#I also have a candle that reminds me of him and last time I burned it we had a 4 hour phonecall

[no-one-hears-me]

if I knew I would be this tired today I would've stayed up to talk to my ex

[xenteaart]

you are not difficult

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) word count: no idea but it's short genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression, implied history of SH. also implied shitty ex. so PLS keep that in mind before you read. also, it's all good in the end. author's note: it's a self comfort thing y'all but i hope you like it too.

it was yet another night where everything felt too much and you kinda hated yourself for it. bad day, maybe some hormonal imbalance due to a certain time in your cycle, history of mental illness — it's hard to put a finger on the exact cause. you're sick of trying, anyways.

chris was, of course, right there for you, and as you were falling apart in his arms, your entire soul was aching so bad that it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. it's usually like that, everywhere in your body like some sort of extreme inflammation, except physically you're perfectly fine.

"'m sorry…" you blurt out somewhere between your sobs and cries, still unable to hold eye contact with him.

"baby, you have nothing to be sorry for," chan shakes his head and keeps rubbing circles into your back, just between the shoulder blades where the ache feels the most excruciating.

"kiss me?" you squeak. almost pathetic, honestly, but it's always been your way of checking, whether he still wants you. whether he still loves you and desires you, even at your lowest, even with your mascara all smudged over your cheeks, eyes puffy and red, lips slightly irritated and swollen. even when there's a gaping black hole where the heart is supposed to be.

chris doesn't even question it, really. he simply leans in and gives you a long sweet kiss full of both a partner's tenderness and a lover's lust, so, so willing to do whatever it takes to calm the thunderstorm inside your mind and ease your struggle.

the kiss doesn't really satisfy you, the feeling is still there.

"sorry," you whisper again as you breathe out into chan's lips but the intimate contact doesn't last long. chris frowns and makes some distance between you two to look into your eyes.

"why? baby, why do you keep apologizing?" he sounds gentle but still slightly frustrated.

"i dunno? cos 'm difficult? for bein' difficult?"

there's a silence as he blinks a few times, processing and putting two and two together.

"just because it was difficult for them to love you and take care of you, doesn’t make you difficult. you are not difficult. like, at all," he puts on his serious tone, the one he uses for you when you can't see the obvious and he has to remind you.

you don't really know what to say to that, so you keep playing with the tissue paper in your hands, ripping it apart piece by piece just to keep yourself busy and focused on something other than the burning ache in your chest.

"dealing with mental health isn't easy, that one is true, baby, but it's so easy to love you. you are easy to love. even now, looking so small and in pain but it's still you, and my duty as your boyfriend is to take care of you when you can't. and, hell, you're one of the most capable people i know, so please just let me hold your hand through it once in a while, yeah?" chan speaks slowly and quietly, as if to make every single word sink in, tenderly forcing it into your stupid lovely brain that refuses to cooperate sometimes.

chris feels safe. he feels like lighting up a cookie scented candle after a long day at work. he's the feeling of the ocean timidly licking at your feet and burying them deeper into warm wet sand. chris is the first sip of coffee in the morning and the cold side of the pillow at night. he's everything worth living and trying for.

"thank you," is the only thing you manage to say, but in the way you lean back into his embrace he's able to read a lot more.

"do you want a nice mug o' hot chocolate and some fairy bread, baby?"

this question makes you hiccup and sob once again. you nod and nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: aemond targaryen x afab childhood friend wife!reader

cw: intentional heavier valyrian usage (i used translators so if i’m wrong, please just pretend that i invented the language and i’m right), slight breath play-ish, reader isn’t related to aemond in any way (they’re just from a different royal family from elsewhere , visited as a kid and met aemond), pregnant!reader, the breeding and praise kinks aren’t explicitly stated but they’re more in his actions, flashback mention of teen aemond having a typical teen boy reaction and getting a boner bc he saw his crush bent over, aemond drinks reader’s breast milk like a vampire and cums, this au-ish storyline has been a long standing maladaptive daydream but this is just a kinktober post, stuck in the wall was also supposed to be included but i cheated and just mentioned it/same with the waxplay lmao, implied wax play later on, kinda unsafe and unrealistic sex (obviously), written with no thoughts

wc: 1.4k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my works

kinktober masterlist

It’s been six moons since you discovered that you were with child. Your husband, Aemond Targaryen, had been smug beyond belief when the maester estimated that you conceived on your wedding night.

You were not prepared for how your body would transform in the coming months. You have to empty your bladder more often than not and a burning in your chest keeps you awake. One of the more annoying problems was the tremendous ache in your breasts.

Aemond awoke to your quiet groans, sitting up in bed was not easy for you these days.

With a yawn, not even bothering to put on his eyepatch, he sat up in bed beside you.

“What have I told you about making good use of me if you need something, raqiarzy? (beloved). You should still be resting.” He chides you.

“How can I sleep when my tits are full to bursting, Aemond?” You reply with a slightly bratty tone, and he gives you a brisk pat on your behind to settle you. It was gentler than his strikes usually are, he considers your health with every action after all.

He sighs and lumbers out of bed to light a candle, as naked as he was when he succumbed to slumber. The newfound influx of hormones guides your attention to hone in on his cock flopping in the air as he walks back to bed. The dried wax from your love making last night still stubbornly clung to both of your bodies. You would definitely need to take another bath in the morning.

“Ao līs daor emagon ryptan issa se ēlī jēda, issa jorrāelagon. (you must not have heard me the first time, my love)” Aemond reminds you, unable to stop you from getting up and sitting in front of your vanity.

If your husband did not know better, one would think that you were opposed to any night time…. activites. The tired amusement in your eyes beckons him forward, but he stays lounging on the bed and watching you run your fingers through your hair. Aemond resorts to teasing to obtain your attention, adoring how you always fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“It feels as if it were only yesterday that we reunited all those years ago, you had gotten lost and ended up falling in a hole in the city’s walls on your visit.”

Your hands pause on their way to grab your hair brush, casting a weak glare towards him out of the corner of your left eye. You clear your throat but you make no attempts to hide your embarrassment at the thought of the past. Aemond holds eye contact with you through the mirror, resting the hand not holding his head up on his hip.

“I was six and ten, wallowing in nausea and nerves. Do not pretend that you were faring much better, husband. We had not laid eyes on each other for nearly a decade.”

You do not mention the sizable tent in his trousers he had carried around after he helped you out of the wall.

“At that time I was convinced the way I would see you again would be in death, there was only relief for me.” He says firmly, and you shyly peel your gaze away from the mirror.

As exhausted and drained as you are, your heart melts at the unwavering affection in his words. Aemond clearly grows bored of playing cat and mouse, because suddenly his torso is pressing flush against your back.

“If you can’t sleep, at least allow me to distract you from your discomfort.”

He cups the front of your neck and gently squeezes, you huff but understand his unspoken request and arch your back against him.

“Refrain from teasing me, valzȳrys (husband), for tonight at least.” You lean your head back and look up at him as his other hand drifts down to tug the bodice of your nightgown down.

Your slip of Valyrian earns you another quick squeeze. You gasp and Aemond seizes the opportunity to gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit into yours. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow and he pinches your nipple in appreciation.

“Hmm. I will do my very best, darling.”

You have learned by now that such assurances mean tragically little.

Aemond takes stock of your chest, sliding the hand cupping your throat to be able to grope at both of your breasts. He rolls them around in his palms and kneads them as if he were in the kitchen handling dough. You moan at the sheer relief and his sapphire eye seems to sparkle at you in some kind of wink.

“These heavy tits must be remarkably sore, so full and with no one to drain them of their milk.”

You nod helplessly, more than ready for him to abandon his games and do just that.

One of his hands temporarily abandons your breast to push your head back down so you’d look at the mirror. You sit there, enraptured in the sight of milk beading to the tips of your nipples and leaking out.

Aemond catches it as well and groans, pinching at your nipples a bit meaner and squeezing your tits tightly to coax more milk out.

“Gevie (beautiful) , all this food for our future dragon. You are glowing brighter than any moon, raqiarzy (beloved).”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, never being able to take compliments with grace, and gaze down at your lap. A firm hand sinks into your hair and pulls it so you return your gaze to your sticky tits. Aemond swipes his fingers through the milky trails running down your tits. He whorishly brings them to his mouth and sucks them dry, smirking at you in the mirror as he grunts.

Your ornate vanity chair is swiftly turned around, and your lap is drowned in white hair when he falls to his knees before you.

“Aemond, what are you-“ Your words are cut off by a greedy mouth latched around your right nipple. Your husband is being mindful of his teeth and starts to rapidly suckle.

His free hand pets at the hair above your mound absentmindedly. An agonized groan floats through the air as his sucking picks up speed. You clutch onto the back of his head with both hands and run your fingers through his fine hair.

“Gods, Aemond, thank you thank you thank you. Such a devoted husband, I love you.” You do not say it often, your shy nature comes into play regarding that sort of thing, but the immensity of it must take a toll on your husband.

His groans are muffled by your teats and you have to swipe away stray drops of milk that dribble out of his mouth as he drains you.

Somewhere along the way he switches to your other breast when the previous one had nothing more to give. Your cunt howls in need for additional stimulation but the feeling of your chest pain fading away urges you to let your dearly beloved have his fill of your body. There are times in which you say it is his right.

You notice that Aemond has been grinding his weeping cock against the floor. He appears to have synced his thrusts to his suckling, and seeing how drunk he is off your milk meant for his future child makes you just as ravenous as his cock is for a hole to fuck.

Your arms wrap around Aemond in a fierce hug, surrendering yourself to your cunt’s way of thinking. Even if he wanted to pull away, your grip gave him no means to do so. His face is squished into your tits and his eye rolls back, continuing his suckling and writhing.

He rips his mouth away from you to loudly exclaim, and you are startled by how his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and his form locks up. Aemond weakly thrusts his hips through his apparent peak, the burst of fluids spewing out onto the floor. A few spurts of it lands on your legs, and in the depths of your depravity you eagerly scoop it up to shove in your mouth.

You run your fingers through Aemond’s hair again to assist him in coming back down, and once he does you are quickly swooped up in his arms and delicately thrown back onto the bed.

