#but he leans more on ice and storm rather than fire

[sydnikov]

Carry Me Home || S. Aho

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Sebastian Aho/fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“I can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take me to bed, please,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me, please,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well when you say it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m close,”

“I know. Let go for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm?”

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

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

His mind, however, is a completely different story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────────────────────────────────

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

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

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

[mymegumi]

SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

[imperitvs]

Thekian. That bastard. Finn stormed past Osian, fury radiating off him, and marched right up to Tekken. His glare was ice and fire, stopping mere inches from the other elf’s face, his finger jabbing sharply into Tonic's chest.

"Listen here, you condescending little prick," Finn growled, his voice low but deadly. "You rotten piece of shite. And yet, look at ye—so bloody proud of yerself. Well, go on, take a bow, you top-class cunt."

As Technic opened his mouth to respond, Finn leaned in even closer, eyes blazing, silencing him with a look that could cut through stone."And what’s a little sap like you gonna do, eh? If there was a shortage of wankers, you’d make two."

The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade, and Finn didn’t move an inch, daring Thicken to even try to respond.

Unprompted Ask || Always Accepting (Never have I been so happy to pick a name that's easily made fun of)

Upon seeing the familiar visage of pure white and glittering gold, Osian felt his stomach sink - his heart freeze over as he stood stock still. He had, fortunately, not seen Thekian for years. Not since the...incident at the marketplace. Possibly unbeknownst to the High Elf, but his words echoed in Osian's mind for years to come. Maybe they would never leave - even if they would be drowned out. Seeing him again, this reputable and prestigious figure putting on that holier-than-thou mask of his made Osian feel sick all the more. Thekian was fine providing his faith-laden words and healing abilities to all walks of life - as long as they paid him back in some way. His prejudices were just beneath the surface... Osian had suffered them - others more so. Now, as Thekian's golden eyes locked onto his silver ones, he wondered if they would again.

Osian swallowed hard. Feeling the familiar chill of panic and anxiety flood his body. He could hear the berating words already, the degrading and belittling... Gods as if he didn't do it unto himself enough! Thekian hadn't even breathed a word, but his emotional impact was written all over Osian's face. Osian, in a blaze of emotions, had forgotten where he was - who he was standing with. What he had survived. And lowered his gaze in shame. Thekian's hold was still hovering...whether he was mindful of it or not. And the other elf knew it...

As soon as Thekian spoke it was so obvious how low he considered Osian to be - despite his name being sang in the streets alongside the others as a Hero of Baldurs Gate. Condescending, as always. But it didn't last. Osian's gaze snapped back - as if woken from a dream - when he felt Finn push past and heard a very familiar rage in his tone.

Confrontation was never Osian's strong suite. But Finn confronted enough for the two of them... Thekian had always felt entitled to other peoples respect, but he certainly wasn't going to get it here.

Osian was agape as Finn's tirade began. Yet, as it continued, he felt warmth swell inside him again. As if returning to the current time, rather than receding back to how things were half a decade ago. Finn's colourful language was second-nature to Osian's ears by now, but it was very clear that was not the case for Thekian. Who looked a mixture of disgusted and horrified he was being spoken to like this by a mere human.

"Osian, bring your dog back to heel." The Cleric snapped, commanding, not taking his eyes off of Finn as he looked down his nose, yet there was something in the flicker of his eyes Osian had never seen before. Weakness. "No..." Osian found that word was becoming less foreign in his mouth...and it felt good. He folded his arms. "Carry on, cariad."

That flicker of weakness became a chasm as Thekian flashed a look of anger and disdain towards Osian. He knew what the word meant - what it entailed. How it now applied to someone so lowly. He spat back in Elvish.

"Of course you sunk this low, Llew! Returned to the muck like a sow!" "Huh, he called me a pig," Osian translated, with a hefty sigh. "Not the most imaginative insult I've heard to date."

[msmorningstaarr]

Holy and Heathen - Chapter 5 (I am hers and she is mine.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn Martell x Female OC (Melara Hightower)

Word count: 9.3k

Chapter warning: oberyn longing for his sister; sex; smut; melara likes it but feels guilt so could it be considered to be dubcon?;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa

Oberyn

The ride back home was insufferable. His mother demanded him to apologise to his lady bride and have some time entertaining Melara after his absent behaviour towards her, but the blonde girl was constantly in the presence of her handmaidens and showed little interest in being around him. Oberyn wanted to try and push his betrothed to the edge once more, although she seemed so frightened it took all the fun of trying it. Oberyn desired for Melara to be like Elia, to dress like her and act like her if it was possible. In his most inner thoughts, she was everything he had left, the closest of Elia he could ever get. On the other hand, Melara was so distant from his sister it enraged him to know he had to marry a girl who only wished to pray from dusk till dawn and rather live in poverty washing the feet of the poor than marrying him. 

Being back on Dorne at least brought him some comfort. Elia left a few of her belongings like a necklace or a veil with him so he wouldn’t forget about her scent or her at all, as if it would be possible. After so many days on the road, he yearned for some time resting on his bed, having a fair whore regardless of their gender and wine to relax. More than this, he yearned to see his daughters. 

It has been more than a month without the presence of his babes and not listening to their childish laughing and feeling their flustered embraces, he missed them dearly. Instead of going to Sunspear with the royals and the entourage, he chose to go to the Water Gardens where he would see his two girls, Nymeria and Obara. Oberyn could already hear the outburst Obara was throwing at her nurse because she wanted to be with her ‘papa’. His lips formed a smile thinking about her. For as much as Nymeria used to be more ladylike and calm, Obara could be indubitably mistaken for a sand storm. At six years of age, she demonstrated to be her father’s daughter and took great enthusiasm in sword fighting and spear fighting as well and even sharing the ill tempered blood and sharp tongue Oberyn proudly had. Nymeria, on the other hand was still very little and had only four completed name days of life, having her biggest interests to be watching her father practising with the spear and daggers, although Oberyn could not allow her to manipulate them yet, due to her age.

“Papa!” Obara ran into her father, full of happiness. Nymeria held the skirt of her dress and ran after her sister with her tiny legs, trying not to fall on the floor. Oberyn tittered widely and held the girls in his arms. 

“Sweet girls,” He smiled, lifting the girls in the air and carrying one on each arm.

“I am not sweet, papa!” Obara exclaimed.

Oberyn giggled.“What are you, then?”

“I am a soldier, like you!” She replied, determined.

The prince leaned his forehead on hers, lovingly. “Of course you are. But even the bravest of warriors can be loved by their fathers as well, Obara.”

“I am your sweet girl, father.” Nymeria said, clinging into his arms in the time they walked near a pool.

“And I am most glad for it. I have a warrior and a lady to call ‘my daughters’.” He smiled at his youngest. 

“Did you brought something for us?” Obara questioned, agitated.

“Yes,” He replied, smirking. “But first, I need to know if you were on your best behaviour.”

The girls looked at each other for a moment in silence. “Obara cursed our nurse and stomped on her foot, papa!” Nymeria exclaimed, pointing her fingers at her eldest sister. Obara, enraged, let her small hand reach her sister’s hair, aggressively pulling it when they were still in their father’s arms. Oberyn abruptly stopped the confrontation between the sisters and put the girls on the floor, separating them.

“I just arrived home and I will hear no more screaming from both of you.” He said, sternly annoyed. The girls, slightly intimidated, retreated and nodded their heads in respect. “I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour with everyone, even your nurses. Is that understood?” They nodded once more, quietly.

“Sorry, papa.” They said, in unison. Oberyn extended his hands and Obara held one insofar Nymeria held the other, following their father.

He caressed the dark hair of his children, slowly. “The servants left your gifts in your chambers.” He said, with a sly grin. The girls clapped their small hands in excitement. 

“What did you bring?” Nymeria asked, curious. 

“It will be a surprise, sweetling.” He caringly brushed his daughter’s jawline. “First, we will pick a book from the library so I can read something for you. Then, I promise to show you my gifts.” The girls happily agreed and balanced their heads quickly.

The truth was that he had forgotten about bringing them something from King’s Landing. He was so absorbed with everything happening there that he gave no thought to his girls, something that made him feel slightly ashamed. However, during the journey he demanded the entourage to stop so he could take something for his babe snakes. To Obara, he bought a wooden sword and spear for her practice and for Nymeria two new dolls, since the girl did not show yet a true desire to learn how to be a warrior like her elder sister.

“Did you miss me?” He asked, softly.

“Yes!” Nymeria and Obara replied together.

“Why did you travel with grandmother, father?” Obara asked and Oberyn frowned.

“We were bringing my future wife to our home.” He replied, quietly awaiting their thoughts on the situation. 

“Will we have a new mother?” Nymeria asked, confused. Obara lowered her eyes and changed her expression. Even at a young age, his first daughter was very intense with emotions, albeit very reserved. He noticed her hands sweating and face turning into a concerned one, but trying to keep her emotions aside.

“Yes,” He replied, simply. “I need to have trueborn children.” The girls looked at him with puzzled eyes. 

“But we are your children, papa.” Obara replied, slightly offended.

Oberyn sighed and kneeled to be on the same level as them. “Yes, you are.” He gently brushed his fingers on their cheeks. “But still, I am not married to your mothers, therefore, it makes you two bastards.” He continued. “I love you, dearly. But I need more children to rule Dorne officially when I die.”

Obara crossed her arms, outraged. “This is not fair, papa!” Nymeria pouted, turning her back to Oberyn.

“You are too young to fathom it, sweetlings.” He sat at the stoned floor by the pool and patted the floor for them to sit as well. “Bastards can thrive in our land, girls. To me, it doesn’t change the way I see you. I plan for you to have great futures beyond the Sunspear throne, just like many other bastards here in Dorne. You will be free to be whatever you desire.” They would have the freedom he yearned to have and could never afford. The girls looked at him suspiciously. Oberyn grabbed Obara’s chin to make the girl face him. “You will be a knight, sparring and conquering many victories for Dorne, leading our tropes in the wars to come right by my side.” Then, Oberyn made Nymeria look at him. “And you,” He squeezed gently Nymeria’s hand. “Will be as deadly as Obara is. Perhaps even more, hiding your danger beneath this purple silk you take joy in wearing.” He smiled, bringing his daughters together. “You two are my true legacy, my image. But you occupy different positions in this family.” He replied, genuinely. “Being a bastard or not, you are blood of my blood. My little vipers, my sand snakes.” Oberyn smirked and involved his arms around the children in a tender manner. The girls smiled and kissed his cheeks, eventually calming themselves with the affirmation words Oberyn spoke.

Obara stood up next to her father and her sister, as they turned to walk once more. “Is she pretty?”

The prince wetted his lips with his tongue and his head recollected about Melara for a moment and on her appearance, remembering her plump lips and shy, blue eyes, her shimmering blonde hair and ethereal, quiet beauty. “She is. In fact, she comes from the same place as you. Oldtown.”

Obara raised her eyes to her father. “Is she a whore like my mother too?”

The dornish prince giggled. “No, no, my love. She is a noble lady from a castle named ‘Hightower’.” Nymeria and Obara narrowed her eyes in amazement. Oberyn was glad he could explain this to Obara before, otherwise he was absolutely sure Melara would feel at least furious with her assumption.

“She is a lady like my mother!” The youngest exclaimed, cheerful.

“Yes, love.” He tenderly caressed the back of her hand. “But your mother comes from Volantis and so do you.”

“Do you believe she’ll like us, father?” Obara asked, apprehensively fiddling her fingers.

“She will be a dead woman if she doesn’t.” He swore, escorting his daughters.

“What is her name?” Obara kept her interrogatory going.

“Lady Melara Hightower.” He smirked.

The imponent child shrugged. “I suppose it is a fair name, father. When can we see her?” 

“Soon.” Oberyn promised.

“Soon when?” Obara impatiently asked.

Calmly, Oberyn replied. “In her time,” She pouted his lips. “Lady Melara is on a hardship adapting to Dorne.”

“Is she here in the Water Gardens? I want to see her!” Nymeria pleaded to him.

“She is with your grandmother in the Old Palace, love.” He said, opening the door of the library and entering the room after his daughters. “You must wait for a while before getting to know her. Even I must wait.”

“I need to see if she is pretty and kind, father!” Nymeria said, trying to reason with her father. Oberyn did in fact want to introduce Obara and Nym to Melara, but his own mind advised him to prepare the ground before putting them all together. He feared Melara would despise his daughters for being bastards and he was in no mood to tear apart fights between an adult woman and two children.

“She is very pretty, trust my words, Nym.” He said, grabbing a book to read for the girls when in the meanwhile they sat on a comforting sofa in front of him.

“Can you tell us how she is, father?” Nymeria asked, intrigued.

“Of course,” He turned his face to the infants and sat in a chair in front of them. “Melara is so pale that her skin seems to be made out of snow. Her eyes are bright blue like the sea from the Isle of Tarth.” Oberyn continued, placing the book on his lap. “She is not very tall, albeit has a slender body. And her hair is so golden that it's similar to that silvery Targaryen hair.”

Obara and Nymeria opened their mouths in the shape of an “O” once they heard how Melara was, flabbergasted with the information they just received. “But pale people are rather strange, father.” Obara replied and Oberyn chuckled. “Do you think that if she spends some time under the sun she can look not so pale like me, you and Nym?” 

He laughed. “You can suggest it to her in the future, sweet girl.” Then, he opened the black book to read with the girls, something they would do on a daily basis. “I’ll read to you tonight your favourite tale. ‘The Dragon’s Wroth’.” 

The story about the first Dornish War when House Targaryen attempted to make Dorne bend the knee and acknowledge Aegon the Conqueror as their rightful King, following by House Martell being able to defeat and kill the dragon Meraxes and Queen Rhaenys Targaryen was definitely Obara and Nymeria’s favourite narrative. Oberyn always made sure to read it to them whenever they asked. He read the whole book to the girls and after this he did as he promised and showed their presents after that moment. Obara and Nymeria shouted and twirled around, dazzled with their new items and holding their father’s thighs whilst thanking him for remembering them. Those smiles were priceless to him. His next children with Melara would grow close to them, wanting his bride or not and he would never allow any kind of ill treatment towards Obara or Nymeria.  

After this brief moment with the girls, the salty prince could notice that Obara was nervous, fearful. She would never admit it to him, but Oberyn noticed it all. Nymeria had constant contact with her own mother who sent her letters and gifts from Volantis. However, Obara’s mother drank to death after Oberyn took her away from her arms in that brothel in Oldtown. His first born was a tough girl, never cried in front of him or anyone and seemed to be fearless in front of people, but he would often see how the lack of a motherly presence weighed on her at such a young age. At least for this Melara could have a good use in this marriage, he thought. Obara needed to feel safe to be fearless and he would do anything to provide it for her and Oberyn would make it clear for Melara if she ever tried to convince him the opposite of it.

