#Hollow Mountain Walk

[travelmanposts]

Hollow Mountain Walk, Grampians National Park, Australia: The Hollow Mountain Walk, Grampians National Park, starts near the Hollow Mountain Carpark, on Mt Zero Road, leading up to the mountain peak and back. Explore the Grampians on this trail that takes you up Hollow Mountain, presenting stunning views of the rocky landscape all the way up... The Grampians National Park commonly referred to as the Grampians, is a national park located in the Grampians region of Victoria, Australia. Wikipedia

[leyiorr]

i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

[imjustreadinglmao]

BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Cab Calloway - Minnie the Moocher 1931

"Minnie the Moocher" is a jazz-scat song first recorded in 1931 by Cab Calloway and His Orchestra, selling over a million copies and was the biggest chart-topper of that year. "Minnie the Moocher" is most famous for its nonsensical ad libbed ("scat") lyrics. In performances, Calloway would have the audience and the band members participate by repeating each scat phrase in a form of call and response, eventually making it too fast and complicated for the audience to replicate. The song is based lyrically on Frankie "Half-Pint" Jaxon's 1927 version of the early 1900s vaudeville song "Willie the Weeper".

"Minnie the Moocher" was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999, and in 2019 was selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" by the Library of Congress.

In 1978, Calloway recorded a disco version of "Minnie the Moocher" on RCA Records which reached number 91 on the Billboard R&B chart. "Minnie the Moocher" has been covered or simply referenced by many other performers. Its refrain, particularly the call and response, is part of the language of American jazz. At the Cab Calloway School of the Arts, which is named for the singer, students perform "Minnie the Moocher" as a traditional part of talent showcases.

In 1932, Calloway recorded the song for a Fleischer Studios Talkartoon short cartoon, also called Minnie the Moocher, starring Betty Boop and Bimbo, and released on March 11, 1932. Calloway and his band provide most of the short's score and themselves appear in a live-action introduction, playing "Prohibition Blues". The thirty-second live-action segment is the earliest-known film footage of Calloway. In the cartoon, Betty decides to run away from her parents, and Bimbo comes with her. While walking away from home, Betty and Bimbo wind up in a spooky area and hide in a hollow tree. A spectral walrus—whose gyrations were rotoscoped from footage of Calloway dancing—appears to them, and begins to sing "Minnie the Moocher", with many fellow ghosts following along, during which they do scary things like place ghosts on electric chairs who still survive after the shock. After singing the whole number, the ghosts chase Betty and Bimbo all the way back to Betty's home. In 1933 another Betty Boop/Cab Calloway cartoon with "Minnie the Moocher" was The Old Man of the Mountain.

Calloway performed the entire song in the movie Rhythm and Blues Revue (1955), filmed at the Apollo Theater. Much later, in 1980 at age 73, Calloway performed the song in the movie The Blues Brothers. Calloway's character Curtis, a church janitor and the Blues Brothers' mentor, magically transforms the band into a 1930s swing band and sings "Minnie the Moocher" when the crowd becomes impatient at the beginning of the movie's climactic production number.

"Minnie the Moocher" received a total of 71,1% yes votes!

[jpitha]

Hunting

It is unlikely that humans are the only predator species to achieve sapience in the galaxy.

In order to be a successful predator one has to be intelligent enough to learn your prey's movements and be able to think ahead to what they're going to do next but also be flexible enough in your thinking that you can improvise if the situation chances. If you don't have this elasticity, you won't be a very successful predator.

Humans are very successful predators.

****

Greg bent down low and spoke as quietly as he could to the worried Sefigan next to him. "I need you to stay as still as you can. I'm going to go around, and try and surprise the Gren guarding the exit."

The three Sefigans, caught between wanting to obey Greg and staying silent but also trying to communicate that they thought it was suicide to do so started shaking.

"No, no, it'll be fine. I've been watching him. He's not really paying attention." Greg stood silently and put one finger to his lips, then smiled.

Moving much quieter than one would think given his mass, Greg crept away, hunched down just a little to keep motion out of the tops of the bushes they used to hide. The Sefigans watched in horrified fascination as Greg would take a few steps and then freeze, not even breathing while he watched the Gren.

As he walked, he made no noise at all over the soft sand, his feet finding purchase slowly. The Sefigans, a small furry prey species from a rocky mountainous world felt very old fears from the most early parts of their brains while watching him hunt the Gren.

The Gren guard was panning slowly as he guarded the exit, his fur flat, his eyes dull and his mouthparts drooping. If one knew a bit about Gren physiology one could easily see that he was bored and tired. His shift wasn't due to end for another 3 demi-cycles and nothing usually ever happened on this exit.

When Greg was no more than 2 meters away, he reached down and picked up a stone, no larger than a comm badge. He raised his arm and in one silent fluid motion, tossed the stone high and far over his head, to hide its origin. It clattered against the wall on the far side of the pen, opposite to where Greg was standing. The noise and motion caught the Gren's eye and his whole body swung over to where the stone landed.

His back was turned to Greg.

Greg bent his legs low building energy and took two steps and lept onto the Gren's back. His higher mass bowled the taller but much lighter Gren over and the Gren's head hit the stone with a hollow thwack.

Greg jumped up off the Gren and checked him quickly. He was dead. Trotting quickly over to where the Sefigans were still hiding he motioned for them to follow.

Still terrified, they followed this... ambush predator they were scared of and by the time they reached him, he had gotten the comm out of the Gren's pack and was fiddling with a ring that had complicated studs all around it, fitting them against the door until one clicked and the door hissed open.

Minutes later they were all running across the desert to the canal below where they had hoped to cling to the side of a barge and float to the spaceport.

"Human Greg! Human Greg!" The smallest Sefigan called as they jogged down the sandy hill towards the canal.

"What is it Li? Can it wait?"

"That was amazing! I've never seen a human hunt before! Is that how they all do it?"

"Not really? Humans developed as persistence hunters, not ambush hunters, but as you well know, skills can be taught."

"Persistence hunter?"

"Yeah, my ancestors would pick an animal out of a herd and run after it. As long as we didn't overexert ourselves we could just... run until it died."

The three Sefigans looked at each other as they jogged. Greg wasn't breathing heavily as they went towards the canal, but all three of them were nearly at their limit and would need a long time to rest when they were safe.

"Human Greg, you scare us." The tallest Sefigan looked back at the holding compound and then back at Greg. "But, not as much as we were scared of what the Gren would have done to us."

Greg smiled showing his wide, large, white teeth. "In this world, sometimes you need to be scary." He looked at the canal. "Come on, the water isn't too cold, let's get in and swim towards that barge. It's not too far."

[cutieeva]

Returned Home

Female reader

Warnings : Death. Murder.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

What happens if the person you love went missing and suddenly reappear in your doorsteps ? Because (Y/N) doesn't know how to react.

Knocks at the door were light at first, almost like a whisper before turning into frantic and loud like screams that (Y/N)'s sleep broke, a whine slip past her lips not loving the thought of her rare sleep intruded, all after that incident she almost at the verge of becoming the shell of a human, always worrying, little guilty yet hollow the entire time. Perhaps time will heal her wounds and pause the bleeding unfortunately not the knocking because it keeps increasing in alarming amount. She thought in her daze mind, wrapping a soft cloth around her nightdress she step out of the sofa, how tragic despite having warm bed, beautiful home with many rooms the only place she fell asleep was on the sofa in living room in front of the still on TV which is repeatedly showing some episodes of only murders in the building her mind has almost memorized.

"Coming !" She yell, messaging her forehead, feeling her head burn from both the torturous knocks and the stress of what if the twins wake up. Her feet drum the white tiles walking towards the front door and finally her eyes open to peek at the peekhole for safety. Huh ? She rub her eyes once more to peek yet why all she can see is black ? Her fogged mind question not still awaken from the slumped when she flinch feeling the knocks vibrate the door so closely.

"Who is this ?" Her voice stern, not fearful she could have been if awake, adamant to not open the door. Silence replies her. No voice only silence along the knocks. Her eyes narrow feeling her body ache from pain and the headache worsen. "These children". Her neighborhood is fill with all age children and unlike her sweet twin angels, these ones are the demons, the one she was thankful to not have. Oh, remind of her babies, what time is it ? Her eyes glance at the clock on the wall 7:00 am, whoa ? Which child is playing pranks at her doorsteps instead of being in school ? Oh ! Today is Sunday she forgets.

Must make breakfast she thought, her lips shaped a yawn about to walk away from the door "It's......me". Her heart sank, breath sucked. "(Y/N)". She remembers that voice, her whole fabric of being knows that voice, the voice she heard, whisper sweet nothings, laughs loudly, quick to anger, arrogance in his speech. In a second her hand having a mind of it's own, touch the shivering cold doorknob, twist it to unlock and swing open fast enough to not gave chance for the creaking noise.

Revealing the visage of none other than her husband, Vesper Rufus who is missing for two months after the alone trip to mountain.

Munch ! Cracks ! The noise of his devouring simple milk with cornflakes sends strange feelings within herself. Sitting across the dinning table of her husband who's black shirt made her recall it's original color white with his pale skin painted in faded marks of nasty bruises and bite marks belonging to animals, even insects she suspect, a grime cast her face merely thinking of what he went through to be alive in that forest where no police, forest rangers, rescue rangers even herself couldn't find. Hell, the helicopter wasn't of helped. Her eyes then slide below his body that is hidden by the counter where his pants are in the same condition, grey pants painted in coal. Her head span to her behind looking at the door to see no shoes of his as she found him barefoot with crimson hue smeared over his feet.

Click ! Her thoughts snap at the noise of his meal finish turning her vision to his face, dirt, scratchs cover his blemished handsome face. A smile lift those once perfect plump lips now dry and chapped. A happy sparkle in those pools of eyes she fell for that with time and marriage forgetton to dust leaving only a usual reflection of hers she used to bore before he went missing. Suddenly a yearning ache pull her body towards him, stand down from the metal chair, silently cross the line of space and stood under those eyes. Immediately she was hit by the smell of dust, rot, filth yet without a second she throw her arms around him, surrounding her body into his and hug him tightly, the cold body.

Her eye lids cover her vision, soaking into the frosty embrace and slowly she sense his arms embracing her back, gently to tightly and burying his face into her curve of neck like she was his roof, her shelter he just been gifted.

"Where were you these two months ?" Tears she thought were dried roll down her cheek, her voice soft. "The kids were crying". she added flood with the images of her twin sons wailing at the first news of their father might never returned as the police declared him dead saying no man has the capacity to survive in that stormy mountain more than two weeks and he was missing for two months. Perhaps they didn't found the body because the wild nature covet him or the animals feasted upon him. She likes to think the former. But now she knows, she knows they didn't find his body because he was alive all along.

"Children ?" She felt him title his head in her neck. "Ah ! Children, the twins". His voice muffed and horse like decades of out of speech. Softly like she handle her flowers she lean away from the embrace regardless of his hands still on her waist.

"You remember who am I right ?" Vesper nod like a good man he never was.

"(Y/N) Rufus, my wife, my soulmate". Those sharp onyx eyes that slice her heart multiple times tendered looking at her as if for the first time seen her, feel and stare so intimately at her. Never did she thought the gaze will be directly to her again after their dating phrase pass into the marriage years.

"And about the children ?" She ask, tip toe up to him, pressing her body, her breast to his and lips inches away. Intoxicated he looked, like sipped a bottle of beer he drunk with pink tints on his cheeks to ears, falling in her spell as if for first time he fell in love.

"Leo, Felix". Breathless he answered, leaning closer to her, brushing his lips with her yet not closing the gap. Why ? She wonder because never did her husband cared for her consent. If his sexual desire awaken he will use her like a escort not a wife. From the beginning he announce his ownership on her like she was a object and her past self mistook it as romantic and after marriage she was a servant. Never a wife, was a lover.

Maybe that's why his missing didn't pain her as much to shed a single tear until now when he is different, his warmth disappear, his arrogance fended leaving a stranger in her arms and she still kiss the stranger. Her lips collide his and it confirmed more. How naive his kiss is like he is exploring her, knowing her for the first time unlike him, who knew her like the back of his palm or— perhaps it's his self pleasure he knew like the back of his palm. Never hers, not after their marriage. The brand of ring tied their fates together as well as ruinning.

Not a hint of bad breath or taste she felt oddly, rather bitter taste of nature hits her when their lips met, at first like a careful of understanding he press their lips hard before she open her lips, giving him the space to enter and he mirrored it, like a learning child slide his tongue, following his guts and savoring her hotly, a contrast to his frosty body. Tips of tongue tease her inner flesh as he wish like she is his salvation before harshly mushing their body and lips more near than humanely possible, with brim of desire and addiction he bite her lips, tongue tenderly, exchanging sliver salivas and breathing heavily like he was suffocated yet not ready to leave as he continue to drove deeper, deeper into the mouth and (Y/N) felt being devoured by a predator not her husband who never with such passion held her, gave her pleasure.