“Do not confuse a curse for a blessing, issa dāria (my queen). My cock is likelier to grow wings and take flight than it is to run out of seed to stuff this puffy cunny with. Sir sagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys (now be a good wife), and endure it for me, hm?”

You will be greeting the approaching dawn with countless more pieces of dried wax.

[laurfilijames]

Happy Birthday, Darlin'

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 4,014

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Smoking. Mild descriptions of cuts and blood. Mentions of fighting. Unprotected intercourse. Slight asphyxiation. Some insecurities about Jax and his habits.

Summary: It's your birthday, and while Jax is pressed to make it to you in time to celebrate, he makes sure all your wishes come true.

A/N: Happy Birthday to ME 🥳 yes, I'm that bitch who wrote herself a birthday fic because I can. I've been dying to write for Jax for so long and thought this would be a fun way to get a feel for writing his character. If my writing wasn't self-indulgent before, it definitely is now.

This takes place after Season 2 Ep 12 The Culling where the Sons fight The League/Zobelle's guys because I just found Jax to be wildly sexy in that scene (but also when isn't he?)

---

The night air was cool on his face as he ripped as quickly as he could down the quiet, country roads back into town, easily shifting into fourth gear knowing every cop in Charming would be responding to where he just fled from and not having to worry about being pulled over for his excessive speed.

Jax knew he was pushing it for time - your birthday over in just less than two hours - so with a reminder of his bruised and bloodied knuckles, he twisted the throttle and opened up his Harley even more in order to get to you faster.

With a smile on his face at knowing your neighbours already complained about his presence on your street, he let open again on the straight section of road about half a mile from your house, hoping you and everyone else would now be fully aware of his arrival.

The fight with Zobelle’s gang already had him fired up, but not nearly as much as getting to see you did, and as he pulled into your driveway, his buzzing fury changed into a different kind of energy entirely.

Taking one last haul on the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he blew out the smoke and tossed it onto the asphalt, stepping on it with a twist of his dusty shoe as he unbuckled his helmet.

Jax glanced up to see the dim, warm light of a lamp in your living room, smiling to himself again that you were still awake and no doubt waiting for him as he took his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the main compartment.

Relieved the box didn't get smushed, he pulled out the still perfectly preserved cupcake and dug in his pocket for the single candle he stuck in there earlier, bringing his lighter out with it along with another cigarette.

He placed the fresh smoke between his lips, not paying any attention to the cut stinging on his lip where it rested, focusing on sticking the candle in the center of the cupcake and lighting it. With the pink candle set ablaze, he brought his lighter to the end of the cigarette and inhaled as it burned the paper, shoving the Zippo back in the inside pocket of his cut before carefully making his way up the steps to your front door with his free hand blocking any wind made by walking from blowing out the tiny flame.

He grunted quietly to himself when he knocked on the door, his hand more sore than he thought it was after punching Weston's face in so many times, muttering to himself when he realized he was getting blood on the side of the cupcake from a split on his other hand.

"Ahh, shit," he sighed, knowing he didn't have enough time to try to clean anything up when he heard your footsteps coming to answer. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and quickly forced the smoke out with a deep blow, waving his hand so it wouldn't be in your face when you opened the door.

An automatic smile formed on his lips as soon as he laid eyes on you, leaning against the doorway in nothing but your panties and his white reaper crew t-shirt that he left the last time he was over, his voice hoarse as he started singing.

"Happy birthday to you," he began, taking a step through the entrance. "Happy birthday to you," he continued, getting right close to you until your faces were inches from each other, his eyes flickering over your shy, but happy features as his gesture made you flush all over.

"Happy birthday, darlin'. Make a wish."

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking from his intensely blue eyes down to the candle in front of you, and blew it out.

"What'd you wish for?"

"I'm not supposed to tell, Jax."

He smirked, leaning even closer to you so his lips were hovering over yours, "Then I'll have to guess."

His kiss tasted like smoke, but you didn't care, craving the nicotine that transferred from his mouth to yours like you were addicted to the habit itself, deepening the kiss by arching into him as if you were never able to get enough.

Jax walked forward, guiding you further into your house, the sound of the door closing lost on both of you as he kicked it shut behind him and eventually broke your kiss.

"I didn't think I was going to get to see you today," you whispered, your lids heavy with lust when you looked up at him.

"Yeah, well, I skipped out early to come give my girl her gift." He held up the cupcake and let you take it from his hand, watching your expression change to confusion as you noticed the blood stained on the side of it.

"Is that your blood?"

"50/50 chance," he laughed, swiping his finger through the icing before licking it clean.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably not.”

You began taking in the deepening colours of purple and red on his cheek, the cut on his lip and the ones that flawed his hands, the concern you felt taking away from the joy in having him there.

“Is this why you're late?” you questioned, your fingertips ghosting over his cheek and down to his lip.

“So you were expecting me, then," he winked, his smugness always managing to outshine anything else, forcing you to roll your eyes at him.

He kissed you again, plucking the cupcake out of your hand and placing it blindly over on the hall table where you kept your keys and purse, his hands reaching up to cradle your face.

"I should report you for theft, you know," he warned, pausing to take a breath, nodding down at his shirt that hung loosely on your body.

"I think of it more as safe keeping until the owner comes back to claim it," you challenged, your eyebrows raising to show your displeasure in it being too many days that had turned into weeks since he was last here.

"Hey, at least I didn't miss your birthday," he objected, trying his best to defend himself, his head tilted while his eyebrows rose to crease his forehead.

You backed away from him, turning to walk through to the kitchen, looking back over your shoulder.

"And how many other birthday's did you celebrate in the meantime?"

"Oh, come on," he laughed frustratedly, your accusation making him look up at the ceiling. "You know it isn't like that."

You nodded slowly in silent agreement, trying not to let your insecurities and jealousies get the better of you.

He sighed loudly, waiting for a moment before following you, his voice raising slightly to make sure you heard from down the hallway.

"You're the only one I always come back to. The one I want to be inside every night."

Hearing his footsteps coming toward you, you closed your eyes and breathed out, terrified of the hurt he could cause but realizing you were being hurt every time regardless.

His voice was near and softer now that he was in the kitchen with you, making your heart pound faster in your chest even though he seemed so calm.

"You gotta stop pushing me away."

It was safer that way; always keeping him at an arm's length, never wanting to get your heart involved when you knew what he was like and how many beds he ended up in. Jax Teller could have any woman he wanted; more charm in him than all of Charming, a simple crooked grin or nod as he strutted past enough to seal the deal, and not one person could say he wasn't successful in his endeavors.

Despite it all, you wanted him, but kept it casual enough to get a taste of what you needed, having said to both yourself and him on more than one occasion over the years that nothing more would ever happen as long as his habits remained the same, and you weren't about to ask a man like him to change.

He came up to you, his hands holding your waist, his lips peppering across your shoulder and dangerously close to your neck. You closed your eyes again and sighed, relishing in the sensation while praying he didn't do the one thing you always told him not to.

But Jax always did whatever the fuck he wanted.

He kissed up along your neck, making you moan and breathe deeper, trying to keep some sort of resolve.

"Jax, you know my rule," you pleaded, feeling your entire body ignite to his lawlessness.

"Remind me what that is again?" he lied, continuing to kiss and suck your neck, knowing damn well what it was.

You shivered, feeling yourself slipping away and quickly becoming willing to do anything he asked or all the things you really wanted to do; the way he kissed your neck was your kryptonite and weakness and the one thing you always prevented in order to save yourself, fearing you would reveal exactly how you felt about him anytime he lingered there.

"Jax…"

He stopped, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him, his eyes dancing back and forth with yours as he looked at you seriously.

“I'm done playing. I want this," he said pointedly, speaking with surety.

You let go of the breath you were holding, still questioning whether to trust him regardless of how convincing he was right now.

Taking hold of your cheeks again, he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across them, an honesty and pleading present in those clear blues that made you lose yourself every time.

Before you could argue or plead your case, he crashed against you, inhaling deeply like he was trying to suck all the air out of your lungs, his tongue probing deep into your mouth to tangle with yours.

There was no sense in trying to hold back now, done with pretending for as many years as you had, the whine that passed from your mouth to his signaling your surrender.

The metallic taste of blood mixed with tobacco teased your tastebuds with each kiss, increasing your hunger to taste more of him while your body displayed those needs and your hands roamed frantically under his hoodie and the waist of his low-sitting jeans.

The leather of his cut was soft on your fingertips as you ran them along the open panels, feeling Jax’s eagerness increase in his kiss when you peeled it down his arms and placed it carefully on the kitchen chair beside you without looking. He shrugged off his hoodie and white t-shirt while you busied yourself with unfastening his belt and jeans, letting the weight of his knife pull them to the floor without assistance, leaving him standing in his boxers with a cheeky grin on his face.

“You seem pretty happy unwrapping your present.”

“Is this all I get?” you teased, matching his smile and giggling when he picked you up and put you over his shoulder, giving your bum a harsh smack as he started making his way down to your bedroom.

"Come on, birthday girl, let's go make those wishes come true."

A seriousness took over again once you were in your room, what remained of the playfulness exchanged just a minute ago in the kitchen leaving the moment your feet touched the hardwood floor, Jax peering down at you with a look you hadn't seen before.

You'd be lying if you told yourself you weren't absolutely terrified, scared of letting yourself fall even further for him, but the way his expression had softened and his eyes held what you knew had to be love for you in them, you were ready to give in.

“I mean it,” he muttered, one of his hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear where you leaned into his touch.

You crashed against him, kissing him hard, the need to have him more fierce than ever and only fueled more by him meeting your enthusiasm equally.

Jax tore his shirt from your body, only pausing in kissing you for long enough to get your head through it, stepping closer to you so your bodies were pressed together, feeling his hard cock nudging against your thighs and then between your legs through his boxers.

More desperate for him now than you thought you had ever been, you tugged his loose-fitting shorts down roughly, your mouth watering as his dick sprung free and bounced temptingly before you took hold of it and began rubbing the silky, veiny skin, his approval of your touch sounding as a low growl from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth close to your ear as he leaned in against you, his hips moving into your strokes.