*********

And after a few days after a month, there he was, standing on the Sept of Sunspear, surrounded by the Martells and some of his bannermen watching him being wedded to Lady Melara. She looked beautiful, wearing an ivory dress with grey stars embroidered on the upper part and golden suns on its tail. Pearls and diamonds were added to her garment and on her jewellery, alongside the long, heavy sleeves reaching the floor. The design was not revealing but it showed her pale collarbones, all red due to sunburn. Her hair was half combed and half loose, with twisted locks and braids in alternate sections, with a hairpin on the top of her hair leaving a cascade of crystals going down her silvery blonde hair and exposing how exquisite and rich House Hightower is. Oberyn wore an ivory robe made of Myrish silk, forming a pattern with suns crossed by a red spear, having a light yellow tunic under the long robe he wore. On his neck, golden chains involved him with an extravagant pendant of House Martell sigil inserted in it, contrasting with his olive skin. His black curls were big and as usual, a small lock would fall over his left eye. He also carried golden rings on his fingers, his ancestral sword “Nymeria’s daughter” and a stern look seeing Melara walk down the aisle.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The septon began once Melara stopped by his side. Undeniably, she was stunning. Almost as marvellous as Elia. Oberyn covered her carefully with the cloak she prepared and her face finally met his, screaming anxiety. His fingers lightly touched her chin and he turned back at the clergyman.

The septon proclaims, "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." 

Melara sighed and Oberyn felt his freedom escape through his fingers like sand going back to the ground. The young couple joined hands in front of the crowd and the septon tied the ribbon around their hands. He noticed how Melara blinked her eyes repeatedly to avoid crying in front of him. Oberyn, on the other hand, was uninterested in her. The prince found her innocence to be enticing at first… now it was abhorrent.

"Let it be known that Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell and Lady Melara of House Hightower are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The septon announces next, "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." Soon after, he unravels the ribbon. The septon commands. "Look upon each other and say the words."

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” They repeated at the same time.

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Oberyn locked his gaze on hers.

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” It was almost done… he approached her, slowly.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” And their lips encountered on a gentle kiss as applauses rounded for the newlyweds. It was done, he was married to the girl his mother chose. He was married for more than three minutes and Oberyn already felt stuck, suffocated. Oberyn pondered if she would fancy the lovemaking as much as he did. She glanced at him and the prince tried to ease her tension with assuring eyes while walking out from the Sept.

“It’s done, my lady.” The first words he would state to her in days since that infamous night at the Red Keep.

Melara made gentle steps by his side, facing the floor. “It is done, Ser.” She spoke, quietly. Her hands were sweaty and shaking the whole time he was holding it and making their way to the Great Hall.

The only people Oberyn felt like interacting were his children, but the girls were not allowed in the ceremony, due to their young ages. The prince was in no mood for interacting with people during the feast. When he left Elia behind, it felt bad, sad, overwhelming. The moments he neglected the company of his now wife during the ride back home, Oberyn could not bear spending his time with Melara. Not because she was displeasing him, but because he could not stand the fact she was not his sister. He always knew he had to overcome this feeling and let her go eventually, however, the more he tried, the more drowned into Elia. His mother was very aware of it and tried to separate them, turning out to be successful in the end. Howbeit, Melara was nothing he expected. The prince was hoping to see her more loose and turning to be more cunning when she comes to distance from her family, but she remained the same: dreadful, quiet, melancholic.

“Would you like to dance, my lady?” He asked, drinking a sip of his wine.

“I am not particularly fond of dancing, my lord.” She replied, taciturn. Oberyn had no clue about her thoughts, feelings. He had made so much progress with her before and he felt like they went backwards. The Gods saw he was on his best conduct to be caring to her and Melara was reclusive, refusing to even speak to her father after the ceremony. She only observed and talked to some few words to the lords who came to present themselves at her and make some curtsy, something she apparently was not very amused to do. Giving her some credit, he hated the false politeness any court required and made no secret about this, Melara had no intentions to hide her feelings about it either and he admired her for it, at least.

“Accordingly, you should get acquainted with dancing and singing. I am rather keen on tournaments and feasts, you as my wife must follow me.” He pointed out, watching the guests dancing along.

Melara sighed and fiddled her fingers. “Yes, husband. I shall endeavour my best.”

Her silence annoyed him, but most of the time it was easier to imagine someone he could see as his equal by his side instead of her. Once more, his mind brough Elia back. No one would be good enough for him, especially Melara.

“Why do you have such reticent behaviour?” Oberyn asked, trying to control his bothersomeness.

Melara turned to him with unease. “I am what I am, Ser.”

“Stop with this nonsense of calling me ‘Ser’,” he rolled his eyes. “You were more engaged in conversation on the evening we met, my wife. Should I be concerned I did something wrong?”

“Of course not,” She replied quickly. “I must apologise for my attitude. I was too distant from you.”

Oberyn curved the corner of his lips and frowned, unworried. “I was not at my best demeanour as well, I must admit.”

After some moments of silence between them, Melara seemed apprehensive and drank her glass of wine to have the courage to open her mouth. “I…  I was contemplating if my… actions have displeased you.” She muttered, hesitant.

The prince bit his lips and brushed his fingers over it. “Only your lack of emotions, my lady. But I was deeply rejoiced the moment you expressed your pleasure to me.” Melara blushed and faced the floor, ashamed. “There is no need to be embarrassed, Melara.”

“It does not feel right, husband.”

Oberyn stared at her, confused. “What, exactly?”

“To feel… those feelings.” She anxiously fiddled her fingers.

Oberyn laughed. “Is only natural, wife.” He leaned to her earlobe and Oberyn could feel her goosefleshing to the proximity. His mind was already dominated by the strongly sweet Dornish Red. “Do you still remember that night you rode my thigh?” He whispered.

Melara tried to look away, swallowing her own spit. “I-I do…”

Oberyn smirked. “Your body could not lie to me that night. Your little cunt was so wet it made my trousers a mess, all covered in your wetness.” Melara’s cheeks were burning red that moment. With the tip of his fingers, he brought her gaze to face him. “Your hips were riding me so easily, desperate to release. It was natural, you were perfect that night, my lady.”

Her eyes were tearful. “Bedding is to produce heirs and only, husband.”

The Martell laughed. “Lies!” he exclaimed, with a cocky grin. “You may not be my first, second, third or perhaps even my fourth choice of bride, but I intend to make you scream my name on our first night as a wedded couple.”

Melara faced him, with a consternated expression. “I was instructed in different manners. According to the Faith and the…”

His lips curled on a pout before he cut her words. “You belong to me now. You will enjoy the new things I’ll teach you.”

Melara sighed and nodded, passively listening. “I will not deny you any marital rights, husband. I will provide you with children.”

Oberyn could not help but feel as if he was walking in circles around Melara. The girl was so dutiful it bored Oberyn in a matter of seconds, he did not remember her that way.

After a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “Thereupon, this is a promise that you will take pleasure on our first night, my lady?”

Melara nodded silently, slightly uncomfortable with the situation. “Yes, husband.”

Oberyn doubted she would actually take any pleasure, although he was very engaged in pleasing all his partners. Seeing Melara so distressed actually made Oberyn sad, at times. He realised she would never be Elia and it made his heart ache with a strange anxiety. He could have any woman in the world - in fact, he had one of the fairest maidens of the Seven Kingdoms despite her abnormal personality and she was his by oath. Nonetheless, it did not felt enough. The conversations with Elia were much easier to develop, they understood each other fastly. He loved Elia as a woman, even knowing he would never take her as a woman on his bed. The woman he wanted would never be his and the life he longed for he would never live, in behalf of his duty.

“I also intend to keep my promise.” He gently patted her hand.

“Which promise?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

“To be gentle once I take your maidenhead.”

“Oh… thank you, husband.” Melara said, giving him a sympathetic expression and blushing deeply on her cheeks.

He would never be cruel towards his lady wife. He could notice she was not a bad person, just not very well adjusted and for thus, she deserved to be well treated. But when it came to affection, he was very little attracted to her. Oberyn held no high spirit when it came to chastity or shyness, except for the moments where he met her when her naivety was attractive. The prince grew bored after a troubled beginning of their relationship. He appreciated the chaos and Melara was as peaceful as a calm sunset breeze or a lonely star in the sky.

“My lady,” Ysilla approached Oberyn and Melara, smiling at them sitting in the High Table. “Son,”

“Mother.” The couple talked in unison and the princess mother grinned.

“You should see how wonderful you appear together. Painters would portray the image of the Mother and Father with your faces.”

“I appreciate your words, mother.” Melara earnestly responded. At least Ysilla and her were creating a bonding time and his wife seemed much more comfortable around his mother than himself, something that also bothered him once the girl was often distant, wary and he had her under the impression she was scared of him. It made him tempted to send her to the Water Gardens where she would live for the rest of her days and encounter him once a year to give him a child. Could be a better arrangement for both, he thought. Far less cruel than obliging her to be in his presence and him on hers.

“I only speak the truth, sweet girl.” Her eyes shrink, displaying some wrinkles on the edge of her eyes when she grinned at her good daughter. “What a fine work the dressmaker did with the pearls and diamonds. A divine embroidery, my dear.”

“My father brought this fabric from Qarth.” Melara had a coy grin on her lips. He envied his mother for at least being able to socialise with Melara.

“Please, come and join me. I need to introduce you to some ladies and lords, I am sure you will be delighted to meet them.”

Melara stood up and waited for Oberyn’s consent to move forward. “Yes, mother.”

The Hightower lady faced her husband and received a discreet nod. “If you excuse me, my prince.”

“Please, be my guest, my lady.” Oberyn pointed to his mother as a sign for her to leave.

Melara nodded and walked away from the table for the first time with her mother by law. Both ladies left, holding their arms in the direction of a small group of people. He remained sitting down, still showing no desire to interact with other lords that day. For a natural social man, that was an odd comportment, but he gave no care to good manners and gestures that night. He thought about Elia in King’s Landing with Rhaegar, yearning for a letter, since he only received one after arriving back in Sunspear, where she wrote him flirtatious words about how she missed him and how she dreamed that Rhaegar changed his face like a faceless man and had Oberyn’s face instead, Elia claimed to be one of her happiest dreams. 

He gazed vacantly on the dance floor, trying to forget about the things on his mind. Oberyn was a positive man, despite everything he would always try to take some advantage of the situation.

From afar, his vision catched a lady and his heart skipped a beat. It could not be possible the similarities, even if the lady was on her back to Oberyn. Her black, long hair could only belong to one person: Elia. He walked eagerly towards the lady, feeling his heartbeat so fast it made his body exhilaratingly vibrate in synchrony with the loud song playing in the Great Hall of Sunspear after spending that long time away from his sister. Mayhaps it was the large amount of wine he drank or simply an illusion, he didn’t care, it was vital for Oberyn to have another moment with her.

Carefully, he touched the back of the lady and she turned to face him, bowing at his presence. “Prince Oberyn.”

He was disappointed at her, afterwards she was not Elia. “My apologies, my lady. I have mistaken you for someone else, I thought you were my sister.” Oberyn replied, with a soft giggle.

The girl laughed. “You honour me with your words, my prince. But in reality, I am to be sent to King’s Landing to be her lady-in-waiting.”

Oberyn smirked. “Oh, for this reason, I insist you dance with me.” He muttered, seductively. The girl did not blushed or turned down his invitation, extending her arm for him to kiss. Slowly, he leaned his lips on the back of her hand and walked with her to the middle of the dance floor. Her face was the opposite of Elia, but she was beyond alluring. She had profound dark hair and unique, bewitching violet eyes who resembled some Valyrian heritage, except for the lack of silver hair. She could only belong to one house. “By the colour of your eyes, I assume you are from House Dayne. Youngest or oldest?” He asked, spinning her body during the dance. 

The girl beamed. “Youngest, Ashara Dayne.”

Oberyn smirked at her. “I must declare that your beauty has caught my attention, Lady Ashara.”

Ashara stared at Melara from afar, who stared at them with a numb expression. “I am afraid your lady wife will loathe me if she listens to the things you are telling me now, my prince.”

“Not something to worry about, my lady,” he spoke, briefly gazing at his wife. “For I believe she is not very fond of me either.”

Ashara giggled and both raised their arms in the air along with the others dancing. “I am sure she does, Prince Oberyn. Every woman shall love their husbands, just as every husband must love their wives.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “However, I believe we are not a part of this saying, my lady,” He grinned. 

“Oh,” Ashara gasped, holding his arm on another dance step. “Love grows out of the strangest of things. You will find in your heart to love her and she will love you too.”

Oberyn stared at her and chuckled. “You are very wise in your words, my lady.”

“And you are the most kind, red viper.” She giggled.

“When you arrive in King’s Landing, tell my sister I love her very much. And that I miss her dearly.” He asked, with a solemn expression.

“I shall deliver the message, my prince.” She grinned once the music ended. 

“Thank you, Lady Ashara.” Oberyn bowed at her and glanced at Melara, always fidgeting her fingers and trying to be as nice as possible to the ones talking to her. 

“No need to thank me, for my advice is always freely given, my prince.” Ashara said, politely. 

Oberyn smiled smugly and danced with her until someone asked the hand of Lady Ashara for a dance. Her presence was unexpectedly amusing and kind, resembling Elia in many aspects. Perhaps it was the fact they shared the same culture and many things in common, but in his head her resemblance to Elia spoke volumes to his wishes to be around Ashara. 

Eventually, the new couple reunited together and Melara was back to her recluse expression. Oberyn ruminated if Melara held some grudge over him, because he saw her being courteous to a few lords and holding her step mother’s hands for a moment, though their relationship seemed to be queer on her parent’s side too. Oberyn observed Lord Leyton and Lady Rhea from a certain distance, raising his goblet in the air.

“My lords, my ladies,” the man started. “Lord Leyton started. “We gather here today to celebrate not only the union of our two houses but also the enduring spirit of our realm. As we witness the union of House Hightower and House Martell, let us raise our goblets to honour their marriage. May the Mother bless them with many heirs and keep our bloodline alive and powerful.”

Lady Rhea, standing beside Lord Leyton, smiled warmly, in agreement with the crowd's applause. The great hall was filled with the clinking of cups and joyful chatter as the guests celebrated the joyous occasion.

Oberyn raised his goblet alongside Melara and looked at her, raising her goblet as well. “A toast to us, then.” She said.

Melara and Oberyn exchanged glasses and one drank the wine from the goblet of the other. He could feel her lavender scent rising from her thin skin, the cloth of her sleeves slowly rubbing the fabric of her attire and her eyes meeting his intensely. It was the first time in that feast their eyes met that way, so sincerely. Oberyn hoped to at least have some sort of amicable relationship with her, for the physical attraction was fully gone despite her beauty. His fingers caressed her cheek, feeling the softness from her face. The wine may have poisoned him, but he felt the urge to touch her, gently as he is doing to her.