Heart racing and breath threating to stop she ripped herself away, coughing fits at multiple times and drinking water unlike him, his lips hanged open, eyes beastly nothing similar to the sparkly happiness and red blush adore his pale skin. Their eyes met and without another warning he smashed their lips.

"You are so sweet, so deliciously sweet". Mumble his horse voice in the kiss, eating her lips like she was a dinner, shamelessly staring at her while invading her mouth and she let him, kiss her as if her being was the only source of meal. Been ages did her husband desire her such as this moment not to mention it proves more he wasn't her Vesper and it brought her nothing apart from relief.

Suddenly he paused, eyes wide and grip tighten. She slowly freed her swollen lips yet dig the knife deeper in his back. Yes, while he was under the spell of his lust, she went near him— more like near the knife set and stab him at his weakest moment.

"Who are you ?" Calmly she asked, hearing the thrives of her knife twisting his skin, flesh yet no trickle of blood bleeding. Strange she thought glances up again meeting his blank face. Not the agonizing look of a man being stabbed. Not her real husband who's eyes were betrayed, tears sliding and blood bled from her mouth like a fat fish squeeze out of it's body as before.

"Who the fuck are you when I killed my husband with my own hands ? When I buried his body under the soil of that mountain ?" Gritten her teeth, the mask of calmness cracked as she pulled the knife out desire to see the blood bled out of the man she loves so much, devote her life, birth children cutting from her flesh yet he cheated on her bluntly and gaslit her when confronted and spiral into questioning her own sanity. However no blood slide, no scarlet paint his pale skin.

"How ?" She whispered, in more disbelief of him not bleeding than her dead husband who she clearly murdered after planning thoroughly knowing his plan of visiting the mountain which he lied saying he is going alone when in reality his mistress and him will intertwined in ways she can't imagine and follow him before the mistress meets him and killed him brutely, stabbing him fourteen times in his entire body leading his death due to blood loss and burying deep into the soil that took hours only to return home unscathed.

Erriely quiet the stranger wore her husband's skin stare at her angered ones and part his lips. "I see, no wonder that was the most gruesome body I ever seen—" The raspy voice slowly get used to speech pause and (Y/N) sense him debeating. "And wore". The end words was something she couldn't swallow, couldn't avert eyes nor run hearing the conformation in his own voice.

"Who are you then ?" She tremble. He notice.

"Who am I ?" He tilt his head mirroring a clueless being. "Who am I ? What am I ? Doesn't matter because what am I isn't what suppose to exist yet I do and now I am your husband yet not. The body is his, yet what inside is not". Game of puzzle he answered. "I won't die, never bled nor need of humane things. I am of a being neither alive nor dead". Neutral his voice rang her ears echoing inside and frighting from the laughable answer but she knew better to laugh. No other way could her husband retrieve from dead than be possessed by something inhumane, abnormal like the myths tales of creatures she heard.

"Then, will you kill me ?" She let go the blade that isn't even paint in blood, shining her terrified reflection as it was fell on the floor with a biting click.

"No. I like you". A short answer relief her stress a little. "You taste sweet, you smell sweet and you are sweet. I want to cherish you, kiss you like I did. I want to claim you mine". Chanting every word he pepper kiss over her skin. Worshipping, caressing each curve, drinking her making her visible relax and something in her tells it's safe. He is safe—to her. Why ? maybe because her husband terrifies her more than a creature from tale.

"And my children ?" Her words carefully used. Her, not their. He halted in his actions. Inhaling her fabric when he reunite their lips again.

"Not them. Because they are ours. You are my wife, my soulmate and they are our children". Yes, it is because the moment he smell of unwelcome human scent in his home, he prepared to feast them, chew their bones and if unlucky torture them until they beg to death however it changed finding one glimpse of the beautiful woman bearing bloodlust and hatred the creature swore he saw her shining upon a halo and the way of her body soaked in blood of the man's arouse humanely needs he never felt apart from endless hunger. This hunger was different, pleasureful he seen these humans do sometimes before their withered body aside inside his stomach.

He watched the angelic woman, the lymph of paradise left the man buried and he walked out of the shadows to the place the man is under, saw his belongings along his address and the lymph is his wife— (Y/N) with twin sons. Good she killed him before he had to and now she is his, her children is his, all of her is his alone.

Tiny groans, tapping of floor steal their attention and (Y/N) watched her children wore night outfits walking towards the open kitchen, rubbing their hazy eyes.

"Mama I am hungry". Her three old years son said, the older one between them.

"Me too ! But I want pizza". The younger twin said, opening his eyes only to widen and grasp loudly. "Papa !" Following a joyful scream his tiny feet ran to the stranger wore their father's skin and the older twin also stare, face brighten in happiness the mother didn't saw since he was missing. His body was thrown to their father too and unnatural, his arms touch them back, still glancing to see (Y/N)'s visage than theirs.

Touching his familiar face, she caress saying "Yes, papa has returned home". The man lean in decided not the say one more thing, actually the real husband she killed was alive the time he was standing above the ground however he killed him again. For good and twice his death was before taking his skin.

"Indeed I have". Smiling crazily. "Returned home".

FIN

[serialkilluh1996]

MY ☆𝐊Ö𝐍𝐈𝐆☆ HEADCANONS

SFW; no ratings or warnings, not proofread

SWEETHEART, NO HEART OR MIDDLE?

Is König the emotional type?

In my opinion? He's not a bubbly sweetheart, but he is FAR from a no heart.

He's not all lovey dovey on the surface. He doesn't like small talk. He doesn't like seeing people he recognizes in public, and he doesn't like confrontation.

König doesn't have the "uwu im so shy" social anxiety. He has the "it physically pains me when I have to speak someone and it causes violent intrusive thoughts" social anxiety. He never acts on it, of course, but social interaction makes him sick. There's a select few people he actually enjoys speaking with, and you are number one on that roster.

You'll start to notice he gets more talkative after a few weeks of knowing you, and he's more open to meaningless conversations because no conversation with you is meaningless to him. He actually enjoys when you ask him stupid questions.

CLASSY OR MESSY?

Is this guy willing to get his hands dirty?

He's naturally classy. He won't go out of his way to be messy, but he's no pretty boy either. He doesn't like mud on his boots or dirt under his fingernails. He's a very precise man. But he can get behind it every now and then.

I think he'd enjoy going on long walks in the woods to give his legs a good stretch. I don't think he'd mind spending a few hours disconnected from the rest of the world, somewhere out near the mountains. But anything further, such as hunting, you'd have to convince him to do, which doesn't take much work either. And he loves rough housing with you.

König likes tussling and tumbling in the bed like puppies til one of you eventually gets tired. You usually give in first, as he has seemingly endless stamina, but God, does it take long. He loves how long it takes for you to give up. Resistance means he's got a challenge, and you're the only one who brings out his competitive side. He's only pushy with those he's close with, so it takes a lot for people to convince him to go out for bowling or something like that.

WHAT'S HIS FAVORITE DRINK?

What does König like to drink?

He's a pretty thirsty guy, so anything that can properly hydrate him is a go-to. You'll notice when he takes you on rides that he keeps 2 liter water bottles in his backseat for emergency purposes.

It's why he wears his cargo pants outside of work. He's got pockets big enough to carry drinks all over.

Water is his favorite. He's the #1 water apologist. He's so crazy about it that he has a favorite kind of ice. Not the regular cubes, but the hollow nugget kind. He silently rejoices when restaurants and bars put it in his drinks.

And don't even get him started on juice. Orange juice, apple juice, grape juice, lemonade, the list goes on. He keeps the fridge filled with it. He'll typically drink it as a reward after a long day or in the morning once he's eaten something. It's like a little treat. König loves fruity shit. Smoothies, milkshakes, cocktails, all of it. It's why he just HAS to keep so much water on him, or he'll dehydrate.

PHYSICAL TOUCH?

What's his stance on physical touch?

It gives him the same feelings as conversations. It feels like hell. He's not a touchy-feely man. Handshakes, shoulder punches, getting pat on the back. He goes through it pretty often, and it makes him unbelievably uncomfortable when his coworkers do it. He doesn't want to seem rude, as he's already a scary guy, so he never fully expresses his issue, but anyone who can read eyes knows that bothered look. When he scrunches his nose and he winces with unease.

As he gets closer to you, he gets less tense about it. He's more likely to make the first moves and actually start giving hugs without being asked. He'll be all in your head, only stopping after you scold him for messing with it. He likes it when things are too high for you. Instead of grabbing it himself, König will pick you up, lifting you high enough to get it yourself just for a reason to hold your waist. He's pretty huge, so under regular circumstances, he's too tall to reach anything past your breast without bending over.

FRESH OR FUNKY?

What does he smell like?

Fresh. As hell. Man spends at least an hour and a half in the shower. The way it feels against his skin is just so mesmerizing. He loves hot baths and soaking in bubbles. On some days off, he'll go to the sauna with Horangi, but that's only after he's been begged and nagged into compliance.

König has a specific apple-scented soap he uses at night and a cinnamon wood soap for the day. He's likes to keep a different smell throughout the day to set his mood. Call him a pretty boy, but he just likes self care to a certain extent, and smelling good boosts his confidence.

NICKNAMES

Does he like nicknames?

He's neutral about them. Of course, he prefers calling people by their proper names. He's not against it. He's used to being firm and strict because of what he does, so he does his best to come off as sweet with what he calls you.

He puts his on swing on them. He likes teasing you for how much shorter you are than him. Yeah, everyone is shorter than König, but that makes it even funnier to him.

Kleine Frau is his go-to because he knows how much it annoys you to be referred to as a little woman. Other times, he'll just refer to you as some small animal or creature.

Things such as Maus, Haschen, and Schlumpf (Mouse, Bunny, and Smurf) are usually terms he saves for when he's trying to flirt with you, but in the end, they only piss you off, earning you some pathetic little apology where he actually refers to you as Schatze, liebling, or meine liebe; the usual terms of endearment.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself. If you liked this, I recommend checking HERE for more König content <3

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

I think we need more true form sukuna and chubby concubine 😌😌😌😌😍😌😌😌😌

CW: chubby fem reader, true form Sukuna (two cocks), smut, blowjob, reader can take Sukuna's full cock in their mouth, reader has hair that is grab-able, face fucking, mentions of vaginal and anal penetration, lots of cum, nicknames (pet, minx)

───────────────

He's not sure when you first joined his harem—he doesn't keep track of trivial things like that—but he definitely remembers your first night with him.

You were drapped in fine silk fabric, hair down, rouge on your lips and cheeks. You looked like a doll as you walked toward him, and all he could think about was how he wanted to ruin you just like all the others.

You undressed, as you were told by your handler, and got down on your knees before him. He knows you were trained to wait for his orders, but he's in a cruel mood tonight and decides to make you wait, hoping to see you squirm.

You don't though. You just sit there quietly, spacing out, in your own little world as he stares down at you. He frowns, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

"Come closer."

You do as you're told, crawling closer to him, slotting yourself between his spread legs. He pulls down his pants, his two cocks bouncing out, barely hard and yet already intimidating.

"Worship me," he demands. You don't hesitate.

You're already sitting up, leaning in, grabbing a cock in each hand. Your chubby hands looked so small in comparison. You stroked each one up and down, alternating how your hands moved, gently pinching the thick tips. You moved closer, lips gently pressing against the head of one cock, your thumb rubbing the slit of the other. A sweet moan rumbled through you, vibrating against his tip, making him harden completely.

You pulled back, a red lipstick mark left behind, and the king of curses felt himself leak onto your fingers. You willingly licked it up, placing another kiss on his shaft before moving to the other, leaving behind lip marks in your wake.

"You call this worship? I've seen humans worship their nonexistent Gods better than this."

"How would you like me to worship you, my lord?" Oh, your voice was honey sweet. He wanted to hear you cry out his name to the heavens.

"Take me in your mouth," he commanded, grabbing his lower cock and directing the tip toward your mouth, smearing the head against your lips. "Show me how much you want me, need me."

You complied, loosening your jaw and taking the head into your mouth. Your tongue twirled around the tip of his cock, sliding along the thick vein on the underside. You inched forward, taking in more, breathing deep through your nose to relax your throat. You reached halfway before you paused, pulling back to slurp at the head before taking him back in, going further. In fact, you were taking more of him than any other concubine before you had. How were you able to swallow so much of him?

