji's so happy. He hates the way Zoro seems to live in a state of mess, even while having come into the manor with nothing but the clothes on his back. But he loves the arguments, the verbal sparring, every word an acknowledgement that he's not alone. 

It's too good to be true.

Zoro doesn't talk about himself much, just that he's got a crew out there somewhere. Sanji wonders but doesn't press, an instinctual fear that if he pushes Zoro will leave. Zoro doesn't ask him much either, except for when the food shows up. 

"Cook," Zoro says, "That's rotten."

Sanji picks up a tomato, blackened on one side. "We can cut those bits off," he says. The produce is actually better than usual. 

"They send you rotted mush every week?" 

"Sometimes they skip a week," Sanji says with a shrug. "On holidays, I think." He doesn't own a calendar.

Zoro frowns, but shuts up. Sanji makes stew. 

He makes chili. 

He makes ratatouille. 

They live in companionable silence. Zoro trains and Sanji yells at him to not use the kitchen utensils as weights. 

It goes like this, for weeks. Good weeks. 

But good things don't last forever.

Almost two months on, someone comes crashing through the front door of the manor. For a moment Sanji thinks it's Zoro again, somehow, but remembers Zoro's napping in a sun puddle. 

Knife in hand this time, instead of a spatula, Sanji sneaks around the corner to the front door.

There's... a LOT of people pouring into the house, but front and centre is a man with a scar and a straw hat. He points at Sanji with a serious expression. "Are you the one who killed Zoro?" 

Sanji blanches. "N-no?" he asks. His knife isn't going to defend against NINE people.

Suddenly, from behind him, comes Zoro's voice. "Shut up, Luffy." 

"Zoro!" the man shouts, bounding past Sanji and wrapping himself around Zoro an unnatural number of times. 

"Told you he wasn't dead," a man with a long nose says. "Townspeople are terrible liars."

"Come on, Zoro," a redhead says. "We've got places to be and we just spent two months tracking you down." 

Sanji's stomach sinks. 

Of course. 

These are Zoro's people. His crew. These two months have been the best of Sanji's life, but for Zoro they've just been a waiting game.

He's had people out here looking for him this whole time. He has a world outside these walls. He's going to move on and live his life and forget about this little moment in time. 

This moment that Sanji will think about, dwell on, treasure, for the rest of his life.

He steps back, considers hiding in the pantry until they're gone. Before he's able to entirely flee the room, though, Zoro turns to him. 

"Luf," he says. "This guy's coming with us." 

Sanji stops. "Uh," he says. 

"He's a cook," Zoro says. 

Luffy turns to him. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I-" Sanji shakes his head. "I can't leave," he says. 

"Yes you can," Zoro tells him. "You're staying here because you think you deserve this." 

Luffy, standing between them, looks back and forth. "Zoro knows what he's talking about," he says to Sanji. "I trust him. You coming?"

"I'm a monster," Sanji says, because that's what the townspeople call him. They sent Zoro to KILL him, they know he's a monster. 

"You're not," Zoro says. "Come on, Cook. Come with us. You can live, now." 

Sanji wants to live. 

It's all he's ever wanted. 

"Promise?" he asks.

"Fucking promise," Zoro says, and he grabs Sanji's wrist. 

Pulls him out the door. 

Into a world Sanji thought was beyond him. 

He follows nine strangers and a swordsman who attempted to kill him onto a ship and into the bright blue ocean and doesn't once look back. 

He lives.

[azen13]

The Lives and Losses of Lovers

Description: This is actually inspired by a post by @lum1nesc3nce, which you can find here! TLDR: Zhongli x God!Reader, where Zhongli kills his lover but they stay alive. This does have a bit more of a Yandere!Zhongli flavor, though, so be warned!

CW: Yandere Themes, Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Murder, Mild Gore,

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The patio is warm, blessed with the touch of the sun’s earliest rays. Already you and Zhongli sit in two comfortable chairs; he sips on tea, you on coffee. It is a scene that has played out a thousand times, yet one Zhongli never tires of. He never tires of seeing your face aglow, of feeling your body leaning against his, of knowing you are here, miraculously breathing life through your bones and skin.

“My dear, I was wondering,” Zhongli starts, his soft contemplative voice shattering the flimsy silence blanketing the porch. “Would you like to accompany me to Liyue Harbor to purchase some groceries?” It is a reward–he thinks as he revels in your surprised reaction–for how understanding you have been in these turbulent times. With the whole mess regarding the Fatui cleared up and a mundane mortal life ahead of him, Zhongli can afford to spend more moments with you in sweet, blissful love.

Perhaps one day it will make up for that vile scene years ago, the moment his heart became stone: your body splayed stunningly on the ground, looking like the most gilded, horrific masterpiece he had ever seen. Painted in sunlit hues, his spearhead sticking from your chest splattered with blood made of molten gold. 

Even nearly dying you looked breathtaking. 

He is still suffering from regret for the decision. At the time, the situation was looking grim; Guizhong and Azhdaha were both gone, leaving you his only close friend. He spent many moonlit nights sharing tea and hushed conversation, as well as tears and heartfelt confessions with you. Zhongli is not the god of words, but just the sight of your iridescent eyes made him want to tell you every trouble and every worry had. You were his most valuable treasure, his lover through and through. Your contract with him, to always stand by side, loyal to one another, made him so weak, so soft, so human.

But that was the issue. Everyone knew of his love, his tender affection; unbecoming of a god who wielded earth and stone as weapons. His life was plagued by phantoms day and night. When he dreamed he envisioned you being kidnapped by some evil god like Osial and being tortured. Killed. Doomed to a fate worse than death, even. In the day, every action you did reminded him of a delicate tree weathering a deluge. Your branches swayed in the intense winds and even the earth couldn’t anchor you.

So he pleaded. He begged you to stay tucked away in his private domain where no great evil could stalk after you, promising to love you for an eternity of eternities. He would love you until every mountain had become a valley. But you refused, saying you wanted to live every facet of life, turning the world like a kaleidoscope in your hands.

The mirrors shifted and the skies turned red.

Those prophecies he had dreamt, uttered to him by ghosts haunting his mind, came true. You were taken away by some pesky, lowly god, and confessed all that you knew. That was fine. Zhongli was made of stone and Cor Lapis, and even if this insignificant insect of a god knew his weaknesses–few as they were–Zhongli eviscerated them.

But the contract.

When the god was sealed away beneath the sea, Zhongli fell to his knees, mouth opened but unable to utter any words.

Zhongli is not the god of words.

It is horribly tragic, he mourns as he stares at your hollow expression, that you must face the wrath of the rock because of a ridiculous choice of words. “To always stand by his side.” You have technically betrayed him.

The earth shakes for weeks afterwards. The sudden freak earthquake is talked about for weeks on end before people move on, as life does. Zhongli does not. His memory of you remains petrified, his new specter. He will never truly love again for thousands of years. Every time he is reminded of you, a piece of his heart chips away

But then you came back. 

That day is amber, crystallized in his mind. Seeing you in the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, so lost after centuries away from home. At that moment, Zhongli decides he will not make the same mistake twice. He would have preferred more time to draw you in carefully, but he is afraid now. Afraid that some hideous twist of fate will rip you from him again. So he whisks you away to his private domain, and drafts up a new contract, binding you to him in matrimony forever. 

Please forgive him, he begs after you sign the contract in gold, tears dripping down your cheeks. He only wishes to protect you; he has always wished to protect you. But the world is cruel to lovers, and not even the strong can uphold such a delicate thing. 

In Zhongli’s private domain, wicked things like time and fate are nonexistent. Zhongli is the only god that rules these lands. He is a benevolent god, if a little possessive. After being deprived of you for so long, he craves your presence, he claims. Day and night, he tries to spend every living moment with you. When he cannot, you are ever-present in his mind–a living, breathing thing instead of the dead spirits that once terrorized it for all those years.

Some days you seem despondent, craving room to spread your branches far and wide. But Zhongli simply chuckles and kisses the top of your head; he smells the gentle scent of your shampoo, knowing this is what is best for you. He whispers it quietly, lacing sweet nothings and honeyed words into his voice as he pulls you into his arms. You haven’t tried to fight him on this in years, either. It’s part of the reason why he has proposed going on a  little trip to Liyue Harbor. Perhaps if all goes well, he’ll allow more trips out of the private domain. All supervised by his watchful eye, of course. After a few moments of stunned surprise, you finally have the courage to speak. “I-I’d love to. Thank you, Zhongli,” you say quietly. Zhongli smiles, leaning to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

“You are very welcome, my treasure,” he whispers, a hand reaching to cup your face; his thumb reaches to brush your lips tenderly.

He can tell that you are still afraid of him, fearful that he will hurt you again. No matter. One day, Zhongli hopes, you will shed your fear like a caterpillar in chrysalis, and emerge into a glittering world full of Zhongli’s love for you. 

[utterlyotterlyx]

I love your writing. Could you write an Eris x Reader where she's known he's her mate but he didn't? And maybe they had a flirty thing going but nothing more Beron was recently overthrown and she finally felt safe to be more assertive about her feelings.

Oh my gosh, thank you!

A thousand times yes, let's go.

.

.

Dark Paradise

Summary - Eris was the only person who truly saw you, the daughter of a Lord of the Day Court, but when the bond snaps and creates a one sided love, you have no other choice but to distance yourself or else face Beron's wrath.

Warnings - pining, angst, fluff, mentions of torture

It had never been more than what it was, lingering looks of longing and what others would call harmless flirting, but to you, it meant the world.

Autumn wasn't exactly safe for you. Beron wasn't stupid enough to stand against Helion, even for the moment of satisfaction it would bring him to see you cowered and hurt. He'd made it clear he thought of it often.

You had moved to Autumn by the order of your High Lord, there was the potential that you could one day wed one of his sons since you were the daughter of a very powerful lord holed within the Court of Day. It had been two years since you had been moved into the Forest House, two years since you had met the Autumn Court heir and shrugged off attention from anyone else.