The prince was raging inside, also. He was adamant she was not right for him, more than ever. Oberyn remembered her panic to his touch, her refusal to believe in pleasure, her constant punishment for feeling, her iminent silence. To live to perform a duty was something he always knew he was meant for. Growing up, he always imagined his mother would pass the throne to Elia if he rebelled, Oberyn hated to be the centre of attention, he abominated the concept of marriage and distasted even more the fact being tricked into this marriage with Melara. What else would he do? Wine seemed to be a good alternative to escape reality.

And he drank wine.

Glass after glass.

Uncountable jars of Dornish Red.

Melara appeared to be worried seeing the large amount of wine he ingested. “Husband, are you alright?”

Oberyn looked at her, numb. “I am alright. No need to worry.”

He was alright. Oberyn had a high tolerance for liquor and was accustomed to ingesting wine on a regular basis every day. That night, all the wine in the world was insufficient for him and he was nearly close to feeling high and numb, only. 

“I fear you have been drinking too much.” She muttered, scared he would be angry at her words.

Oberyn got silent for a moment and looked at her. “Very well,” he put the glass over the table and respected her wishes. “I shall stop for you. You have a fair point, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Melara lowered her eyes and her fingertips traced the hem of his attire’s sleeve, clumsily. His eyes noticed quietly her moves and he intertwined his finger around hers, delicately. The hours passed swiftly, the music was loud and the courtyard danced as they entered in the deep points of the night. Oberyn chose to not drink anymore as Melara requested and little by little, he gained back his senses. Melara, on the other hand, appeared to be overwhelmed by so many stimuli from the feast, which could only mean it was time for one thing.

“Go to our chambers and fetch your handmaidens to bathe and prepare you. I will be there in an hour.” He softly commanded, whispering in her ear. The thin hair of her skin creeped to the closeness and she opened her mouth, trying to catch some air to recompose herself. Oberyn tried to convince himself it would be only that night and fortunately he would put a babe on her womb, leave her be in peace and he would keep pursuing his life the way he was most pleased.

“Yes, husband.” Melara obeyed him and headed to her chambers with her head facing the floor, nervously digging her fingers on the embroidery of her dress. The prince watched Melara leaving with Melessa, Lys and Megga until they faded from his sight. Oberyn would never allow the savagery of a bedding ceremony with Melara, his wife deserved to be respected and more ashamed in her first night. He was tired of all that feast as well, but he promised to wait for an hour so she could get ready for him and so he did, patiently expecting the hour to pass as soon as possible. 

The guests were more than drunk and he envied all of them for being happier than him in his own wedding. When the time had arrived, he paid his goodbyes to his mother and the Hightowers and exited the Great Hall, heading to what would be their new private quarters. Bedding her was a prospect that initially made him aroused, now made him feel nothing but an insistent feeling of guilt for being away from the person he wanted, to know he desired so much that his head desired even the forbidden ones. He realised he didn’t want Melara, but the idea of conquering her, unravelling her deepest secrets and desires. What is the joy of conquering someone who was delivered for him like a roasted pork with an apple in his mouth, only waiting to be eaten? 

The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candlelight. The sound of a distant song rumbled, a symphony of words and accelerated steps that seemed to mirror the fast speed beating within Oberyn's heart. 

“Husband.” Melara said, standing up for him. Oberyn had to stop for a moment to admire his spouse in the nightgown he chose for her. It was a white, transparent silk. It disappeared in her skin and slightly made her nipples visible through the fabric. Her hair was loose like a cascade of silver and her eyes screamed anxiety.

“Wife.” He replied, slowly coming closer to the blonde. An awkward silence reigned between them, Oberyn scrutinised her body, inch by inch and Melara joined her hands, ashamed. That is when he realised she could be waiting for his commands. “I believe I made a fool of myself for not pointing out how splendid you look, my lady.” He commented. 

“Thank you.” She replied, twirling her shift.

“I only spoke the truth, Melara.” Oberyn walked towards her and poured two goblets of wine.

“Are you nervous, my lady?” He said, stopping right in front of her. Melara just nodded in silence. “Drink with me.” He commands. Gently, Melara got one goblet for her and Oberyn did the same for himself. Both drank in silence for a while.

Oberyn leaned his forehead on hers, grabbing her hand delicately and kissing her cheeks. “Do you consent me to fuck you?” Her cheeks burned red in shame. “You do have the option to deny me, my lady.”

Melara joined her fingers with his and looked into his eyes, biting her lips. “You may go on, Ser.” 

Oberyn smirked and caressed her jawline, brushing her skin with caution. “Stop this nonsense of calling me ‘Ser’ once more.” Melara stood still, closing her eyes and just received his touches on her face. “Sorry, husband.” His free hand reached her hair, pulling it behind carefully so he could see her breasts through the night dress, he found them to be small and beautiful. His cock already throbbed inside his pants, eager to bury himself on her, but he would be careful. “Much better, princess.”

“I will not force myself on you,” He whispered in her ear. “If you can’t handle it, tell me and I will stop immediately. Is that understood?”

Melara agreed in silence. “Yes, husband.”

Oberyn smiled mischievously feeling the shivering of her skin against the heat of his. His hand was almost cupping one of her teats, but he stopped and took a few steps back.

“Did I do something to displease you?” She asked, biting her lips. 

“No, my lady.” He came closer to her once more. “It's just that I… we have the same age, you and I. But when it comes to experiences,” He opened his belt and opened his attire, leaving his chest on display. “I am far more expert than you when it comes to fucking. I will teach you a few things tonight, sweetling.”

Melara heavily sighed and shaked her head. “I want you to touch me first, Melara. Do you want this?”

The girl blinked her eyes repeatedly, with her cloddish hands she took off his robe, revealing his muscles and scars. Her gaze lingered on his bust, stirring the tip of her fingers along his sun kissed skin. Suddenly, she kissed his neck and he felt a rush that made his blood boil with a simple contact. Maybe her naivety was still very enticing to him. 

“Have you ever touched someone like this, wife?” He questioned her, inert in front of her. Oberyn did not even mind that she was lacking facial expressions that moment, her attitudes were clearly speaking louder. 

“Never.” She murmured, anxiously. His hands cupped her face, bringing it close to his carefully and joining their lips together on a subtle kiss. Oberyn touched her hips and kissed her on her pace, lightly squeezing her waist with one hand and burying his other hand on the golden curls.

“Do you want more?” He asked after breaking the kiss. Melara consented and faced him, waiting for more. He was afraid she would be retreated but her demeanour was surprisingly exciting. 

“Do you wish to be touched?” Oberyn roamed her, stopping behind her back and moving her hair to her front, revealing her bare back to him. He noticed she had some faint bruises on her back and touched it with her fingers. Who could ever do this to such a lady? He felt a wave of tension seeing so many bruises on her back. “Who did these bruises on you?”

Melara turned her face to face him, embarrassed. “If you are not pleased, I can cover it for you, Prince Oberyn.”

“I asked you a question.” He replied, in a cold manner.

Melara breathed heavily. “My… my Septa. At the Starry Sept.”

Oberyn was taken aback by her answer, but endured his posture. “Why did she do this to you?”

“Because I did some wrong things, husband.” Melara frowned and Oberyn furrowed his eyebrows and smirked, curious to know more about this. 

“What are the wrong things, my lady?” He asked, waiting for a torrid story, a mischievous secret.

“I was late for a lesson after a chore, husband.” Oberyn could not even hide his dissatisfaction once he heard her secret was something so silly as this. But could notice that she carried some sorrow in her voice speaking about this. 

“No one will hurt you ever again my lady. I swear it under the sight of the Gods. Old and new.” He said, grabbing her by the chin.

Melara had teary eyes whilst listening to his words. “Thank you, husband.” She replied. 

His fingers cleaned her tears falling down her eyes over her face and he kissed her forehead as a sign of protection. That girl did not deserve to suffer, why did she choose to be there after being spanked that way?

“Do you still wish to continue our bedding?” Oberyn asked, caressing her hair.

“Yes.” Melara abruptly replied and Oberyn passed his fingers over her right nipple, making her moan in a low tone. Oberyn smiled involuntarily.

“Very well.” He said, undoing his trousers in front of her. Melara could see the length of his cock hard for her, fully on display. She blushed with the vision she was having, but did not look away. “I will take off your clothes now. Is that acceptable?”

Melara looked at him, opening her mouth and closing a few times, mayhaps thinking about what she wanted to say. “No…”

“Then I will do as it pleases you, princess.” Melara stared at her cock and could not even blink with a mix of curiosity and fear. Her eyes met his once more, passively waiting for his commands. “Lay in bed, Melara.”

The now princess complied and laid in bed, laying her head on the pillow. Oberyn came after her and waited for his wife to be fully laid on the mattress so he could linger his admiration looks on her for one more moment. He laid on top of her, rubbing his cock against her thighs and kissing her neck. Her fingers dive into his skin while she stiffened her moans when he kissed her neck seductively. 

“Do not keep those moans inside your throat, my wife.” He panted. “I want to hear your sweet moans...”

Her leg bent in the bed, grinding against his naked thigh and her body squirmed under his, Melara let a moan leave her lips freely in that drift of sensations Oberyn was giving her. His hands were more desperate now, lifting her dress to squeeze her thighs. In the meanwhile, Melara felt Oberyn grinding his cock against her cunt with only that piece of clothing separating them. 

“I will taste you now, my wife.” He warned her and Melara looked slightly confused. Oberyn lowered his body and grabbed her left food, kissing it and little by little moving his lips further her cunt. Melara arched her head back in the pillow, holding the sheet of the bed. “Spread your legs for me, princess.” He pleaded, opening them with ease for Oberyn. Gently, he lifted a part of her dress and finally encountered the sea of her wetness, drowning himself in it lustfully. “You taste so sweet, my wife.” He hummed, tasting the sensible skin and Melara screamed to his special kiss. 

His tongue travelled her cunt, licking the curves of her organ and holding her legs, immobilising it. Melara whined and pulled his hair, squirming her body while her husband eated her out as if she was his last meal.

“Please, husband…” She whimpered and moaned. Oberyn kissed and suckled her bundle of nerves a bit deeper, licking her labia and alternating with gentle circles around her clit and making them both sweat.

“Please what, wife?” He asked, muffling his voice against her intimacy, his nose nudging her clit and adding some pressure to the moves, making Melara scream once more as he grunts against her aching core.

“That thing… is happening again… oh…” His speed increased and it lit his body up, circling his tongue on her swollen clit. His face was fully drowned with her wetness and his sweat, he wouldn’t go backwards now. He groaned and the sound coming out of his throat vibrated on her, making his cock leak a transparent liquid out of hunger for her. 

“Come for me, Melara.” He commanded. Her legs started shaking as her voice trembled and her body shuddered with his touch, exchanging his tongue going at full pace for his index massaging her sensitive spot on circular slow moves, driving Melara to complete madness. He raised his head and could see Melara looking at him with desperation, bouncing her hips on his face, craving for releasing her tension.

His index and middle finger masturbated her slowly, taking her to the edge. “Do you enjoy it, wife?”

Melara moaned and nodded eagerly. “Can I keep suckling your cunt?” He asked, teasing her whilst his fingers kept moving in circles.

“Please, do.” She pleaded and he laughed. Leaning his head back into her cunt with ease, cries filled up the room as Melara contorsed her body and screamed her husband’s name loudly, tensing her muscles as he insisted on not letting her go when she was climaxing on his mouth, leaving the couple extremely messy. Oberyn wiped up his face with a towel placed at the table and gently handed it to his wife, cleaning her sweat slowly while she heavily breathed, leaning her back on the headboard. Her golden curls were all over the place, her cheeks blushed out of heat and legs could not find strength to move.

“How did it felt?” Oberyn asked, carefully passing the towel on her face.

“I feel… tingling.” She panted and Oberyn chuckled.

“Are you ready to consummate our vows now?” He brushed his fingers, still wet with her juices on her rosy lips and she consented to him, ashamed.

“Will it hurt me?” She muttered, apprehensively laying back on the bed under Oberyn.The prince cupped her face carefully.

“I promised I would never hurt you, my lady.” Oberyn kissed her jawline sensually and gently grabbed her hands, kissing it too. Her eyes were locked on his and her legs parted soon with Oberyn positioning his cock on her entrance.

His eyes fluttered with lust, leisurely making his way inside her walls. Melara was wet, but shed a few tears due to the discomfort she was feeling. But Oberyn would not go back, he wanted her to feel respected and listened. Oberyn felt her body get tense underneath him and she could not bear to look at him that moment, which made him stop for a while. 

“Do you want me to stop, my lady?” He asked, tracing his fingers over her face.

Melara wiped her tears and sighed. “No, we must fulfil our duty.”

“This is not a duty, my lady,” Oberyn went back pushing himself inside her. “This is pleasure.”

With tender moves, he moved his hips back and forth on Melara, so she would get used to it. Subtly, her hands caressed the back of her neck and some very low whimpers would allow him to keep moving forward.

His pace increased a bit once her hips bounced alongside his, in a sultry and synchronised dance. Oberyn groaned and pulled her hair, feeling the tightness of her warm privates, clenching around his cock, legs bare rubbing on his and nipples scuffing through her nightgown. It felt so mechanical to be with her that way but he knew he needed to be slow with her.

“Turn around.” He commanded, rolling her body and taking her from behind, cupping her breasts and kissing her neck. “Does it feel good, wife?” He murmured between the desperate moves.

Melara tried to support her body on her two arms while he invaded her, pulling her hair softly and pushing inside a bit harshly. Melara looked at him, consenting silently. “Use your words, Melara.” He demanded.

“Y-yes.” She replied between the sound of the collision of her arse against his pelvis. Melara was quiet under his touch, surprisingly. His thrusts became a bit more violent now, but he could not stop, his cock was so hard it could tear her in half. Oberyn felt a rush, wave after wave as his cock went in and out of her core, squeezing her hips each time he would feel his cock throb inside of her. “I’m close…” His lips warned as his pace increased the speed on a higher level, making Melara leave some quiet sobs. He was in a full state of mind to care about anything at that moment. 

Sweat ran down his face and wet his hair, His moans were loud enough for her to hear, the grip on her hips was strong and his penis twitched inside of her, giving signs of his upcoming release and then finally, his body exploded like someone had thrown him at a wildfire explosion.

His seed spilled inside of her, reaching the deepest of her walls he could. Feeling the aftershocks of that exhilarating moment, his body fell beside hers, exhausted from all that action. Oberyn breathed frantically and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recompose his body after that. “Are you alright, my lady?” He turned to see her, but noticed she whispered a few words, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

“Oh… I am..,” She replied, blushing.

“What are you doing, if I may be so bold to ask?” Oberyn questioned, narrowing his eyes.