Sukuna drew in a slow breath, eyes growing hazy as he stared down at you. One of his hands reached down to toy with your hair, marveling at it's texture, so unique compared to the others. Where did they find you again? Living near the mountains with goats? In the last village his followers pillaged?

He was pulled from his thoughts when you suddenly reached the base of his cock. You paused there, your throat constricting around him, your chubby cheeks hollowed out. You gazed up at him, those doe eyes sending a wave of heat to his belly. His second cock throbbed against your face, precum leaking onto your forehead. You hummed, nuzzling into his cock before pulling back, diving forward again and engulfing his dick. He couldn't hold back the groan building in his chest, his four eyes glazed over as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, his second member rubbing against your face with each movement. The friction was delightful, making him throb, making him ache. You just started and yet you were making him tremble as if you'd been edging him for hours.

You started going faster, taking him in again and again, drool pooling around your lips. Your lipstick kept leaving stains behind, a red circle forming at the base of his cock.

He grabbed your hair, pulling you up from his cock so only the tip was inside your mouth. He kept you there for a moment, watching your eyes gaze up at him before he pushed you down on his cock, making you take him to the hilt. He pulled you up and pushed you down over and over, using you like a toy for his own pleasure. His cock continuously filled your throat as he fucked your face, stretching you out, making it hard to breathe. The constriction of your esophagus felt heavenly around him, dragging him to his peak whether he wanted you to or not.

"Fuuuck, that's it. Take it, take it, take it—"

Your mouth felt so fucking good, so warm and wet, taking everything he gave you. He thinks he might actually be satisfied with a concubine for once. He'd never had someone take his cock like you did, never had his cock sucked on fully. He wondered what your pussy would be like. Would you be able to take all of him? What about your ass? The thought alone made him burn up, one cock traveling down your throat as the other ground against your soft, plump face.

It wasn't long before he felt that familiar build up of pressure, his abs and thighs tensing as he reached his climax. He pushed you down on his cock completely when he came, spilling his seed down your throat as well as onto your head. His warm cum slid down your hair and forehead, getting in your eyes, dripping down your cheeks. He pulled you off once he was empty, examining the damage he had done. Your entire face was covered in his sticky cum; any cum you didn't swallow was dribbling from your mouth and down your chin. Sukuna chuckled at the sight, taking two hands and wiping your face clean. Once he had removed most of his seed, he brought his hands before your mouth. You took the hint, licking up everything on his fingers and palms.

"Mm, what a good little pet you are," he hummed, petting your head like a dog. You licked the leftover cum off of your lips, waiting for his next command.

He kept a hand on your head as he leaned down, reaching between your legs. He peeled your pussy lips apart, dipping a finger inbetween your folds.

"My, my... look at how wet you are. All this because of sucking my cock? Naughty little minx."

He pulled his hand away, licking up your slick from his fingertips, moaning low. You tasted good.

"What now, my little pet? You know I'm not fully satisfied, so how will you please me?"

You tensed, standing up to your full height, still paling in comparison to him. You turned and walked toward the bed in the middle of the room, crawling over it on your hands and knees. You leaned forward, reaching behind you and pulling your ass cheeks apart, presenting for him. He could see how slick you were, could practically smell you from there.

"Well, that's certainly a good start."

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[flametrashiraarchive]

So, since @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi fed me real real good with her Muzan smut I wanted to write something in exchange, and as per usual I got carried away and the Giyuu "blurb" I promised became nearly 3k words of smut and feelings.

Stay With Me

Giyuu Tomioka x F!Reader. Childhood friends to lovers. A lot of handholding.

NSFW below the cut. MDNI

It began innocently. 

You and Giyuu were just kids, given barely enough time to catch your breath and begin processing your grief after final selection when you were sent on your first mission together. The fight was messy and hard. Other slayers died. You survived, and that was a burden you both would always carry.

By the end of the fight, the pair of you were so exhausted you could barely stand. Giyuu's sapphire eyes stared at the snow-covered ground as the demon's body crumbled to ash and was lost to the wind. Your comrade’s bodies remained along with the guilt. The weight of everything sat atop you both, crushing and relentless; the loss and responsibility far too great for hearts so young to bear. 

You were hurting but so was he. Giyuu’s heart has been hurting since the day he emerged from that accursed mountain and stood unblinking in the wisteria grove. Back then you hadn’t known how to comfort that scared, silent boy, but as he sat beside you on that first mission, you reached out and offered him simple solace. You held his hand.

“Giyuu,” you said, “stay with me. It’ll be okay.”

His hand was small and trembling back then, calluses barely formed and skin peeling where the hilt of his blade had rubbed away the top layers. The skinned peaks of his little knuckles broke your heart, even though your hands were just as small and battered.

His hand just hung loosely in yours as you curled your fingers around it. But he didn’t try to pull away. He simply let it be. 

You kept a hold of his hand all the way back home.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly as you finally parted ways at a fork in the road. Those were the first words he had ever spoken to you.

As he walked down the road toward his village, your hand flexed around empty air. You missed the warmth. 

The next mission you were sent on together ended in much the same way. And the next. And the next. 

It became a habit. He would come to your side when the fight drew to a close, his hand nudging yours, inviting you to take it. He never spoke much– which you didn't mind at all; his presence was comforting enough for you. Some said he was weird. Others that he was too haughty to speak. You quickly silenced those whispers. 

Giyuu was just quiet and sad, carrying so much on his shoulders. And though you barely knew a thing about him, he was your friend. So, after every mission you found yourselves on together, after every death, you held Giyuu’s hand.

But the years passed and he climbed the ranks faster than you did. The silent boy became a stoic man; his hand feeling larger, rougher, and heavier after every mission. Before long your fingers couldn't surround his fully, but you still tried. And despite the strength of his grip on the hilt of his blade, he remained passive in the gesture, his fingers never once curling to squeeze yours.

Then, Giyuu became a Hashira, tasked with eradicating demons far stronger than you could even attempt to fight. Your missions together grew fewer and farther between.

You missed him; missed the weight of his hand in yours, the constant comfort of his presence, the deep blue shade of his eyes. A hollow, almost painful feeling surged in your chest wherever you thought of him, but there wasn’t time to dwell. There were demons to kill, lives to save. You took the ache and pushed it down, burying it beneath your responsibility. 

And then the time came when you were charged with leading a squad of lower rank slayers on a mission. Your quiet friend was engaged elsewhere, and at that point you hadn't seen him for months. Perhaps you never would again.

You tried not to think about him.

The mission went badly. Your entire group was wiped out. All of them, even the kids you'd silently sworn to protect from harm. The grief and the guilt were crushing. If only you'd been a split-second faster, if only you'd stood an inch the the left, if only your instincts hadn't told you to duck.

You sent your crow to fetch help, and tortured yourself with what-ifs, sitting on the earth in that forsaken forest. Waiting… surrounded by shrouded little figures. Two days later a troop of kakushi arrived to clean up and recover the bodies as you stood numb, staring… lost.

You were so close to disassociating entirely that you almost missed the glimpse of Giyuu's haori in the corner of your eye. Even when you registered what you had seen, you doubted your senses. Why would he be there? There was no need for a hashira; the demons were all gone. But no… your grief-stricken mind hadn't lied. He was there. For you. 

He approached you silently, standing by your side, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand. A moment later he curled his fingers around yours, firm, reassuring, but so gentle.

"I heard what happened and came as soon as I could,” he said. 

"I should have protected them." Your voice trembled.

"I know it hurts. You can't blame yourself." His hold on you tightened. "Not even for a moment."

"Giyuu–"

His lips parted for a moment at the sound of his name coming from your lips, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Come with me."

Down the mountain he led you, away from the horrors, his hand cradling yours the entire way. His grip never once faltered. Even when you reached a village tucked away among the foothills. He brought you to a house whose door was painted with a wisteria seal. 

He had the mistress of the house fetch a doctor to check over your injuries, which were miraculously minor, and told her that yes, you would require food and tea when you couldn't summon the words yourself. To your surprise, he knew exactly how you liked your tea brewed and what foods you liked, even though you had never talked about it. It seemed he had paid close attention to your preferences over the years. 

He stayed by your side, guiding you gently through that difficult day. When the time came for you to rest, your hands remained linked across the space between your futons.

The sounds of his soft, slumbering breaths lulled you to sleep. And for the first time you could remember, you slept well.

When morning came, you awoke to the warm, comforting security of his embrace, your face pressed to his shoulder, and his fingers still entwined with yours. Sometime during the night you had rolled across to his futon and burrowed into his arms. 

With a gentle murmur he began to wake and opened his eyes a little; a sliver of deep blue appeared half-concealed beneath his thick black eyelashes.

His breath audibly caught in his chest at the sight of you curled against him, but he didn't move. Neither did you. 

Giyuu's shallow breaths fanned across your brow as you gazed into his eyes, caught in the duality of wondering if you had unintentionally crossed a boundary and feeling as though you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

"Is this okay?" you whispered.

He nodded once, and his hand gently tightened around yours. "Please… stay with me."

Heart thrumming against your ribs, you raised your interlocked hands to your lips and pressed a slow, tender kiss to each of his scarred knuckles. “Always.”

A sharp exhale blew across your forehead. You heard him swallow before he mirrored the gesture, his lips brushing against your aching hands, as soft and tender as new leaves warmed by morning sun. And when he had kissed each knuckle, he pressed a long, slow kiss to the pulsepoint of your wrist, closing his eyes, pulling in a deep breath.

Outside the world carried on as normal; birds sang, people chattered, carts rolled down the streets, but in your shared sanctuary everything changed. You repaid the kiss to your wrist with a kiss to his shoulder. He gave you an achingly soft kiss to your temple. You pressed your lips to his cheek, and he exchanged it for a kiss to the very corner of your lips which curved into a smile to mirror his own.

You were both breathless, pink-cheeked and dizzy with trepidation as the space between you closed and he touched the very tip of your nose with his. The warmth of his breath against your lips stirred up butterflies in your stomach. The hazy, almost drunk look in his eyes made your chest tighten. 

Bringing up his palm to cup your cheek, he stroked his thumb along its curve. He closed his eyes and kissed your lips; softer and lighter than mist at first, then deeper, and deeper. You might have missed the quiet moan which escaped him if not for the vibration against your fingertips which pressed lightly to the hollow of his throat.

Kisses cascaded between you, each deeper than the last. Giyuu moaned again as you slid your tongue over his bottom lip, opening his mouth to permit your entry. With every new sensation he grew bolder, pressing his body against yours, sliding his hand down to your thigh to hitch it over his hip, rolling you onto your back with his weight and pressing you down, once more interlocking his fingers with yours.

The soft smile Giyuu had given you as you exchanged kisses faded, replaced by a silent intensity as he rocked his hips against you, shivering at the sensation. Both of you were clad in thin pajamas, and the shape of his body, as well as the heavy swell of his erection were unmistakable. He groaned as he felt the intoxicating heat of your pussy through your nightclothes, both of you desperately craving closeness in any form. 

“Please…” he whispered, the only word his mind could summon as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, fighting with the compulsion to keep rubbing his cock against you.

Heat tingled on your cheeks as you nodded in consent. “Yes.”

You were no less desperate, wetness soaking through the fabric of your pajamas as he grinded against you again. 

You were both functioning on instinct as you pulled off your shirts, and Giyuu’s lips closed around your nipple, lapping at it with his tongue. He lifted his hips and the pair of you pulled down his pajama pants, freeing his erection. It wasn’t the first you’d seen, but it was by far the prettiest– gently curved toward his belly, crowned with a sweetly blushing tip and adorned with serpentine veins. It was also the largest you’d seen. By a long way. 

He must’ve noticed the widening of your eyes, or the trepidation written across your face at the sight of it, because he released your nipple and glanced down with a worried expression which made your heart ache.

“You’re big,” you explained, wrapping your hand around it and giving him an exploratory stroke. 

A choked cry burst from Giyuu’s lips as his cock twitched against your palm and a white rope of cum shot from the tip, spraying over your stomach. He hurried to clean it up with his pajama shirt and collapsed into you, burying his face against your neck, red with shame and arousal. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh, Gods, I didn’t mean t–I’ve never felt anyone touch–”

“Giyuu…” You placed your hand on the back of his head and stroked his hair, gently and shushing him. “Stay with me, it’s okay.”

His breaths blew hot and heavy against your collarbone, each one accompanied by a ragged whimper until the sensation of your fingers threading through his hair calmed him. “I don’t think I’m done,” he said, lifting himself up and glancing down at his cock. He was still erect, a pearl of cum dripping from the tip. “I…don’t want to stop… please…”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure. Please don’t stop.”

You smiled and spread the cum over the blushing head with your thumb, arousal flushing your chest as his face darkened and his eyes fluttered shut. As much as you craved his touch, watching Giyuu fall apart was the most beautiful and delicious thing you had ever witnessed, and a part of you wanted that again and again. 