It had been a difficult adjustment, your Day Court attire was too revealing, too thin to protect you from the seasonal court you had found yourself within.

You knew Beron had no intention of wedding you to one of his sons, but you were a very lucrative card in his arsenal. Helion was like family, he'd to anything to ensure your safety, and Beron knew that fact well, like he'd thought about it more often that not.

But Eris. Mother above. Eris.

Hair the colour of hot embers, rich amber eyes, the cobalt jacket over a cream shirt with the top two buttons undone, brown leather pants, and the melody of the warm autumn forest as the sun slit its slumberous eye through the tree line mixed with smoked pinewood, enough to make you swoon.

Eris had grown to like you, he didn't speak to you much when you had first arrived, but after finding you with one of his sickly pups in the stables and where you began nursing her back to life did he know that you weren't in his home for any sinister reason.

From then, it had been long glances, insatiable flirting, small smirks that pulled at the edges of his lips when he saw you across the room, late night visits to the kitchens to eat pumpkin pie, and walks up the hills to catch the sunrise.

You were surprised it didn't happen sooner.

The snap that is.

When he had handed the now fully healthy and wriggling pup to you and told you to keep her, that her life continued because of you so she should be yours. It wouldn't be fair on her to be away from the being she had imprinted on.

The way his amber orbs brightened at the sight of her, Maple, wriggling around in your arms to douse your face in those sweet puppy breath kisses, the way he smiled at the sight was enough for your soul to sing. It was like he was the centre of gravity and all you wanted was to fall and allow him to pull you to where you needed to go.

But when the little gasp had left your lips, when he had looked at you with that furrowed brow of concern and asked, "What's wrong?" You knew that it was completely one sided.

Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing that he didn't know. If Beron had found out that the High Fae female he loathed was mated to his heir, he would surely do everything in his power to be rid of you before you could do any real damage. Helion' wrath or not, Beron would peel the skin from your body and relish in your cries.

So, you continued on seemingly unphased, raising Maple to be the most docile and beautiful creature, all whilst distancing yourself from Eris. No more morning walks. No more pumpkin pie after dark. Instead, his looks of longing turned into stares of concern, and the rife flirting had transformed into cornering you and asking if everything was alright to which you simply nodded to before scurrying away.

"Did my father say something to you?" Eris had pinned you to the wall by your rooms one evening, Beron was throwing some pompous dinner for the Lords of Autumn and you had done your duty as dictated by your title, wanting nothing more to leave the room and bury your face into Maple's fur until sleep consumed you.

"No."

"You're lying," Eris' eyes darkened, "You're my friend, Y/N. Tell me what I've done."

Friend.

"I, I just," footsteps approached and you flinched from his grip, trying to stick to the shadows as the steps passed and faded into silence, "I think I forgot my place here," you told him in a hushed tone.

Eris examined you, rolling his eyes down your body before finding your face and waiting expectantly for you to continue. Autumn suited you, the colours complimented you perfectly, the deep hues of earth and the brightness of the day melting into pristine harmony. You stood before him in a velvet stress the colour of ripe plums, hair unbound and falling down your back, with two braids meeting to frame your face.

"You mean everything to me, you're the only person here who actually sees me," his gaze softened and he willed you to continue, he loved your candidness, your will to always be truthful but also be mindful of how you spoke so that you didn't upset others, "I'm afraid that Beron will mistake our friendship for something more. He hates me, he hates everything I stand for, and I'm sure he'd have no problem showing me just as much. I have to distance myself, I don't have a choice if I ever want to go home."

"So that's it?"

"It has to be, Eris. I'm sorry," your bottom lip wobbled, Eris knew how hard you had tried to fit in and make friends with the people in Autumn, but Autumn hated outsiders, and that was what you were. You were so lonely there, and Beron was too stubborn to let you go.

If only he knew how much you loved him, how much you yearned for that tether dancing in the autumn breeze to find something to bind itself to. If only he knew how you dreamt of a life with him and how he consumed your dreams, night and day, his face was there, he was there all of the time and you were suffocating.

It had happened.

Beron was finally gone.

The news had spread around Forest House, the chatter so loud that it had awoken you that morning.

Maple was perched on the edge of your cream coloured comforter, tail wagging and ears pricked upward to the sky as if she was absorbing every bit of information that floated through the closed door.

Beron was gone. You were free.

But Eris. Poor Eris.

You knew that Eris loathed everything his father stood for, that he was already looking for a way to usurp the High Lord and take his place, to make the Autumn Court better for all. But his father had still died, his sire, the man who raised him.

Dressing quickly and calling Maple after you, you hurtled through the Forest House, squeezing through the haze of alarmed bodies that swarmed the foyers and halls, all muttering their shock, and some, delight.

Maple trotted alongside you happily, her ears flopping over her face as you raced toward his rooms, to only be stopped at his doors by two guards telling you that the new High Lord wished to be left alone. At the sound of your desperate voice, the doors behind them opened to reveal him.

Eris stood before you dishevelled, hair messy, bags under his eyes, swollen red cheeks, and clothes askew, he growled at the two guards before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside, closing the door securely behind you.

Eris immediately fell into you, loud sobs soaring through his body, you supported his weight in your arms and worked your fingers into his hair, shushing him softly and holding him as closely as you could.

"I'm so sorry, Eris," you strained, threatening to join him in his sorrow, you swallowed it down and used the pads of your thumbs to wipe his tears away as his eyes scoured your face, like it was the last time he'd ever see it.

It took him a moment but he finally spoke, "I'm more upset about you leaving, is that bad?"

"What?"

Eris swallowed thickly, water pooling at the corners of his eyes again as he held your forearms in his hands, tracing small circles into your skin and drowning in your scent.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee clung to you, with a hint of honey and lavender, "He's gone, Y/N. You're free, you can go home."

Eris watched your face soften, he watched as you tried to contain your tears, he watched as you took a step closer to him and peered upward so that your eyes pierced through his soul, "I don't want to go, Eris."

Frowning, he asked, "Why? Beron was the only thing keeping you here-"

"Not the only thing," your voice was barely above a whisper, so quiet that he would have missed your words if it weren't for you standing directly under his nose. "You were right that night. I have been lying to you."

Eris said nothing and you continued with a shaky breath, "I'm sorry that I had to distance myself, that I had to stop being me with you. It was either be lonely or risk Beron hurting us, and I couldn't let him do that."

Sun filtered through the windows, cascading its glow over your bodies and spilling onto the floor, curling around you both to avoid interrupting the words flowing from your lips, "Seeing you was the best part of my day, no one looks at me here but not only do you look at me, you understand me, you see me for everything I am and accept it without hesitation. I couldn't be the reason you got hurt, I would sooner die than be the reason of any of your pain."

Eris looked down at you, etching the slope of your nose and curve of your lips to memory, the sun shone on you, making the bright specks of your eyes dance in its light and your skin glimmer softly like fine sand. It was your eyes he loved the most, pools of wonder and sadness, you spoke with your eyes, he had noticed, every single mood of your was clear as day when he looked into them.

Adoration was laced in them, elegant guarded adoration.

The glow felt brighter, and shimmers of gold tugged at his essence, enough to see you in a different world of light that wrapped around you both.

Eris was breathless, panting softly through his nose, "You're my mate," and as he said the word the bond came to life, that lonely tether dancing in the autumn breeze now finding the end it so craved to entwine itself with, "You knew?"

You nodded, "From the day you gave me Maple," you smiled sadly, that had been just over six months ago, and then it all made sense to him.

Eris had almost gone insane trying to figure out why you had suddenly cut him out of your life, but of course you were trying to protect yourself, to protect him from the evil that was Beron. The former High Lord would have brutalised you if he had known of it. You would have rather have been all alone than risk Beron unleashing his anger onto Eris.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have done something, I would have gotten us out of here, I would have taken you away and kept you safe," his fingers brushed against your cheek and you leaned into his touch, fire skittering across your skin.

"I didn't want to put you in that position, I couldn't do that to you," tears fell from your eyes and Eris kissed them away, the salty drops coating his lips.

"You've been alone all this time because you didn't want put me in that position?" Eris' hands fell to your waist and he pulled you in closer, your chests meeting, he pressed his lips to your forehead, mumbling against your skin, "I would turn this court into ash if it meant that you were safe."

"Eris-"

"No, let me talk," he held your face in his hands, willing you to meet his eye as he lowered his gaze, "You are my heaven and my hell, you are the morning sun that illuminates the world after a night of storms and darkness, you are the sandy shore that glistens in the moonlight, you are the first birdsong that cuts through the equinox. You are everything, and you are mine, really mine?"

Eris felt as though he was dreaming, or maybe he was stood in the middle of some cruel nightmare, but as you stood on your tip toes and brushed your lips against his, he knew that no pinch was necessary to wake him, your soft lips were certainly enough to remind him that you were there and real, and his until the moment he took his last breath.

Authors Note

I really hope you like this! Thank you for the request, I love writing for Eris so much x

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Symphonies of Eternity

Vampire Moon, elegantly playing the violin: you are late for the concert, I am almost offended. Should I punish you with a thousand kisses, my cruel aurora?

Hunter Y/N, smiling playfully: sorry, honey, I was too busy picking out the right blade to cut your head off with.

Vampire Moon, purring, adoration in his eyes: thorough and dedicated to details, as always. The stars should envy me for having such an adversary, there is no greater delight, nor pleasure more sweet, than the divine wrath only you can offer.

Hunter Y/N, approaching closer, their gaze soft: such words you say, my lord. Poetry instead of actions. I am yet to receive these infamous kisses you keep mentioning, you are not the only one that has the right to be offended. Do you no longer love me? Are your promises mere lies?

Vampire Moon, disappearing into shadows, manifesting once more right in front of his dear Y/N, pulling them close: have you not been taught about the dangers of whispering your wishes to the forces of darkness? Do not tempt me, elsewise I shall have you rule the Kingdom of Midnight along with me.