“Praying.” Melara replied, with a distant trace of embarrassment in front of him. Oberyn wanted to laugh but his lady wife seemed to be very real at her purpose. 

“Praying?” He repeated her, trying to assure it was what he actually heard.

“Yes. Husband…” She tried to speak, but Oberyn cut her.

“My lady, did I hurt you? Was I too forceful?” The prince asked, concerned.

“No, husband.” Melara started to fiddle her fingers again. “Is just that… it does not feel proper for a lady. For a couple.”

“What would not feel right, my lady?”

“To commit the sins we just committed.” She replied and now Oberyn could not hold his laughter.

“The sin of taking my wife’s maidenhood?” He asked, indignant. 

“The sin of using our marital duties to indulge ourselves, husband. Bedding is to produce heirs, not to feel… those things.”

“Well, you appeared to be taking a great deal of pleasure, my lady.” He teased her. “I am afraid you will have to recite too many prayers.”

“I know,” She said, nervously letting a tear fall from her eyes and Oberyn stopped laughing at her. “The Gods will punish me for being like this.”

Her body shrunk in bed and his heart shattered to pieces seeing her that way. “Please, the next time you bed me, do not do those things to me. Ever again.” Melara pleaded, crying silently over the bed. 

Oberyn was taken aback by her request, because he enjoyed the lovemaking and hoped to at least grow fond of his lady wife. She returned to bore him to bits again. 

“My lady, you need to understand that you are no longer a Septa. You are my wife and I am  your husband.”

Melara had no response but to sit in the bed. “I hold no affection for you Melara. You are not the bride I chose, but you seemed to be enjoying it. Were you pretending it all?”

“No…” She replied, wiping her tears.

“Then why do you change your feelings so swiftly?” Oberyn asked, concerned. ”I promised to never hurt you, I swore you an oath and I take it seriously. But I need you to be honest to me.”

“I just… things changed too fast. This is too much for me to bear, Oberyn. But I will do as you command.” Oberyn had her submissive personality as a pathetic trait, but having her so undressed of all her shame in front of him made him at least feel that initial empathy he had for her on the day they met. Perhaps she was not his ideal woman, he would not see her as an equal but Oberyn never intended to hurt her or offend her honour. 

“Then I suggest we find a middle ground for us.” 

Melara narrowed her eyes. “What do you suggest?”

He grabbed her hand, gently. “We are tied to each other, but we can find our happiness. You leave me free to pursue my lovers and I leave you in the Water Gardens. We will encounter ourselves to produce our babies and we’ll have as many as you desire, my only request is that we have at least two children. We do not share the same bed, but I will pay my visits to you so we get acquainted.”

She nodded silently, lowering her head. “I suppose it is acceptable.”

Oberyn brushed his index on her jawline and smiled at his wife. “You and I don’t need to hate ourselves.”

Melara smiled at him for the first time. Not the coy smile he spotted her giving to prince Rhaegar or the shy one she gave to his mother, but a very sincere one. He had to admit she was stunning, even with the mess on her face. Elia was vivid in his mind, but after having that conversation something changed. Melara seemed to be more human to his eyes. It could be the beginning of some cordial relationship for him. All he needed to know is if Melara is willing to cooperate with him too.

[sterekotypes]

WIP Wed - Bite of the Hell Hound

“It’s blocked.”

“What?” Derek walked over to the door and pressed. It moved just slightly under his hands, but didn’t open more than an inch. Not enough space for either of them to squeeze through. His eyes were wild when he turned back to Stiles. 

He was distraught. That much was obvious. 

Derek’s footsteps sounded in the room as he looked for any way out.

“It must have been blocked by the snow drift from the rooftop,” Stiles shrugged. “No need to be so excited about the prospect of being here with me.”

“Stuck? No. We can’t be.” Derek had taken to inspecting the window.

“Uh, yes, we are? At least until someone realizes we are missing and comes to get us out. Wait! Don’t!” Stiles called, too late. Derek had pried the window open. Snow fell in a thick stream into the room. It rushed into the room with a dulled roar. 

And it didn’t stop.

Not when Derek leaped back, not when the window shattered in on itself. Not until the snow moved halfway across the room and piled itself at Stiles’ feet. The wind howled through the window. 

“Great. You broke the window. Anyone ever tell you not to open a window during a snow storm?” Stiles gestured to the window. The temperature in the room was falling drastically. “That’s why.” 

Stiles pulled his coat closer around his body. Derek’s cheeks had gone red from the bracing chill. 

“One of us had better start a fire. At least we won’t freeze to death.” Stiles moved quickly on ever-stiffening legs. He was already feeling the cold seep into each of the joints in his feet. One wrong step and his foot would shatter like a pint at the bar or ice or the window. Stiles went to his knees in front of the fireplace and the small stockpile of firewood. It wouldn’t last them long. They would have to be careful about how much wood they used. 

The fire was a controlled smolder when Stiles looked at Derek again. Derek was trying his best to become one with the shadows in the furthest corner from Stiles. 

When Stiles’ eyes connected with Derek’s, Derek’s eyes went even more tameless. They darted around the room; always coming back to Stiles. 

Stiles took a step towards Derek. Derek’s body tensed and for a moment  the wind transformed into a growl. It was gone before Stiles could think too much of it. He was probably lamenting his bad fortune at getting trapped in this cabin with Stiles. Stiles’ hands went up - placating. 

“I know there’s probably a million others you would rather be stuck here with, but its not so bad. Nevermind the fact you’ll freeze over there.” Stiles gestured to the nearby window that was still howling and spitting snow. Stiles slid a foot forward; that right foot never lifted from the floorboards. His approach glacier slow.

“Derek?” Stiles was sure that Derek’s eyes changed color - a quick flash of his normal stoic green eyes to red. Stiles' stuttered footstep matched his heartbeat. Stiles couldn’t resist leaning in closer.

“What was that? Your - your eyes?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from getting closer. Couldn’t stop himself from studying every inch of Derek’s face. And it was changing before Stiles’ eyes. It was something unnatural, rippling into something vulgar and terrifying. 

“Derek? What is going on? What’s happening to your face?” Stiles lifted a hand to touch, to verify the reality that his eyes were reporting to his brain. The creature standing where Derek had been just moments before growled with a display of viciously sharp teeth. 

Those had not been there before. 

Stiles had the distinct idea that if he reached out, Derek wouldn’t hesitate to bite down on whatever body part of Stiles’ was the closest. Stiles’ fingers hoovered less than a foot away from Derek’s face.

Okay I wrote this on a Wednesday so it counts. Tagged by @dear-massacre.

If you see this post and want to participate, please do!

[sgtbradfords]

Chenford + "What are we married?"

Tim gave her a lopsided grin that normally would have put her at ease, but Lucy wasn't in the mood for teasing. All she needed was his signature on an action shot they were auctioning off for charity, and then they could both be on their way.

"Will you just sign the picture so I can go?" She snapped rather harshly.

She watched as his brow furrowed, his lips falling into a thin line of disapproval. It was a prominent look, one she had only seen a handful of times since getting the job three months ago but never once had it been directed towards her. Lucy shifted the weight on her feet. Thanks to the skates on either of his feet, Tim towered over her more so than usual, making her feel smaller than what she was used to.

The look made her want to apologize, it wasn't Tim who had put her in a sour mood, but rather the announcement of her ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend's engagement. But him bringing up marriage didn't help matters, in fact if anything it rubbed salt into the wound that was still festering.

A question, one that was laced with venom, fell past his lips before she could explain. "Who the hell pissed you off?"

Lucy pursed her lips, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

She deserved that.

Pulling the black sharpie out her hand, Tim gave her a hardened look. He pressed the matte image against the nearest wall, inscribing it quickly before shoving the now autographed picture and marker back into her hand.

"I'm sorry it's just-" Lucy sighed. She didn't owe him her life story. She didn't owe him anything and yet, she felt compelled to explain it all. "It doesn't excuse me for being a bitch, but I got an invitation last night to a wedding for my ex-boyfriend, who I found in bed with my ex-best friend and I really don't want to attend."

Tim shrugged, leaning his weight onto the carbon stick that rested in his hand. "Then don't go."

"What?" She scoffed in disbelief. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it that simple." Lucy stared upwards at him. She had to go, right? "Why the hell would you want to attend a wedding anyways?"

Lucy felt a brow raise. "Not a fan of weddings?"

"I've done it once before, there's nothing special about working yourself up the entire day to walk down an aisle, just so you can kiss someone for five seconds in front of a bunch of people who would rather be anywhere else."

"Maybe you just weren't up there with the right person."

Tim held her gaze. She could see the storm that was brewing behind his piercing blue eyes, it caused her cheeks to grow warm. If he was to hold it any longer, Lucy thinks she may do something stupid or worse, something that could get her fired. Mentally she makes a note to leave him something in his locker. As an apology of course.

"Hey Tim Tam!" The voice of defensemen James Murray echoed down the tunnel and off the walls, effectively ruining the moment. Was there a moment? Lucy shook her head. "Coach said if you're not on the ice in fifteen seconds, you have to do thirty suicides."

In the blink of an eye, the look he had transformed into one of sheer panic. Quickly Tim righted his stick, giving her one last glance turned before he took off down the line of black mats in a sprint, the grey jersey becoming nothing more than a blur.

Lucy had learned a lot over the past few years and still had a lot to learn, but maybe Tim was right, maybe it was that simple.

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Homeward Bound

Summary: Kaeya finds himself in Snezhnaya years after Crepus's death and leaving Mondstadt behind. After meeting Tartaglia, his soulmate, he soon finds himself homeward bound

CW: Injury, violence, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, angst

Word Count: 4565

Pairings: Kaeya x Tartaglia, Diluc x Tighnari

A/N: So, Diluc x Tighnari is totally an experimental ship. I probably won't write it again unless it's requested. And even then I might not.

The snow crunches under Kaeya’s boots as he makes his way across the Snezhnayan countryside.

The world around him is black and white, though for once it’s not merely because he sees in the grayscale of a man who has yet to meet his soulmate. As far as Kaeya can tell, the Snezhnayan wilderness is colorless--a hostile land of ice and cold. And yet, it’s strangely comforting to a wanderer with no home to return to.

The wind kicks up. It carries powder from nearby snow drifts and is  laden with the scent of fresh snow to come. Despite several layers of clothing and the natural protection afforded by a cryo vision Kaeya still finds himself gasping for breath as the cold wraps him in it’s vise-like grip

Kaeya picks up his pace, using the map he picked up in a port to the south to guide him towards a natural shelter. 

A few moments later the former knight shoves the map in a pocket and bursts into a run, urged on by a sense of malice riding on the wind. What it is, he’s not sure, but he'd rather not be in the open when the storm hits.

Each step takes him further and further into the frigid unknown and he can only hope that he’s still going in the right direction.

After what seems like hours he finds the rocky outcropping he was looking for and dives under its looming overhang.

It’s not one moment too soon, either. The moment he’s under the overhang, the storm hits. It howls and rages, just outside the overhang, occasionally throwing snow underneath the rock’s sheltering shadow.

Kaeya sets up his tent, before digging out a place to start a fire.

Once he has a fire going, sheltered from the winds by a pile of rocks, Kaeya leans back and watches the flame.

As has happened so often before, the white-on-gray flames guides his mind to events now several years past.

The night is dark and the rain is heavy on the roof of the Ragnivindr family manor. 

Kaeya stands across the room from Diluc, watching betrayal, rage, and grief play across his brother’s face. He doesn’t miss the way the older man’s hand twitches towards his claymore.

“I’m sorry, Diluc.” He whispers for the third time.

Diluc draws his weapon, setting its edge on fire and rushes at Kaeya who dodges once, twice, three times, waiting for the redhead to calm down.

But he doesn’t. Diluc backs Kaeya into a corner, the flames of his vision scorching the younger man’s face.

Just as Diluc brings his sword down for the kill, a flash of cold accompanied by the clang of steel against steel drives him back.

Diluc stills, horror and guilt now fighting the killing rage.

Kaeya takes the opportunity to put space between him and his brother.

“Get out,” Diluc says, his voice hoarse and broken. “Leave Mondstadt. If you come back, I’ll kill you.”

That night, Kaeya left Mondstadt with nothing but a few sets of clothes, his brand new vision, and the physical scars of hatred on his face.

Kaeya rubs the scarred skin under his eyepatch, using it as an excuse to wipe away a stray tear.

It’s been three years since then. Three years of constant traveling, never staying in one place for more than a few months at most. He’s sure it’s been long enough that any rumors surrounding his disappearance have faded.

For a moment he allows himself the hope that despite the events of three years before, Diluc is living as happy a life as he can, but soon chases those thoughts away.

Kaeya’s stomach growls and he huffs a self-deprecating laugh. Even a traitor has to eat. 

A few days pass and the snow storm finally clears. Much to Kaeya’s dismay, the time spent sheltering from the storm consumed most of his food. According to his calculations, there might be three days remaining if he stretches it. Unfortunately that three days of food to last the five or six it will take to get from his current location to the next sizable settlement.

An unwelcome memory springs to mind, one of him and Diluc training for wilderness camping, the two of them laughing and joking as they learned to forage for food. Who would have thought that the lesson learned then would be so useless now. Nothing learned in Mondstadt will serve him finding food in this frozen hellscape.

With the lack of resources in mind, Kaeya is quick to pack his bags and start making his way to the northwest once more.

The first day goes smoothly. With the help of his vision, he’s able to run over the snow drifts without having to break his way through. It saves both time and energy.

The next day is almost as easy, though the reduction in food and the constant cold is starting to sap his energy and concentration. On the third day, however, he finds himself in trouble.

Around noon on the third day, Kaeya crosses a frozen lake, shifting his weight gradually from one foot to the other, while using his vision to stabilize the ice underneath him.

What he doesn’t anticipate is the slight warming trend of the last few days and the weight of the fresh snow weakening the entire icesheet.

By the time he hears the crunch, crunch, crunch of the ice giving way, it’s too late and Kaeya is plunging into the lake.

Kaeya gasps as his muscles seize up in the frigid water and the breath is stolen from his lungs.

It takes everything he has to paddle the last several feet to shore, where he collapses in a heap.

The warmth seeps from his body in a continuous stream as he lays there shivering.

In one last lucid moment he wonders, would Diluc care if he heard that I died here?

“Big brother, hurry up!”

“Wait for me, Teucer” Tartaglia laughs as he follows Teucer down the slope to the ice lake near their home.

“Last one there is a rotten fish.”

“Not fair, Tuecer. You got a head start!”

A few minutes later they reach the shores of the lake.

“Big brother Ajax! Come look at this!”

Ajax frowns at the slight shift in Teucer’s tone and hurries to the boys side.

“What is it, Tuecer?”

“There’s someone down here.”

Ajax furrows his eyebrows. Theoretically, there shouldn't be anyone out in the hinterlands of Snezhnaya. Just him, his family, and his not-so nearby neighbors.