Finding his focus, he let his fingers hook in your thong to pull it down over your hips, his head angling to meet your mouth with his again as he slipped his fingers in your folds to spread your slick, both of you pressing your mouths against each other's harder as ecstasy quickly took over.

This was normally the time where one of you would frantically reach for a condom, barely keeping it together in time to get it on him as the temptation to go without almost always won, and today it seemed it would. You had always trusted that he wrapped up whenever he was with anyone, and although you were on birth control you were happy not to take any risks, but today was different. You wanted him, and all of him.

Jax walked forward until the back of your legs met your bed, and forcing you to sit, he crawled in over you, his blond hair hanging in your face as you spread out beneath him and he settled between your open legs.

He gave you a once over before meeting your eyes, admiring your perfect form spread and ready for him to ruin, his cheeks flinching as he clenched his jaw while he waited for you to give him the go-ahead.

Your consent was silent as you lifted your head up to capture his lips with yours, his sun-bleached beard scratching over your chin, lifting your hips at the same time so you rubbed yourself over his leaking head.

Jax wasted no more time, driving into you deeply in one push, pausing when he bottomed out to flex his cock inside you. You moaned into him, your hands clawing over the tattoo covering his back, unable to believe how good it felt to have him bare inside you.

Immediately choosing a rhythm that was both slow and hard at the same time, he thrusted in and out and ground against you with perfect precision, sending you close to the edge faster than ever before.

"You feel so fucking good!" he growled, his mouth parting from yours and leaving a string of wet between them, moving his lubricated lips over to your neck where you whined loudly and rocked more into his movements.

"Fuck, Jax!" you cried, knowing you were leaving ten red trails across his pale skin, but feeling the need to claim him as yours.

He was doing the same, sucking at your neck to leave darkened blemishes behind, his tongue alternating where his teeth came out to nip harshly at the tender skin to soothe each bite, his tempo growing erratic as he lost himself in your dripping cunt.

You seemed to only get wetter the more he kissed your neck and fucked you deeply, hitting that sweet spot with his head with each blow, the way you squeezed his girth tightly as he dragged in and out of you making him want to blow it already.

He forced himself to pause, needing to compose himself so he could keep fucking you for as long as he could, not wanting this to be over any time soon. Your whining increased, making him unsure if it was because he was sitting idly inside you or that he was persistent in continuing to kiss your neck all over to the point you had goosebumps littering your skin and you writhing desperately under him. It made him smile, knowing he had such an effect on you, smug in his ability to have you past the point of control and that you were seconds away from admitting something you tried so hard to deny for so long.

If Jax was anybody but the asshole he was he would've said it long ago, but selfishly he wanted to hear it spill from your gorgeous lips first, and he didn't ever go down without a fight.

"Roll over," he demanded, pulling out of you and forcefully grabbing at your leg to help flip you onto your stomach, hooking your knee up to bend at a high angle.

You took your hair in your hand and draped it over one shoulder, exposing the side of it for him to do with what he wanted, making him smirk more that you clearly wanted him there despite what you always said.

The hand that wasn't supporting him on the mattress gripped your cheek and spread you apart, driving his dick in you again torturously slowly, watching your face contort as he stretched you open. Your hands tore at the sheets as you backed yourself into him to push him in further, meeting his hips in slow, rolling motions, that tingling sensation of your building climax quickly returning.

Sex with Jax was always mind-blowing and the best you ever had, but tonight it felt so much better, so much more powerful, and you knew you could never have it any other way again.

He leaned over you to gently kiss your neck, more carefully than before, his efforts in wrecking you focused in his movements even though the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin had you shivering and threatening to come undone just as much.

The scent of your skin was like a drug to him as he breathed deeply, his nose ghosting at your nape and in your hair, dragging him right along with you to a point he would never recover from.

Wrapping a hand around to wedge between you and the bed, he found your clit, rubbing precise circles with his fingertips in the way he always knew made you scream, the thought of feeling you cum on his bare dick making him feel more feral than he ever had.

"Jax, I'm so close- Fuck!" you cried, your breathing growing ragged, your limbs moving recklessly to try to gain momentum on your climax that sat waiting just on the edge, seeking to keep up with his ruthless pounding.

He slowed his pace, adjusting to a speed he knew would have you at his mercy, his fingers pressing onto your swollen bud harder but in more languid strokes. His nose brushed along your neck, his breath fanning out over your dewy skin before he started kissing you again, the way your body tensed beneath him telling him he had you right where he wanted you.

"God, Jax, I love you," you admitted, feeling freed and unashamed in saying what you had feared to the most, your body relaxing into your words and finding the release it sought.

Jax hammered into you, pounding you through your high, his grunts mixing with your shouts of pleasure as you quaked and strangled him tightly.

Giving you no time to recover, he sat back on his heels and lifted you up with him, his cock momentarily slipping from you as you positioned yourself over his lap, allowing him a glimpse of your milky cum that coated it and sent him into a frenzy.

He speared back into you, your pussy sensitive and still tingling from your orgasm, his hand holding you back against his chest and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers to keep you as stimulated as possible.

Reaching up to turn your face to the side so he could kiss you, he rutted up into you brutally, feeling your pussy stretch out over him with each pump, your wetness dripping out to soak his golden pubes.

His kisses turned sloppy, nearing his end, his hand slipping down to hold your throat where he could easily control the amount of air allowed to pass through your windpipe, the knowledge of knowing you trusted him enough to let him do it lighting him up with an intense buzzing.

Before he could give in to that temptation, he let one hand return to your tits that bounced with his thrusts, the other replacing his lips on yours as he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb and shoved two of his fingers inside. You sucked on them appreciatively, wetting them with your spit thoroughly as he triggered your gag reflex and pinched one of your peaked nipples at the same time, making you moan and clench hard on his dick. Removing them from the heat of your mouth, he trailed them between your breasts and straight down your stomach, landing on your clit where he spread your spit generously and worked to make you cum again.

You ground on him quickly, the increase in your movements sending you through to another climax, the sound of him grunting and panting in your ear as he began to cum encouraging you, but not as much as knowing he was about to fill you up.

He drove up into you harder, his teeth scraping along your neck and up to your cheek where he growled in your ear roughly, "I love you, too, babe."

You came together, feeling his hot spend coat your insides and start to leak out of you as he didn't let up on fucking you, wrecking you harder than he ever had before.

Your body felt weak and charged all at the same time, like you were melting into him but somehow needing more, and sliding off his dick with a quiet moan at the loss of him, you turned around to face him, sitting in his lap where you wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him close, continuing to kiss him with a necessity that was greater than breathing.

Holding your head in his hands, Jax met you with equal fervor, his chest rising and falling sharply against yours as he worked to catch his breath, and slowly guided you to lay down in the sheets with him.

Your legs tangled together, your arms holding and caressing each other with a surety you had never known before, relishing in the after effects of a level of bliss you were positive up until now you were never going to experience.

Slowing your kisses until they stopped, Jax looked at you warmly and flashed you a lazy smile, and you couldn't help but trace your fingertips over the creases beside his mouth and then up to run through his tousled hair.

You felt a slight pang in your chest in knowing he would probably leave soon, needing to see to some duties for the club, always having to run off shortly after his time with you to go deal with something that his loyalties couldn't ignore.

"I don't want today to end," you whispered, not ready to call it quits on your birthday just yet, and especially not ready to let him out of your bed after confessing something so huge.

Jax shifted onto his back, stretching out with a groan to reach for your alarm clock on your nightstand to check the time; 11:51 pm. Following the cord from the back of it into the wall behind the table, he pulled the plug out, watching the screen turn blank before rolling back over to you, his knee wedging between your legs as he settled his weight on top of you.

“Your birthday isn't over yet, darlin', and I'm not going anywhere.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

I went ahead and tagged everyone I have written down for my Charlie/Will Miller taglist so my apologies if you're not interested in being tagged in Jax fics and I will happily add or remove anyone as they wish!

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 I'VE REMEMBERED . . ਏਓ !

𖥔 ݁ 𓈒 summary 𓍯 he remembered your favorite color — 🎙 contents : angst

The air bore the fragrance of scented candles, dry flowers and melancholy, a symphony of quiet sorrow woven into the tapestry of twilight, where memories slumbered beneath the dew-kissed grass of lost souls. The man's quiet footsteps, hesitant steps with the echoes of eternity echoing at the hushed place, reverberated through the sacred stillness of the sepulchered landscape. His eyes wandered across the cold tiles as his gaze, heavy with the weight of unspoken solace.

He is only here for one person, one destination. 

His youthful eyes clouded with grief and sadness but also a relief. Amidst the silence, a transient of his past, reading your name that fluttered between the dusty tombstone like delicate moths drawn to the flame of remembrance. He sat on the chilly grass as his eyes darkened while reading the transcript of the tombstone.

" It's been a while, my dear. " it burned, His throat tightened with hushed words or how the man's lungs crushed with every breath he'd taken. " I can feel you roll your eyes at me. It's been years since I've visited you. You must have been waiting for a long time. " He closed his eyes as he needed to capture the translucent tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

" Do you perhaps hear me? " his words are as gentle as the breeze on a cold Saturday night. It was all too ironic, too painfully evident for his aching heart. " You may not forgive me as I never visited you since the day... you've left me, your family," he confessed to the quietness. Acceptance was never easy in his forte, the cruel duty of how much he cared and loved. It was never enough to let you stay or bask in your radiance that once and finally left. 

The wind carried his burden but never left his body like the air he needed constantly breathe to live as years later, he never changed in the slightest bit. " I wish I could know more about you, so I can show myself, can please you. " In the vulnerability of his words, he sighed. The man found solace in the communion of utterances spoken to the wind. " The regret in my stomach filled me like butterflies, as I only wished that I could touch your delicate face as I confess my undying feeling for you. " His fingers brushed gently and tentatively against the engraved letters that etched the name of his one and only.

His hands gripped tightly to the flowers he brought for you. The smell of it wafted in the air as it reminded him what you smell like. It was different you, had a husky-like smell than these floral flowers but it was only a replica of what you smelled like as it was a mere comfort for him. " I've brought you flowers, it may not be your favorite. But it is your favorite color," he confessed, his voice a soft echo in the stillness.