Hunter Y/N, mischief in their eyes as they swiftly pull out a holy dagger and gently press it to the side of Moon's neck: how easy it is to lure you, I play with your temper the way you play with your instruments. Silly jester. Remember that one time when I made you dance with me till dawn?

Vampire Moon, slight shock in his crimson eyes, soon replaced with wickedness and desire: sly serpent, cunning little hunter. I do not fear your blades. Each of them is dear to me. Slice my flesh open and I shall equate it to a tender caress.

Hunter Y/N, pouting: you really know how to make it weird, don't you? Nevermind, dawn is close anyway. Shall we dance? I arrived far too late tonight for us to play, anyway.

Rays of vermillion grace the horizon, gently nudging the night away, Moon's appearance changing as the two lovers kiss, royal sunlight ruling once more.

Sun, kissing Y/N's hand gently before leaving: Do not be late for my next performance, love. I have composed a symphony just for you.

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy on Tumblr, part 4

Chilchuck x !fem !halffoot reader

You were going to have to be strategic about this. You didn't want to step on Chilchucks toes after all, and you didn't know if there would realistically be work for more than one halffoot. It sounded like Chilchuck was strictly no combat, so maybe you could pick that side of it up? But even if you could convince them of your usefulness, would they be willing to sign a contract to take on a new party member? You frowned, considering.

You heard your name and glanced up. "yes, sorry, what?" 

"What do you think you want to do?" Marcille asked. "I'm afraid that I can't cast the leaving spell to get you out of here, it's not my specialty, but maybe we could get you back up to a higher floor? You could find another party and work your way back up."

"....I was actually going to ask if I could travel with your group." You hesitantly explained. "You wouldn't need to pay me or anything, and I don't eat much. I am skilled in my field and I could definitely be a big help to Chilchuck in disarming traps and giving advance warning of threats." You continued on with something that was only half a lie. "I think your group really can take down the mad mage, and I'd like to be a part of that." 

You were also pretty good at drawing monsters away or distracting them, or even engaging in combat if necessary. But you figured you'd keep that little tidbit to yourself while you figured out the dynamics of the group. Chilchuck had seemed to be pretty against the idea of halffoots as bait and combat participants, if you really needed to use it as leverage you could, but otherwise it wouldn't be wise to offer services he'd shut down already. After all, alienating the other halffoot in the party could only go badly. 

Marcille looked surprised, but before she could say anything, Laois jumped in. 

"Yeah! That would be great! Chilchuck you've talked about the difficulty of disarming traps before, if you had a helper wouldn't it be a lot easier? You guys could work in a team! And she's right, halffoots don't eat much." 

Chilchuck frowned consideringly. "Hmmm, I usually don't work with others....I guess we could give it a shot but if you get in my way and aren't helpful you'll have to stand back with the rest of the party. I'm good at my job and I don't need anyone jumping in trying to help and fucking it up."

You nodded, trying to keep a look of some kind of humble gratefulness on your face, reminding yourself firmly that you needed to stay on the good grace of the guy you'd be working with. But internally you felt the full concentrated wrath of a thousand suns. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? The god king of traps? All you were suggesting was working as a team to do shit like simultaneously disarm arrow and pressure traps and shit. You'd have to be fucking stupid to not be useful to another trap disarmer. Maybe he had more experience in this dungeon than you, but you'd hit plenty of other dungeons before this one was even discovered.

Senshi piped in. "I'd want to have y/n along for a bit anyway." He turned to you. "I'll need to draw up a careful food schedule for ye. I think you'll need to be eating a small amount once every couple of hours for the next few days."

Everyone kind of nodded, and...that seemed to be that. Through the rest of the night, you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, more questions to be asked, someone to demand you demonstrate your skills, but it never happened. No one pried into your business, and it seemed to be just business as normal.

Once nighttime hit you were set up to share a bedroll with Marcille. A little awkward but Marcille was skinny and you were half her size so you actually both fit pretty nicely without having to be too tightly packed. 

Laois attempted to suggest that perhaps you and Chilchuck could share a bedroll, being the two smallest party members, but Chilchuck shut it down with a clearly practiced level of defensive aggression. 

Before bed Senshi popped up with a bowl full of delicious smelling soup. 

"Took me a bit but I've made some hearty stew with the lamb chops! I'm just giving you the broth to drink right now, but in the morning you should be able to eat it fully."  

You drank the broth slowly and carefully under the watchful eye of Senshi. You also noticed that Chilchuck casually positioned himself strategically close to you, although he was feigning an air of unconcern. 

So NOW the fucker cared what happened to you. He'd insult your ability without even knowing about you, but apparently he'd deign to babysit. 

You shot him a somewhat halfhearted glare as you pointedly sipped your soup with all the patience of a woman determined to prove she did actually have survival skills. 

By the time you were finished with your food, everyone else was already settling down. You slipped into Marcilles bedroll as quietly as possible, and almost immediately passed out cold. 

Tag list, ask to tag:

@night-shadowblood-writes2

@thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry

@dunmeshimeshi

@leguink 

[sydnikov]

Carry Me Home || S. Aho

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Sebastian Aho/fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Sebastian Aho is frustrated with his team’s loss against the New York Islanders. He takes it out on you in a rather primitive way.

Warnings: 18+ smut smut smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kiddos!), oral (f receiving), bits of dom!Sepe, breeding kink if you squint, cursing, angst, not much fluff in this one

A/N: Surprise! My first smut fic. I hate myself. I blame the Hurricanes playing like shit for making me write this. As usual, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!! I certainly didn’t (kidding) P.S. Title is from “All The Small Things” by Blink 182

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

Sebastian Aho feels fire in his veins. His skin is flushed, hot to the touch, with his hair smoking from sweat-soaked strands boiling into steam. He is a steadily growing inferno, biding his time before unleashing his wrath.

There was no other time in his life he could think of where he had ever felt so frustrated, so angry.

Painful grunts and the sounds of sticks hitting the ice so hard they break echo in his ears, just as the sound of the puck hitting the goal post every time he shot it did, too. In the back of his mind, Sebastian knows that winning takes more than just one player, but yet all he can think is my fault my fault my fault.

He is an alternate captain, after all. It’s his job to help lead his team, to get them the wins they deserve. So ever since the start of this season, why had he been failing to do so?

Sebastian couldn’t dominate the Islanders on his own no matter how much he wanted to… But there is one person he knows he can.

As the Fin aggressively unties his skates, he imagines the strands of your hair tangled in his fingers as the laces get stuck on his glove. As he rips off his undershirt, he imagines doing the same to your bra.

When the reporters ask the same question they do after every game, “What could you have done better?” and pretend not to flinch when he shoots them a glare, he imagines your wide-eyed gaze as he tells you, c’mon, you can take it, yeah?

He kind of wishes he could say the same thing to these fucking reporters as he imagines giving one or two or preferably all of them a black eye—in a different scenario, of course.

Oh, but you are so good to him. He doesn’t deserve you. There is absolutely nothing in this world that can take you away from him, not now and not ever.

The winger speaks to no one except for the coaching staff as he eventually storms out of the locker room, exchanging a few words about practice and something about more line changes before he is finally let go.

Sebastian doesn’t want to think about hockey anymore. He wants to think about you.

Meanwhile, you were planted outside said locker room with a few of the wives and girlfriends, leaning against the wall while you all tried to talk about anything other than the disaster of a game you’d just watched.

It was hard watching the person you love get so upset and disappointed, especially when knowing how much pressure he puts on himself to be a leader of his team. There were many nights laying in bed, his head resting on your chest, that he revealed the bits and pieces of his carefully shielded heart how responsible he feels for his team’s performance.

How every loss chips away at his self-respect, leaving him feeling broken and lost as he struggles to find a way to get his team back on top. He was only one man, yet felt the weight of a thousand suns bearing down on his shoulders, relying on him to score.

And score he tries. Everything he could do he does; he racks up the points, he makes assists, but all his efforts still couldn’t bring them out on top.

You know Sebastian feels worthless, and you aren’t sure how he’s going to express it as you spot him marching up to you.

“Hey,” is your first word to him, spoken softly and carefully before he pulls you into his chest. The first thing you notice is that he feels like a human furnace; the chill you’d become used to after sitting next to an ice rink for over two hours is immediately replaced with warmth, and you can’t help but bury your head into his chest at the feel of it. “I’m sorry, Sepe.”

The pressure he so often feels immediately dissipates at the sound of your voice. Sebastian releases a strained sigh and curls over your body in a protective embrace, his mind racing with millions of words at a million miles per hour but the only ones he can hear are mine mine mine as you look up at him with unbridled affection.

“Kulta,” My honey, he murmurs, wet strands of hair falling over his eyes as he looks down at you. “You’re still here,” he can’t help but say, almost as if he were expecting you to be gone because he didn’t win.

You soften even more if that were possible. “I would never leave you,” you say with conviction, your words meant to be taken innocently yet all Sebastian could think of is the image of you under him as he thrusts into you, making you say the same words over and over again.

“What was that?”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. C’mon, pretty girl, say it for me again,”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He needs to get you home, immediately.

Lacing his fingers through yours, the Finn presses a heated kiss to your lips, groaning so deep in his chest it has your face flushing a beautiful shade of red which has him thinking truly awful things before the two of you leave the arena.

Sebastian wants nothing more than to take care of you, and thinks briefly that maybe this is a developing unhealthy coping mechanism in the works, but as he opens the car door for you and locks eyes on the way your lips flash him a sweet smile, he can’t find it in himself to care.

You’re just so innocent; it’s in your nature to see the good in everything, to see the good in him despite his less-than holy thoughts. While he doesn’t consider his sex life with you vanilla by any means, he almost feels guilty for all the degrading ways he was thinking of you.