But Giyuu’s fingers gave yours a reassuring squeeze and then let go. He drew back away from your hands to kneel between your thighs. Inch by inch, he removed your pajama bottoms, kissing every bit of skin he exposed; your lower belly, your hips, your thighs, down to your knees. He removed the garment completely and glanced at your rosy face before his gaze fell reverently to your pussy. 

His lips were maddeningly soft as he kissed your cunt slowly, his tongue delving into your entrance as his groan curled your toes. His eyes flicked up to you, gaging your reaction before he traced the shape of your pussy lips, with his tongue. After each experimental caress his eyes returned to your face, so desperate to please, to give you everything he could. 

He lapped his tongue against your clit and your hips bucked toward him. “Fuck, Giyuu– that... Gods, yes–!”

Oh, there was nothing of the shy, quiet boy in his eyes then. Seeing your reaction, knowing he was pleasuring you well, tilted his lips into a smirk before they returned to their newfound purpose of driving you to absolute ecstasy. The blush on his cheeks spread as he licked at your clit, breaking away to breathe and circle it with the tip of his nose before continuing his kisses. His hot, wet mouth against your slick skin applying such divine pressure you couldn’t help but place your hand on the back of his head and sink your fingers into his thick, black hair, silently encouraging him to go on.

His name tumbled from your lips as you fell apart, grinding against his mouth. He savored every drop of your essence. Everything was new and fascinating to him; the way your thighs tensed and trembled, the powerful throb of your muscles as you rode the waves of your orgasm. He adored it. He wanted to give you more. More pleasure, more kisses, more love. He needed it. 

 As you came back down to earth, Giyuu kissed your pussy with such affection and tenderness your heart ached. He desired you, deeply and truly.

“I want–” he began, losing his voice to his shaking breath. “I want to be closer to you… can I…?”

You sat up, still trembling, anchoring your hands on his shoulders as you kissed him. The taste of you remained on his lips, mingled with the comforting scent of him. You wanted it too. You needed to be closer, to feel him inside you. 

Pulling him back down, you stroked a hand up the back of his neck as the other pressed his cock between your folds, coating the tip of it in your slick before pushing it into you.

Despite the fact he had already cum, he was entirely unprepared for sensation of fucking you. His back arched, pressing his pelvis firmly against yours, bottoming out in you suddenly and eliciting a cry from both of you as his feet slipped against the futon for purchase.

“F—fuuuck,” he gasped, lowering his head and gritting his teeth as his arms trembled beneath him. It was all too much. 

His body pressed to yours entirely, craving intimacy and closeness. He didn’t thrust–he couldn’t– he simply ground his hips against yours, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit as he gasped and the crease in his brow grew deeper. He was hanging on by a thread, overwhelmed and desperate to hold on, to make it last, to–

“Giyuu,” you whispered, placing your hand on his, “stay with me.”

He nodded, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling in a breath. “Always… always.”

You held each other’s hand; that simple, innocent gesture of love and comfort, now more meaningful than ever. For years you had shared grief and guilt, loss and loneliness and the sweet comfort and solace you found in each other. And now you shared this. 

Giyuu Tomioka, that quiet boy whose hand once trembled in yours, now held firm and just as securely as you did him.

[chibsandchill]

See me

Fandom: Saltburn 

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader 

Summary: Each room in Saltburn is bursting at the seam with memories with you, and Felix remembers some of his favorite moments as he makes his way to his prize. 

Warnings: Felix, Mentions and descriptions of acts of violence and murder, NSFW content, MDNI, 18+, unreliable narrator (Felix), toxic relationship, obsessive tendencies, grammatical and spelling errors, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), Felix is a creep, themes of violence - self-harm and equivalent themes are prevalent through the imagine, some parts of their dynamic takes inspiration from Hannigram but with my spin on obsession

I am not responsible for your media consumption. Read the tags. 

MDNI

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It’s a cloudy day when Felix first saw you,

but with you came the sun, 

warmth, empathy, love. 

Oh, how he loved your heart. But, oh, how careless you were with it. It was a gift, 

one meant for him, 

from you. 

Then why did you waste it on those beneath you? You chipped away at it to mend sobbing students, tore at it until it bled and thick scars rose like mountains. You took on their pain with a blindingly bright smile, 

only Felix saw how their burdens weighed you down. 

The sun was meant to warm, to burn from far away, 

but they tore you down from your place in the sky so that they might leech your warmth until you are left barren. Their sorrows were cold as ice against you. 

They stole you from him. Piece by piece they ripped at you with filthy nails. You became known on campus as someone who’d listen. Who wouldn’t judge. How could you when you felt their problems as if they were your own? The more they spoke those words dripping with poison, the more they tainted the very blood in your veins with their darkness. 

‘Walk in their shoes’. 

You didn’t need to. You could walk in their skin, feel their emotions as if they were yours. Heartbreak plagued you, sorrow fell on you like an ever present shadow. The death of a family not yours turned your face gray and your eyes misty.

Until Felix put a stop to it all. How could he stand by and watch it happen? The slow destruction of a bright star, who burned so bright that all envied it. 

Jenny from history of art, Carl from math, Robert from physics, Matilda from psychology, Caroline, Jeremy, Han, Thomas, Harry, Derek, Henry, Linda, Nico, Mark, John, Hans, William, Frederic. All turned away at your door. 

“Yes, I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Oh, how they believed his lies. Sweet, sweet, Felix Catton wouldn’t lie to them. Surely not. 

But lie, he did. It spewed from his lips like honey. All to have his sun beam at him again. To wash away the taint of the others from your skin, your heart, your eyes. He would have you look at him with soft, relaxed eyes. 

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Your protector. Even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“Felix.” 

He hummed. 

Your eyes are heavy with sleep when you look up at him, but the affection is hard to miss. It makes you glow. Felix curled his arm further around you, bringing you closer to him. But even then it is not close enough. He aches. It’s a want deeper than skin, deeper than bones or even his soul. It was as if his very being was made of want, of longing so intense he was blinded by it. If God was indeed real then he had created Felix with a thread laced with obsession, with love transcending all else. 

Even thinking about you made his heart race, pound. 

“Can I braid your hair?” 

“‘Course.” He said against your skin. 

As if you needed to ask. All of him was yours. 

You try to sit up but Felix isn’t ready to break the contact yet. He feels like a battery, no matter how bizarre a comparison it is, constantly needing to be recharged so that he might survive when you part. He’s constantly cold without you, he feels empty; hollow. His hands are too light with the lack of you, he breathes too easy without the weight of you on his chest. If he could he’d carve his heart out so that you could carry it with you, for that was how he felt anyway. He’d gouge himself hollow so that he could fit you inside. Never to be parted again, joined together by shared blood, flesh and bone. 

It’s not easy with his hold on you, but you manage to shift so that you sit in his lap instead. It’s not ideal if you mean to truly braid his hair but Felix won’t complain. He pushed his head into your touch when your fingers hover over him. 

“Patience.” You half-heartedly scold him. 

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scratching just right against his scalp. With deft hands you untangle the mess you’d created during the night. There’s not much to braid but more than enough for you to wrap around your fingers and tug. The action pulls a low groan from his throat. 

He grabs your hips. Felix wonders if you’ve noticed how he’s caged you in. You probably don’t, as sweet and trusting a being as you surely wouldn’t peel back his layers to gasp at the thriving darkness beneath. With you he was his truest self. Could you see him? Would you run if he were to cast off the layers? Let you see him? 

Maybe you already could. You had seen the others. Even the empty ones, the ones who had gouged themselves hollow and shoved the essence of what they thought he wanted until it spilled from every hole in their body. 

Felix wasn’t hollow. He was bursting at the seams with life, same as you. And yet you stayed. Surely you knew. You had to. You and he were one. Two pieces of a whole finally reunited. 

He breaths in your scent, noses along your throat before allowing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. There’s a bruise there hidden on your shoulder blade. Late one night when you’d already fallen asleep he mouthed it into your skin with the moon as his witness, 

only, 

it had started to fade. 

He’d have to do it again. Closer. Marking you under the cover of darkness wasn’t enough anymore. An unspoken claim didn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t enough. He was beginning to think it never would be. He could bruise every inch of your skin with his love and his skin would still itch to do more – to prove himself more to you.  

Just as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of your ass the scene slips through his fingers like sand. 

He blinks it away. He’s standing in the driveway of Saltburn. Your favorite statue is left in shambles on the gravel with his blood splattered across the white marble. 

“What the fuck.” Felix’s hand shakes and burns with pain. His knuckles are split open. 

It had been a slip of a thought he had once when you first came to Saltburn and you’d taken to leaning on the statues, the furniture, walls, pillars. He’d wanted them all gone. He’d be your pillar. He wouldn’t crumble with age, would never make you think they stood strong only for the core to be riddled with holes from pests.

Felix was whole and strong, had made himself such, 

for you. 

He’d burnt the tendrils of influence his mother had dug into him since childhood. Torn the threads of her darkness right out of the tapestry. Oh, how she cried when she noticed. ‘Felix,’ she’d whispered, a rare show of emotion plastered across her face, ‘what have you done?’. 

She shouldn’t have worried about what he had done. No, she should’ve worried about what he was going to do. 

He watched you for weeks before approaching you. He noticed what made you laugh, what made you smile, frown, scowl. And so he took that too. Cut out the parts of himself that would drop the smile from your face and sewed on the parts that he lacked until he was left a patch-work version of perfecting befitting a Mary Shelley novel. Pus and blood seeped from the stitches. The sight was unseemly. So he waited until he’d perfected himself, until the stolen was assimilated, until it was like another Felix had never existed. 

Felix throws the heavy doors open and the maids scurry away from his sight. 

Duncan emerges from the pack. Even after all he’d seen, his adoration for Felix remained. “Welcome back, Felix.” 

He nods. 

And then he’s off. 

The route he takes is reminiscent of your first tour of the mansion. He’s even nodding along as if hearing himself introduce it all. The staircase where he “fingered” his cousin. As if. Your face had reddened with equal parts jealousy and sheer disbelief of ‘what the fuck’. 

One of the smaller sitting rooms. The green one. He fucking hates that room. But you love it. He went down on you for the first time there. Right on the couch with his granny’s ghost knocking down a shelf of antique plates over his head. The blood had driven you crazy. 

The thought alone made him hard. 

But this was also the first room you’d held him properly in. He’d been crying. 

“What's wrong?” You ask when he threw the door open. 

You’d been doing some summer reading for uni, but your fingers clutched the opening pages with strength that betrayed your pounding headache. 

“Fucking Ollie.” 

Your brows furrow “Oliver?”

Felix lay down on the couch with his head in your lap. You smell good. And you’re soft. 

“Yeah.” He sigh. “He was lying to us this whole time. Turns out poor Oliver Quick has both a dad and mum who loves him. Even siblings! They live in a lovely house in a picture perfect neighborhood.”

‘I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you!’

As if there was even a sliver of Felix that didn’t belong to you, that didn’t scream out for you every second you were apart. Had Oliver not been paying attention? Could he not see the need that permated him? It ran so deep, was so all-consuming that he couldn’t contain it all. He breathed desire, cried longing, even fucking pissed envy. Envy even over the very air you breathed, the clothing that hugged you, the sheets for the audacity to imply he wasn’t enough to keep you warm. 

You hum as your fingers drift down to cup his face. 

“He was in love with me.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” You joke. 

Felix’s eyes opened (he hadn’t realized he closed them). “You love me?”

“Of course.” You trace a scar on his cheekbone. 

“Say it.” 

“I love you, Felix.”

Even that memory fades, but your words linger. 

I love you, Felix. 

You always linger. Your kisses burn his skin and he wishes it left a scar so that he could look upon it and relive it all. 

The green room is abandoned quickly, and he’s off. 

“A blue room!” You exclaim, and to Felix’s displeasure you let go of him to take it all in. 

“Yeah. It’s… blue.” 

“What? No ghosts? No artifacts?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nope. Just blue.”

Felix sees himself leaning against the door while you spin around the room. It’s like a movie, almost. Only it’s his memories and he can remember every second he’s ever spent in your presence. Including this one. And the next one. 

The one where you’re on your knees.

You’re pressing soft kisses to the tip of his cock, pressing your love into every inch of skin you can find as if you wanted to stay there, to have your love replace the tar that ran through his veins. 

It’s odd. He can almost feel the tingles left by your touch, but he’s untouched. Felix’s hands form fists at the sight. Was it possible to be jealous even of himself? The envy boiling in his stomach certainly said so. He would not share you even with himself. 