" You may not see the full-bloomed colors of these flowers nor the color itself, I will be your eyes and nose to tell you that they are beautiful and smelled like you, a bit. " He quietly chuckled as his delicate-ragged fingers plucked one petal. The man's touch became an ode as he caressed the plucked petal, A caress to remember that transcended the veil between them.

My memory with you has faded completely, but I will always remember how you, loved these colors.

The rays of sunlight painted the blue sky as the scent of flowers flowed through his brain, the shadow of a lone willow tree twisted and shaped themselves as his figure standing like a lone wolf. His eyes formed from darkness and a hollow void of coloration turned into light like a burning flame like one that flowed crimson red to the skies. " This would be the first and last time that I would visit you; I would continue living my life… without you. " His lips quirked upwards, a smile that could clash with the sunflowers bathing in sunlight.

He moved on, from you. He finally did the next step on his journey

" You showed me things that I wished to see and this time I'm the only one who will see those things. You have my gratitude and that will always be impeccable and irreplaceable. " He laughed as he spoke those words, words of joy tickled by the melody of his laughter, swayed with a rhythm known as his greatest love for you.

He did it, you must have been so proud.

" Goodbye… my dear, I'll see you soon enough. Wait for me a little longer. " As he walked into the embrace of the sunlight caressing his face, with each step, the memories of you two faded from his view, his eyes wandered one last time at your tombstone as the sunlight beamed on the pavement. It was like an unfinished painting awaiting the strokes of a new beginning.

A beginning without you.

— GOJO . GETO . shoto . obanai . TOJI . NANAMI . choso . LEVI . eren . BAKUGO . HAWKS . dabi . KURAPIKA . killua AGED UP! . CHROLLO . choso . zhongli . XIAO . DAINSLEIF . neuvillette . diluc . wriothesley . KAEYA . tartaglia . kaveh . alhaitham ... your faves

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

I don't know if you're accepting anymore requests for the Creator Baby Daddy thing, but if said baby daddy was a certain redheaded teetotaler that runs the Dawn Winery? 😗

Their grace had a

Firey headed child

Wc: 1k

As the soft sunlight seeps inside the room you open your eyes, a bright red mane moving softly up and down as it rests on your chest, its curls framing Diluc’s jaw and nose.

It seems like the finger you ran around his hair and cheek woke him up. “Rise and shine, little prince”

Bright red eyes look at you with tenderness and his lips kiss your sternum and arms tighten around your waist.

“We can cuddle for a bit but remember I have to leave after breakfast to Liyue” he nods but sighs against your skin “even after I leave you will be forever in my heart”

“And my heart will always ardently burn for you, your grace” he kisses your lips as he mumbles sweet nothings, both of you fully under the cotton covers and enjoying the last few minutes of time together.

“It's been quite a while, Diluc” you sit down on the stools in front of the bar, it's almost closing time and the few people left are gathering themselves to go home. Even Diluc was surprised to see you at this hour but he holds back from asking about it straight on.

“It's been almost three months, I think? I believe you were scheduled to return for the next Ludi Harpastum, in two more months” without hesitation he keeps the conversation going smoothly, so used to chatty drunkards going on and on and still expect an answer.

Looking at him doing the closing chores so focused delays your answer a few seconds, but honestly who could blame you? His white shirt was rolled up his elbows and the top few buttons were undone “Mhh there was a change of plans, for reasons I will stay a season in mondstat”

“I see… I guess you just arrived?”

“That is right, we hurried back and managed to make it here in two days”

Throwing the towel he was drying the whiskey glass with over his shoulder he leans forward, resting his back from standing for so long and causing a few stray crimson hairs to stick to his thinly sweaty skin, the warmth of the tavern almost making you break into a light sweat after a few minutes inside “Would I be so bold as to offer you a drink, your grace?”

“I would love it, just please make sure to not add alcohol to it”

He nods and turns to pour a small layer of grenadine in a glass “as you please”

“aren't you going to ask me why?”

“Why you don't want alcohol? I was just guessing you didn't want today”

“Well, it's partly because of that but there is also another reason” softly you lay a hand down on your lower belly, sure he would understand the implication.

“Upset stomach? Alcohol does irritate the stomach's lining” but when turns to pour orange juice he sees your deadpan expression and the hand between your hips, soon the connection is made “was that from…”

“Yes, indeed! I do hope your heart is still burning for me”

“Always, your grace” a soft smile grace's his face, if the candles were dimmer it might have been impossible to see. Closer to a gasp or a whisper he leans forward and swears “I would rather rip my heart out than to stray from you”

During the pregnancy his hands and sight seem to always find themselves stuck on your body somehow, a constant reminder to himself that you are safe and this is something nobody nor anything will be able to take away from him and even if they attempted he would fight to defend.

Any comforting words that you might attempt to soothe him with fall to deaf ears so it might be better to hold in the good news until you start to show to enjoy to the max your boundless liberty before making good acquaintance of the dawn winery and periphery, it's not like he would force you to! He would never dare to order you around, it's just his face that makes you the slightest bit guilty when you leave and travel alone. Even if you wouldn't consider four knights of favonius alone he still seems to hold resentment and mistrust.

People say that firstborns always look like their dads, nature's paternity test some claim, but regardless of how your baby looked (even you must claim that as soon as your beloved baby came out it was hard to find any resemblance with humans) the firey red fuzz on his head linking him to his father in a second. Not like Diluc doubted it for a second.

“This selection is a chardonnay” Diluc holds a white grape before smashing it between his fingers and giving it to your toddler to happily chew “it makes a wine of the same name” when the kid swallows he hands them a dark one and does the same procedure “this one is Malbec, a staple for most of our red wine” but this time he spits in back on the ground, seemingly too bitter.

“Why don't you stick to feeding him normal grapes?” You ask from the table under a shadow, sipping grape juice and reading a book.

“When he grow up they might want to work here and with so many types of grapes and things about the winery to know I should teach him young” he turns around from besides the vine, he from may you know where decided that he needed to teach your year old about the multiple varieties of wine grapes and their wines.

“Fine~ if you feel like you want to do it teach him, I doubt much knowledge will stick right now but I will be rooting for you here” he turns around to face the plant again and you keep watching his arms show from under the rolled shirt and how they tense when reaching for a new grape and the love with which he teaches his child, quite possibly reminiscing about his father doing the same with him.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Oh my goshhhhhh I just binged all of your eldrich König writing and I’m OBSESSED! I need to know everything, what does it mean that they’re the herald? How many realms are there? What are the geopolitical realities of an (unaligned?) military of summoners? Have summons always been a part of this world’s history?

His mom is the coolest and I love the way the eldrich remind me of Nyx and her many children the chorionic gods.

It’s killing me they haven’t banged it out yet. And if hes bedded other people how did he not know his dick is weird 👀 This konig isnt like others Ive read and I’m just loving the warm and fuzzies from him being such a thoughtful partner but like almost too well adjusted? Miss the pet names though… Can’t wait to read more 💖💯🙌🏻 thank you!

I want them to fuck but unfortunately, here we are. I am suffering so much. Alas, a slow burn must be stirred carefully.

Now! As to what the herald means? I can't say. As to how many realms there are? As many atoms as there are in the universe and then some. They're practically infinite. It just so happens that König comes from one only a couple of realms away. He's not so distant from us, which is part of what allows him to inhabit our reality. If he were too distant, his form wouldn't be able to be corporeal. It wouldn't be able to take shape, period. The farther away a realm is, the less control it has over ours, and likewise us to them.

As for summoners out of the military, summons are very common! Many people call upon summons to help with daily tasks. Some are just for washing dishes or clothes, some are to keep as company on lonely nights. The use of summons varies depending on the person. In this world, humans have dedicated themselves to learning about other realms and pursuing knowledge and arts. They value hard skills made by human hands, though usage of summons to make manufactured goods is still a staple. Some individuals are dedicated to finding more and more summons, others are dedicated to training summons. Humans live luxurious lives these days. After all, if you never have to worry about maintaining a home, what would you do with all the free time? Humans aren't always lazy. Many of us devolved to degeneracy, but those humans didn't last long and didn't produce many more. The ones who had an internal drive were the ones to really carry on having families and pursuing greatness. Though some people still fall through the cracks, humanity has prospered in the age of summons.

Have summons always been here? Not really. They were discovered in the early common era to the start of the industrial age. For this group of humans, the industrial age was the age of summons. The summoning age, if you will. This was what kick-started their technological revolution.

On a different note!

König's mother is a beautiful creature. I truly consider her as close to divine as mortals can bear witness to. I am in awe of her. She is genuinely a fascinating being. She loves her children, she loves life, but she's not a good being. She's the embodiment of chaos, a rung above König. She's as capable of good as she is of bad. I will say, she prefers to preserve life when possible. She likes life, she likes how chaotic it is. She wants to preserve our spontaneity.

She also is very careful about Summoner. She likes our chocolates, but she kinda knows that König and Summoner haven't actually started their relationship, contrary to what König thinks. However, she's certain that we will end up together, which is the main reason she doesn't snuff out our candle before it's been lit. Herald be damned, she doesn't care. If we hurt her baby boy she'll erase our bloodline from the entirety of existence. It's a damn good thing that Summoner eventually ends up with König!!!

[keouil]

let my blood be water to you

"oh, right, sure!" gojo scoffs. "blame the vampire!" 1k. gojo/nanami. vampire!au. also on ao3.

In hindsight, it really was Yuji's fault.

But he digresses:

"Let me begin by saying," Gojo starts, addressing the makeshift town hall full of angry townsfolk glaring daggers at him. "That while yes, parts of the village are currently burning, it was not my fault for once."

"Bulltshit." Someone swears from the crowd. Gojo doesn't even have to check to know who it was, the raspy cadence to it familiar. "I saw you go into the church earlier with boxes of candles."

Gojo sighs. "Yes, Nanami-san," he nods along, somberly. "The church. Likely place for a prospective priest to be, don't you think?"

"We already have a priest," offers Nanami, gritted teeth.

"And how good you do it," parrots Gojo back in turn, canines flashing.

"You're dead," Megumi deadpans, choosing that moment to stroll in with more blankets and a fresh load of refreshments from Tsumiki. "I don't understand why you don't burn every time you try entering the place."

Gojo gasps, affronted. "What did I say about using the D word!"