“Tuecer, stay back.”

Tartaglia passes Teucer and pushes the boy behind him.

At their feet is a dark skinned young man, laying still on the lake shore.

Ajax bends down and touches the man’s neck, raising his eyebrows when he finds a weak, but discernible pulse.

“Teucer, go tell Ma and Tonia to get a bed ready. Tell them we found someone unconscious by the lake.”

“Yes big brother!”

Teucer runs off, leaving Ajax to blink several times, scratching his head at the subtle shift in his vision.

Whatever. I just need to get this guy warm.

Tartaglia lifts the man and starts his way back home.

Halfway back, Tartaglia stops in his tracks  as he realizes why the world around him looks so different. For the first time in his life the world is full of color.

“Heh, hold on, Mr. Soulmate,” Ajax says before breaking into a run. “We’ll be somewhere warm soon.”

Kaeya and Diluc sit on a hill above the dawn winery. Both are around 16 at this point.

“What do you think our soulmates are going to be like?” Kaeya asks, staring up at the stars.

“I don’t know. Whoever they are, mine will have to love Mondstadt just as much as I do.”

“Are you even sure they’re going to be from Mond? I mean, we know everyone here and neither of us can see color yet.”

Diluc grimaces. “You might have a point. What about you? What do you want your soulmate to be like?”

“They have to be fun. I mean, can you imagine having a boring soulmate?”

Liar, Kaeya’s inner voice whispers. You want someone who isn’t going to hate you for your lies. After all, who would love a spy?

“You’d probably die of boredom.”

The peaceful conversation in the bloom of youth is slowly overtaken by wind and accusatory voices.

“Liar.” 

“Traitor.”

“Crepus should have left you in the rain.”

Kayea kneels in the center of the storm of hatred, letting the venom of guilt wash over him in waves.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice. Someone… Please believe me.”

Ever so slowly, a pleasant warmth and the touch of a callused hand chases away the nightmare.

“Shhh. It’s ok, comrade,” a sweet voice says. “You’re safe. You don’t have anything to apologize for, ok?”

Kaeya drags his eyes open, hisses at the bright lights of the room, and lets his eyes close again.

“You’re awake! Welcome to the land of the living, comrade.”

Comrade?

“Where am I?”

“You’re at my family’s house. My little brother, Teucer, found you on the lakeshore.”

“Oh.”

“What’s your name, comrade?”

“Kaeya. Kaeya Alberich.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ajax, though most people call me Tartaglia or Childe.”

“Ajax! Come get the soup before it gets cold,” a woman’s voice calls.

“I’ll be right back. Ma made some soup, if you want some. Though knowing Ma, she’ll probably insist you eat.”

  Kaeya’s stomach gurgles. “I could eat.”

“Then I’ll be right back.”

“Ajax!”

“I’m coming, Ma.”

Once Ajax has left the room, Kaeya opens his eyes again, noting the absence of his eyepatch.

The door opens and shuts again.

“Do you think you can sit up? It’ll be hard to eat laying down like that.”

Ajax helps Kaeya upright, moving the pillows around so that Kaeya can rest comfortably.

Kaeya looks over at the other man and gasps.

Upon seeing Ajax for the first time, the monochrome world falls away, replaced with something Kaeya doesn’t have words for.

“It’s amazing isn’t it,” Ajax asks, deep blue eyes glittering with joy. “It’s nice to meet you soulmate.”

Kaeya, for once, finds himself unable to respond.

Several days pass and Kaeya finds himself drawn into Ajax’s family life. 

Tonia, Anton, and Teucer treat him like a big brother, while Ajax’s parents act like he’s just another son.

It’s incredible just how quickly he meshes with the family and how much he enjoys Ajax’s company. For the first time in years he smiles from the heart.

As much as he appreciates the welcome, however, he finds a quiet dissatisfaction growing.

A week after he wakes up, Kaeya sits on a bench swing hanging from the porch eaves. It’s the first chance he’s had to be alone, without the chaos of his soulmate’s family driving away any stray thoughts.

Kaeya unties his eyepatch, rubbing the scar over his eye as the heavy cloth falls away. 

Do I deserve this? He wonders to himself, thinking of the affection he’s been given since waking up. Diluc was right. I’m a liar and a traitor twice over, the last person who deserves this kind of life.

 Father, what would you say? Why did you have to leave Diluc and I? What do I do now?

“That’s a nasty scar, soulmate.”

Kaeya looks up at Tartaglia. “I suppose so. I try not to look at it.”

“Will you tell me how you got it?”

Kaeya hesitates. “I---”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you look like you could use someone to listen.”

Kaeya looks down at his hands. “I guess. If you really want to hear, I’ll talk.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Ajax sits next to Kaeya, making sure to leave a few inches of space between them. “So? Do you want to talk?”

Kaeya sighs and starts his story.

When he’s done Tartaglia whistles softly. “That’s a hell of a story. I’m sorry you had to live it.”

“I probably deserved getting burned. Bringing it up right after Father died was a horrible idea.”

“It was, but you didn’t deserve it.”

Kaeya gives him a disbelieving look. “I’m a traitor and a liar.”

Tartaglia cups Kaeya’s cheek and turns his face so that the former knight is forced to meet his gaze. “The only ones who deserved to be burned, Kaeya, are the ones who left you there. There is nothing more precious than a child’s dreams, and they took yours away.”

Kaeya is left speechless by the sincerity in Ajax’s eyes. “You really believe that.”

“Of course. And I think, deep down, your Brother knows it too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard stories from the fatui in Mondstadt, that Diluc has been actively looking for you for years. Anytime someone from a foreign land comes by, your brother questions them about you.”

“He probably still wants my head.”

“I promise you he doesn’t. I spent some time in Mondstadt last year and was questioned just like everyone else. He looked like he felt guilty.”

Kaeya lowers his eyes. “You really think he’d want to see me?”

“I’m so certain I’d go with you to see him.”

“I-- I want to go home. I miss Diluc and Father everyday. I miss what we once had. I wish I hadn’t brought things up when I did.”

Three years worth of tears finally spill over Kaeya’s lower lashes.

Ajax wraps an arm around Kaeya, pulling him close. “It’s ok to cry, you know. It sounds like you loved Master Crepus just as much as your brother did.”

Tartaglia continues to hold Kaeya until his tears have run dry.

Kaeya pulls back and wipes his eyes. “Thank you, Ajax.”

“It’s my pleasure. Are you going to go make up with your brother?”

“I want to try. I just…. What if he tries to kill me?”

“He won’t. And if he does, he’ll have to go through me.”

Kaeya gives him a questioning look.

“You’re my soulmate, Kaeya. I won’t leave you to face this alone. I promise.”

Kaeya meets Ajax’s eyes once again and finds within it the one thing he’s craved above all else. Acceptance and the promise that he’ll never have to be alone again.

“I think…I will be in your care.”

Far to the south, Diluc stands behind the counter of the Angel’s Share, absentmindedly washing glasses while he keeps a watchful eye on the tavern-goers.

In one corner, Venti the Bard plucks out a tune. Somehow, despite drinking since opening time, the bard is completely in tune and capable of capturing the hearts of the other patrons.

For some reason, however, the bard has chosen something softer than your average tavern song for tonight’s entertainment---though in Diluc’s mind, the effect is reduced somewhat by the sniffling drunks.

Still, it’s enough to send Diluc’s mind down well trodden pathways of memory.

Something about the song brings to mind a tan face and shit-eating grin. He can’t help but remember laughter and many days spent training, the joy they once found. But he also can’t help but remember the last time they met.

Diluc doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the hurt and genuine fear on his brother’s face when he made his escape.

The redhead sighs, looking down at the colorless counter.

“Venti,” he calls out, “the crying is starting to get old.”

Venti giggles, but obliges the tavern owner’s request and concludes his song with a flourish.

The bard approaches the bar. “Are you sure it’s the crying that’s bothering you, not something else?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you have any requests?”

“Nothing that’s going to make people cry. If you keep doing that I’m going to start losing customers.”

“Spoilsport.”

Diluc groans, fixing the slender man with a glare intended to be firm. Instead it comes across as pleading. “Please, Bard, save the slow songs for closing time.”

“Fiiine. One more wine please.”

“It will be right over.”

Venti returns to his spot and Diluc starts mixing his drink.

As he’s sending Venti’s wine over, the bar door opens.

“Welcome to the Angel’s….”

Diluc glances at the newcomer and the greeting fades away as the world bursts into color.

The newcomer--a slender young man with a pair of long fox ears--pauses for a moment before approaching the bar.

“This is unexpected. My name is Tighnari.”

“Diluc.”

Silence stretches out between the two until Diluc coughs. “What would you like to drink?”

“Hmmm. Apple juice if you have it.”

“We keep some stocked for the minors.”

“Then I’ll have a glass please.”

Diluc pours Tighnari some juice. “Here.”

After a moment, Diluc scratches at the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve seen you round here before.”

“No. I’m a traveling scholar with the Akademiya. I’m here to study the flora and fauna in Dragonspine. “Oh.”

Great going, Diluc. At this rate Tighnari is going to think you’re a grump and just leave.

“When does your shift end,” Tighnari asks after another long silence.

“At closing. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me after you get off.”

Diluc shakes his head. “It’s still a few hours before closing time.”

“Then tomorrow perhaps?”

The redhead reaches around for a cloth, using the movement as an excuse to not meet his soulmate's eyes. “I don’t think that will work. I… have somewhere to be.”

Tighnari frowns, nods.

Diluc glances back at Tighnari. “You said you’re going to be studying in Dragonspine, correct?”

“Yes.”

“If you would like, I can accompany you.”

“Are you sure?”

“It can’t hurt to have a pyro-user around. Besides, after tomorrow, there’s nothing I have going on that can’t be rescheduled.”

Tighnari smiles. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Several minutes later, Tighnari sighs. “I should probably go. I have things I need to unload and I need sleep after the long journey here.”

“Very well. In a few days, meet me at the Dawn Winery. We can leave for Dragonspine from there.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then. Oh.” Diluc stops Tighnari with a word. “It’s very nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.”

A couple days later, Tighnari and Diluc start their journey into Dragonspine.

Once they’re on the road, Tighnari looks at Diluc. “How was your day yesterday? Did you accomplish what you needed to accomplish?”

“I suppose. Yesterday was the anniversary of my Father’s death. I spent most of the day at the cemetery behind the cathedral.”

“You have my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Tighnari waits for a moment, watching emotions play across Diluc’s face, before speaking again. “You look like you have something on your mind. If you want to talk, I don’t mind listening.”

“We barely know each other.”

“So? We brought color to each other’s worlds. I think I can listen to you talk, if you think it will help.”

“Give me some time to organize my thoughts.”

“Very well.”

The rest of the day passes quietly. Tighnari stops frequently to document plants on the side of the road, making quick sketches before the two continue on. 

That night, they sit around a fire at the base of Dragonspine.

“Are you still willing to listen to my thoughts?” Diluc asks after they’ve set up camp and eaten.

“I said I would, so I will.”

Diluc stares at the fire as it dances and crackles, a gentle, contained version of the ones that raged three years before.

“I think Father would be disappointed in me.”

“Why?”

“I nearly killed my younger brother. And then I drove him off. I would have killed him had he not earned his vision.”

“Why?”

“That’s hard to answer without exposing his secrets. Things I haven’t even told the Acting Grandmaster. Kaeya told me his secrets the night Father died and I didn’t react well. Father would have had us talk it out and tried to find a solution or some sort of middle ground. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not that night.

“Father was everything to me. I was powerless to help while he died in my arms. Hearing that Kaeya was not what I thought he was… But I’m not sure that he felt much different than I did. Now that I think about it, Kaeya’s situation is far more complicated than anything I would ever face myself. He’s a damn good liar and I hated him for it, but I think he had to be.

“He trusted me with his greatest secrets and I nearly killed him. He had a father for the second time, came to me, and I told him to leave and that if he returned I’d kill him.”

“You regret it.”

“The only thing I regret more is not being able to save Father.”

“Have you thought of apologizing?”

“All the time. But no matter how many travelers I ask, no one ever seems to know where he is. I don’t even know if he’s still alive or whether his recklessness has gotten him killed.”

Tighnari reaches out and pulls apart Diluc’s clenched fist. Without the gloves that are sitting next to his cloak, his fingernails leave deep grooves in his palm. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to make yourself bleed and I don’t know what local plants are best for first aid. Not yet, anyway.”

Tighnari continues, still holding Diluc’s hands in his. “I think your father would be more disappointed if you were still angry at him.”

“I don’t know how to feel. He lied to me and Father for years. I don’t know if---no that’s not true. Not completely. If the worst case scenario happened, I don’t know if I could trust him. Barring that, he loved Mondstadt just as much as I did.”

“I see. I can send a letter to my friends in Sumeru. If they see him, they can have him return here.”

“Thank you, Tighnari. I would appreciate it.”

“Now we should rest. I want to get an early start tomorrow.”

The two lay back on their bedrolls.

Diluc closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

Three Months Later

Kaeya stands on the prow of a ship, eyes trained on the horizon in front of him. According to the Captain of the ship, land should be in sight within days.

“You look excited, comrade.”

Tartaglia comes up and wraps his arm around Kaeya’s waist.

“Maybe a little.”

“You don’t need to worry so much. I’m pretty sure everyone in Mondstadt misses you.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then you can always come back to Snezhnaya. I’m sure the Tsaritsa would welcome you. Or perhaps the Snezhnayan adventurers guild will. You’re never going to not have a place, loveling. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Three weeks after their conversation at the prow of the ship, The front gates of Mondstadt come into sight.

Kaeya stops in his tracks and Tartaglia nearly trips over him.

“Kae, there’s no turning back now.”

Kaeya doesn’t move.

Ajax walks around him and takes his hand, before gently tugging him forward. “Let’s go.”

Kaeya stumbles after Tartaglia as they cross the bridge, scaring off Timmies pigeons.

“Halt strange yet respectable---Kaeya!” Lawrence bursts into a smile. “You’re back! We thought you disappeared!”

Tartaglia looks back at Kaeya. “Did you even leave a note?”

“Maybe? I left one for Jean, but asked her not to say anything.”

“Swan, go get Diluc!”

Swan glares at Lawrence. “You do it. I’m not leaving my post.”

Ajax smiles. “How about you tell us where to find Master Diluc and we’ll find him ourselves.”

“And you are?”

“Tartaglia.”

“What’s a harbinger doing here without any of your goons?”

“Returning my soulmate home. Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Lawrence scowls. “You’d better not. Go on through. Kaeya, Diluc wants to see you. He’s supposed to be at the tavern today.”

“Thank you, Lawrence. Maybe I’ll go get some Death After Noon.”

Tartaglia threads his fingers with Kaeya’s as the pair cross through the gates to Mondstadt City.