Felix strides forward and sinks into the place his past self sits. He unbuckles his jeans and frees his cock from his underwear. If he were not so deep in madness he might’ve felt the cold of the room, but he was, and so he felt the warmth of your hands, the wetness of your mouth as you wrap your lips around his tip. 

He moans. He didn’t know what he liked the most about it. The vulnerability, the act itself, your presence, or that it left you with a part of him inside you. You’d kneel in front of him for as long as it took, but Felix would not have you be uncomfortable and so he slid a pillow under your knees. 

Your hands cup his balls. He twitches. You take more of him into you. It feels like heaven to have you wrap yourself around him. Wet, warm, silky heaven. All for him. 

Him. Him. Him. Him. His. 

You moan around him. It sends vibrations straight through him. It pulls a low groan straight from his chest, one that makes you moan. His pleasure is your pleasure, and your pleasure is his, and so the circle begins. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you begin bobbing your head up and down. You slurp. Electricity runs down his spine. It’s wet. Sloppy. Saliva drips down your mouth as you press your nose into his abdomen. 

Someone drops a plate somewhere in the house and the spell is broken. Not unlike a reflection in a lake is the memory distorted, wrong. You’re on your knees without the pillow. He’s standing above you, not sitting. Your knees are bruised and bleeding. You’re crying. 

Some small part of him, one that he’d allowed to fester for far too long, enjoys the scene. Enjoys the submission, thrives in the knowledge that it is not only he that longs and wants and would press and press until nothing remains if only to bring you a sliver of happiness. You smile around his cock. It’s not the pain that brings you to tears. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t him. It’s Elspeth messing with his head. It’s Oliver whispering his lies in his ear. 

He wants to vomit. Why would they punish him so? To make him see you hurt, 

to force him to see himself hurt you, brutalize you, 

humiliate you. 

Why, when he adored you, worshiped you. If there was a puddle he’d lay himself down to let you walk over him. He’d drown himself so that you would not have to dirty yourself. Like a tumor he’d performed surgery after surgery to remove what you didn’t like. 

And you did the same. 

The image is restored, but he’s already on his feet. 

He would wait no longer. 

Felix runs up the stairs but is forced to a halt by the moans coming from the king’s bedroom. Another memory? The door is already open. 

“Tell me your vows again.” 

You’ve got your legs up in the air behind you, head resting in your hands as you stare at him. 

“Dear,” Felix turns around from where he stood by the window. Your name sounds like prayer on his lips. “I’ve never been alone. People have flocked to me since before I can remember. But they didn’t see me. But you… you, I let you see me. It’s a rare gift. And it’s one that I’ve never regretted giving you. I’ve never felt more loved than in your arms. Do I need to continue, Mrs Catton?” 

You laugh. 

“Come to bed, Felix.”

The memory changes before he can enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress. The happiest day of his life. Gone in a blink. 

You’re no longer on the bed. You’re in his arms, crying yet again. There’s blood on his shirt. No finger graces your finger. Felix closes his eyes. He knows this memory. KNows very well what he’d have to endure to get back to you. 

“Y-you killed him!” You shudder. 

Felix shushes you. “There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Not this time." 

Truly, there wasn’t. You saw much, but Oliver was so good at pretending to be someone else that he even fooled himself into believing his own lies. And so, you thought nothing of it when Oliver offered you his bottle of wine. Had no idea of the drugs that he’d shoved in there. 

“Are you scared of me?” Felix asks you. His voice shakes. He remembers his own fear, how his stomach churned. He could write a thousand words and not even chip at the surface of the emotions he felt. A thrill at the thought of you finally seeing the deepest deepest parts of him? Disgust that he’d slipped and revealed a crack in his mask? Such fear that it clung to his very bones, stopped his lungs from working and had his own eyes water with tears? All true. And yet all of them are false. There wasn’t a single emotion he could place, they all blended together to form a concoction of heart-wrenching pain and fear. 

The memory fades away. He doesn’t remember the rest. All he remembers is how it ended. 

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his thrusts. His hands are cradling your face, kissing away the tears of pleasure. You push your legs up higher on his back where you’ve hitched them, your own hands pressing against his own face to bring him closer. He’s inside you but he’s not close enough. 

Felix leans down to cover your whole body with his. You squeak at the change. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back with a moan. 

He moves a deft finger down to press down on your clit. He experimented with pressure, directions, even spelled out his own name with your pleasure. Felix feels as though he’s on fire, but still he wants more. He wants to be closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. 

You clench around his cock, and he stutters. 

The love in your eyes makes him falter, before he drives into you faster than before. The bed squeaks, one hard thrust away from breaking. Fitting. So is he. Your right hand moved up his cheekbone, past his ear and to the back of his head. Your touch is gentle, barely-there pressure as you guide him down to slant your mouth over his. His heart aches with love, adoration, you. You’ve made it your home. 

Yet again he is denied release as the memory is gone. The room is empty. 

“Fuck.”

It’s not graceful the way he stalks out of the room. No more interruptions, he thinks. 

The last door in the corridor. Yours. And his. Your marital chambers, as Duncan would call it. Old fashioned bastard. 

He pushes it open without as much as a knock. And there you are. 

“Felix!” You cross the room in seconds and then you’ve thrown yourself in his arms. “We missed you!”

Your rounded stomach presses into him. He rests his forehead on yours, pressing long, soft kisses against your lips, even as you giggle and try to move away. When you do, he chases after you. He’s not done. Never done. 

His legs feel like jelly, his soul is on fire, 

but he finally found you.

In a house full of memories and vengeful ghosts he found you. 

And you saw him, as you always do, and he’s tugged back into bed with the comforting weight of you pressing him down into the mattress. 

And he’s almost content. 

Almost. 

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

[welcomingdisaster]

“Later we must go on a hunt,” Maglor says. He wants to blame the pain of his hand for the horrible hollow feeling in his chest. “We must eat well, to celebrate. It is done, is it not?” 

Around them the land is black. It smells of burning wood, of breaking soil, of war. Maglor shuts his eyes and bumps his shoulder into Maedhros’. 

“It is done,” Maedhros echoes. 

“I will find wine,” Maglor says, then, scrambling for his brother’s favorites, half forgotten, long-ago things, “honey-cake. For you.” 

“Yes,” Maedhros says, his voice distracted. The gem on his chest casts a light onto his face from below, uncanny. “Anything you want. Excuse me, I must walk.” 

Then he wraps his arms around Maglor, squeezing him tightly. Stays there a long time, kisses thrice Maglor’s hair. Mutters “thank you,” turns away, walking towards the mountains. 

Maglor thinks it a little odd. 

[perfectly-m1saligned]

K!nktober day 7

Following @dreamlandcreations prompt list. Day 7: praise kink. You can find all the stories on my Wattpad as well. Toodles!

(NSFW: MDNI!! Reader's discretion is advised)

Simon Riley x reader

(DadsFriend!Simon x virgin!reader) (Forbidden) (Age gap)

cw: oral (both receiving), cum on face, glasses kink (kinda), unprotected piv, virginity loss, creampie, multiple orgasms

word count: 3890

Summer break, that one month of the year you weren't too busy with uni exams and could actually come back home to your parents, your personal ambitions and their desire to see you succeed in life taking you away from them for the purpose of higher education, which they couldn't afford for themselves. Plus, your family always spent summer differently. No lavish beaches or fancy trips to the ocean, but up in the mountains in your cabin, relaxing away from the suffocating heat of the cities, hiking or simply lounging at home.

Your mum and dad, as always, had missed you dearly. You were their pride and joy, their little girl away on the other side of the country, studying to make a name for herself someday. It was only your first year, and you had visited often, of course, but it's hard to not miss your family, adjusting to adulthood and your newfound independence.

This summer, though, your dad had a surprise: Simon Riley. Your dad's colleague, a Lieutenant just like him, but in different divisions. You were familiar with Mr. Riley, his brown eyes had met yours for the first time at a winter ball two years ago, a few weeks after your 18th birthday. He had been a true gentleman that night, a kind heart hiding beneath the ink and the scars marring his skin. You two had chatted all night, and had even shared a cigarette by the fire exit, sneaking behind your father's back.

You'd had a flute of champagne too many, so you didn't remember about the fire burning in Mr. Riley's gaze, watching you huff out the smoke into the cold night, wearing his heavy jacket around your shoulders, your beautiful body clad in that breathtaking dress peeking under it. He knew he shouldn't have felt this way about a fellow comrade's daughter, almost 20 years her junior, but he simply couldn't help it.

So there you were, two years later, looking as beautiful as you did that night. Your hair was a little shorter, big glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, and he noticed how your face was growing more and more into its adult features, your sweet cherub cheeks looking a little more hollow, but you were still mesmerising. "Simon will spend a week here with us," your father had said. "He's going to leave for his well-deserved vacation from an airport very close to here so I offered him to stay with us for a while before I took him to catch his plane. So be on your best behaviour, alright, y/n? Don't bother Simon too much." And so, you promised to be a good girl.

The first two days, you and Simon didn't talk much, most conversation happening when your parents were also present, usually over meals, and only soft-spoken greetings were shared when your paths crossed during the silent hours of the night. You were usually reading until sunrise, while Simon simply didn't sleep at all, insomnia being his only loyal companion. The third day, you hastily walked past him on the way to your bedroom from the bathroom, damp hair cascading over your shoulders, droplets of body falling onto the wooden floorboards. He used the shower right after you, cursing himself mentally as he pumped his cock angrily under the cold spray of water, thoughts of your wet, naked body under that pink towel haunting his mind.

The fourth day, you had slept in while your parents had left for their morning hike, until a sudden storm hit, a lightning striking very close to the cabin, the thunder shaking the cabin, and you with it. Rubbing the grogginess off your heavy eyelids, you walked into an empty kitchen, apart from Simon sitting at the table, cradling a cup of tea in one hand and some book in the other. "Hey," you called out, yawning. "There's a pretty bad storm outside, do you know where my parents are?"

"Called ten minutes ago from the shelter, a pretty big tree fell onto the trail and now they have to wait 'til the storm calms and someone comes to move it. Could take all day." He hadn't peeled his eyes off the pages as he talked, but he was pretty damn grateful he did when he finally took a look at you. Hair falling over one shoulder in a messy braid, a skimpy tank top and matching short shorts that barely contained your curves, and Simon had barely any control over his filthy imagination right now. Your glasses stood on your nose a little crooked as you simply hummed, eyes still half-lidded as you approached the counter.

"Coffee? Tea?" Simon asked, the chair scraping over the floorboards as he got up. "You look in no condition to be handling fire or kitchen utensils right now, doll." The pet name had slipped past his lips a little too easily, but you were too dazed to notice. "M'yeah," you groaned, yawning again as you sat down at the table. "Coffee, pretty please." Simon nodded, immediately getting to work. He'd noticed you drank some sort of latte with vegetable milk - or something like that, he was no expert - and a dash of vanilla syrup. In just a handful of days, he had your routine memorised.

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly more attentive as Simon placed the drink in front of you, your oat latte sitting into your favourite glass, and he'd got it down to the cute little glass straw you used. Of course he knew, he hadn't been able to shake away the thought of your lips wrapped around his fat cock when they closed in on the straw. "This...thank you." you said, stirring your latte as you tried to hide your puzzled expression. "I observe people for a living, and I'm often trusted to remember and withhold a lot of important details," he explained casually, taking his seat back at the table. "It's merely a habit to learn the small things about the people I'm with."

He knew this was wrong, stealing glances from behind the pages of his book as you had your back turned to him, washing the dishes. He wondered if you knew that the contour of one of your asscheeks was faintly peeking from underneath those little shorts, the line of your waist hugged by your tank top, the braid falling over your shoulder leaving your delicious-looking neck exposed. He knew he shouldn't have gotten up from his chair again, his arm grazing your lower back as he reached for the cigarettes on the counter. He shouldn't have asked "Want one? Your parents are out anyway", and you totally shouldn't have said "yes".

You opened the window in the kitchen, just a crack to let the smoke out, but the raging storm and howling wind outside still made you shiver, hugging your arms close to your chest as you smoked. Simon noticed, of course, and balanced his cigarette on the rim of the plastic cup you were using as a makeshift ashtray, walking to the guest room to fetch a sweatshirt for you. You murmured a sweet "thank you", doing the same thing he did with his cigarette as you slid it over your shoulders, exposing a bit of your stomach as you flexed your arms, and he inwardly missed being able to peek at your cleavage. Still, just like that night at the ball, the sight of you in his clothes stirred something in him- something primal.