"It's what you are," Shoko this time, who was currently tending to a wounded Getou, who was actually looking particularly scrumptious with burn cuts all over his chest but the middle finger he was giving him in response just soured his appetite altogether. "Didn't you basically beg Toji to give you civil rights and all that?"

"First of all," Gojo lifts a finger. "I do not beg. Begging is for puny mortals. I consider myself elevated in that regard, quite literally, as an immortal myself. Second of all," he continues, eyes going over the crowd. "I think everyone here can learn a thing or two from last year's Thanksgiving feast that your local governor and I, unfortunately, do not get along."

"You called him a deadbeat dad and told him you could do a better job at raising Megumi than he ever could," reminds Meimei, not even bothering to look up from the town registry where she was currently counting down their inventory. Gojo reminds himself to remind someone of the not so sneaky way she was palming a few bills to her corset. "I know I'm not a saint and all, but lines, Gojo. There are lines."

"I said none of those things!" defends Gojo.

"To his face," says Utahime, helping put down a few makeshift cots. "But the implication was clear enough."

"Megumi," Gojo turns his attention to him. "Did I or did I not imply those things." 

Megumi didn't even wait for a beat to answer. "You implied," he says, before sauntering off to the rest of the other younglings across the square currently trying to calm down other even younger younglings. Yuji, in particular, was surprisingly good at his bedside voice; Nobara, however, not so much. Stop crying or we’ll make Megumi-nii sing and give you a real reason to cry!

Gojo waves them all off impatiently. "One crisis at a time," he decides. "We can save Megumi's daddy issues for another hearing."

"I wasn't aware that's what we were doing," says Nanami, a frown on his brow. “Considering you just burned down parts of the town hall, along with the rest of the church you so verbally favor.”

Gojo snaps his fingers once for a gavel to appear on his hand. "Gavel, see," he relays. "I have the justice thing going on and everything." 

“Fine,” Nanami crosses his arms. "Then what exactly happened?"

Gojo breathes once, twice, before finally saying: "It was Yuji's fault."

Yuji, from way across the other side of the square and has Gojo convinced was partly supernatural himself because of that pesky inhumane hearing, decides it is decidedly not his fault. "Not true!" he cries out, covering a peasant child’s ears. "I didn't even know what he was going to do with all the candles!"

Shoko makes a face. "What were you doing with that many candles?"

“Mood lighting,” Gojo deadpans. “Gothic vibes and all that.” 

"That's not a thing," says Nanami. “It’s literally already a gothic church.”

Gojo’s eyes slant to a glare, and if his ears reddened just a fraction despite having no blood to filter it at all through, they blame it on the heat of the flames currently licking on his skin. At least Nanami does.

He doesn’t say that to anyone, however.

-

The day started off fairly innocently.

There Gojo was, on his usual morning leisure walk across the town, trying in vain to ignore Meimei propositioning him for a night of fun provided by her many consorts at the local brothel. Nervous little Yuuta was trailing behind Miguel, the town judo master, and nearly tripped on his feet when one of the carriages brought in a fresh batch of pumpkins along with an even fresher batch of royal twins. It's pathetic, really, the way his eyes lit up the moment Maki descended from the carriage. Miguel had to bark at him at least three times to follow before he finally snapped out of it and did. 

Ah, thought Gojo breezily, Young love.

The rest of the morning followed in a fashion so like it did in the past however many months he'd been assigned vampire consort to this bustling little town by the forest. He made his rounds on the local townsfolk, pledging on and on the strategic nature of the vampire-human alliance that was precariously dangling on it's tenth year of cohabilitation that, despite all taunts from anyone otherwise, he actually did not want to jeopardize.

So really, things were going really well.

Until he got to the church.

Until apropos of nothing, not a knock or a hiss or a warning; the wooden doors to the cathedral unceremoniously swung open to reveal the tall and bulky and downright delectable frame of one Nanami Kento, Head Priest and Number One Cause for His Temptation. Gojo paused at the landing of the stairs and could have sworn to himself he was staring at the sun himself. There Nanami stood, an unwilling guide to his otherwise lovely company, with nothing but the displeasure in his face as a greeting.

Gojo's face immediately fell. "What," he said in alarm. "What is it. What have I done wrong now."

Nanami just quirked an eyebrow at him before lifting a finger, gesturing for him to follow. Gojo does so on shaky legs and absolutely does not, he insists, fall back just so to admire a certain back side.

Nanami led them to the farthest room of the building at the farthest hallway, where the smell of something waxy was starting to grow gradually stronger with each step they took. 

"What is that?" Gojo sniffed. "Is something burning?"

Something about that seems to bemuse Nanami, but he doesn't say anything and instead shoulders his way through the last door. Gojo pretended not to be impressed, and pretended even harder not to see how the movement made the muscles in his uniform stretch past his forearms against the fabric enough he actually saw the muscles trying to bulge out. He didn’t have to do much in the way of an award-winning performance of pretending, however—because the sight that greeted him on the other side of the door was enough to elicit a genuine shock out of him.

"Itadori Yuji!" Gojo gasped. "What are you doing with all this!"

"He told me you told him to meet you here," Nanami relayed, patiently it seemed but thawing by the minute. "For the thing."

Gojo was gobsmacked. "What thing."

"The thing."

"I have no such recollection whatsoever about this thing."

"The Megumi thing then."

Gojo paused. "Megumi—" he stopped, blinked, and then his eyes widened in realization. "Oh you mean the—"

-

"Proposal," Nanami finishes the recollection for him. "You were helping him do.. a proposal?"

"Yes," Gojo nods along vehemently. "Yes, that sounds right."

"Your brilliant idea of a proposal idea was for the kid to light up a hundred candles in an old, wooden church that helped spell out 'WILL YOU MARRY ME FUSHIGURO' knowing full well how weak and brittle the firewood is?"

A beat.

"No," Gojo lies. "No, that doesn't sound right."

"Yuji said it was your idea and that you were going to take care of everything," Nanami explains. "I don't suppose taking care of everything means also taking accountability for intentionally wrecking a historic site that's been here longer than anyone else?"

"Oh, right, sure!" Gojo scoffs hotly. "Blame the vampire!"

"Your being a vampire has nothing to do with it!" Nanami argues right back. "This isn’t the first time you've tried to endanger the town with your satanic ways!"

"Blasphemy!" Gojo cries out. "No priest has ever said the S word and survived!"

"It's in the Bible for a reason and that's not the point," Nanami rubs at his temples. “Seriously. A burning candle in a wooden church?”

“I never said anything about vampires being particularly smart,” Gojo puts his hands up in surrender. “About us being ridiculously good-looking with deathly charms, however—”

"Two," Nanami cuts him off.

Gojo’s grin falls. “What.”

"We found two boxes of candles on the scene," Nanami elaborates impatiently, turning to face him. "What were you going to use the other one for?"

Gojo, for the first time in literally a hundred years, is rendered speechless. Yuji, having enough of being ostracized and made guinea pig to useless men and their useless attempts at flirtation, uses that time to cry out from the other side of the town hall:

"HE WANTED ME TO DO THE SAME THING TO ASK YOU OUT!"

No one speaks for a full second.

Then a minute.

Then—

"Now that, Gojo-san," says Nanami slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging up. "That's just plain old sin."

[ferrariregina]

Charles Leclerc request

I hope to one day have it in me to make you as miserable as you've made me

misery on the fast lane | cl16 × reader

pairing: charles leclerc × reader

warning: angst, unedited, also lets act like charles won a gp recently okay? okay.

summary: mentioned above.

you are seated at home, the flickering flame of the candle throwing agitated shadows against the wall. outside, the night is dark and silent, the world seems to be as quiet as your heart. a single polaroid, nestled between a pile of books, catches your eye. it's you and charles. embraced in each others arms, grinning at the camera like idiots.

you miss him, you admit. the way his fingers would trace your skin, delicate and electrifying, the playful glint in his blue eyes, his terrible imitations of celebrities, and that contagious laughter. but the bitter poison of hurt and betrayal lingers stronger than the remnants of love.

he was not just anybody; charles was the fan-favourite driver. every time he'd leave, you would dread his impending return because it should have made you happy. instead, the fear of him losing his life on the racetrack made you miserable. the anxiety was unbearable, but he always returned with that exhilarating grin. until one day, he didn't.

he didn't crash. no, we were the ones who crashed and burned when he admitted having fallen for someone else.

"will you forgive me?" his last words left a bitter taste that you could not erase.

now, you fantasize about the payback. how would it feel to make him as miserable as he'd made you? there's a sick pleasure just imagining it. your heart, once full of love, is now brimming with vengeance.

the warmth he provided, the promise of countless tomorrows, all of it lost and unattainable now.

like a cruel joke or perhaps fate trying to mend your broken halves, you found yourself standing across charles at a bustling party one night. you watched him standing tall, sipping champagne, a captivating sight indeed. his eyes met yours across the sparkling crowd, with an emotion you couldn't fathom.

"hey," he greeted softly, as he moved closer. the effervescent laughter and congratulatory cheers for his recent victory seemed to drown out.

"charles," your greeting was soft-spoken, brimming with bittersweet nostalgia - but you were far from presenting an open book.

"you look…" he paused as if the words weighing him down. "you look beautiful."

"thank you" you replied, stiffening when he grazed your arm with his fingers, those familiar digits igniting an old flame.

"you know… I've missed you," he muttered, eyes pleading. you felt your heart stutter but the seed of vengeance watered, determined.

"that's strange," you replied, feigning naivety.

"I want you back," he declared, grip intensifying. "give me a chance. please."

every cell in your body cried out for his touch, for his promise of a tomorrow. but your pride screamed, insisting you not fall for his pleas. give him a taste of his own medicine, you reminded yourself. you chewed on your lip, hesitant, before releasing a gentle sigh.

"I'm sorry, charles," you replied, taking a step back. "that's not possible."

"b-but I miss you…" his plea embarrassingly desperate, making you wince, a pool of sorrow welling up inside. "can we try again? please?"

you laugh without humor, the sound harsh and louder than you intended. "you have some nerve, charles," you state, trying to wince back the tears threatening to fall.