“So where is this tavern?”

Kaeya sighs, plastering the cocky grin he’s so known for on his face.

“Don’t do that, Kae. Don’t hide from the rest of us.”

“I can’t show everyone else what I show you.”

Ajax frowns, but doesn’t push.

The pair takes a winding route from the front gate to the side one and the tavern beside it.

Before they can enter the Angel’s Share, the door opens, and Diluc leaves the tavern, followed by a green-haired man. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll make it up to--- Kaeya.”

“I’m home.”

Diluc rushes the younger man, wrapping him in a hug. “Thank the archon’s you’re alright.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“The four of us should go upstairs.”

“D---”

“No arguments, Kaeya.”

Diluc leads Kaeya, Tartaglia, and Tighnari up to his second floor room in the Angel’s Share.

When the door shuts behind them he turns to face Kaeya. “Where the hell have you been!”

“Here and there. You didn’t want me here.”

“I---I’m sorry Kaeya. I was wrong.”

“No. I shouldn’t have brought the subject up so soon after Father’s death. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry for lying all those years, to you and Father.”

“You could have trusted us, Kae. We wouldn’t have hated you.”

“So I’m welcome home?”

“You never weren’t. I’ve been trying to find you and ask you to come back since you left.”

Tartaglia smiles and elbows his soulmate. “I told you he’d be like this, Kaeya. Now can I get an introduction?”

“Mhmm. Ajax, this is Diluc, my older brother. D, this is Ajax, my soulmate.”

Diluc narrows his eyes at the mask affixed to Tartaglia’s hair. “A harbinger, Kaeya? Really?”

Kaeya shrugs. “Not my idea. I’m not going to complain, though, He saved my skin a few months ago.”

“Thank you for taking care of my idiot brother.”

“My pleasure. Now who is the guy with fox ears?”

Tighnari inclines his head to Kaeya and Tartaglia. “I’m Tighnari, a traveling scholar and Diluc’s soulmate. It’s nice to meet you. Ajax---”

“Call me Tartaglia.”

“Why don’t we get some air, Tartaglia. I think these two could use some time together.”

Diluc shakes his head. “You two stay here. Kaeya and I have something we need to do.”

Kaeya follows Diluc from the lower tier of the city and up several flights of stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s someone else you need to greet.”

“Who…?”

“Just follow me.”

Diluc leads Kaeya to a headstone in the cathedral cemetery.

“We buried Father here.”

“I didn’t bring any flowers.”

“I don’t think Father cares.”

Kaeya huffs a chuckle and kneels by the headstone. “Father, I’m home.”

Diluc takes a knee beside his brother. “I’m sorry it took so long to bring him back. We’ll take care of each other from now on, so please rest in peace.”

That night, when Kaeya and Diluc return to their soulmates’ sides, both of them smile with hearts as light as the wind that graces every Mondstadter’s heart.

On the roof of the cathedral, seen by none, Venti strums a chord on his lyre. “It took them long enough. They’ve got each other and they’ve got their soulmates. I think you can rest in peace now, Master Crepus.”

[impossible-rat-babies]

Ellinor (30 yrs) + Daniel (25yrs)

--

I wanted to draw the two of them all grown up. Ellinor ends up as an outspoken member of the College of Enchanters, working to help reverse tranquility and care for them. Daniel ends up as a scholar in the reclaimed Dales, helping with coordinating efforts between Dalish clans to help preserve ancient artifacts and reclaim their hold history.

[veronica-17-hood]

jason todd x reader

-fluff <3

-damian wayne mention

-enjoy ;) also art credit to @ MOG i cant find their @ so if anyone could it would be amazing ty<3

the apartment was quiet, which was rare for a gotham evening and even rarer in the event that both yourself and jay were both home.

that could mean one of many things, either a movie is going or the two of you are chatting up a storm as jason cooks his heart away in the kitchen. it could mean that one or all of his siblings were over, included but not excluded to roy as well as the other titans who all took just as fast of a liking to you as jason did.

but regardless of what it meant it proved that your home was never quiet. dog was barking (jay was never good with names), windows opening and shutting, groans and grunts (from stitches and sparring), quite the long list but the point was made, it was a quiet evening and that was weird.

so much so that when jason snuck back in through the fire escape at a whopping 10 pm because bruce sent him home from patrol early, feeling sympathetic that night to the fact that his son now had someone waiting at home for him, and the house was quiet jason was almost alarmed.

he kept his gear on, helmet off and placed on your night side table like always, though the domino mask still covered the upper half of his face. light footsteps traced the wood floors, which was odd considering he was a slab a meat walking, but none the less he held one hand to either holster on the sides of his thighs waiting to turn the corner and see either someone holding you or an empty house.

jason was silently praying for an empty living room with a sticky note on the TV saying you went out for ice cream or maybe work called you in, but it was a toss up, a hope, and jason only started hoping when he met you.

he swore his heart stopped when he heard your breathing get heavy. his feet stalled, he knew you were the only one who could ever hear him coming, waiting to see if your breathing would pick up or calm down but nothing happened again, the room was back to pure and utter silence.

he gripped the handle of one of his guns, holding it white knuckled, unable to even think if something happened to you, if you were getting hurt because of his nightly activities, he would rather die all over again than loose you. (not that he would ever admit it, it would ruin his image.)

his body twisted around the last corner, gun already halfway raise from the holster, heart racing, unsure if it had fallen out of his chest or was still resting within. he was on guard in his own home, something he never wanted, he didn’t want to let them win.

“oh for fucks sake.”

his eyes bulged from his head, gun slammed back into the holster, sending a very confused glance as the words tumbled out from his lips before he could even process the fact that you were sitting perfectly fine on the living room floor, a game of chest sat on your cement coffee table with his little demon brat brother sitting just on the other side.

“oh jay you’re home.” your voice carried from your lips to his ears, easing his racing heartbeat but it failed to be sweet enough to wipe the gruff and annoyance off his face.

jason hummed back in agreement, nodding briefly as he kept his eyes on the demon’s head who had yet to acknowledge his older brothers presence or anything at all. jay shifted weight from side to side as he began to toe off his work boots, ones that you immediately notice were cleaner than a usually night in patrol.

his green eyes, now a softer shade, maybe even emerald, stayed on damian with a look of annoyance and maybe even anger, as his body carried over to the couch just behind his girl in his home. your body naturally leaned back into jason, his body resting back on the couch, legs open waiting for you to lean back into his embrace.

“hi darling.” jason’s voice was gruff, usually always was, but it tends to get this deeper and more animalistic when his heart beat had been racing or changed suddenly, so when he wakes at any time of the day, after a sound of ‘making love’ (jay hates calling it sex, he feels like he using you), or after or during a workout. he claims it comes as a side effect from the pit, you think he just gets flustered and doesn’t know how to cover it up.

your body leaned back between his legs, head falling down to the edge of his thigh, hair sprawled across is massive leg, waiting and watching as his head come place a kiss to your hairline, his hand coming down from the back of the couch to rub your scalp for a brief second. (he knows you love it and he loves to watch your eyelids flutter as he massages the area.)

a brief pause passed as your head lifted to turn your attention back to the game of chest, the only sound that can be heard is a deep grumble from your boyfriends chest, “demon brat.”

damian didn’t even flinch, moving his chest piece onto the black square, tilting his head upward just enough to grab a glimpse of his older brother. “todd.”

jason huffed behind you, patting your shoulder signifying he wanted to get up, most likely to change out of the armor. he stepped out for behind your figure, turning around the coffee table, not missing the chance to kick his little brother in the leg before stalking off back to the master room, one he would much rather be laying down in with you watching a movie or reading a book.

“i still don’t understand what you see in him.” damian voiced as he watched you make your next move and immediately pounced to move his en passant.

“you act like you hate having me around.” you teased, staring longing at the board unsure of which move to make next, eyes scanning between damian’s face and the board.

“i do enjoy your company y/n.” he stated, clearly wanting to expand on his point but waiting for you to turn your attention entirely to him. “you are intelligent, it’s refreshing.”

you let out a small snort; you didn’t mean to but you did, immediately regretting it as you watch damian’s face frown and eyes fall back to the board.

“oh dami, i’m sorry.” you reach around, hand resting on his own earning soft look, a hurt look, (he looks like a sad puppy and it’s killing you.) “thank you for thinking i’m smart but you live with some of the smartest minds alive,” (you just don’t see how you are any sort of special or refreshing.)

your words were honest, yes you were smart but you were not babs or tim. yes, you had a masters degree in clinical research and are having successes with your new treatment for children’s leukemia, but that was luck not intelligence.

“none of them take me seriously.” his voice was small, over the last 4 years of knowing damian he was never small. “you always do.”

you thought your heart was going to explode, genuinely had a broken look on your face to mirror his own. but if you thought this moment with damian was breaking your heart than you clearly had no idea how jason was melting watching the two of you from the corner.

“because you deserve to be listened to damian.” you reached your hand that had been previously resting on his own, to his chin, tilting it up so his green eyes were blaring into your own, so you knew he was understand his words. “i know it’s hard, growing up here and trying to fit in-“

“that’s not the issue anymore y/n.” damian was quick to cut you off, stopping the speech that he had heard too many times over the last few weeks but you didn’t know that.

“so what is the issue than dami?” you questioned, your hands pushed off the base of his chin as his head turned down tot he board and making yet another move, leaving you confused as to how he keeps multiple attention strings on you and the game.

damian huffed, he really hated confrontation, he hated having to open up but with you he felt like you were so easy to talk to and you always understood, you never belittled him or told him no. last year he told you he could drive and you let him. damn near gave bruce and jason a heart attack but it made damian finally feel listened to.

damian had liked you since jason brought you home for the first time. he enjoyed how you didn’t treat him like a child and how you asked about his interests and really seemed to enjoy him talk about it. titus took a liking to you the following week when you had to stop by the manor to get something for jason. titus didn’t even bark instead he followed you around, waiting to lay down with you or go outside, that’s when damian knew you are a good person and he made the executive decision to “tolerate” you.

he hated though how everyone pointed out the fact that he took an instant liking to you, he hadn’t done that with anyone but the animals at the manor. he also hated that everyone would fake hurt because he called you by your first name and everyone else by their last. he didn’t do it on purpose, when he met you, you almost reminded him of someone his mother used to have around her and if she was not to be disrespected. he didn’t want to disrespect you. he felt like he knew you well and to put it plainly you were the perfect mix of todd, grayson, his mother, and father, and that’s what made you feel so much like his big sister.

“you don’t have to talk about it now dami, i’ll always be here if you need me.” you took the beat after his shy look to make another move on the board, calling checkmate before he even had time to process what just unfolded.

“you cheated.”

“i did not.”

“you must have, i never loose.”

“you just did.”

from the corner of the room, still undetected by both his soulmate and his brother, jason was smiling like a damn idiot. ear to ear at the interaction that just unfolded. finding you will always be the biggest triumph of his life.

but he knew if he didn’t intervene soon that cheese prices would be flying and the two sitting so peacefully, teasing at one another over the win and the loss, would not end well.

so here comes the night in a ‘fuck batman’ shirt and some grey sweats, to the rescue, still drunk off the fact that he could ever find someone as perfect as you.

“hey demon brat.” the two heads twisted the direction of the hallways, damian’s eyes narrowed into two slits and your eyes gleaming with such affection as you smiled at the man now pushing his body off the wall. “can i have my girlfriend back?”

jason began the walk over to the couch, eyeing the original spot he had taken when he first encountered the pair in the living room, watching as his girl lightly moved away from the back of the couch to make room for his legs. but the movement of his legs were halted as he fully bodied his younger brother, who at some point during his staring encounter with his girlfriend had risen to his feet and was now blocking jason from getting any closer to the couch.

“move D” a huff supported the statement as jason didn’t even use the energy to look down at the 13 year old.

“change your shirt.” his younger brothers voice was cold, first balled up and pushing against his older brothers stomach in attempts to force him back to the room.

an eye roll and quick step to the side “no.”

“your disrespecting father.” damian started again, turning as jason started settling down into the couch behind you, hands instinctively going to your hair to play at the ends of it.

“he’s not my father.” a sing song voice answered the statement, causing damian to look at you, pleading for back up, which was responded with a head shake and a sad smile.

rule number one, never get between all four or even a pair of the brothers, it won’t end well for you.

“i’m calling father.” damian spoke aloud again, making jason’s hand freeze in your hair and body go stiff behind you.

“your bluffing.”

“i don’t bluff todd.”

and just like that the quite night home was over, the room was filled with laughter (from you) grunts, kicks, screams, and groans (from the boys) and the cheese prices falling on the floor which earned yet another lecture from damian to jason about how priceless the game of the mind is.

but let’s just say the morning was worse when jason was stilling wearing the fuck batman shirt and we ran out of damian’s favorite cereal.

“todd how are dare you not have it!”

“this is my house demon spawn! i don’t eat that shit!”

[imaginemalereader]

Take My Coat - Adam Ruzek

Prompts: 2 - “God, you’re shivering so much— just take my jacket.”, 4 - “Let’s cuddle to stay warm.”, 9 - “Come sit by the fireplace with me.”

A ice storm had swept the city and it had swept away your heat and electricity. Well, it had taken out just about everyone’s heat and you were not happy with the situation, nor were any of your neighbors. Chicago winters were not meant to be endured without heaters.

Adam came over since you lived close by and you figured it was better to be cold together than apart at this point. He arrived on your front steps bundled up and carrying a spare blanket, not that you were lacking in that department.

“God you’re shivering so much,” he said when you shakily opened the door for him, already bundled in layers. “Take my jacket.” He offered.

You put a hand up to stop him.

“Then you’ll be cold. Just get inside and we can put this blanket to good use.”

Adam shrugged and followed you inside where you promptly snagged a blanket off the couch and wrapped yourself in it. He did the same with the one he had brought.

“Did they say how long it was going to take to get everything back up again?” You asked.

“No idea yet. There’s a lot of outages and the roads are still pretty bad. Everyone’s doing what they can.”

You nodded and sighed. You appreciated that everyone was working hard but it didn’t make you any warmer. You wrapped the blanket tighter around you.

“You know,” you began, “it might be better if we shared blankets.”

“Are you suggesting-”

“We should cuddle to stay warm, yes.” You finished his sentence with a smile.

Adam grinned and the two of you scooted together on the couch, opening your blankets to envelop each other. Immediately, it was better. Both of you radiating body heat plus the extra layer of blankets had you feeling warmer already. You leaned into Adam and he put an arm around you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

For a bit, the two of you just stayed there, enjoying being with each other feeling warmer for the first time all day. You were pulled from your thoughts of warmth and comfort when Adam shifted and moved his head to look at you.

“You have a wood burning fireplace?”

You looked at wall opposite you and would have smacked your own forehead if that didn’t require moving your hand from under the blankets.