"How's that place for nerds you're going to, anyway? Your dad couldn't stop chewing my bloody ear off about you moving out for two whole months." You scoffed, huffing out a faint grey cloud. "I 'spose it's alright," you shrugged. "People are nice, I really like the environment and I'm pleased with what I've studied and of my results so far." Simon hummed, cradling the white stick between his long fingers. "Bet you got a line of boys, eh?" He asked, hoping you wouldn't notice his sneaky attempt at figuring if you had a boyfriend or not. "Nope, no such thing," you replied truthfully. "Wanted to focus on my studies, and it took a lot more time than I had expected to get adjusted to the new lifestyle." You tossed the cigarette into the plastic cup, making a faint sizzling sound as it fell into the water you had filled the bottom with. "Plus, half the guys there look like they don't know what a girl looks like."

Simon mirrored your action, casually leaning with his hip against the counter, watching you basically drown in his sweatshirt. "Ain't that right." He mused, his voice a borderline growl as he shamelessly let his eyes rake over your body. "I'm sure they wouldn't know what to do with you if you gave them the chance." Your eyes snapped up at him, your heart stuttering in your chest, his words and the sultry tone he used stirring something unfamiliar down in your belly. You awkwardly tried to laugh it off. "I mean," you chuckled. "I barely even kissed anybody, that lame, pseudo French kiss Sam from History class gave me when I was 17 was the most romance I had in my life."

His gaze darkened at the revelation, your purity making him feel even more guilty about his thoughts, but it was like you had poured straight gasoline onto an open flame, and now all Simon wanted to do was to ruin you. "Boys don't know a bloody thing about a woman's body," he scoffed, taking a small, almost imperceptible step towards you. "Their brain is rotten, blinded by those sad porn videos they watched, and all they can do is pathetically hump their sad dicks in their sad hands." You giggled, bringing a hand over your mouth. When you closed your eyes for a split second as you laughed, he moved closer.

"So you're saying I won't have any luck within the dating pool my university offers?" You asked, an amused glint in your gaze as you smiled up at him. "I'm saying only a man could handle you the way you need to be handled, y/n." The softness was gone from his voice, replaced by something feral, a look you'd never noticed before in his eyes, since he'd only reserved it to himself when you were looking away. By now, his imposing frame was caging you to the counter, basically forcing you to sit onto the cold granite.

You were speechless, doe-eyed gaze and parted lips, shiny with saliva, trembling with shuddering breaths. "You're like a fragile little dove now," he explained, his voice so low it rumbled in his chest. He lifted a hand to your face, rugged skin grazing your soft cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "But as soon as someone starts something as small as a spark, the fire will ignite and you'll burn uncontrollably. It takes an expert to tame a fire like that, y/n-" he leaned closer until his lips hovered only a breath above yours. "And I've been dreaming about being the one to tame you since the night I met you."

Your breath hitched, the hand cradling your face now slowly sliding down your neck, his thumb tracing the column of your throat, feeling your raging pulse resting beneath the sensitive flesh. Your mouth went suddenly dry, and you were at a complete loss for words. This man, your dad's colleague and trusted friend, had been lusting after you for nearly two years, after seeing you only once. You couldn't lie, Simon Riley held a certain charm to himself that you couldn't quite ignore. The silver scar that ran over his top lip, his slightly crooked nose, the bulging muscles that hid underneath those fitted t-shirts he always wore. Plus, how couldn't you be intrigued by the fantasy of being with a real man, someone who knows how to touch you, who would put your pleasure first, and willing to teach you how to please.

"Get on your knees, y/n." A shiver ran down your spine. "Yes, sir." You readily replied, your knees finding the rough wooden floorboards of the cabin. You moved to take off your glasses, but Simon clicked his tongue. Glasses stay on, sweetheart. I want you to be able to see my face clearly when I'm deep inside your mouth." You gulped again at his words, your eyes following his every movement as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants, pulling down his boxer briefs along with them. If you hadn't moved your head, you were sure his dick would've hit you square in the face when it sprung out, looking painfully hard, pink-reddish tip oozing pearlescent precum.

Your mouth fell agape, eliciting an amused chuckle. "Just like that, y/n. Didn't think you would pick up on that so fast." You didn't even catch his teasing words, transfixed on the sheer size of him. A bulging vein cut down his whole length,his blonde pubes shaved, balls heavily hanging below. You gingerly raised your hand, your slim fingers encircling his shaft, making him groan. "That's it, good girl. That's how you hold it." You looked up at him from behind your glasses, his tip only an inch away from your lips. "Take it in your mouth now. Don't worry, it doesn't bite, but you gotta be careful not to bite it, doll."

Slowly, you brought his dick to your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tip, your tongue collecting the bead of precum from his slit. Simon released an animalistic grunt, unable to hold back now that he had you. A large hand curved around the back of your head, pushing you down. You coughed, gurgling and almost gagging at the sudden movement, but Simon held you in place. "Breathe with your nose, y/n, or else you'll choke," he instructed, his voice strained at the feel of your mouth around his cock- it was divine. "Relax your pretty throat and- good girl..." You learned fast, mainly out of survival instinct, welcoming him down your relaxed throat until his shaved pubes tickled the tip of your nose.

Being the lonely man that he was, Simon hadn't been with a woman for some time now, and certainly he hadn't been with forbidden fruit like you, angelic-looking and pure, gazing up at him with big eyes and flushed cheeks, already taking all eight inches in your mouth. He couldn't control his orgasm, a long groan arising from his throat as he came, unsheathing himself as he shot hot ropes of thick cum over your face, the lenses of your glasses now covered in white goo. His cum left a tangy, slightly salty taste on your tongue, and you were still debating whether you liked it or not. "Sorry, doll," Simon apologised, the gentleness back in his voice as he took your glasses off, placing them onto the counter. "I hope you can forgive an old man after being alone for some time. Plus, it's not everyday you meet a fast learner as good as you."

You smiled bashfully as he helped you back on your feet, your knees feeling slightly sore and itchy, covered in small scratches from being on the floor. You thought Simon was done, but you were oh so wrong when he suddenly picked you up, hand secured under your thighs as he moved you onto the table. "Told you you only needed a little spark." He murmured, before he claimed your lips into a feverish kiss, nothing like Sam from History. He tasted himself on your tongue, his cock ready for round two, twitching impatiently between the two of you. He groaned, his hand snaking down your body, his forefinger stroking your needy cunt through your shorts. "S-Simon..."

"Shit, y/n, you're fucking soaked," he said, his brown orbs gazing down at you, dark with lust. "Just from sucking my cock, you're already a mess." Your face was glowing red like a tomato, your hand wrapping around his thick forearm as he tried to reach for your shorts. "Easy, doll. I'll be gentle." He whispered, kissing the crown of your head as you loosened your grip. "Won't it hurt?" You asked meekly, nervously chewing on your bottom lip. "I'll make sure to make you love it."

You let Simon undress you, trusting him with your all - literally - as fabric gave way to skin, exposing your whole body to him. To him, you were the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, lands of smooth skin, the roundness of your breasts, the mouth-watering line of your waist, and those creamy thighs he couldn't wait to have wrapped around him. His sweatpants pooled at his ankles, his military green t-shirt lying on the floor next to them. He coaxed your thighs apart salivating at the sight of your slick arousal coating your folds. Simon made you lie back onto the table, his strong arms holding you in place, long fingers holding onto your hips as he feasted on your soaked pussy like a man starved.

Your sweet, sweet sound filled the kitchen, the unfamiliar stimulation making you see stars. You were mewling, his flat tongue lapping at your juices before it circled and suckled on your sensitive clit, coaxing the best noises he'd ever heard. When you were relaxed enough, he pushed in a digit, slowly stretching your weeping hole, preparing it to accommodate his fat cock, throbbing uncontrollably as your whimpers reached his ears. Your entrance was drenched, a second digit swiftly following, his fingers slowly pumping inside you with minimal resistance, just a few grimaces of discomfort making your nose wrinkle before he soothed the ache by stimulating your clit. It wasn't long before you came too, the heat pooling in your belly unravelling so fast you didn't even know your orgasm had hit until you were a squirmin mess, Simon's name falling from your lips like a prayer, your thighs squeezing his head so tight he thought he would've gladly died between your legs, the last flavour on his tongue being your cum.

He straightened his back, his lips and chin glistening with your release, a proud grin on his lips. "You taste so fucking good, y/n. Fuck, i could probably eat you for hours." He said, looking down at your figure splayed onto the table, still out of breath as you came down from your first high. You couldn't even process what had happened when Simon pulled your hips closer to the edge of the table, his tip teasing your needy entrance, collecting some of your recent release to decrease any uncomfortable friction. He also brought his hand to his mouth, spitting on his palm before he spreaded it onto his length. "Please, Simon, please..." you pleaded, biting down on your lip as you looked up at him, propped up on one elbow as he effortlessly held your legs up. "Be gentle."

"You don't have to worry, doll," he reassured you once again. "You've been so good up to now, I'm sure you'll be able to handle this as well, okay? Do you trust me, y/n?" You nodded, and that was all the confirmation he needed to push the first three inches inside. You cried out, your hands holding onto the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. "Shh, shh, shh," he shushed you as you arched your back, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as you adjusted to the stretch. "That's it, good girl. I'm almost halfway inside, see?" You tried to look down, seeing the way your folds were wrapped around his girthy cock, your gummy walls twitching, as if they wanted - needed - to suck him deeper inside.

You took a deep breath, focusing on releasing the pressure between your hips as Simon slid in with another two inches, and then another before he bottomed out. His balls rested against your ass, and if he's not quick to compose himself, he would've come already. Your tight pussy was squeezing him impossibly tight, and it took everything in him to not start railing you like a savage, instead leaving you some time to get acquainted to the feeling of fullness inside your body. "Y-You...you can move now, Simon." You squeaked, giving him a nod of reassurance. Probably shouldn't have done that, love.

Simon began to move his hips, picking up the pace as the volume of your moans increased. Your nails clawed at his back, your legs tight around his waist as he held you close to his chest, his hungry cock pumping into your cunt so fast you felt drunk on it. "S-Simon...Simon!" You called out, hot tears of pleasure lining your eyes. "Fuck...that's it, that's a fucking good girl, y/n, you're taking my cock so good...so fucking good." The way he was groaning in your ear was making the same kind of heat stir in your lower abdomen, his praises making your self-esteem spike up.

He was fucking his friend's only daughter, fucking her stupid on the same table they all ate every meal at, marking her as his own; the rush was unmatched. He cupped one of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his lips latched onto your erect nub. You arched into him, tipping your head back as you let yourself fall deadweight, trusting Simon's strong arm, wrapped around your waist, to hold you up; and he did. "Come on, y/n, be a good girl for me and cum one more time," he murmured, his teeth gently taking your nipple, never applying pressure. "Cum on my fucking cock, y/n, I wanna feel your cunt choke my cock and milk it dry."

His filthy words were once again your undoing, his pubes tickling your clit every time his hips collided with yours also speeding up the process, and you came again, your orgasm hitting harder than the first. It was like a wave that wrecked you, from your core then up your spine, leaving your body spasming and gasping for air as you screamed out Simon's name. You clenched around him so tight he simply couldn't pull out, a twisted need to brand you as his making him spill himself inside you, hips stuttering as a very strong orgasm hit him as well.

They should've hung it in a museum, really, the image of his cum leaking from your whole onto the table, and he felt like the whole action was borderline blasphemous, as if he had tainted the doors of Heaven. He dampened a couple of kitchen towels with some lukewarm water and cleaned you up, sliding his sweatshirt back over your head before he scooped you up in his arms and brought you back to your room, tucking you in under the covers.

He left a chaste kiss on your forehead, but he did not climb into bed with you. He never would've. He was a horrible man, who had done horrible, unspeakable things, and he had just ruined the sweetest girl, the only good flower left in his garden now wilting right before his very own eyes. He wouldn't have spoken about this ever again, he wouldn't have looked at you if you happened to stumble into base again, wouldn't have called, or asked about your life again. But he was sure about one thing: he had marked you as his, and no one would've been able to tame your fire like he did that day. 

•This is an original work of fiction, please do not translate or share on this or any other platforms without credit•

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Die Moosweiblein

Moss Women

Moss Women are female forest spirits from German legend. They belong to the poor souls.

Moos Women occur in Saxony, Thuringia, on the Saale, in Orlagau, in the Harz mountain, in the Vogtland, in Upper Palatinate, in the Bavarian Forest, in Franconia and Upper Franconia, in the Bohemian Forest, around Warnsdorf in the northern Czech Republic, in the Giant Mountains and in Westphalia.

Depending on the region, Moss Women have a different appearance. Most often, they are as short as a three to five year old child. They have an ugly appearance, often entirely covered in moss, and are hunchbacked. They appear to be very old with grey, wrinkled faces abd blackened, blind eyes. They have long black or white unkempt hair. Their voices are high-pitched and squeaky. They are always barefoot. They often carry brushwood in a pannier on their back or in their apron. They use a walking stick to support their unsteady gait.