"don't you miss what we had?" he asks almost pleading now.

you want to lash out, yell at him for what he did, but instead, you say, "what we had is past, charles. a closed chapter. "I still miss you," he says helplessly. suddenly the victorious f1 champion seemed to be nothing more than a broken man begging for forgiveness.

your eyes soften for a brief moment. you miss him too, yet the devout hope to make him feel your agony overpowers your longing for him. you yank your arm free and walk away, leaving him standing alone.

as you walk away, you find it difficult to determine whether you have become stronger or colder in fulfilling your hopes. but for now, you are satisfied, his piercing gaze burning into your back, mirroring the same misery he had inflicted on you.

a/n: I loved writing this, hope y'all enjoy reading.thanks for this request! requests are open!

xoxo

[fizzigigsimmer]

Fargo Season 5: Gator Speculation

Y’all I am starting to fear for this man’s life. 😂 If you have not watched episode 5 yet, warnings for spoilers ahead.

So my theory that Gator and Dot may have previously been romantically involved went from an itch based on tiny clues that might have been circumstantial, to a full on burn last night.

Up until now we haven’t had any confirmation of Dot/Nadine’s age. The actress is only a few years older than Joe, but Hollywood is notoriously gross about women not looking their age, so it was entirely possible Juno was playing much older than she actually is. But now we know Dot was a teenager when she was brought into Roy’s little cult and when she married him.

For me that pretty much confirms that she and Gator are peers, and that he was a teenager when his father married a child near his own age. 🤢

Another thing that went from an itch to a burn for me: During the home invasion, when Dot first sees Gator she says “shame on you there’s a baby in this house”. This struck me because it’s the first time that I can recall Dot using such infantile language to refer to her daughter. While it’s not strange at all or uncommon for people to infantilez children in general, typically that kind of perspective becomes part of your regular speech patterns. “Gotta get home to my babies” that sort of thing. But to my memory Dot has always referred to Scotty with very particular language, possessive language at that. Scotty is always her child, her cub - and they even have her remind us there isn’t anything a mother lion wouldn’t do to protect her cub.

Dot might have chosen to refer to Scotty as a baby in that moment out of calculation, in the hopes that it would prick Gator’s conscience - which naturally infers that she has reason to believe he has one to work over. It also can’t be ruled out either that the specific use of the word baby was an unconscious slip, due to her shock and the vulnerability of the moment. Because the last time she saw Gator she was pregnant with what might be his baby.

The other hint we got this week is Dot confirming that Roy is an abusive piece of shit. She says something along the lines of what is obvious about Roy - that when he’s happy and feels in control things were good, but the minute he feels challenged or insecure he’d hit her and climb all over her just to feel strong again. Only when she’s describing this behavior she specifically uses the word ‘they’. They don’t hit you at first. “They” turn on you and push you down when they need to feel strong.

Now of course, Dot could just be talking about men in general. Men like Roy. But well, Gator IS a man like Roy. He’s desperately trying to walk in his father’s shoes and be all of the things he’s not, and he lashes out on other people to build himself up. We know from his own lips what he did to another teenager who accidentally injured him during a high school football game and stole his (most likely imagined) future in football. Given how close he and Dot are in age and all the hints that we have that he feels something for her, I think it’s highly likely that something happened between them.

I think it’s very possible that they connected, and were able to be vulnerable with each other. Gator seems just as surprised that Dot has become a “tiger” as Dot was that he has become his daddy’s lacky. I think in the past, at first they were able to find comfort in each other and things were good but eventually Gator did something that scared Dot and she decided to run.

At this point, I am confident at the very least that Gator’s feelings for/about Dot are romantic. Whether or not Dot has ever reciprocated them is still 50/50 for me. Regardless I think Gator held a candle for her and that as the tensions rise in the final episodes and he sees just how far Roy is willing to go to hurt and control her it’s going to force him to take a hard look at Roy, the kind of man and father he is, and really ask himself if that’s what he wants to be.

The part that scares me is Roy. Because when he’s in control and he feels like he has power over you, he’s loving. But the minute you do something to rock the boat… 😩 I have this really bad feeling that Gator is going to make an effort to be his own man, just in time to learn a final lesson about just what type of monster he narrowly avoided becoming. That scene with the blindfold and the rope keeps coming back to me.

Of course, my anxieties about that little clip aside there is always the possibility of the narrative going full Shakespeare on us. Gator, bringing about the downfall of his father’s kingdom by falling in love with his step mother and killing his father. 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾 Full on Oedipus.

[isadollie]

★ isadollie's 100 followers event! — matchup for @karusenka

♡ eren jaeger is your match!

here's how i imagine you two together:

★ 12 year old humor you say? oh i'm afraid that's him. when others are giving you weird looks, he just says that no one has a good sense of humor like the two of you do

★ he's a big physical touch guy, loves to hold you

★ won't ever admit it but he loves when you come to him for comfort, he loves knowing that he's the one you trust enough to cry against

★ would make sure that you think of yourself more, instead of caring about others all the time

★ buys you everything you lay your eyes upon without blinking

"i'm home!" you said as you walked through the door, taking your shoes off. you heard steps echoing through the house, and soon eren was by your side.

he was wearing a cute, pink little apron, holding a spatula in his hand. you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. he looked so funny, yet pretty adorable as well.

"welcome home." he said simply, wrapping his arms around you in a quick hug. "had a long day?" he stroked your hair.

"mhmm" you hummed in response, but when you wanted to hug him tighter, he pulled back.

"c'mon. i made your favourite for dinner." he motioned for you to follow him into the kitchen. "it's almost ready."

you happily followed him into the room, but then the smile quickly faded away from your face, replaced by a frown.

"oh my, eren, what is that smell?"

he scoffed, turning back to the stove. "dinner."

"dinner?" you walked closer, peaking from behind his shoulder. "it's burning!"

he sent you a glare. "do you want me to remind you what happened when YOU were making dinner last week?"

you sighed and took a step back. "fine, you win... I'll go light up some candles." you mumbled. "if one thing's burning, we might as well burn some candles as an addition."

something about eren always screamed palaye royale to me, and well, i think it's a very good song anyway, so there you have it

i think he'd relate to this song and would like it

your second choice? armin arlert! he was originally my first thought but you said you like the opposites attract trope, therefore i settled for eren in the end:3

also, did i just spot another polish person on tumblr for the very first time???!?!

jeśli tak, mam nadzieję, że się podoba hihi<3

[nrdmssgs]

Hi! I'd like to request something about my OC and Ghost if it's alright with you and you're still taking requests. No pressure and absolutely no rush. If I missed that you're not taking requests at the moment, I'm sorry.

I'm writing a fanfic about my OC, and to know her better I'll link my headcanons of her https://www.tumblr.com/gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot/718834905462751232/sergeant-christine-riot-vega-task-force-141?source=share

I'm feeling a bit down with life and my fic so I thought I'd request something about them to cheer me up. Of course feel free to not answer or not do it, it's perfectly ok!

If you decide to do it, I'd prefer something fluff/smut (smutty fluff? fluffy smutt? :D ) or just fluff/comfort, whatever is fine, really. My fic is a slow burn and although there are signs (and I have their first kiss already written), I'd love to see something with them already established. In my head, although both are deeply traumatised (both having undergone torture and lost their families) their relationship is surprisingly healthy.

Again, should you have other questions, or just discard this completely, it's completely fine. Thank you for reading!

Masterlist Fluff with a sprinkle of smut in the end Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x OC of @gamergirlbones

Summary: Just a quiet evening with a silly game.

TW: A bit of smut under cut

Authors note: I hope, this makes you smile for at least a minute. I really wanted to keep things fluffy and comforting. This all is taking place long after their first kiss (and maybe confessions).

One of those evenings

“Your turn, Lt.” 

Ghost blinked and looked around. If it wasn't for his mask, all others would see his puzzled expression right now. “Where were we?” Ghost voice is calm and steady, as if he wasn't desperately trying to remember, at what point of discussion his mind drifted away somewhere far. 

“Ehm, we are all captured and sentenced to death. Each of us gets a last wish. No limits, but no cheating like ‘i wish for a 1000 wishes’ either.” As Gaz was reminding him of what were they discussing, Simon silently looked from one face to another, trying to guess, who came up with such an idea. Ghost was mentally betting on Johnny, but deep inside he knew that Riot could also offer such a grim game theme at the end of the day.

“So what would you wish for?” “A gun.”

A collective sigh of disappointment swept over the campfire around which they had all gathered. “We agreed to not cheat,” groaned Gaz. “Hey, I'm ok with that answer. It means, mine is still the best!” Soap is shining with pride, but Riot protests. “Hey, that's just not fair. We were competing to find the funniest of us - not the most strategic-minded. Ghost deserves a second chance on this one.”

“You want my last wish to be absurd?” Simon scoffs. “What am I supposed to ask for? A fucking cup of tea?”

“Na-a-ah, the parade in my honor is still funnier.” Soap winks at Riot and adds ‘Ok, Lt, last chance. Give us your best shot’.

Ghosts eyes travel down to his side, where Riot sits, but he stops himself. “I'd wish to relive one of those evenings.” Silence reigns around the campfire. Everyone seems to be waiting for him to elaborate.

***

Simons mind drifts to one of the memories, he values the most. That time, he managed to sneak her from the base, keep her to himself for some time. It was a dream come true: a few days of peace in her loving hands. From the moment, she exited his car and stepped into tall grass, coming closer to his remote cabin, till the moment she kissed him goodbye a few days later - this was heaven. On the first evening they made a bonfire, just like the one, they were sitting around right now. Only that time there were just the two of them.

The crackle of burning logs mingled with the din of crickets at sunset. He crawled over to her chair, hugged her from behind, and rested his chin on her shoulder. 

"It turns out I needed it." Her voice was tired and soft. “Of course you did. You've been burning that candle at both ends for too long.” Ghost felt, he should have made her go on this brief vacation earlier. “I know, how stressful it can get. Mission after mission, then obstacle courses back on the base, advanced weaponry, physical training…” Ghost reached for her hand, held it lightly, and barely touched his lips to the top of it. “And at the end of the day, you are left with a shittone of paperwork.” Christine winced. 