“And some logs I bought earlier ‘just in case’ and kindling? Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Okay well what do you say on three, we get up, I get those logs, you grab the kindling and matches since you know where they are, and we get this fire going?”

“But the cold...” you grumbled though you knew this would ultimately help with that problem. “Okay let’s do it.”

“One, two, three!”

And with that the two of you left the comfort of the couch and your warm blankets and sprung into action. You raced to the kitchen, pulling the matches from their drawer and then grabbed a stack of old newspapers from your dining table and plopped down next to Adam as he settled a log in the fireplace. You spread out the kindling while Adam took the matchbox from you and struck one, lighting the papers after you pulled your hands away. After some more fiddling and encouragement, the log caught and you had a roaring fire in front of you.

Adam moved to go sit back on the couch but you caught his hand.

“Sit by the fire with me.”

He smiled down at you, still seated from your efforts on the fire. He pulled away for a moment, reaching over to take his blanket off the couch before sitting down and wrapping it around both of your shoulders.

“You’re a good boyfriend.” You said, leaning into him once again.

“So are you. There’s no one else I’d rather freeze with.”

You both laughed.

“What you wouldn’t rather be freezing your ass off with Voight?”

“Oh no way!” Adam exclaimed, laughing but horrified at the thought.

“Good. There’s no one else I’d rather be with either.

[clericofsune]

Translating the Gaang to DnD 5e

When I say “translating” what I mean is converting their party roles to a DnD party while not strictly adhering to their powers and abilities so strictly. The reason for this is that because they need to use elemental magic, it would get rather boring having all of them be Sorcerers. So this is more or less an approach of what they would be if they’d been born in the world of Dungeons and Dragons as their original setting.

AVATAR AANG CIRCLE OF WILDFIRE DRUID

This one may come across as a surprising choice, but I think it fits for Aang thematically. As the Avatar, Aang is responsible for balancing the world between humanity, nature, and spirits. He’s cried over a burnt forest, felt drawn to a swamp as though it was calling to him, and eventually learned how to listen to the earth itself. The Circle of Wildfire creates an interesting connection to the Avatar Cycle. The idea that death is merely a phase of life. That destruction and death lead to new life, and that death is never the end. Just as the forest will grow back after a wildfire, so too will the Avatar return when they’ve passed away. There is an argument to be made for Divine Soul Sorcerer as Aang literally has the spirit of Raava inside of him, but both Sokka and Katara have pointed out how wise and insightful Aang is. That sagely wisdom is why I leaned toward Druid over Sorcerer. A 1 level dip into Monk can make Aang more elusive, but Druids do get spells for all 4 bending elements, allowing Aang to stay true to his avatar roots.

Protector Aasimar (+2 CHA/+1 WIS) Background: Hermit (Medicine, Religion) Druid Skills: Arcana, Animal Handling

AANG’S SPELL LIST C Create Bonfire, Gust, Mold Earth, Shape Water 1 Burning Hands, Cure Wounds, Earth Tremor, Ice Knife 2 Dust Devil, Gust of Wind, Flaming Sphere, Scorching Ray, Warding Wind 3 Erupting Earth, Plant Growth, Revivify, Tidal Wave, Wall of Water 4 Aura of Life, Control Water, Fire Shield, Stone Shape, Watery Sphere 5 Control Winds, Flame Strike, Malestrom, Mass Cure Wounds, Wall of Stone 6 Bones of the Earth, Investiture of Flame, Investiture of Ice, Investiture of Stone, Investiture of Wind, Move Earth 7 Fire Storm, Whirlwind 8 Earthquake, Tsunami 9 Storm of Vengeance

KATARA LIFE DOMAIN CLERIC

Between the death of her mother and her father being a soldier, not to mention women being expected to be healers within her culture, I would not be surprised to find that Katara was sent to a temple to train in the healing arts under her gran gran, choosing to eventually strike out on her own by Aang and whatever shenaningans he drags her and Sokka into. When it came to her spell list, I remembered her famous quote “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight”, so I made sure she was more than capable of bringing the pain as well as taking it away.

Variant Human (+1 WIS/+1 CON) Bonus Skill: Athletics Feat: Inspiring Leader Background: Acolyte (Insight, Religion) Cleric Skills: Medicine, Persuasion

KATARA’S SPELL LIST

C Light, Sacred Flame, Spare the Dying, Toll the Dead, Word of Radiance 1 Bless, Ceremony, Cure Wounds, Guiding Bolt, Inflict Wounds, Sanctuary, Shield of Faith 2 Augury, Lesser Restoration, Prayer of Healing, Spiritual Weapon, Warding Bond 3 Aura of Vitality, Beacon of Hope, Clairvoyance, Remove Curse, Revivify, Spirit Shroud, Water Walk 4 Aura of Life, Control Water, Death Ward, Divination, Guardian of Faith 5 Commune, Flame Strike, Greater Restoration, Holy Weapon, Mass Cure Wounds, Raise Dead 6 Harm, Heal, Sunbeam 7 Resurrection 8 Sunburst 9 Mass Heal

SOKKA BATTLEMASTER FIGHTER

Like Katara, Sokka likely ended up having to live in a temple, though not all who serve the gods are Clerics. Sometimes, knights are trained to guard and protect the temple and the priests inside, and I think Sokka would have followed this path to stay with his sister and look after her, becoming something of a bodyguard to her. This is also seen in the show itself, Sokka’s main reason for traveling with Aang and Katara initially was to watch out for his sister and protect her, and kicking some firebender butt along the way was an added perk. Sokka’s primary character arc revolves around coming into his own as a strategist, so the Battlemaster Fighter felt like a natural translation of his abilities, and is also how I would build ATLA Sokka as well, so he’s one of the few characters I probably wouldn’t change.

Variant Human (+1 STR/+1 CON) Bonus Skill: Performance Feat: Slasher (+1 STR) Fighting Style: Dueling Background: Soldier (Athletics, Intimidation) Fighter Skills: Insight, Perception, Survival

TOPH BEIFONG BEASTMASTER RANGER

While this might seem odd at first, I think this is the most appropriate build for Toph in a DnD setting. Firstly, the Ranger class gets to pick a fighting style, and they can pick the Blind Fighting style so Toph can fight without needing to see. Secondly, Toph is connected to the Earth. Aside from the Druid, no other class is as connected to nature and the earth than the Ranger. Thirdly, Toph ends up a hermit living in a swamp. So clearly given the choice between dealing with people or living alone in the wilderness, Toph is going to pick the wilderness every time. She even learned how to see and fight by leaving civilization and learning from animals in nature, and she complained about feeling “confined and restricted” upon entering Ba Sing Se, showing a clear distaste for cities and large crowds of people. As silly as the idea of a blind archer might seem, Toph is surprisingly appropriate as a Ranger. I chose Beastmaster as while ATLA Toph doesn’t have an animal companion, I could easily see DnD Toph having a Badgermole mount or some other Beast of the Earth by her side. Or perhaps give her a Winged Boar, since it’s the symbol of her family.

Variant Human: (+1 DEX/+1 WIS) Bonus Skill: Intimidation Feat: Alert Fighting Style: Blind Fighting Background: Outlander (Athletics, Survival) Ranger Skills: Animal Handling, Nature, Perception

TOPH’S SPELL LIST 1 Ensnaring Strike, Hunter’s Mark, Searing Smite, Speak with Animals 2 Beast Sense, Summon Beast 3 Conjure Animals, Conjure Barrage, Speak with Plants 4 Dominate Beast, Locate Creature, Guardian of Nature 5 Commune with Nature, Conjure Volley, Swift Quiver, Wrath of Nature

ZUKO THIEF ROGUE

When Zuko’s not firebending, he shows a mastery of ninjutsu techniques. Between the Blue Spirit, his infiltration of the Northern Water Tribe, and his teaming up with Katara in the Southern Raiders, we see time and again that Zuko is well-equipped for stealth missions, utilizing the ninjutsu arts of In-Nin and Yo-Nin, sneaking in covertly without being seen, and hiding in plain sight to avoid detection. We also see in the show that Zuko has no issue with theft, as his second outing as the Blue Spirit is used to disguise himself as he robs and intimidates Earth Kingdom civilians. I could see Zuko being the son of a powerful crime lord, with his sister as a dangerous assassin while he’s a skillful and nimble thief. Or perhaps he was abandoned by his posh, aristocratic family and took up a life of crime to survive. There’s a lot of ways to cook a backstory for Zuko here, but being a Thief feels about right for where Zuko would be in the world of Dungeons and Dragons. Like with Aang, one level of Monk can make Zuko more dexterous and nimble if one so chooses.

Variant Human: (+1 DEX, +1 WIS) Bonus Skill: Intimidation Feat: Fighting Initiate (Two-Weapon Fighting), Dual Wielder Background: Urban Bounty Hunter (Deception, Stealth) Rogue Skills: Acrobatics, Athletics, Sleight of Hand, Perception Rogue Expertise: Athletics, Acrobatics, Sleight of Hand, Stealth

SUKI WAY OF KENSEI MONK

The other character I’m unlike to change, Suki has been trained in hand-to-hand combat as well as weapon training. However, unlike the Unarmed Fighting Style Fighter, Suki clearly showcases that she’s far more focused on dexterity, and the Unarmed Fighting Style focuses on Strength-based punching. So, the Way of the Kensei Monk is the best way to make her able to fight with Dex-based hand-to-hand combat or dex-based weapon attacks, such as with her fans, a sword, or a bow.

Variant Human: (+1 DEX/+1 WIS) Bonus Skill: Performance Feat: Fighter Initiate (Dueling Fighting Style) Background: City Watch (Athletics, Insight) Monk Skills: Acrobatics, Perception

I think all around, the Gaang translates pretty well to the DnD setting. Obviously, some powers are lost in the process, but their actual core personalities remain in tact, and the skills and abilities they learn from the DnD world feel organic to the types of people they would be in this alternate universe without bending. If you want to see how they’d be built without losing their elemental powers though, check out their builds on Youtube by Tulock the Barbraian, he’s the main reason I did a translation post instead of a direct build post.

[princecosmosanon]

Let’s talk about Gyatso

So I’ve seen the post about Gyatso getting stuck in the ice berg with Aang and being all sassy towards Iroh and that being fun, and it’s true…

But!!! And I mean, maybe this has been suggested before and I just didn’t see it but… what if Gyatso did come to the future with Aang… and everyone just assumed Gyatso was the avatar and Aang was his grandchild.

Gyatso would totally lean into the persona and take all the stress off of Aang, especially after hearing what was going on with the world. I think he would be like “ah, this just be the will of the spirits” and while I like the idea of Gyatso going around with the Gaang…

I think Gyatso would be more effective as a red herring. He could allow himself to be taken by Zuko and Iroh, telling Aang to travel northward with Sokka and Katara while he throws the Fire Nation off course. And no one would be the wiser! Even Iroh, in all his wisdom, would probably see that something was off but not be able to tell for certain Gyatso isn’t the Avatar.

I wanna say this leads to mostly petty feuding between Zuko and Zhao, with Gyatso playing them against one another and sometimes getting free, only to lead them further away from the Gaang and getting “caught” again. I think there is a close call when it comes to visiting Avatar Roku on Crescent Island, but Gyasto just runs into the inner sanctum with Aang and there’s enough chaos in Roku’s anger that no one realizes when Gyatso and Aang part ways.

Then, as time goes on, Gyatso begins to see that Zuko isn’t bad, that Zhao is powermad, and Iroh is actually very in tune with the spirits, so he starts favoring being in Zuko’s company rather than Zhao’s. He still plays them against one another but usually he’ll give Zuko the upper hand.

I want there to start being a strange tension between Iroh and Gyatso, because sometimes Gyatso says things or does things that actually make Zuko laugh, even if that’s generally something that paints more of a target on his back because it was at Zhao’s expense. And then Gyatso learns about Zuko’s past (probably in the same way the rest of Zuko’s crew does) and Gyatso turns toward the west and is like “honey, you got a storm coming” and hundreds of miles away Ozai sneezes.

Eventually when Azula is sent after them, Gyatso does his best to help them escape even though he could have just high tailed it out of there without them slowing him down. Zhao, since the siege of the North would not have happened, would still be alive, though probably livid with anger and disgraced, would also be a constant dangerous presence following them, and I think, finally, that’s when Gyatso would spill the beans. He’s not the Avatar. Also, Aang isn’t actually his grandson but that’s neither here nor there.

Zuko would be devastated; not only has he been wasting his time, but he’s absolutely sure that he really has been abandoned by his father (the Gaang hasn’t had to out Aang yet, so the rumors of the Avatar generally followed Gyatso more). Zuko still runs off alone for a while but Iroh and Gyatso never really let him go too far out of reach. They eventually move to Ba Sing Se as well… and that’s as far as I’ve really thought on this but it’s something I think would actually make a Fun canon rewrite.

Gyatso is just a breath of fresh air (pun intended) and would add so much more chaos to Zuko’s story. I like to think there would be times Zuko would feel he could confide in Gyatso things he couldn’t say to Iroh, afraid it would diminish himself further in his uncle’s eyes, but there would eventually be a moment when Zuko told Iroh no one could replace him in Zuko’s regard. Iroh is, and has been, the only real family Zuko has had over the years, and he may not always show it but he’s always been grateful Iroh never abandoned him.

Idk Gyatso, Iroh and Zuko would just be fun to have interact.

[dawl-and-dapple]

rating: general warning: No Warnings Apply relationship: Caleb Widogast / Essek Thelyss word count: 1,548

Caleb tells Essek some campfire stories. Inspired by this lovely artwork by @fea_feathers. Beta-ed by @mllekurtz.

***

Far in the northern wastelands of Eiselcross, almost two miles below the surface where storms scream for days on end, under layers of ice and rock and metal, is a single dark-grey hemisphere. It is dwarfed by the three great black marble pillars which stretch up to the arched roof of the hall which hadn't been disturbed for several hundred years, until a little over an hour ago.

There are signs of life now: two pairs of footprints leading from one doorway into the centre of the hall, stopping at the perimeter of the dome. One of the sets of feet had limped slightly.

Inside, a small campfire mutters with the unnatural docility of one created by magic. Two men sit opposite one another, both leaning in towards the fire’s warmth.

Essek used his final high-level spell against the Absorber which had subsequently broken his collarbone. He had been counterspelled anyhow. The frustration of losing that spell slot for naught is frankly worse than the throbbing pain in his chest and left ankle, particularly after Caleb had dosed him with a moderate potion of health.

He sits on a lump of broken stone Caleb had kicked into the centre of his circle before raising the dome. It’s about the right size to be a makeshift stool, though not nearly as forgiving as one. Essek shifts a little in his seat, decidedly not complaining about his back.

Caleb pulls out the bottle he’d been looking for in his bag of holding. It’s not Lionett wine this time, but a small dark-brown bottle with no label.