Sebastian was not on top of his game tonight, but he was determined, now, to be on top of you.

Your mind, however, is running rampant in all of the ways you think this night could go, and with Sebastian’s large hand splayed across your thigh as he drives the two of you home, you’re fairly positive in your understanding of what your role is going to be.

It’s funny because you’ve been with him for several years now and he still never fails to get your heart racing. Everything about him has you feeling a certain type of way, especially now as you catch shy peeks of his side profile; clenched jaw, ruffled hair, and blazing eyes…

You can’t help but rub your thighs together, a pleasurable tingle starting low in your belly and spreading warmth throughout the rest of your body as Sebastian gives you a look that spells trouble.

He adjusts the hold he has on your thigh, gripping the flesh just a little bit tighter. “Gonna get you home soon, don’t worry,” he says, almost to himself. It has your eyes widening and your heart beating faster because the tone of his voice is almost feral.

Sebastian is not what you would consider rough in bed. He has his moments, where he uses his strength to flip you over or manhandle you into whatever position he wants, but he’s never been the type to fuck you against a wall or anything of the sorts.

And as dominating as he could sometimes be, his softer side more than made up for it. Sweet but deep kisses to your lips, teeth lovingly nipping marks onto the sides of your breasts, hands roaming all over your body with gentle squeezes and caresses, and a body that seldom ran out of stamina making sure your pleasure always comes before his.

His mouth, however… Sebastian’s mouth is the word ‘dirty’ personified. Sinful lips creating words you’d never want your mother to hear, and a tongue that knew every weak spot on your body to leave you shivering in its wake.

In fact, you couldn’t help but remember the last time his mouth was put to use. Twas the night before, actually, where his body was restless and his solution to getting his energy out was sliding down the length of your body with whispered praises, slipping your panties to the side with his pointer finger, and attaching his lips first thing to your clit—

The sound of your name from the very voice of the man you were just fantasizing about interrupts your thoughts. You quickly turn to find that Sebastian already powered off and exited the vehicle and is holding your door open for you, looking at you with slight concern.

He says your name again when you fail to respond, suddenly starstruck.

Sebastian is just and his arms are so and his lips so full and kissable and him—

The next thing you know, the Finn has wrapped his large hands around your waist and is yanking you out of the car, mouth swooping down to meet your eager lips.

He kisses the life out of you, simultaneously slamming the car door shut so he can press you hard against it. The thought that you have any semblance of control right now slips through your rattled brain not unlike the slickness you can feel dripping down your legs.

He was the epitome of domineering, in no mood to let you think you had any say in what he is going to do to you. Tonight is about him needing a release, and the only way he is going to get it is through you.

Or, rather, by him burying himself so deep inside you you wouldn’t be able to walk for days. The thought has his cock throbbing, unable to resist pressing his hips into the heat between your thighs.

The feeling of his dick against your most sensitive spot has you releasing a breathless whine, and then your kisses become harder against his lips, more desperate.

Sebastian bites at your bottom lip, his own rising into a smirk once he feels rather than hears the resulting gasp catch in your throat. He lets one of his hands rise from the grip he has on your ass to slide carefully around your neck, firmly grasping the front of your throat to bring you closer.

The action has you flat-out whimpering, your hands sinking into the winger’s hair, tugging at the strands so hard he hisses. Now, the Finn is no submissive by any means, but never have you seen him so, so… Dominant.

You decide right then and there that you rather like this side of him.

“Sepe,” you try to speak, but the words catch in your throat again as his kisses move from your lips, past his hand still gripping your throat, and down to the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “—I can’t,”

He hums, your pleas merely background noise as he sucks red marks into your skin. “Can’t what? Gonna have to be more specific, nappula,”

Button. Oh, you are so fucked. Literally. His button. He called you his button. His his his.

Unable to take his slow teasing, you tear him away from your neck to bring him back to your eager lips, a desperate sound crawling up your throat as his hands move to bury themselves in your hair.

“Take me to bed, please,”

Sebastian practically melts at your words. Knowing your desperation, he moves his hands back from your hair down to your thighs, tapping once and then twice where you finally got the memo to jump. He curls your legs over his hips, sliding one hand under your ass with the other pressing supportively against the small of your back.

The five-second walk to the front door has the hand previously holding your back trembling as he fumbles with his keys. Finally opening the door after forcing himself to focus, despite the feeling of your mouth leaving teasing nips and kisses, Sebastian mutters a long string of curses as he hurriedly steps into the house, swiftly kicking the door shut behind him.

“Such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear, his free hand grasping onto the back of your neck to bring you back to his lips. He kisses you sensually, reveling in the softness of your body molding perfectly against his. “Bet you’ve been waiting for me all night.”

You nod rapidly in agreement, hands trying to find purchase on the smooth lines of his suit so you could begin tearing it off of him. “I’m always wanting you, Sepe,”

Sebastian hisses another curse, and the next thing you know your back is landing softly on the large mattress that is his bed. He gives you no time to gather your thoughts before he’s climbing on top of you. His calloused hands slip under your shirt to remove it, granting him full access to knead at your tits.

The forward kisses you again, tongue tracing lines across your bottom lip before forcefully pushing his way in. You can feel him everywhere and nowhere all at once, a strangled sound escaping your throat as his hips start grinding into the throbbing heat between your legs.

“Seb,” you try, back arching as his hands skillfully move to unclasp your bra. “Oh fuck, Seb, please,”

The sound of your cries has Sebastian grinning wolfishly, your desperation filling him with a sick sense of pride. “Please what?”

Suddenly, you understand his teammates just a little bit more when they would call him a little shit and other various, foul nicknames in front of you.

Clumsily grabbing one of his hands from where it was still massaging your tit, your legs fall open as you press his palm directly over the material of your pants, almost positive they were wet. “Please just touch me, please—”

Your babbling is interrupted when he begins peppering your face with soothing kisses, apologetically rubbing his thumb over your nipple while the other makes its way under your pants and down to your slit, thoroughly soaked with your arousal.

“This all for me?” he coos as two fingers run through your lips, taking the natural lubricant to rub tight circles over your clit. “You’re soaked, kisu.”

The resulting mewl that escapes you afterwards lives up to the name he just called you. Kitty.

Sebastian watches your reactions with hooded eyes, taking note of the way your breath hitches when he rubs your clit a certain way; he knows the ins and outs of your body by now, but every time you have sex there is still something new to learn, and there is nothing Sebastian is if not eager to learn. He’s particularly fond of the way you arch into him as he sinks two fingers inside you, grinning as you cry out while the calloused pads of his fingertips curl against the spongy wall of nerves nestled near the front of your walls.

With panting breaths and strangled moans, your thighs shake as his thumb finds its way back to your clit and rubs it in circles the same way his fingers are doing inside you. Your stomach feels as if it’s in knots, hands gripping the sheets beneath you so hard they’ve gone numb, and your mind is blissfully blank except for the repetitive thought of more more more.

You echo this sentiment to him, to which he merely picks up the pace in response. It’s almost too much but a good too much, like the peak of your pleasure is just climbing higher and higher, almost impossible to reach but you can feel it right there—

Suddenly, all pleasurable movements stop. You snap your head up, aghast, cheeks flushed with arousal and now irritation because were were so fucking close and now all you’re left with is a disappointed burn between your legs. “Sebastian, what the actual fuck,”

The very man himself licks his lips, looking all too pleased with the way you’re relying on him to help you finish. “Patience,” is all he says, flashing you a shiny smile before skilled hands are sliding the rest of your pants and underwear down your legs. Instinctively your legs try to close at the feel of cold air hitting your pussy, but Sebastian is having none of it as he swiftly pries your thighs back apart.

“Shy?” He teases, stroking your inner thigh before pulling his shirt off his head. You have a reply prepared, but quickly lose your train of thought as his torso is revealed; Sebastian is all hard planes of muscle, golden skin with a light dusting of body hair, and so distinctly male he has you practically drooling as you reach out to trail your hands down his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his waist to bring his body down on top of yours. You want, no, need him close to you. While your veins were still full of liquid fire, your nerves so hot that every brush of his skin against yours left you quaking, there is still a certain amount of intimacy that could always be found within your actions towards each other.

A certain intimacy that leads to whispered praises like these; Sebastian flushes, momentarily forgetting the role he vowed to take after the agony that had been wreaking havoc in his mind since his team’s loss. “Kulta,” he says, breath hitching as he presses his lips to your neck to taste the light sheen of sweat covering your skin. He kisses your body like you are his shrine, sworn to you in utter devotion. “Kaunis tyttöni.”

My beautiful girl. Every word from that point onward tumbles past his lips in Finnish, because in what other way can he describe the beauty you encapsulate? You are an angel, after all, his angel, in fact, and his only. With his hands settling on the curves of your waist to further cement his point, he continues his assault on your neck with teeth and tongue all while he grinds his covered dick against your bare pussy.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me, please,”

And just like that, the indescribable need to claim claim claim takes over his body once more. His eyes darken, the lust swallowing his senses moving him to quickly strip the slacks he wore off his legs, and then he reaches into his boxers to pull out his dick.

You could never get over the sight of his cock, you think momentarily as you stare, mesmerized by the flushed head and leaking tip. He took on more girth than length, and to you it’s nothing less than perfect because Sebastian is the only man who has ever gotten you to the point where you’re unable to walk the next day.

Maybe that speaks more of his knowledge of the female anatomy compared to your exes, but nonetheless you’re grateful.

You bite your lip, one of your hands falling from his back to reach down and take his erection in your hand. Sebastian hisses through his teeth at the feeling of you gripping him, and watches for a moment as you stroke him almost gently.

“I’m going to need you to stop that,” he speaks, a groan following right after before he quickly swats your hand away.

You frown, a slight pout on your lips. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to come in two minutes like a teenager if you keep it up, kisu.”