“Oh, don't get me started on that one.” His croaky voice left a tingling feeling somewhere deep inside her chest. As if they communicated now not only verbally, although his touch was still pure and undemanding. Her body was exhausted, her mind - drifted to sleep. “Come on, let's get you to the bed,” Ghost whispered, not wanting to distract her peaceful state of mind. But when she refused and asked to ‘leave her right on this chair under the stars’, he rose without letting go of her hand and added: “Make your lieutenant proud: get up.”

“So many ways to abuse your rank, Lt. And still, you choose the most innocent one…” Christine murmured, but stood up and let him lead the way. It was only when she was undressed, bathed and nicely tucked with a cozy blanket, when Ghost finally answered her: “I'll use and abuse my rank in every most unholy way once you get a nice sleep, love.” Maybe it was banal fatigue, or maybe it was a burning eagerness to find out how he could ‘abuse his higher rank’, but she felt asleep quickly enough in his arms, catching the last seconds of her waking moments as he softly kissed her temple.

***

“One of those evenings?” Someone around the campfire finally vocalizes the question, that hung up in the air, since Ghost made his ‘last wish’. 

“Ahem, how about we all agree that Soap won and call it a night?” Riot looks around and, without waiting for their answer, gets up and moves away towards one of the small shacks that served to 141 as temporary shelters before the start of the operation.

Ghost waits for a while, he always does. Just to stand up a bit later and disappear somewhere in the woods, tangling his traces. Their bond with Riot may be obvious to others, but he still keeps it all low.

He comes in to her cabin so quietly, it's almost impossible to hear his steps. But Riot always knows, when Simon gets closer to her, as if she feels his presence with some kind of the sixth Sense. So when he stops before a small sink to freshen up, it's actually her, who surprises him, sliding her fragile palms under his shirt.

“One of those evenings? Care to elaborate?” Simon practically hears her smiling, as she asks that. His hand covers hers under his shirt. “Go wait for me in bed, love. I'll be there in five.” Their voices are muffled, his fingers sink into the rye-gold of her hair, the other hand cradles her body in the most careful loving embrace. “Evenings, when I can steal you for myself alone.” His lips are brushing against her jawline. “Evenings, when you can feel safe in my hands.” His body is radiating with heat, making her pull off her shirt after a short time. “Evenings, when you don't need to be strong and composed, and can lose yourself under my touch.”

Eventually her pants are too so warm and uncomfortable. Simon helps her out of them. They stay snuggled as he keeps describing her his last wish, his chin resting on top of her head, his fingers slowly drifting up and down her spine. Christines mind slowly drifts as he purrs his most treasured memories of them two into her ear. At the back of her mind, she questions herself, how many of those evenings are there left. But his heat and the hardness beneath Christine make her forget those fears. The way he, a hardened soldier, a living breathing legend of the battlefields frowns under her touch… The way his breath hitches every time her fingers casually slide up the inside of his thigh… This is all too much to still count their coming evenings. Simon too eventually stops reminiscing on the past and concentrates on what is important right now: her in his hands. His fingers slowly caressing her through the underwear, his lips forming the most beautiful, yet unspoken words along her ears and neck. Christine - not Riot, but his Christine looses her quiet and a tad bitter demeanor the moment his mouth slants over hers, pulling her into his lap, her panties pulled to the side. He makes her forget that stupid game, forget her doubts and pains with a first solid thrust. Rolling her over, cradling her body underneath his, dragging small whimpers and moans from her lips - this is another night to remember. Another night, he'd wish, he could relive again and again. 

After her first release Simon lowers his mouth to her ear and asks “Any particular wishes for your second round, dear?”. Her eyes are wet, darkened with a thick veil of desire. “You were so gentle… I'd love you to be bolder this time.” “How much, love?” His smile is loving, but his voice grows somewhat sinister.

She grits her teeth and exhales. “I want it rough. I want to feel every vein, every single inch… But not your mercy this time.”

His chuckle is low, and dark, and not at all soothing as his palm slides up to squeeze her breast. “Is that all?”

She shudders a breath, realizing what a deep void she has just discovered.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Remus/Sirius Fluff Masterlist | Works With Less Than 5k Words [1/3]

find the masterlist directory here

last updated: 07/30/24 | links last checked: 07/30/24

13 paper boats floating in the sea (+2 that reached you) by justprompts [T, 4k]

It's like this. Sirius loves Remus. Remus loves Sirius. Lily thinks Remus and Sirius should date. (She also thinks James Potter is quite fit.) Meanwhile, James thinks that Sirius and Lily are snogging behind greenhouse three. (podfic available)

*A Proposal by Bob_The_Other_Zombie [G, 2k]

Sirius has a love problem and asks James for advice. What happens when you add in pregnant Lily, pantsless Peter, candles, one pot of nearly-boiled water, snogging, Remus’ favorite record, multiple unknown kitchen devices, and a very bad pun? One very confused werewolf, is what!

A Sirius Case of Jealousy by WolfstarPups90 [T, 1k]

Remus has a new job and Sirius has a bit of a jealousy issue.

all alone on the edge of seventeen by nikkiRA [T, 3k]

He is seventeen and in love.

All I Want For Christmas by REwrites [T, 2k]

Sirius chews the inside of his cheek as he stares down a row of Christmas cards in the shop around the corner for his office and tries not to feel like the world’s biggest arse. He wishes he hadn’t waited to the last minute to do this, but when he pulled Remus Lupin’s name out of the hat for the office-wide Secret Santa exchange he’d panicked. A short story in which Sirius is awkward, Remus is sneaky, and James is no help at all.

*All Dogs Go to Remus' Flat, Apparently by iamsiriusblackserious [G, 1k]

“Now, before you murder me and distribute my body parts across Britain, you should know that he followed me home and none of this is my fault,” Sirius says. “Your defense is that a strange dog followed you home and so you had no choice but to let him into our flat?” “Well, when you say it like that, it just sounds irresponsible!” “Brilliant, that’s exactly what I was going for.” or Remus comes home to find a strange dog sitting on his couch and he's Not Happy.

Already Fallen by LightsOut [E, 1k]

Remus Lupin had a plan. He was not going to fall for Sirius Black in any sense of the word.

And a Peacock in a Glass Tree by Tpants [E, 4k]

Remus probably shouldn't have thrown Sirius out of bed. Lily helps Sirius out. Sirius learns to carol.

And When You Get the Choice by iamsiriusblackserious [T, 3k]

After weeks of studying for and sitting their NEWT exams, Sirius finally gets some quality time with his boyfriend. That is, if Remus can actually manage to stay awake. Winding down after NEWTs, slow dancing but not really, and symbolic key bequeathing.

Apollonian and Dionysian. by rearwindow [G, 2k]

“Yeah… Well, it’s like I’m light and you are darkness.”

*As It Should Be by remuslives23 [G, 2k]

John Lupin had expected it, had been waiting for it ever since he caught Remus sneaking soiled sheets into the washing machine when he was thirteen and, at his wife's amused insistence, had sat him down for a halting talk about the birds and the bees.

Bad Day by orphan_account [G, 1k]

Professor Remus Lupin's day had been one of the worst. All he wanted was a nice relaxing bath and a few moments to forget. Luckily he's got a very doting husband who can help him do just that.

Bandages by FreakishWhale [G, 1k]

A world where everyone is born with the First Words their soulmate will ever speak to them inked onto their skin, to be kept hidden until they are spoken and burn black.

between the moon and the stars by llassah [M, 2k]

The summer before their sixth year, and everything changes and stays the same.

*Black Winter and Golden Dreams by huldrejenta [G, 2k]

When you're young and in love, sometimes even Sirius Black would like some advice.

Boys by oliverdalstonbrowning [G, 2k]

Remus is reminded of the truth and Sirius plays Space Oddity.

*Breathless by NachoDiablo [T, 2k]

Sirius is confident that their first date with Remus is going to be memorable, and it is… just not in the ways they expect. (sequel to Worth the Itch)

Built My Dreams Around You by templeg [M, 1k]

A deeply embarrassing lapdance in the middle of the Gryffindor common room leads to much more.

*Caught by Phiso [G, 4k]

Sirius Black was the thief no one could catch – at least, not until he met his match in Detective Inspector Remus Lupin.

Chocolate Love by therunawaypen [T, 1k]

After serving a night in detention, Sirius brings back a sweet treat for Remus to enjoy while he's studying. If Sirius enjoys it too, all the better.

Common Cuddles for a Common Cold by LadyAmina [G, 1k]

Most of the student body has fallen ill with a common cold. Sirius is just feeling it a lot louder. But Remus helps.

copycats by ybrows [T, 1k]

Sirius is a trend setter. Sirius is a trend setter that doesn’t seem to notice it, or care, or make any comment towards the fact that he wore his hair in a ponytail last week and now half the school have styled their hair in exactly the same way. Remus cares.

da mi basia mille by scioscribe [t, 2k]

“There’s a Roman bloke, Catullus, who wrote about snogging a lesbian, or something like that, and anyway, he said da mi basia mille, give me a thousand kisses, and I spelled it. Ensorceled it. Made it into a thingy.” He pushed the envelope up towards Remus’s mouth. “Say the Latin part and kiss it.”

Dadfoot & Moomum by jlpierre [T, 4k]

A four year old Harry Potter, in the care of his guardians Sirius and Remus, experiences a series of Halloween activities to distract the adults from their grief.

*Daring, Brave, and Genius by elle_stone [G, 1k]

It’s been a month since they’ve seen each other, all four Marauders—daring, brave, genius—and prone to dreaming up ridiculous plans and then jumping into them without thinking any of the details through.

Despite The Lightning by A Sirius Crush On Moony [T, 1k]

Remus and Sirius are dating. It's the first day back at school and Remus just wants one thing.

*Drunk on Love by muse_in_absentia [T, 4k]

Post second war AU in which Remus cheats at baking, Padfoot plays in the snow, and Christmas jumpers combined with mulled wine may lead to something old becoming something new.

*Ever After by busaikko [T, 3k]

Non-magic AU. Once upon a time, an astrophysicist was wooed by the gay Scheherazade. . .

Eyebrows by BeesKnees [T, 2k]

In which James seduces Remus (sort of), and Sirius blames the whole bloody mess on James (mostly).