Moss Women are living in the forest, where they are dwelling in underground caves or hollow trees. They are sleeping in beds from moss. They are living in large families and can have children from Wood Kobolds or humans. They like to bake delicious cake, and when they do, mist is coming out of the forest. When politely asked for, they serve the cake also to humans.

Moss women know herbs and are skilled at both sending and healing illnesses. If people mock them, they send them ailments. This can happen in a variety of ways. They can squeeze people so hard that they become sick and miserable, and they can sit on them so that they become lame. They can also breathe on them, which causes people to get bumps or ulcers on their faces. Moss women also have knowledge of the future.

Moss women reward people by giving them wood shavings or leaves that turn into gold. They also give balls of yarn that never end unless you deliberately look for their end, or webs and knitted items that bring luck and blessings into the house. The moss women also show their gratitude with well-intentioned advice and warnings. They also look after children in the forest, lead people out of the forest at night without getting lost, or help them find deer and roe deer antlers.

On the other hand, moss women steal bread and dumplings. They cannot tolerate caraway bread, however, which is why they cry out: caraway bread, our death. The same goes for "piped" bread, i.e. bread into which the tip of your finger has been pressed. They cannot touch counted baked goods either. On the other hand, the moss women rightfully own some of the hay cuttings and the water that drops on the rim of the vessel when scooped out, as well as some of the linseed, flax stalks, ears of grain and tree fruit, as well as the flour that sticks to the frame of the bucket and any leftover bread crumbs. Moss women allow people to gather wood in the forest if they first receive a piece of bread or a dumpling as a gift

Sometimes moss women help people with deeds and advice. They visit people's houses and do various jobs, for example they spin flax and wool at night, they scrub, feed, milk, mow, help with haymaking and harvesting. If moss women receive food from shepherds, they bless their cows, which then produce more milk. For craftsmen, they protect their tools from thieves. As household spirits, moss women bring luck and blessings, but also require to receive food offerings in return. They detest people's cursing and vices. They love silence, hate quarrels and curses, and are driven away by them, just as they disappear never to be seen again if they are given new clothes. Whenever bast is peeled from a tree, a Moosweiblein must die.

On the river Saale, the Buschgroßmutter (bush grandmother) is known as the queen of the moss women. Strictly speaking, the bush grandmother is the mother of the moss women (here: moss girls), with whom she travels around the country, usually in a small cart. She has messy hair and a fixed gaze. The bush grandmother is also a bogeyman. The bush grandmother also appears in Silesia, where she is called Pusch-Grohla.

[cursedhaglette]

Letters We Should've Sent

Eight years pass and they both keep track of it, words they didn't share but should have. Words that might have made all the difference.

(very minor DAV spoilers sprinkled throughout)

Rating: T? If that? Word Count: 4,880

[ao3 link]

Preview

Solas, 

I am on my way to Orlais, and the sunrise is clearing the fog from a meadow where I’ve made camp, and I am thinking of you. Thinking of moments like this from years past, where we would rise before the others and walk to the edge of our campsite for a few stolen moments alone at dawn. I cannot help but wonder if you might think of them too, wherever you are now. Is it warm there? Are you in a city? The mountains? 

To have known it all, or what felt like it all, for so long, and now to have nothing is a wound I fear will never heal. How am I supposed to look at these places we once walked together the same way? How am I supposed to continue on like this - like everything is just how it was?

You are gone and I am…this. A woman broken by grief and anger and duty. Someone I no longer like or recognize and I’m sure you wouldn’t either. 

All anyone sees anymore is The Inquisitor. Even with the inquisition disbanded. 

I am no longer a woman or an elf or a person at all. I haven’t been in so long. I have become something other, entirely not my own and yet not belonging to anyone in particular either. I am not a figurehead of the chantry or a single nation, I do not belong to the humans or the elves or anyone else. It feels as though I have given away a small piece of myself to everyone that’s ever asked and now I am hollowed out, staring at a sunrise and wishing I had left it all behind to end the world with you. 

I can’t keep myself from writing letters, filling pages and pages with thoughts I wish I were mindlessly sharing with you, knowing I’ll never send them.

I don’t even know if I ought to write vhenan on these letters anymore. To write my love on paper feels foolish, even if you’ll never see it. But then you know - you have to know. I will never love another as I loved you. I will never see another sunrise and think of anything but the mornings where you told me you loved me and always would.

Were you the god of lies even then? 

-Morinne

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

神話 - "Ardent Dragon Rests Upon Resplendent Cliffs"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which the Traveler and Paimon unknowingly come across a mysterious adeptus by the name of Sky Weaver while the two are exploring near the sparsely populated cliffsides of Mt. Mingyuan. Or; In which the long-forgotten tale of the adeptus Sky Weaver is uncovered by Aether from the lips of the various Adepti of the Nation of Liyue and the people who know them.

Prologue | Part 1 | (1.5) | Part 2 | (2.5) | Part 3 | (3.5) | Part 4 | (4.5) | Part 5 | (5.5) | Part 6 | (6.5) | Epilog | Extra 1 | Extra 2

                                                                                                   

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. Yet it made for the perfect place for tuning into nature and taking in the sights of the surrounding terrain, such as a magnificent view of Yilong Wharf, Mt. Lingmeng, river Jademouth, and the distant silhouette of Chiwang Terrace, the ruins of Fort Charybdis and Lumidouce Harbor in Fontaine. The most notable sight that one could witness upon the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan however, was a breathtaking view of the sky that suffered no light pollution despite the proximity to Yilong Wharf.

Although, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing.

Gaming had once again climbed up the mountain, carrying with him the hollow costume lion head that was many sizes too large for him at his current age. The costume head is held over his own to prevent it from collecting stains by being dragged along the damp mud and grass as he walks. Occasionally it tips forward and obstructs his view, causing him to stumble to regain his footing and tip the object back to its original position.

Today was particularly different from other times he had come up the mountain. This time, instead of grinning with excitement and running up the familiar path to reach the grassy plateau-like area he usually practiced at, he frowned with tears collecting on his lower lashes as he glumly dragged his feet along as he walked. Earlier, not even an hour ago, Gaming had gotten into an argument with his father; the older man telling him that his dream was foolish and that he should focus on continuing the family tradition of being a tea farmer.

Now, here he was, curled up around the costume lion head with his back to the trunk of a tree. The dew that rested on the grass beneath him soaked into his shorts but he couldn't bring himself to care. The fur of the costume head was damp with his tears, the wetness causing the faugh fur to clump together in places.

“...Mortal child, it is dangerous to dwell upon this mountain unaccompanied is it not…?”  

A soft but masculine voice just to his left gently called out to him.

Gaming flinches in shock as he whips his head in the direction of the voice. His red teary eyes widened in shock and confusion at the abrupt appearance of another person. Once the ochre-eyed boy really took in this person's features, however, his jaw dropped in awe. 

A man, likely in his late twenties, who had long h/c hair with streaks of misty blue that were braided in certain places and seemed to reach his knees, long, thick lashes that hung over beautiful e/c eyes, and a peculiar blue symbol on his forehead. The man was draped in an elegant four-layered silk robe; the outermost layer being white with a navy blue and desaturated green bamboo leaf pattern. He was possibly the most beautiful person that the aspiring wushu dancer had ever seen before.

An amused chuckle from the mysterious and handsome man pulled the ochre-eyed child. from his thorough observation and reminded him of the question that was asked of him.

“Well, I'm not alone since uncle is with me now.”  

Gaming answers, shyly averting his eyes from the stranger's face with pinkened cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

The man tensed for a moment –from what the brunette child could tell from the other's body language– at the word uncle, but quickly regained his relaxed but regal posture. It seemed that this enigmatic stranger wasn't too fond of strangers, how ironic.

“Uncle, you called this one? Is that not a term reserved solely for those that one trusts?”  

The long-haired man asks with apprehension, worried that the child in front of him would find himself in trouble due to being too trusting.

Gaming giggled at the man's contorted expression, it was rare to see an adult become shy around him, so he couldn't help but find it a bit funny. He grinned at the stranger, his previous sadness momentarily forgotten as he focused all his attention on the man to his left.

“Well yeah, you're older than me and I don't know your name. Plus, you seem really nice. You wouldn't have asked if I was alone if you were a bad person. So, you're uncle.”  

The ochre-eyed child chirped, giving the man a close-eyed smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He pauses, however, eyes opening with curiosity as he asks the stranger a question.

“Actually, what is your name, uncle?”  

The e/c-eyed man, still registering the child's first and very worrying statement, doesn't answer. He heard the question, but his mind was preoccupied with his increasing worry for the previously crying boy, so he paid it no mind.

“Mortal child, this one's name is not of importance at the moment. What this one concerns one's self with is that you trust far too swiftly.”  

The robe-clad man expresses his worries, his face holding a mix of pity and concern as he takes a step closer to the boy; his posture growing more protective.

Straightening his back and stretching his arms above, causing the costume lion head to roll off his lap, Gaming stands from the damp ground. He sends a quick glance to the low-hanging sun to the west, letting him know that he should probably make his way back home within the hour lest he worry his mother. Picking up the costume head off of the grass, he turns to the beautiful stranger as he pulls the costume head over his own.

“I'll think about what you said, Uncle Měilì. I have to start heading back though, or mom will get worried about me.”  

The brunette child smiles warmly as he balances the lion's head properly.

The man, now dubbed ‘Uncle Měilì’ raises a brow at the boy in confusion. That certainly wasn't his name. By reflex, he sweeps his gaze around to check if there are any other people present, but, of course, there aren't.

“Měilì? Is it this one that you are referring to, mortal child?”  

‘Uncle Měilì’ asks the boy as he points at himself with an air of disbelief and amusement.

Gaming turns to him with a pout, annoyed at the robed man's question. The ochre-eyed boy had already asked for his name, only for the inquiry to be ignored. He huffed and turned away from the man as he began to walk back the way he came.

“You said your name wasn't important, so I gave you a nickname instead. I can't just keep calling you Uncle, y'know. Also, my name is Gaming, remember it, okay?”  

He called out as he continued walking down the mountain, the costume lion head held up above his own with his little arms.

Stopping when he doesn't hear a reply, the child looks behind him to see no one there. Only a retreating spectral-like mist could be seen, sweeping through the sky in majestic arcs and swirls as it climbed up the mountain.

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. However, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing. It also served as a wonderful place where the boy met someone who would be a shoulder to lean on in his time of need.

Mt. Mingyuan is where a young Gaming first met that mysterious adeptus known as Sky Weaver.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

                                                                                                   

Footnotes:

Sky Weaver's appearance is heavily based upon the character Chuyi Flower Cake from ‘The Tale of Food��. I was actually going to add Cloud Retainer in at the very end, but changed my mind since this half chapter was already twice as long as the previous one. The word Měilì or 美麗 means Beauty, it's a simple nickname that I just grabbed on the fly.

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

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[strlingsav]

Bodyguard

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Bodyguard AU: Simon is assigned as your personal protection.

Requested: Anonymous

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You were always composed, even among the worst of situations. Regardless of the weight on your shoulders, the stress of your career, you carried it with ease.

Your work was full of lighthearted conversations, asking simple questions and giving shallow answers. It was never deeper than that, and you had no trouble navigating nuanced conversations. You always kept a solid, agreeable disposition, not easily swayed by outward forces; you had no other choice.

Though when you first laid eyes on him- your personal bodyguard, you felt the composure crack just a bit. Enough that you couldn't help your eyes following him as he strode through the hotel lobby. Your first meeting had forced a wave of heat over your body, when he met your gaze and introduced himself with an unanticipated, British accent, and hardened voice. He'd caught your eye, forced you into an uncomfortably vulnerable position, which wasn't usual for you.

He was harsh, a bit blunt- but you didn't mind. You were familiar with the ex-military type of men that usually found themselves in that line of work. Stoic, reserved, but intimidating. You liked your privacy, not answering mindless questions or making idle conversation- nothing like the hollow prodding of foreign delegates.

He was no different than the others before him, aside from the sinful thoughts that crossed your mind when you laid eyes on him. He made it a point to keep distance between you, only tending to you when you asked, no polite conversation required. You didn't expect any less, not from a foreign national who likely had no interest in making conversation with a diplomat.

You'd been in and out of meetings the entire week, driven around by the mountain of a man. He hadn't left your side, suited in a kevlar vest and carrying a handgun. He'd watched you bury yourself in your work, dig into the unpleasant parts of your job that needed to be done. He admired that kind of work ethic, even if you were a foreigner.