“Well when you say it like that—”

You’re interrupted by Sebastian slamming your lips back together, your words gone just as quickly as they’d come. Oh, how you could kiss him for ages and never be sick of it. You say this to him, or at least attempt to, before his hand not buried in your hair finds its way back down to your clit and rubs rather roughly.

“Want to taste you,” he mumbles, drunk on the sight of you under him as he lines up his dick with your entrance. “Want to taste you so bad. But I need to be inside you first,”

You try to respond, but then Sebastian is kissing you again right as the head of his cock pushes its way into your cunt. It burns, but a good burn because you would never be used to his size and the feel of him sliding deeper sets all your nerve endings on fire. You’re forced to adjust quickly, and something about him not caring if you’re ready or not has you dripping.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, restless hands weaving through his hair and all over his back, refusing to settle. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, too consumed with how good it felt being stretched to lie still beneath him. “Feels so good, Seb,”

“Yeah?” he huffs into your ear, hot breaths against your skin sending shivers down your spine. “God, you’re perfect,” Sebastian groans, his hips suddenly snapping forward. The angle has him hitting the sweet spot inside you perfectly, your walls clamping down tight around him which sends you both spiraling.

You cry out as he begins moving, the strength behind the force of his thrusts staggering because very rarely did he lose control with you. Sebastian tends to treat you like priceless jewelry, but you’re anything but tonight as his teeth sink into your neck to muffle his moans.

His pubic bone rubs against your clit deliciously every time his hips come down, and you couldn’t help but try and tilt your own upwards to match him. Sebastian clearly appreciates your efforts, hissing something that sounds distinctively like a curse.

Past the ringing in your ears, you can hear him muttering to himself. His eyes are squeezed shut against the rolling tides of pleasure coursing through his body, but his mouth is anything but closed. Then his head is lifting suddenly, hair now slick with sweat hanging over his eyes as he looks down at you.

“I need you to come around me,” he says, voice nothing more than a rasp. “Want to feel you squeezing me.”

“Please,” you interrupt, but he either doesn’t hear your plea or chooses to ignore you.

“Then I’m going to taste you, and when you come I’m going to fuck you again.”

Your head is nodding rapidly at his words because there is zero part of you that ever wants him to stop. It was almost primitive the way he was taking you, and you maybe liked it a little more than you should.

Sebastian picks up the pace, and you find yourself thankful - not for the first time - for his insane amount of stamina. The strength conditioning he goes through on a daily basis makes you wonder how he doesn’t just die, but nonetheless you can’t help but appreciate it.

His hands find their way under your back in the midst of your appreciative thoughts, settled on your lower back just above your ass, when he tilts your hips up and his cock strikes the sensitive, spongy spot inside you head-on. It has you keening loudly, uncontrollably—one of your hands previously gripping the sheets jerkily moves to cover your mouth, your own noises embarrassing you.

He doesn’t notice at first, too busy moving his hips in the same pattern as before because he enjoys the way you grip him like a vice, your body’s way of telling him he’s doing a good job, but when he sees you trying to muffle your noises he instantly grows possessive.

Possessive of you, your noises, because in his feral mind everything about you belongs to him and Sebastian doesn’t want you ever holding yourself back. Your name falls from his lips darkly, “You don’t hide yourself from me,” one of his hands drags yours from your mouth, the other splaying across your lower back to keep your body in the same position.

You try to apologize, but your breath escapes you when his hand slides itself down your body, brushing past one of your nipples, then dipping into your navel where his fingers once again find your swollen clit. He rubs quickly, dick ramming into you even faster than before.

Now more than ever Sebastian wants you to come undone beneath him, and soon he gets his wish as the calloused pads of his fingertips roll your clit in time with one, two, and then on the third thrust your entire body seizes.

Tensing, clenching, shuddering—your eyes flutter as your vision goes white, and you feel nothing except for wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure rushing through you. Vaguely, you feel what you think is Sebastian gently continuing his ministrations on your clit in time with slow thrusts, helping you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

Then your eyes are opening after what feels like hours but had really only been minutes of you going still. You tense again, this time with sensitivity rather than pleasure, and he reads your body perfectly as he slides out of you, removing his fingers from your clit at the same time.

You come to a realization then, “Wait, you didn’t come,” you murmur, and Sebastian has a mischievous sparkle in his eye that makes you think he held himself back on purpose. You’re proven right when he suddenly slides down your body, hands prying your thighs apart before settling on your hips, holding you open like his very own buffet.

He lets out a long sound, like he still can’t believe you’re right here in front of him, and then his mouth is meeting the slick folds of your pussy. The timespan between your first orgasm and him now feasting on you has your mind reeling, blissfully going numb as his warm, wet tongue licks into you.

“Sepe,” you whine, having not yet decided if you could handle another orgasm so close to your last. He parrots your name back, the vibrations from his voice rumbling pleasantly. “You can take it,” he coos, hooded eyes watching your face as his lips now fully latch onto your clit. He sucks, steadily picking up the intensity until your thighs are shaking uncontrollably.

He doesn’t stop, not as your cries grow louder and you subconsciously try squirming away from him. He just holds your hips down, anyways. As his tongue joins the mix, dipping down to flick at your nub suctioned in between his lips, one of his hands moves down to dip two fingers into your folds.

Sebastian groans at your wet heat enveloping his digits, already greedy for the feeling of you squeezing his dick again. Then he starts thrusting his finger, timing it with the flicks of his tongue, and then you’re coming all over again. “There you go, such a good girl for me,” he praises as your pussy spasms, eagerly lapping up your juices like you’re his favorite meal.

Oh god. You are officially fucked-out. You definitely have a bad case of sex-for-brains. You can’t think beyond the sensitivity of your overwhelmed nether regions, and yet as Sebastian crawls up your body for the third time you can’t help but have your legs fall open to welcome him.

This is new for him, too. Sebastian’s endurance is extraordinary, yes, but he never really let himself use it to his full extent with you. Now, though? He wants to explore the thrill of dominance, of controlling you when everything else in his life slips through his fingers.

Against his will, he thinks of his team for a moment. It’s still too raw of a feeling, he finds, hating the way disappointment and frustration bubbles up inside him. Sebastian swallows roughly, squeezes his eyes shut as if that would help block out the sound of the final buzzer ringing in his ears, and then kisses you to distract himself.

As he lines himself back up with your entrance, you both find that the energized tension between you has cooled significantly. Sebastian is less restless and jerky with his movements, and your desperation has cooled as your legs wrap around his waist. He whimpers into your neck, then, his arms curling under your back to press your bodies even closer together.

Your roles switch, and you whisper sweet and dirty nothings into Sebastian’s ear as his hips roll into you. The head of his cock scratches that delicious part inside of you, and soon your words turn into gasps which are music to his ears. One thrust has you squeezing him particularly hard, and his rhythm stutters. “Fuck, you feel amazing,”

His lips form into an o-shape, and suddenly he finds that his high is coming (hah) much quicker than expected. He expresses such, or thinks he does, because all you do is moan in response when his thrusts pick up speed.

He wants to send you into your third orgasm before letting go himself, and even though Sebastian has been rather selfish tonight, one thing that would never change is that your pleasure would always come before his—no matter what.

“Gonna come for me?” Sebastian teases, lips managing to curl into a brief smirk before you’re squeezing him again, wiping it right off his face. “Yeah? Look so pretty taking my cock, baby,”

“I’m close,”

“I know. Let go for me.”

And let go you do. You seize up, not for the first time tonight, before shuddering with full force in the wake of your third release. Your vision goes white in time with the ringing of your ears as you’re consumed in it, feeling too much but also not enough at the same time because your boyfriend is a force you could never get sick of.

Your walls are squeezing Sebastian like a vice, and it only takes him a few more thrusts as you ride out your orgasm before he’s falling into his own. He groans from deep in his chest, arms shakily moving to rest on either side of your head as he buries his own in your neck.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as his dick pulses inside you, pumping you full of his cum while you shudder beneath him. It fills Sebastian with a primal sense of satisfaction, knowing he’s claimed you from the inside out.

You’re his, still repeats itself in his mind on repeat, until both of your bodies are spent and he’s rolling off of you exhaustedly. You’re still panting when he turns to look at you, and without hesitation he pulls you into his chest so you can rest your tired body against his.

It takes you a few minutes until you can muster the energy to move, and when you do it’s to tilt your head up to look up at him. You murmur his name, quietly, lest you disturb the fragile peace the two of you find yourselves in. “Sepe?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you feel better?” It’s a loaded question, you both know, and he takes a few minutes to think about it.

Sebastian’s body feels better, yes. It’s limp, relaxed, the achy tension long-gone from his muscles. The moment he first sank into you he felt immensely better, actually, now that he thinks about it.

His mind, however, is a completely different story.

Colors of red, orange, and blue flash behind his eyes; the colors of his jersey and the opposing team’s, with the haunting sound of the final buzzer still playing in his memory. He thinks of the anger, of his teammates’ faces as they marched defeatedly into the locker room.

No, he thinks with sudden clarity. No, he doesn’t feel better. Sebastian doesn’t say this though; it probably isn’t the answer you want to hear, considering how you explored a new aspect of your relationship tonight.

You know, though. You always know—Sebastian is your better half, and you can understand him more than your own self sometimes, now being one of those moments.

“I love you,” you say after several minutes of silence. Your declaration - the first of the night, he suddenly realizes - says everything he needs to know, about how you feel for him and that he has your support no matter what.

Sebastian swallows, finding that his throat is parched. Lying naked under the sheets, vulnerable and oh-so-exposed, he lowers his head to kiss you sweetly. You mold together softly, and a low rumble can be felt from his chest as you gently nip at his bottom lip.

He is a man of few words, preferring to show his feelings with actions rather than words and this just happened to be one of those moments. He loves you so much, more than words can describe, his lips say, before they gently part from yours.

You admire him in his full glory before he opens his mouth to speak. His hair is incredibly ruffled, from both your hands and the game he played, his full lips swollen red from your kisses, and his eyes have a light sheen to him that suggest he’s more emotional than letting on.