*Finest in Fairford by bluepeony [G, 4k]

Remus Lupin's job in a Fairford coffee shop is always uneventful, until an exotic new customer begins leaving messages with his tips.

*Fiery-Coloured World by orphan_account [M, 2k]

And though Remus had a thick jumper and coat, they were still soaked and frozen as they ran across the pavement, laughing with their cold fingers clinging to each other like it was Noah’s bloody flood and they were about to be swept away. Then someone—Sirius was never sure who, though he often liked to take credit for it—closed the distance and lips met lips. And that was all it took, really. Besotted. Smitten. Twitterpated—the word Remus liked most of all. Sirius knew it would be minutes, moments, seconds before his heart told him he was in love and there was no going back from the emotional tidal wave that was Remus bloody Lupin.

Friends, Lovers, and Various Permutations Thereof by Tillikins [T, 2k]

Celebrating the end of NEWTs! Sirius asks Remus to room with him after school.

*denotes personal favorites

[reginamillls]

why are you covered in blood? + joenicky if it strikes a vibe

IT DOES STRIKE A VIBE

I'm typing this on mobile so sorry for the mistakes ALSO you know me so have a snippit of an AU that came to my mind with the plot

* * *

The forest is quiet, eerily so.

It's long since grown used to Nicolo and considers it one of it's own. It does not still for him like it did when he first arrived some fifteen years ago.

Nicolo and the forest are connected.

He knows his forest, and he knows that whoever runs within is not a danger, but that they are in danger.

Nicolo moves to prepare his bow, but the trouble finds him first.

The person crashes into him, and the sharp smell of blood fills his nostrills and his eyes flash.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Nicolo asks, alarmed, trying to take in the stranger's injuries in the setting sun. He looks up, and knows that they will be out of time soon.

"Sir please-"

The stranger groans, and collapses in Nicolo's arms. He sighs. There isn't much time left before dark.

He heaves the stranger onto his shoulders and goes to his cabin.

The cabin is small but old. Nicolo had come to it when he first came to the Forest and found sanctuary within its walls. He's made it his own over the years, repairing it and making it comfortable.

He isn't a medic, and this isn't a place of healing, but Nicolo will do his best.

The cabin only has room for one bed and Nicolo lays the stranger down on it's only blanket. He will need to take his furs out should the stranger be cold from blood loss, if this was indeed his blood.

He hurries to light a candle, letting it light his way as he goes to the washbin to get fresh water. He pours it into a bowl and grabs a rag.

Nicolo says nothing as he begins to wipe away the blood from the man's face. He would turn on a fire, but if the man was running from something, Nicolo doesn't want to give away their position.

The candle is more than enough light for Nicolo. Most nights he doesn't need it at all.

The flickering light dances across the man's face and even through the blood and grime Nicolo can make out the stranger's handsome features. He has a full beard, soft and well groomed, and there are freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes are scrunched, revealing laughlines that should be lit up in a smile but are only deepened with pain.

Nicolo keeps his touch brief, cleaning away the blood. There are scratches across his neck and chest, his clothing torn from his journey in the woods. The callouses on Nicolo's hands catch at the fine fabric.

This man could be noble with such fine clothes.

Lower he finds a worrying wound and Nicolo's fingers brush against it-

The man gasps and shoots up. A glint of metal flashes in the candlelight and Nicolo's neck is on the other end of a blade.

A blade that he is very familiar with.

Nicolo backs away as if burned and his hands go up. There's a phantom pain across his face as he remembers the last time he had seen the blade.

The Dragon Blade of the Crowned Prince.

Prince Yusuf al- Kaysani.

"Who are you?" The Prince hisses in a language that had been foreign to Nicolo fourteen years ago but has now become as comfortable to him as his own childhood's tongue.

The Prince stares at him as Nicolo fights to beat his own silence. His gaze flickers to the scar across Nicolo's face, but the man's eyes show no spark of recognition.

Nicolo moves to speak but the man groans then and the blade in his hand shakes before he drops it.

"Where am I?" The Prince grits out and he's tugging at his hair.

He stares up at Nicolo then, his dark eyes shine in the candlelight, reminding Nicolo of the dark sky at night.

They're filled with tears, wide and terrified.

"Who am I?"

[hannahwatcheshorror]

WHITE ZOMBIE (1932)

This film has a lot of heart and good special effects, especially given the time in which it was made. I would say it is certainly worth a watch, a fun classic horror perfect for Halloween and for those who aren’t into very scary films.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

We open on a burial taking place in the middle of a road, apparently they do this so that grave robbers are less likely to rob graves. Before we hit the five minute mark the driver of our horse drawn carriage spots and immediately recognizes zombies (who were politely walking down the hill in a single file line). This is just about as quickly as we see a Zoombini in NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD but never has a Z-boy been identified so quickly or correctly.

Our doe eyed and unwitting femme fatale reminds me of Joan of Arc from THE HOUSE OF WAX (but that doesn’t mean I’m going to murder her for ill-gotten means, someone else will). Madeline and Neil are our two lovers who have come to Haiti to get married for some inexplicable reason and they met a strange man who is going to pay for their wedding and give Neil a big job back home or something so they trust him completely (wack). Once the couple arrive at Mr. Beaumont's place things start to get a little strange (well, more strange than the buggy driver telling them about Zambonis).

Beaumont has fallen wildly in love with Mads (calm down dude, you just met) and wants to take her from Neil so he talks to Wacky Eyebrows who is a witch doctor and the guy in control of the Zombo-mombos. Wacky Brows kinda also has the hots for her… I can’t believe these men are so wild that they fall in love with this woman after just meeting her and then decide that killing her is the only way to win her. WACK. So they kill her with some special poison and Wacky Brows whittles a candle to look like her and then burns it and WHAM she is out like, well, a candle.

Neil is beside himself, he just barely married her and she passed away in his arms! The special effects of him seeing her in the shadows around him were pretty top notch, especially for the time, I was very impressed.

The two baddies get to work on reviving Madeline but she is still just a stone cold Zomb with no feelings, no life in those big doe eyes, and Beaumont is forlorn. He goes to Wacky Brows to undo what has been done, but Beaumont has been double crossed, there is dangerous thinking behind those twisted eyebrows! Beaumont is slowly turning into the living dead while Neil storms in, very sick, trying to find Maddie.

Mads is not herself, she is pulled forward by an invisible string and controlled by Mr. Eyebrows himself, she is almost made to stab her beloved before a mysterious hand makes her drop the knife and she runs off. The army of undead come for Neil as he tries to remind Madeline of who he is just as Beaumont, in his last and perhaps only moment of grace, pushes Wacky Brows off the ledge to his death. They both fall, and the spell is broken so once again Maddie can sense her beloved, even after being undead! A wild tale but fun and charming all the same.

[hirazuki]

Mairon and Arien + 30 👉👈

…as comfort | Mairon & Arien

•────────────────────⋅☾ ☽⋅────────────────────•

He holds her face firmly between his palms -- the skin she has hidden herself away in is darker, a perfect contrast to his pallor, yet runs just as hot as his own -- and presses a rough kiss to her eyes, even as she pushes at him, attempting to tear away from his grasp.

"Stay away! Did you not hear me?" Arien cries, voice crackling like the flames when they lick at wood. "I will only burn you, too!"

"How absurd," Mairon says -- not relinquishing his grip on her -- in a manner he means to be comforting.

Most, he knows, do not understand it as such.

She is not most, however -- she never has been; his sister-spirit, his twin ember, the only other one like him left in this place -- and so he has never needed to cut off the surrounding air to temper his aura lest it be too caustic, to tuck away his edges until he is easy and palatable and unsharp. Not with her; never with her.

And he is determined that she treat with him in kind.

And so he pulls her back into his arms and keeps her there, a spark flashing wild and bright, and drops his face into the soft halo of curls that crowns her head.

"I am also made of fire."

The reminder is all it takes for her to break, and she sweeps over him like ashfall or a blaze of light, wrapping herself around him and clinging to his front, leaving him to piece together the details of what happened from the roaring fragments that flare across his mind and the strain of sobs, twisting and snapping, beneath his chin.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ☽༓☾. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later, when limbs are tangled and words have fled and she has spent herself with grief, tears falling hot and gold until she gives into slumber, he kisses them again -- gently, this time, so as not to rouse her.

The room is dark, now, the light from the hearth and the lamps having burned low in response to her quietude.

His face, as he pulls away to study hers, is darker.

She is wasted on them, who fear her; who would seek to contain her, to control her, to dampen her fire to fit neatly within their limited notions until she is nothing more than a pretty lantern, politely lighting the paved streets of their cities.

Mairon despises waste.

He lifts a finger and softly traces her brow-bone to her cheek-line and all the way down to her lips, where his attention hovers, for a moment, before he leans in to rest his forehead against hers.

There is one, he thinks, and the very thought splits him like the fiercest bolt, leaving him cloven in half and bleeding Song, for it is something that will never be. One under whose command she would flourish.

He would let her run like wildfire in dry fields, clothe herself in the molten heat under the mountains and dance with all abandon on flaming feet upon the unmelting ice; scorch the entire sky, if she so wished. Mairon knows, because he has seen it for himself: he has visited the great forges beneath the earth and the sharp mountainsides that tumble into the pines and the grinding ice with its vast dark fogs, shrieking in its song; and he has left his heart there.

She would never agree, and he knows this as well; it is the reason he has not spoken to her of the wonders he has seen in the wilderness of the far north, new and marvelous and terrible, no matter how he burns to share it with her.

No; Arien will remain here, eclipsed by treelight, safely contained in her fana like candle-flame kept tame behind panes of glass.

And he will leave, one day. Soon.

Until then, he will stay quiet -- for her sake, more than his; close as they are, ignorance will, doubtless, be difficult enough to affirm for the last spirit of their kind remaining unallied with Melkor. He will let her find rest in her unknowing and take joy in what precious little time she is unaware is trickling out, and he will hold her, close and tight and often -- for Mairon does not plan to take anything with him when he goes, save the blinding memory of her brightness and her sweet, stinging scent and the weight of her, cradled in his arms.

These, he will carry with him across the water, to warm himself by in the coming days, in times of uncertainty, in the cold places of the world, when all other fires may prove to die out.