Your conversations were brief and uninviting. It was easy to discern his distaste for small-talk. He'd built a wall around himself, that much was evident, but it only spurred your desire to delve into unsavoury territory. You saw yourself in him, a reflection of someone who'd closed themselves off from meaningful relationships, an effort to remain unbound and free from complications.

The week had flown by. Little by little, you came to see glimpses of his personality, what made him chuckle, what he liked and disliked. It was vague, but enough for you to come to enjoy- inadvertently. You were lonely, there was no room for denial there, and in your vulnerable state, you'd found yourself wanting more.

That much was a shock. Though, you'd also kept your distance, not allowing yourself to be caught staring, remaining composed even if your heart was pounding in his presence. The added stress of an upcoming dinner didn't help your fragile state.

It was common for foreign politicians to host dinners, welcoming you to their country while promoting the image of peace. It was a tradition that you'd grown used to and learned to tolerate regardless of the strain it put on you.

It sneaked up, between conferences and meetings; a dinner scheduled with the Prime Minister's associates, and you couldn't be a minute late.

You'd already finished with your hair and makeup, zipping yourself into the tight dress until you couldn't reach above your shoulders. You were frustrated and already running behind your tight schedule. You let an exasperated sigh leave your lips before you called for Simon.

"Everythin' alright?" He asked, cracking the door.

You sighed again, walking to meet him halfway.

"I can't do the zipper up," You said. "Would you mind?"

He'd seen you in every state; half-asleep, post-shower, even casual dress- but the sight of you in a dress that highlighted all the right places made his knees weak. He couldn't meet your eyes, not for a moment while he blinked away the thoughts of you that ambushed him.

He nodded briskly, and you spun around while moving your hair to allow his fingers to do-up the rest of the closure. His fingertips brushed the skin on your back, feeling the silky texture beneath his rough hands. You forced yourself not to shiver, not to give in to the warmth crawling it's way down your abdomen.

"Thanks," You nodded.

You tugged at the dress that sat on your curves, settling it appropriately over your cleavage and hips. Your feet slipped into heels, offering Simon a quick, haphazard smile full of unseen nerves.

"Let's go," You nodded, grabbing your purse before leaving the hotel room with Simon following close behind.

He drove you to your meeting. He'd kept quiet while driving, his hand clinging to the steering wheel, sneaking glances of you in the rear view mirror. He could see you fixing your lipstick in your pocket mirror, one knee hooked over the other, lips rubbing the colour together.

He couldn't deny, he imagined those heels strung over his shoulders, maybe even digging into his back- though his head twitched while he forced himself to focus.

You were no better; your eyes had been studying the side of his head, drawn further down to the tattoos showing on his forearm. You watched him from your spot in the backseat, painfully willing yourself not to imagine him hovering over you, buried between your thighs, but it was a useless endeavour.

It took you off guard, finding yourself so flustered in his presence that it was difficult to manage simple conversation. You were grateful he didn't talk much, liked the silence as much as you.

Throughout dinner, you could feel him watching. His eyes locked in on you, studying your face as you smiled and laughed at the uninteresting conversation in front of you.

Your eyes darted to Simon's, finding his gaze already on you. Regardless of your preference for privacy, you felt a connection. A longing, for something more than cheap discussions and placid smiles. It could've been the wine, or delusions caused by stress, but it distracted you.

Simon's domineering stare never left you, not within the few hours it took to finish your meal, and during the conversation that followed.

Ordinarily, you'd think nothing of it- if anything, it would be expected, or a good choice of personal protection; but the stiffness in his stance, eyes surveilling your body, the hand that touched the small of your back as he guided you from the restaurant- your gut told you he wanted more.

You did indulge more than a few glasses of wine near the end, knowing you'd share a ride back to your hotel with Simon. It was liquid courage, filling your veins in the hopes that you'd be able to tolerate the ten-minute drive without feeling flustered.

As he opened the door for you, welcoming you back to the empty hotel room, you stopped just inside.

Your heart was pounding against your rib cage- the wine causing a bit of blurriness in your vision and a boost of confidence upon seeing him so close, only a foot outside your room. It made avoiding temptation so much more difficult than you were equipped to handle.

"Would you like a drink?" You asked, your hand resting on the door as you held it open.

"'M on duty," He shook his head, stepping back.

"Not for much longer," You replied, checking the time over your shoulder.

His weight shifted, wondering if it was worth the risk, if you were worth the risk. As his eyes wandered down your frame, he sighed quietly. Willpower was his strong suit, but after a week of watching you torment him with your silk bathrobe and tight-fitting dresses, he'd been worn down.

"Alright," He conceded with a nod.

He stepped inside, ridding himself of his utility belt and vest, making himself comfortable on the hard armchair across from the couch. He wasn't one for much conversation, and your request came as a surprise.

He wondered if maybe you'd offered him a drink to thank him- it was your last night under his watch, after all; though a less disciplined part of him hoped it would be an invitation to have his fantasies fulfilled.

"You prefer Scotch or Bourbon?" You asked, gazing over your shoulder at him.

"Bourbon," He replied.

He was leaned over, elbows on his thighs as he watched you rummage for two glasses and pour the bourbon over ice.

You joined him in the sitting area, handing him the glass before taking a seat across from him. Your feet curled up under you, resting your elbow on the back of the couch while you looked at him.

"Have you been doing this long?" You asked, finishing a sip.

"Few years, after I left the military."

You smiled softly, "I thought you were a vet. How long?"

"Too long," He answered, fingers clasping the glass as he watched you.

Your eyes narrowed at him.

"Did you have many deployments?"

"More than a few."

"Must've been hard to be away from your family."

You diverted your gaze to the bourbon in your glass, waiting with baited breath for his answer. You hadn't seen a wedding ring, though the times he went without gloves were few and far between.

"No family," He shook his head. "Don't have time for it."

"Your wife, then?"

"If you wanna ask me somethin', prefer you just ask it," He was leaning even closer, his stare was agonizingly precise.

You could feel the taunting smirk on his face, the tone of his voice inviting you to find out what his intentions were, how he felt about you. He could read you well, notice the changes in your demeanour, your breathing.

You took in a deep breath as you wondered if he was silently hoping you'd get on with it already. You liked getting to know him, though. If not to pry in his personal life so you knew just how far things could go.

The look in his eyes, one of focus and unwavering dedication to give you all of his attention, had you trembling with desire. Unravelling your legs, you strode to stand before him, and he sat up straighter.

It was a risk, though most of the risk had been diminished when he flirted with you, practically offered himself to you. And when his hands wrapped around your thighs, you knew exactly what he wanted.

"Do you have a wife? Girlfriend?" You asked, leaning in closer.

"If I did, wouldn't have come in here."

"Fair enough."

"You gonna keep askin' me questions or take this dress off?"

His hands had a firm grasp on your thighs, keeping you pinned to the spot.

Your hands landed on his shoulders. "Help me?"

He unzipped your dress, his hands helping to slide it down your shoulders. Once you'd slid it down your body, he looked you over, pulling you onto his lap.

"Couldn't take my eyes off you in that fuckin' dress," He muttered, leaning into your neck.

You hummed with satisfaction, "I noticed."

"S'pose I ain't subtle when I want somethin'."

Your cheeks flushed- maybe the drinks, or maybe the feeling of his hands on your body, but his words seemed to cover you in a fog of lust.

"I like that," You grinned.

He lifted the mask to the bridge of his nose, his lips now visible. It was the most you'd seen of his face, aside from his eyes, and it was pleasing. It was mostly as expected- stubble, full lips; though your admiring was interrupted when he pressed his lips to your neck.

He gave wet, open-mouthed kisses, soothed by his tongue, teeth grazing your silky flesh. You'd let your head fall back, eyes shutting as you savoured the goosebumps he coaxed from your body.

The warmth between your thighs spread, engulfing every limb until it felt like you were on fire- especially when his hand reached around, taking a handful of your ass with rough palms.

Your hands, in turn, slid down his chest, feeling the hardness of his pecs, mountains of muscle across his body. He was warm beneath your touch, feverish with lust, burning up just at the thought of your body against his. He was pushing his groin up into you; heavy breaths in your neck, hands grabbing whatever they could reach.

One of his hands slithered between your thighs, calloused fingers finding the crest of your pussy to apply pressure. Your lips moulded together, a soft hum of pleasure escaping in a sigh through your nose.

Still, he leaned into your neck, had a handful of your backside in his grip, manhandling you to grind your pussy over his fingers.

"Just like that," You moaned softly, gentle pants of pleasure fanning against his neck.

He only sighed quietly in response, his groin pressed against you, hips rocking into you. Already, you were leaking through your panties, the fabric sticking to the slick lubrication dripping between your thighs.

"You're wet already, sweetheart," He grumbled in your ear.

"I know," You moaned faintly. "I need more."

His hand disappeared for a moment, belt buckle clanking together, unzipping his pants as he pulled his cock from his briefs. Your eyes lifted to his, perching forward, using your hand to gently glide his cock into your entrance.

He buried his face in your neck as your palm guided him to the tight embrace of your pussy- ridges of his cock sliding past the velvety barrier with ease.

"Slow," He grumbled. "Fuck me-" He choked out.

The tip of his cock just barely pushed past the slick lining of your pussy, and he dropped his head back. In unison, groans of pleasure left your lips as you lowered yourself onto his cock, opening yourself up until he was finally buried inside you.

"Christ, sweetheart," He muttered, his hands finding your hips.

You didn't stop, moving your hips forward as he lifted his head to find your eyes. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, harsh grunts leaving his chest.

"You feel good," He mumbled.

"Tell me how good," You breathed, your hands meeting around the back of his neck.

"Real fuckin' good," He grunted.

His hips inadvertently bucked up into you, causing a flash of a smile to cross your lips, before he reached down and rubbed his fingers over your clit.

Your pace faltered for a moment, a quiet whimper escaping, before you pulled yourself even closer, grinding on his lap. Your arm wrapped around his neck, desperately chasing the friction his fingers offered, the depth of him inside you.

His fingers had a bruising hold on the flesh of your waist, his face nearly buried in your breasts as you rocked into him.

Low grunts of pleasure were muffled against your skin, his body rigid while he resisted the urge to climax. Your lips parted as puffs of air escaped, fighting to catch your breath between the pleasure and exertion.

He went to pin you to the couch cushions, set the pace himself, when you stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"I get what I need," You exhaled, still grinding your hips against his. "Then, you can have what you want."

He was pleasantly surprised. He'd never been one for giving up control, though watching your hips move, your breasts in his face- it wasn't so difficult to sit back and let you ride his cock.

"Get on with it, then," He said, leaving a harsh smack on your ass.

"Use your fingers," You shot back, nearly breathless.

"You ever say please?" He cocked his head.

"Please," You spat out.

You watched his lip twitch, then felt his rough fingers rub circles over your clit. You hunched over, leaning on his shoulders for support, smelling the faint scent of his cologne, listening to the deep breaths he was desperately trying to camouflage.

It was enough to bring your climax to fruition, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure engulfed you, soft tremors in your legs and hips as it migrated outward.

Your head fell back, lips open in a gasp that had been suffocated by your heavy breathing. Your fingers dug into the taught muscle of his shoulders, toes curling while your body hit plateaus of pleasure.

"That's it," He drawled. "There it is."

You whimpered softly as the pleasure dissipated, leaving you soft and pliable, relaxed. Then, he moved you to the cushions, pulling your legs around his torso.

He drove his cock into you, feeling the after-effects of your orgasm in the form of short contractions. Each time your pussy squeezed his cock, he was pushed even closer to cumming. His breathing sped up, elbows digging into the couch as he buried his cock in you.

You were useless, lifeless against the couch, hanging onto his neck as he thrusted into you. Breaths fanning your chest and collarbones as he buried his head into you, groaning harshly.

He hurriedly pulled out of you, tugging his cock a few times before releasing his cum over your stomach. A few twitches, low groans, soft exhales; his eyes met yours in the aftermath of his orgasm.

You laid back, relaxing as he brought you your robe and a towel. You quickly cleaned off, tying your robe around your waist as he tugged his vest over his head and grabbed his gear.

"Thanks," You nodded, your eyes barely meeting his. "For this past week, and for that."

He huffed- a small expression of amusement.

"Let me know next time you're in town."

"Probably won't be for another few years," You sighed, your hand holding the door for him once again. "If I had a reason to, I'd stop by."

He then grinned, "Here," He rummaged through the fatigue pocket of his vest, handing you a card.

It had his name and a phone number, not listed whether it was personal or business.

"If you find yourself in need of my services. Anytime."

You smiled, taking the card and examining it.

"How's next week sound?"

"Good."

"I look forward to it."

He left you with a short goodbye, thumbs hooked in his vest as he wandered off, giving one last look over his shoulder before disappearing.