Sebastian raises a hand to your cheek, large yet gentle palm caressing the soft skin as he gazes at you like you’re precious porcelain. “I love you,”

Your lips break into a small smile, and then you’re curling farther into his chest. You’re far too comfortable to move, figuring aftercare in the bathtub can come later. For now, you’re content; your body is sated, and with his cum dripping down your legs you’ve never felt so full with love.

Sebastian knows he has hell to face tomorrow morning. He knows it, but doesn’t really care. For now, in the peaceful silence of his room with only the gentle sounds of your breaths to keep him company, he chooses to forget.

He’s only one man, after all. He can’t carry his team, but he can carry you.

A/N: This is the first time I've written in present tense, which was actually a lot harder than I thought because I kept using past tense action verbs 💀 it was a fun challenge though!! Hopefully my parents never ask me what exactly it is that I write about because. Uh. Yeah. Once again, please reblog and comment :))

────────────────────────────────

Taglist: @ballsakic @bbbbruins @kapriz0v @girlmeetsamerics @bbnhlqueen7 @iwantahockeyhimbo @sebbyaho @heatherawoowoo @matsbarzal @nillspettersson @teuvomakesmesmile @typical-simplelove @grittysbattinggloves @stars-canucks @nachodaze @besthockeyfics @sidcrosbyspuck @ilyasorokinn @ssebastianaho @sepeteuvo @drei-mrssvechii @tanninetanya @insomniren @hyppeln-agnes @canesqueen @the-jarvy-party @martynecass @yagetintoit @2manytabsopen @huggy-hischier4394 @diary-of-kk @estapa94 @spacesurfing @ellswilliams @pbandj14 @cixrosie @poufsouffle21

Add yourself to my 18- (SFW) Taglist here!

Add yourself to my 18+ (NSFW) Taglist here!

[thesummerestsolstice]

In my post about the strange residents of Rivendell, I mentioned a Feanorian die-hard and an old bodyguard of Thingol. I recently hit a thousand reblogs– which is amazing! So in honor of that, I'm writing their stories out. This is part one, I'll get the rest out over the next couple days.

The Feanorian Die-hard: Hrivossa

Maedhros' right hand at Himring, a dedicated captain with an axe and a burning hatred of Morgoth

Laiquendi former thrall, captured during the First Battle of Beleriand; when the Laiquendi king Denethor was killed

Was refused entry to Doriath after escaping from Angband– at this point, most escaped prisoners were thought to be sleeper agents sent to get information for Morgoth

Wandered for the next few years, mostly alone, occasionally finding Elvish towns that feared her because of the marks of Morgoth's torture and thought her one of his puppets

Ended up stumbling across one of Maedhros's orc hunting parties in the Early First Age, and jumped at the chance to actually fight Morgoth

Maedhros was also one of the only lords willing to help former thralls at that point; he gaze Hrivossa a new home and purpose, fighting alongside him against their shared tormentor

It's not hard to understand why she became so loyal to the Feanorian cause

This is also when she took the Quenya name Hrivossa, "winter wall," because she was as frigid and unbreakable as Himring's walls

(her original Nandor name is mostly for her close friends)

Between Denethor's death and hiding in Doriath with Melian instead of doing anything about Morgoth, Hrivossa absolutely hates Thingol

She's generally a cold person around strangers, but she warms up around her friends, and her wits and tongue are as sharp as her sword

Part of the general morbid humor culture that built up in First Age Himring

She does not have a soft spot for the Sindar claiming that the Silmaril belongs to them now

She does have a noticeable soft spot for small half-elves who keep pestering her for stories about what life was like in Beleriand before the sun and moon

She fought with Maedhros until the bloody, bitter end, being forcefully brought into the custody of Valinor's forces late in the War of Wrath

She was the leader of the Feanorian faction who chose not to submit to the Valar's judgement, or to willingly go to Aman to do penance

They generally made themselves trouble while in custody

To avoid any more ugly conflict, Elrond eventually took responsibility for this faction, becoming their lord (though Elrond did NOT become Lord of the House of Feanor) and promising to keep them from committing any more violent acts

Hrivossa and the others, all of whom had lived in Amon Ereb and helped raised Elrond, found this agreeable

All of these elves are still very much see Elrond as their Lords' child, who must be protected at all costs, so there's that

And that is the story of how Elrond became responsible for the remaining Feanorians, but only the really fucked up ones

Seriously, they don't do any other murders, but they do cause all sorts of other trouble

Also, how Elrond inherited one (1) extremely determined bodyguard

[emositecc]

God I fucking hate Victoria the crybaby so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every page she's in, every scene, every fanart, every comic, she's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass personality on her stupid green face. Absolutely no part of her ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. Her stupid fucking dress? Who the hell wears a dress like that. Her dumb fucking lizard tail? Her shitty, annoying bastard attitude ? The three thousand percent dumbass shitass fucking haircut that no woman has EVER FUCKING SHITTY HAIR DESING HAD IN THE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate her. I hate her so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a comic or a fanart of her, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Boo hoo, I'm Bitchtoria the fuckshit whiny ass woman, woe is me. PITY ME 😢😢😢😢". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like shrek but if shrek was written by vivziepop. Your dumb fucking hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking dress and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top shitty ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene she's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a walmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know she's just a shitty fucking sad woman in a stupid fucking fan comic, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate her. I hate hier on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the bitch wife is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate her so much. I hate her so, so fucking much. I want to light her ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat her to death with her own stupid fucking punchable face. I want to punch her to death. I want to bash her brains out. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that her existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional woman

you've gone on sending me these kinds of messages in my ask box everytime i've updated my comic, even mentioning r*pe in your latest ones. At first I thought this is a bit, but now i honestly dont know. I think you need help and for your own good and mine, I'm going to be blocking you.

This probably wont stop you from reading my comic in other platforms but if you still do, please refrain from messaging me or whatnot because I will just block you again.

okay, thank you.

^ and that's not even ALL of it.

there's like 50+ more

get help.

[starlightshadowsworld]

118 Atsushi: Just kill me, at least than I won’t be alone anymore.

Season 5 epilogue Atsushi, alone and glaring at Gozen with the wrath of a thousand suns.

Season 5 epilogue Atsushi: Missed me again! I thought this was the battlefield old man, and yet here you are acting like it’s a nursing home. Do you want me to hold the sword next time, because then you might actually get somewhere!

Current Atsushi has given up on life and Epilogue Atsushi is calling Gozen a wrinkly old bubble bitch.

How’d we get there I have no idea.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Hello! I was wondering could I get a Male Dornish Reader x Jaime Lannister, like they've been secretly courting each other and then get a stolen moment in the gardens together? Maybe smut with some fluff? Have a great day and ty! <3

They Don't know about Us

Pairing : Jamie Lannister x Dornish Male reader Tags: Secret romance , Fluff Word count : 760 Y/n: Your name  L/n: your last name

The gardens of  Casterly Rock were alive with the vibrant colours of spring, a stark contrast to the chilling politics of the court . The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses., but Y/N could hardly notice. His heart raced as he waited, concealed behind a flowering trellis.

He had taken to sneaking into the garden at dusk, a sanctuary where the whispers of the world dulled into the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of nightingales. This evening, however, the tension in the air crackled with a different kind of electricity—a thrill he had come to associate with one person and one person alone.

“Y/N, are you hiding from me or the watchful eyes of the court?” came a voice that was both teasing and smooth as silk. Jaime Lannister stepped through the archway, his golden hair catching the last rays of sunlight, casting a halo around him. His emerald cloak fluttered behind him, the Lannister lion emblazoned on its back, a heavy reminder of the family he bore yet often seemed to challenge.

“Perhaps it is both,” Y/N replied with a playful grin, stepping into view. His dark, sun-kissed skin stood in contrast to Jaime’s golden complexion, both men framed beautifully by the foliage. “Though, I fear it is not the court that would be most angry should they discover our meetings.”

Jaime stepped closer, deliberately invading Y/N's personal space, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let them rage, then. If they knew of us, maybe they would finally understand the meaning of true passion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in his throat at the weight of the words. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, bound by the desires that simmered just beneath the surface. “True passion, you say?” he mused, leaning back against a gnarled od, hoping to mask the heat rising in his cheeks. “And what does Lord Lannister know of such things?”

“I know more than you might think,” Jaime replied, amused but earnest. He stepped even closer, their bodies almost touching, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound surrounding them. “I know what it is like to want something forbidden.”

Y/N's heart raced. “Is that what you want? A Dornishman? Do you not fear the judgement of your family, of the realm?”

“Fear? No.” Jaime laughed lightly, a sound that made Y/N’s chest flutter. “I have faced down the Mad King, a thousand soldiers, and the wrath of my father. What can a few whispers do to me now? Besides, my heart is not easily swayed by the opinions of those too blind to see.”

Jaime reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's forehead with a gentleness that seemed out of place for the mighty knight. That simple touch ignited a fire within Y/N. He swallowed hard, his resolve wavering. “But what of us? We are… we are not free to love as we wish.”

“Let us steal what moments we can.” Jaime’s voice was low, like velvet, pulling Y/N further into the orbit of his allure. “Let the world conspire, we are not subservient to its will.”

Y/N looked into Jaime’s eyes, the depth of emotion stirring something within him, a wild yearning he had tried to deny. “Then tell me, brave knight, what is it you wish to steal?”

With a smirk, Jaime stepped even closer, their mouths mere inches apart as twilight descended around them. “A kiss, perhaps? Just one, before the world wakes to ruin it.”

And in that enchanted moment, with the scent of blooming flowers wrapped around them like a cloak, Y/N allowed himself to surrender to the spark igniting between their lips. He leaned in, capturing Jaime’s mouth with his own, soft yet electric, their kiss a promise of what could be if only for a heartbeat suspended in time.

The kiss deepened, two hearts beating in unison, a secret unspoken yet understood beneath the starlit sky. They could hear the distant sounds of the court’s revelry, a stark reminder of their reality, but here, now, in this haven of stolen moments, they were free.

As they pulled back, the world came rushing back, the urgency of their situation settling upon them with a weighty chill. “We should go before we’re caught,” Y/N said, breathless.

Jaime’s smile was that of a man unwilling to yield, even to reason. “Let them come. I am not done stealing moments with you, Y/N. Not yet.”

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

For your wounded heart

Pt.1

Pairing: Mizu x reader

Word count: ~2k

Notes: If there will be interest for it, I'll continue the story, because so far there isn't really a Mizu x reader going on lmfaoo but we'll seeeee

Ps.: Mizu's pronounce is he/him in this part

Here's Part 2

The molten gold disc of the sun slowly crept up the horizon, pouring gray onto the world from the darkness. It rose drowsily, languidly among the tall canopies, leaves lighting up as it projected onto them as thousands of thalers appeared next to the shining disk.

The songbirds ruffled their feathers — ready for the challenges of another day, and sang happily to their companions.

A strong draft escaped from under the wooden door, making the embers of the flickering fire dance before running through your covers.

The sudden cold bit into your skin; grabbing you from the realm of dreams, dragging you back to the world of the living with its icy fingers. You opened your eyes with a terrified sigh; waking up from the warm and caressing dream you pulled yourself under the covers.

Another day, another task ahead of you.

Wearly, you dressed up before trying to gather your belongings, which you would need shortly.

A scalpel, a knife, gloves and a deep basket soon graced your side as you set off into the awakening forest.

Three days ago, you were approached by one of the most influential merchants in town. His wife caught the chills-fever, which her priests had not been able to cure with any of their treatments. Realizing that needles, prayers and incense would not help here, the nobleman visited you the day before, when the noises of the market in the main square seemed to dull down, when you started packing your goods to go home.

It had been a long time since you were last offered such a sum - too long for your liking. Short of money - and because you would have faced the wrath of a powerful man if you refused - you accepted his offer to heal his spouse.

Early in the morning, when the rooster hadn't even crowed, you were already ready to go collect the ingredients for the potion.

The sharp autumn air crawled over your skin, penetrated your bones and breathed newfound strength into your heart. Listening to the soothing soft melody of the forest, you set off towards its thickets, hoping that you would find enough ingredients for your tonics today. Everything was ready to take care of the sick wife- all you had to do was get the hojicha flower, of which you had run out of stock a while ago.

Pulling your cloak tight around your shoulders, you stepped on the wet moss carpet, careful not to slip on the rutted ground. Soon the ground would start to freeze- you thought as you tried to remember which tree trunk you marked, where you should turn right or left to reach your usual harvesting location.

"If I want to have everything in the winter, I have to collect them in time..." You sighed, stepping over a taller ditch. "Maybe I should look at the market to buy seeds and-"

"To the best of my knowledge, you have to go the other way to the nearest market." A harsh, sharp voice spoke from your left.

You immediately screamed and if the cold didn't do it until now — the stranger who suddenly stumbled here had certainly frozen your blood. The pounding of your heart only made it worse as you spun backwards, trying to face the source of the sound. Your foot slipped and you fell to your knees, hitting a wet log while you turned your head trying to find the source of the sound.

After a while, three men appeared in front of you; one from the nearby bushes, while two crept out from behind the cover of the trees; like wild dogs lurking in wait for their prey.

"The lady must be lost, people can disappear quickly in the forest..." The other man nodded with a vile grin, rubbing his palms together while approaching you.

"Certainly, it is not recommended to walk alone in such remote places at the crack of dawn." The third man took over, turning his attention to the basket lying on the floor next to you. “It's better if we accompany you… so no one attacks you.”

"I didn't, I just-" You stammered, but your voice got stuck in your throat as the three strangers walked closer and closer. Their ragged and dirty clothes, their darkly glistening dreadful eyes ruled out that they were simple wanderers.

You ran into bandits on the road, alone, in the middle of the forest. Your heart was pounding in your throat and kept yelling for you to move, escape, run — otherwise you will take your last breath here forever.

Your eyes darted to your overturned basket – deep inside your knife was glinting in a cold light. If you could be fast enough to get it out of there...Fight for your life. You fight or you die.

But instincts were stronger than reason; the Gods opened a third way for you at that moment.

You pushed yourself away with your hands, your heels digging into the ground hard, almost scraping it up as you jumped up to run away like a chased deer. You could barely feel your legs, could barely breathe as you ran through the trees with all your might, jumping over bushes, rocks, and pits. With your heart in your throat, with the sound of the bandits' steps and shouts in your ears, you kept going forward, not even daring to look back.

Your ability to navigate had left you, you didn't even know if you were running towards or away from them, there was just the feeling that you still had to go, still run, still fight. If you stopped you were dead, if you fell you were dead, if they caught up you were dead.

A huge thorn bush appeared in front of you, too high and wide it would have been almost impossible to jump over it, to get around it; so for lack of a better option you tensed your muscles, pulled your neck in, closed your eyes and ran into the branches, shielding your face with your arms.

The pain that ignited in the darkness flashed through you as a hundred and a thousand spikes dug into your exposed skin; then you felt the ground open under your feet, suddenly you began to fall.

You didn't even have time to cry out when you hit the hard ground with your side.

Lying there injured and exhausted, with a bursting heart, you realized that it was all over.

You just sealed your faith.

Panting and choking from crying, you heard the rustling of the bushes behind you, then the trampling of feet.

"Here's the little slut" One of the men chuckled, but the cheering stopped almost immediately.

You did not dare to look up from the ground, did not dare to move; you were left lying on the ground trembling, awaiting death...

But nothing happened.

Another second, but there was only silence, no more footsteps, no giggles, no shouts.

Blinking away the dirt and blood, you looked from behind your lashes and then realized why you were still breathing.

The attention of the three thugs no longer plagued you. They turned almost motionless, to the left, watching ahead of them.

You followed their gaze and saw that you had fallen on a road. On a road where a fourth stranger was now standing in front of you.

A tall, lanky stranger in blue traveling clothes, the bamboo hat he wore pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

A stranger with a sword in his hand.

Suddenly everything around you seemed to be silent; the chirping of the birds died away, the trees and twigs no longer creaked and cracked, as if the wind itself had stopped to watch the unfolding scene.

Not wanting to break the silence, you stared at the fourth stranger, holding your breath, wondering what would happen now.

Was that your savior ahead of you? Or was he just a wanderer who didn’t care what troubled others, who would only solve his own problems, regardless of if he made others ill-fated? Maybe you got out of the frying pan into the fire?

"There's nothing to see here." The nimblest bandit growled, a rusty knife in hand. "Everybody's minding their own business, right?"

"This matter belongs only to us and this woman, there is no need to cause difficulties for anyone." The largest one with a long mustache spoke slyly, the one closest to you clutched a heavy cudgel in his fist, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped it.

The blue-clad stranger didn't answer immediately, instead tilting his head to the side, he peeked out from behind the brim of his hat, flashing his yellow-tinted glasses in the light.

"Looking at you, I suspect you are road thugs." The sword bearer spoke, his voice softer than you would have expected. "You rob those who come here." His words didn't seem like a question.

At this, the third man - the fox with a smile, who had a katana, spat down his side stepping forward in front of his companions.

"If you want good for yourself, you turn back or walk past us without another word." He snapped in his raspy voice, grabbing the hilt of his sword as the other two tensed with their weapons as well.

Barely able to handle the shaking and the hitching of your breath, you lifted your torso off the ground with challenge, turning to the blue-cloaked stranger desperately.

"Please…" Your voice trailed off as sobs broke from you. "Don't let me die, please!" Your voice cracked; hot tears washing away the mud and blood from your face. "Help me, please!"

The lanky stranger moved his arm back, revealing the hilt of his sword as he reached towards it with his right hand.

You inhaled through your teeth when you heard the deep clang of metal and clattering footsteps as the bandits charged towards him.

You dropped back down, pulling your knees to your chest as the battle began. Only daring to watch the scene from the cover of your arm.

The swordsman reached first the blue-clad savior, swinging an upward blow from the left, but his sword met another steel.

The man in the hat drew his sword from the sheath with the speed of a viper, breaking the first attack with almost no effort. Before the thug could react to it, the man was already flying to the ground, his legs entangled as the blue clothed one pushed him away to answer the next blow.

The rusty knife reached him second, and while his companion seized the stranger with his blade, he thrusted his knife towards your helper's neck. The cloaked man shoved the katana wielder away with his foot as he turned his torso to the side, the knife still flying towards him mid air.

Taking advantage of the movement, he turned to the right, placing one raised foot in front of the other, cutting across with his blade in front of him.

In a blink of an eye, red rain shot from the arm of the knife-wielding bandit - the sword almost cut his arm off. He staggered with a sharp wail, then fell to the ground, where he continued to shriek.

The one with a cudgel on the other hand did not attack yet, instead he stopped from a decent distance so the sword of the man in blue could not reach him, seemingly considering his next moves.

But this proved to be only a distraction when the first attacker reappeared, this time springing into action behind your savior's back.

The one in blue could hear this, as he turned to the side keeping an eye on both of his attackers, but then the largest started to move suddenly in order to attack at the same time with his other partner.

Seeing the impossible situation, you already had the mental image of the swordsman slashing your savior while the other beat him to death with the heavy club — you whimpered in terror, burying your face in your arms to shield yourself from the sight.

You heard a shout and the clang of steel meeting again, something heavy falling to the ground. A dull, more watery pounding - the cudgel! Bubbling, frothy snoring- a moan of agony and then silence.

You were next, you were sure of that.

Sharp cuts, bone-crushing blows and then slow, lingering death awaits you.

But there was no movement, not even a single grunt from the fight.

Panting, you raised your head to shorten your wait, but you did not find yourself facing the person you were waiting for.

You caught the gaze of the blue-cloaked stranger. You watched with a dry throat and roaring head as he stood over the three bloodied, dying bandits, his sword still clutched in his right hand.

The bamboo hat was no longer on his head, it probably fell off sometime during the fight when you weren't looking, and now was lying at his feet, waiting to be dusted off and put on again.

But instead, the stranger staggered, his knees buckling as he took two steps forward, finally slumping forward onto the ground, leaving you alone in the field of vigilance.

[afghan-blood]

i saw your post about arranging your bookshelf :) may i ask if you have any book recommendations? 🤍

of course! 🤍 since i don’t know what kind of books you read, here is a list of my fav books from each book genre:

classics:

pride and prejudice by jane austen (fav book)

emma by jane austen

the art of war by sun tzu

the book of disquiet by fernando pessoa (not really a classic, just an autobiography; collection of his thoughts)

faust | and || by johann wolfgang von goethe

the metamorphosis by franz kafka

the little prince by antoine saint-exupéry

the sandman by e.t.a. hoffmann

romance books:

book lovers by emily henry

better than the movies by lynn painter

the deal by elle kennedy

the final offer by lauren asher

heartless by elsie silver

reckless by elsie silver

when he was wicked by julia quinn

twisted games by ana huang

king of wrath by ana huang

king of pride by ana huang

a spanish love deception by elena armas

the hating game by sally thorne

sad books:

the kite runner by khaled hosseini

a thousand splendid sounds by khaled hosseini

the book thief by markus zusak

dark romance books:

the sweetest oblivion by danielle lori

the maddest obsession by danielle lori

corrupted chaos by shain rose

god of wrath by rina kent

the predator by runyx

brutal vows by j. t. geissinger

fantasy books:

harry potter by j. k. rowling

frostblood series by elly blake (3 books)

evermore series by alyson noël (6 books)

bride by ali hazelwood (also romance)

***************************************************

i guess that’s it for now haha, i have a lot of books on my tbr that i haven’t read yet 🥲

if you have further questions, let me know 💌

[jeannineee]

Umbra et Ventus (Ⅲ)

Azriel x Reader

a/n: part 1 here. part 2 found here.

warnings: canon-typical themes, allusions to PTSD. Descriptions of blood, gore, violence. Reader was enslaved on the Continent, so there’ll be some description of that in this part.

requests are open, for headcanons or short blurbs/drabbles! Love you guys!!

“Focus, girl,” Amren hissed at you for the hundredth time. Part of you wished that your so-called power actually existed, if only to throw her ass over the nearest cliff.

The two of you had been at it all morning. You sat on the hardwood floor in the living room of the House of Wind. Amren stood across from you, repeating the same words: Focus. Breathe. Feel.

So you tried. You remained on your knees, palms upturned, eyes shut. You centered yourself, breathing slowly, steadily. Each attempt led you to a desolate part of yourself. A hollow space in your soul, long since forgotten.

And in that space, there was a kernel. A small, silvery flicker. But each time you reached for it, it strayed further. Just out of reach.

Scowling, you stood, bracing your hands on your hips. “What is the point of this?” You said to Amren. “You’ve known me for all of three days. You are second in command of the Night Court, and I am a nobody refugee. What is the point? Why me?”

Amren stared at first. Her gaze was almost terrifying, but you did not balk. Did not waver as you asked again, “What is the point?”

“The point, girl,” Amren began as she stood in front of you. “Is that your power is unlike anything I have sensed in my fifteen thousand years.”

You had to fight the urge to let your jaw drop to the ground. Fifteen thousand years.

Amren continued, “And I do not think it is mere coincidence that emissaries from the Continent show up, requesting the refugees be returned to them only days after you show up in Velaris.”

‘Them.’ Their masters. Their owners.

Your heart fell to your stomach. How had you not heard about this? You’d been in Velaris for almost two months, and yet—Madja. She’d kept this from you. To keep you from breaking any further.

You had the vague sense that Amren was speaking to you. But you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think beyond the roaring in your head. Hundreds of half-fae and humans alike have sought refuge in Velaris. They fought and bled for their freedom, only for it to potentially be stripped away again?

Images flooded your mind, from your time spent in the slave camps of Vallahan. Half-fae and humans of all ages, broken and abused. The Overseers; faces full of wrath and disgust and hatred.

Your ears rang with the cracking of whips. The screams of the dying. Your own screams, as you were chained to that post and beaten and—

“Y/n.”

You remembered the smell of blood. The smell of rotting flesh, as your dead kin laid in the sun for days before being put into unmarked graves.

“Y/n.”

You snapped back into reality, knees almost buckling at what you saw. The room looked as though someone had ripped it apart. Now-tattered books, strewn across the floor, wooden shelves and tables in splinters.

Amren, who you were almost certain never showed any surprise, was wide-eyed as she observed you. Upon meeting your eyes, she said, “That’s one way to do it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Wind and lightning. Though you saw none of it, felt none of it. But Amren swore it surrounded you in those moments, as your mind took you to places you never wanted to be again.

Sometimes, emotion can drive one’s power, Amren had said. We’ll learn to draw it out without it.

When you demanded an explanation as to what Rhysand and his Inner Circle planned on doing in regards to the emissaries from the Continent, Amren merely invited you to the next meeting. Which wouldn’t be for another week.

In the hours after you left, you’d tried over and over again to summon your power. You failed, miserably. So, you spent the rest of your evening at the Infirmary.

At least you were good for something.

Madja left you to your own devices, allowing you to tend to several patients—faerie and human alike; most of whom needed minor fixes. Fevers, muscle pain, nausea.

You worked and worked until the events of that morning were an afterthought. Until all you had to worry about was tending to each patient, and their needs.

Just one more patient for the evening, and then you could—

“Hello,” the spymaster of the Night Court greeted with a smile. He looked tired, more than what he usually seemed. Exhausted, even.

“Azriel. Are you alright?” You internally scolded yourself as the question came out. Obviously he wasn’t, if he was at the Infirmary.

Azriel smiled again. “I’m fine. I’ve been having headaches.”

“For how long?”

Azriel chuckled. “Centuries.”

“And you’re just now choosing to be treated for them?”

“They were manageable, before.”

“How long ago did they begin worsening?”

“About two months ago.” Azriel explained everything to you: the frequency of the headaches, the location, pain levels.

You left for a few minutes, returning a small tin. Azriel quirked a brow as you handed it to him, before opening it, revealing the salve inside. “This is supposed to help?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes. It has peppermint and rosemary; both are effective at alleviating headaches.”

Azriel still didn’t seem convinced.

“Here, let me…” You dipped two fingers into the salve. Without thinking, you began gently rubbing it into his temples.

Azriel stiffened at first, but relaxed within seconds. A small sound came out of him, almost a purr. You smiled to yourself, continuing to apply the salve. “You’ll do this every morning and night, just for a few minutes.”

Azriel nodded in response. He looked almost offended as you pulled away, as though he wanted you to keep going. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“You might also consider getting enough sleep. Lack of rest will absolutely trigger headaches,” you said.

A smirk from Azriel. “How would you know if I get enough sleep?”

You smiled. “Takes one to know one.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes raked over your form. Something buried within you sang at the gesture, but you shoved it away, clearing your throat. “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, before standing.

Mother above, did he tower over you. He stood less than a foot away, now. Close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Amren said you put on quite the show this morning,” Azriel said, his voice a bit lower than before.

“Did she?”

Azriel hummed. “The living room was no longer livable, when I arrived home this afternoon.”

Your face flushed. Azriel’s amusement increased at the sight of it. “It’s alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Amren and Cassian have torn apart entire buildings over mild disputes. You’ll fit right in.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but stopped short as one of Azriel’s shadows snaked up your arm, twirling around your hair; a gentle caress.

It was Azriel’s turn to flush. “I’m sorry.”

You grinned. “No need to apologize. I think they like me.”

Azriel studied you, the smallest smile gracing his lips. “Most people fear them.”

“There’s nothing to fear about them,” you replied simply. “They’re apart of you.”

“They are. Always will be.” The shadows slithered away, returning behind his shoulders. Azriel bowed his head in thanks. “Thank you for the salve.”

Azriel left before you could say anything more.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

Zhongli is my comfort blanket. I just can't imagine this character treat me badly and hurt me, but I can 100% imagine reader being yandere towards them.

You absolutely loathed to hurt him in any way. He was the sun in your sky, the dazzling gem you traded your soul for. It was only expected for him to cherish you, treasure you in that same way. He always looked at you so apprehensively, like he could read your mind.

You promised to never hurt the innocent people of Liyue, even if they were terrified of you and trembled in fear whenever you stood beside him. You and Morax once had a contract. That was, until he chose to break it. Did he truly not have a choice? Were you the lesser of two evils, so he could only disappoint you? It doesn't make the sting of betrayal any more bearable.

From the moment you laid eyes on him, your devotion to him was unshakable. You could die for him. You could denounce the world and forsake all your kin for him. Yet he chose to forsake you.

You were completely justified in chaining him up like this. He looked so hopeless, so infuriatingly submissive in these pretty chains. His once-flawless body was covered in bruises and gashes, drizzled in shimmering gold like some sadistic piece of art. Not a patch of ummarred skin could be found, save for the area around his once-striking eyes. They were no longer the brilliant gems you coveted, but dull and lifeless rocks.

Maybe he feels remorse, maybe he doesn't. It doesn't matter anymore. Because he's the god of contracts, he willingly allowed himself to be sealed away and be subjected to your torture. Every second of everyday, you wouldn't fail to remind him that he had made the wrong choice. You were different from Morax. He honored his contracts because he had to. You honored your contracts to him because you wanted to. That was simply no longer the case. He needed only to stab you in the back once for you to stab him a thousand times. You would have him watch what he chose over you crumble into sand and fall apart over and over, until the day your wrath finally subsides.