“Upon recommendation of our friend Veth, whom we blessed with a more refined taste. Almost as good as a health potion, wouldn't you say?”

Essek takes one mouthful of the stuff before deciding he’d rather not risk the focus necessary for trancing that night. Caleb has swallowed half the bottle by then. Instead, Essek pours a little into a mug of cocoa he’d prepared over their small campfire made from the first of six servings Caduceus had given them.

“How is your ankle,” asks Caleb. He’s not slurring his words yet, though he has quietly migrated from the other side of the dome to a spot on the floor next to Essek’s boulder. “You were favouring your right on our way into this chamber.”

“Much better. It is only my shoulder which is hurting now.”

Caleb nods. He’s slowly rubbing the pad on his thumb around the rim of the bottle, making it hum. “I cannot convince you to drink another potion.”

Essek chuckles. “I will trance it off, thank you. I have endured worse. You have, too.”

“That is true.”

“You and the others do like to brag about your scars and the circumstances behind them, for whatever reason. I recall you once mentioning an occasion involving a devil-toad…” Essek trails off, lifting his brow as a pleased expression overcomes Caleb.

“That was barely two days after Veth and I had first met the others,” says Caleb. “I spent half of that fight horizontal.” He says it with the nostalgia of one recalling their first kiss.

“We wizards truly are indispensable.”

Throwing back the rest of the whiskey, Caleb lurches to his feet and shrugs off his oiled leather overcoat. “I think I will tell you some stories,” he says. “You have missed a lot and we have never been particularly transparent with you, Essek. You still do not know what happened inside the happy fun ball.”

Essek begins to push himself to his feet too, but Caleb beats him to it and shoos him back down onto the rock-stool.

“No, no, stay there. I will be your storyteller.”

Essek watches Caleb painstakingly position himself between the campfire and the wall of rubble marking the southern boundary of their dome so that his shadow dances tall and spindly across the rocks behind him. The firelight winks for a moment as Caleb waves his hand to cast control flame and makes the fire suddenly stand tall and uncannily still like a spear of hot glass in the tinder.

Clearing his throat, Caleb holds out one arm straight and perpendicular to his body.

“A man in my hometown would tell stories like this,” he explains. “With a screen of cloth between us, the children, and him and his lamp. He would make, ah, monsters and heroes and mountains with his puppets and bare hands.” Caleb sticks one finger up behind his elbow, creating a silhouette of a person standing alone on the horizon of his arm. “I am not nearly as skilled as him.”

“I really have no frame of reference,” says Essek. “But I am no art critic either way. Tell me a story, Caleb.”

Essek is unsure how much of this can be blamed on the drink and how much on the terrible day they’d endured. Caleb seems eager to show off in front of Essek, either way.

He begins by describing the incidents in Trostenwald and Alfield. There is a lot of arm-waving and minor illusion involved in order to convey the dramatic effect the tales necessitate. Essek happily sinks lower into his warm furs with every minute of Caleb’s performance, reconstructing this timeline; a surprisingly short amount of time had passed between the Nein first meeting and their arrival in Rosohna, but so much had happened.

Caleb occasionally stumbles.

“And then—then, um, Fjord said to me...ah, I cannot remember the exact words.” He laughs and presses the heel of his fist to his temple. “After a month or so the details begin to blur, you see. But he told me that he owed me one. The joke is on both of us though, you see, because had we completed that ritual our ship would have been destroyed by a storm.”

“Oh, gosh.”

“Typical wizard and warlock behaviour. Cannot see the forest for the trees, or the deadly tempest-summoning-blood-ritual for the spell circle.”

“Indeed,” says Essek, entranced by the way Caleb’s body language has been loosened by the drink. He’s grinning so broadly his cheeks are dimpled.

“I cannot say I regret it though, in retrospect,” Caleb goes on. “Our friend Fjord was the de-facto leader at the time, as the only one with sailing experience. Given that man’s track-record it likely did him good to graze against the consequences of his actions.”

“Had you not been on a boat before then?”

“No, no. I had not even seen the ocean until a month before. The empire is landlocked and I lived nowhere close to a lake, and had no means of boarding a sailing boat in such a modest and rew—rool—roowool—rewhul...rurrool...Scheiß auf diese hässliche Sprache.”

Caleb scrubs at his eyes while Essek laughs.

“Tell me about the happy fun ball,” says Essek, breaking Caleb out of his frustration.

“Ja, ja, so we were looking for the heart of this, ah, this unkillable monster. The laughing hand. He was a mean motherfucker, as Beauregard might put it, ha!” Caleb pulls his shoulders up to imitate a larger frame. “Huge. Sword for a hand. Covered in mouths which laugh and make you crazy. Nothing we did to hurt him stuck. But...his mortal heart was deep inside the archmage’s bane and if we destroyed that—!”

Caleb points at Essek and raises his brow.

“You may destroy him.”

“Genau. And so, we dove once more into the happy fun ball. Oh, I must tell you of our first time inside the ball though. You will enjoy this story, it involves a library. I will return to our friend with the mouths later.”

Caleb goes on for another while. It is so very entertaining for Essek to watch him stumble his way through a story while lifting the empty sleeves of his coat to cast dragon-wings against the rocks, or hook it over his head to create the hulking shadow of the laughing hand, or hold his splayed fingers close to the campfire to imitate the long boney claws of the creatures they came across in the barbed fields. But Essek cannot keep his eyes open forever.

Blind, he listens to Caleb’s voice, warmed by whisky and cocoa, lifting in pitch and tone. It carries him through the southern oceans and the greying wildlands. He hears his own friends’ voices being imitated (terribly, but so endearingly) as the ache in his shoulder fades and he floats somewhere above his own body.

“Are you trancing, Essek?”

“Hm.”

“Oh. I forgot you can do that sitting up.”

Reluctantly, Essek opens his eyes. The hypnotic rhythm of thought, imagination, and memory pauses and rearranges itself into his waking brain. “You should sleep. I do not know the time, but it must be late, and we both need the rest.”

Caleb nods. His face is remarkably pink after the drink and the exertion of storytelling.

“Yes.”

“Please tell me more tomorrow night,” says Essek. He slides off the rock stool and lays out his furs. “Then, pick up where you left off, please. Tell me about the forging of that sword.”

Caleb smiles. He dims the fire, joins Essek on the ground, and rolls out his own bedspread over the cracked marble floor. “Of course. We were just getting to a good part.”

“Don’t spoil me.”

[samplingmoonsters]

What if Techno is like a walking heater cause he's from the Nether and Dream who's naturally cold??

Snow crunches under their feet, warm clouds of fog escaping frozen lips, evaporating quickly in the icy air like ghosts. Endless whiteness surrounds the pair, an empty canvas yearning for a splash of color. But there are no colors for miles, nothing but an abyss of white, except for the red cloak fluttering in the wind like the wings of a newborn bird. Not for the first time, olive green eyes find themself staring at the only interesting color since they started their never-ending journey through the north.

He stares at the broad back of the warrior, well aware of the muscles hidden behind the thick fabric. A hog-like snort escapes his companion as the tall warrior lets out a hot gust of wind. Dream’s tired, freezing body jerks at the loud noise. They haven’t spoken to each other for hours, only Dream’s exhausted breath and the snow crunching under their feet filling the silence around them.

Olive-green eyes widen and he stumbles back, almost falling into the snow, as Techno rams the end of his ax into the snow next to him. They stop in their tracks, finally giving the ex-prisoner’s body a precious second to rest after hours and hours of non-stop walking. Dream’s chest rises and falls in a mix of exhaustion and fear as he stares at Techno’s back. Even after spending weeks in a tiny cell together, building a relationship that doesn’t fit into any category but runs far deeper than simple friendship, Dream’s still gets nervous when he’s confronted with the view of a sharp object. A spike of anxiety settles into his chest, his fear rising the longer he has to look at the damn netherite ax sticking out of the snow.

He trusts Techno more than anyone else on the SMP but it is still hard to let go of old fears even after months of recovering in the Piglin's small cottage. Swallowing, Dream forces his body to relax and instead moves his eyes towards Techno’s face. Anything to distract himself from the weapon still glinting in the corner of his vision like a poisonous snake ready to strike.

At one point, Technoblade has turned towards him, ember eyes staring at the lanky blond, “We should search for a place to rest for tonight.” Techno murmurs before picking his ax back up, swinging it over his shoulder before walking straight towards the line of woods surrounding the snow-covered trail.

“Ah- wait for me!” Dream calls after the other man, small feet stamping through the snow like a newborn fawn who is just learning how to walk from their mother.

Away from the trail, the snow is even higher, reaching Dream’s knees and causing the blond to get stuck on multiple occasions. He has a hard time keeping up with the pink-haired man who doesn’t seem to have any problems navigating through the snowy landscape, his thick leather boots keeping him from sinking into the snow unlike Dream’s pathetic excuse of footwear which can’t even keep his feet decently warm. He can already feel his toes starting to freeze off. If this goes on he won’t have any feet to complain about coming tomorrow morning.

If it weren't for Techno's strong hands pulling him out every now and then Dream would be forever stuck in the middle of the woods.

"Be careful where you are stepping." Techno grunts after pulling Dream out of the snow for what must be the tenth time.

Dream grumbles a curse under his breath, patting the snow from the pants before throwing a dark glare at his companion, "I do! It's not my fault the snow is, like-- ten feet high!" He stomps his feet into the snow, his childish tantrum only resulting in him soaking his pants even more.

Dream could practically hear the other roll his eyes, "Don't be dramatic...it's not that deep." As if to prove his point Techno stomps one foot into the snow. The appendage barely sinks into the snow. But all too soon Techno’s attention is stolen away once more by the distant howls of wolves. The warrior grips his ax tightly, red eyes jumping around the trees, searching for any potential danger while he waits for Dream to stop sulking around so they could start moving forward again.

Dream lets out a huff, seemingly indifferent about the continuing howls. He knows that Techno will keep him safe, so he doesn’t even bother taking out the dagger hidden inside his dark-green coat. It’s not like he would be any good in a fight. Ever since they escaped the prison, Dream quickly realized that his hands would never be able to truly hold weapons of any kind anymore, not with how much they trembled and shook. He’s happy that he could hold a cup of tea without spilling hot liquid everywhere, and hey, he can even hold a spoon without too much of a hitch.

Small progress as Techno would say.

And maybe, with a lot of training and patience, he would even be able to hold an ax again one day.

Though, that dream is rather blurry for now. Let’s rather focus on re-learning how to use a knife and fork for the moment....or Techno would have to help him cut his steak forever and that’s just fucking embarrassing. He already feels like a helpless child 75% of the time when it comes to holding anything.

Which also includes not being able to walk on snow like his companion.

Fucking piglin hybrids and their natural ability to walk over loose ground.

"...that doesn't prove anything. You-you're used to walking through snow." Crossing his arms, Dream glares at a random patch of snow near Techno's left foot. Now that they have stopped moving, Dream can feel the unbearable coldness sinking into his already half-frozen skin. Dream hates to admit it, but he does have a low tolerance when it comes to low temperatures. All his life, he has lived in hotter regions, places where the sun never stops shining all year round, and where hurricanes and heavy storms are a monthly concurrence. But now, he's forced to live in a snowy biome, far away from the sun, where it never stops snowing and the nights are long.

Dream couldn't remember when he last felt truly warm. Even in the safety of Techno's beloved cottage, there's still something cold lingering in his chest, freezing his body from the inside...

Maybe that's just his trauma showing his ugly head... Nevertheless, Dream really missed lying among the flowers, grass tickling his cheeks while he let the sun heat up his body.

And while the prison had been warm, unbearable so, the warmth wasn't the same as the feeling of sun rays on his freckled skin.

Ender, when was the last time he had worn a crop top? Felt like a billion years ago. He couldn't even wear cute outfits in this shitty weather. Fucking Antarctica...

Yearning for an outlet for his building frustration, Dream angrily kicks a small pile of snow, accidentally spraying Techno's face with the powdery substance.

For a second the woods go deathly silent as if the trees themselves could feel the tension rising between the rivals. The two men stare at each other, a silent battle taking place. Techno's narrowed red eyes promise unbearable pain, causing Dream to fidget nervously.

If there is one thing Dream hates more than raw potatoes it's complete silence. He remembers a time when silence didn't bother him. A time when he could linger in his base far underground unbothered by the pure quietness surrounding him, even enjoying it. He was used to being alone, doing his own thing, a lone wolf some would call him, but after the whole prison thing...Dream began to hate the sound of his own voice, the silence that would linger after he screamed his lungs out either from hours of torture or talking nonstop to his own reflection in the lava.

Yeah, he would much rather listen to Techno's monotone voice for hours, all day long, if it means he wouldn't have to listen to his own scrambled thoughts.

"Uh...Tech--"

Before Dream could finish his sentence his feet suddenly left the ground as his tall, lanky body was raised from the snow. The blond squeezed his eyes tightly, expecting to be body slammed into the cold abyss for revenge but instead, he felt a pleasant warmth surrounding him from all sides.

Fluttering his eyes open he's met with the sight of Techno's broad chest. Jerking his head up he stares at the piglin but the other is ignoring him, red eyes stubbornly looking forward as they continue their way through the foggy woods. Green eyes focus on the warm puffs of air escaping Techno's pink lips, the way his sharp tusks glint in the faint light like hidden daggers, and how his red eyes seem to sparkle brighter than the ice crystals littering the ground. This close, Techno's beauty is almost otherworldly.

Truly the God of Bones and Blood.

And now the God is carrying him. Carrying him bridal style while curling his precious red cape around them both.

Dream's cheeks quickly catch on fire at the unexpected turn of events.

Forcing himself to relax, he leans his cheek against Techno's armored chest, almost jerking back in surprise at how warm the other feel even through the thick layer of metal.

Oh Gods, Techno is burning, a steady warmth spilling from him in waves like a dying star. With the cape curled around them, keeping the cold air away and trapping Techno's body heat, Dream feels like he's sitting in a furnace.

A very soft, grumpy furnace.

He almost forgot how warm Techno is. When they were still in prison Dream didn’t really notice Techno’s abnormal body heat. Back then everything, the air, the water, the obsidian blocks, was hot to the touch. Soon Techno’s body heat just turned into another source of heat in the already stuffy cell.

Now, Dream welcomed the warmth.

For what feels like the first time in months, Dream feels the coldness leaves his body.

Letting out a sound that comes close to a purr, Dream leans back against Techno's chest. With his cheek pressed against the other’s armored chest, he can clearly hear Techno's strong heartbeat. The steady sound pulls him into a placid state where each one of his problems and haunting memories leaves his mind for a little while until all he can feel is the vibration of Techno's heart and the strong hands holding him up.

Protecting him.

"Just so you know, if the wolves decide to attack us, I'm throwing you into the snow." Technoblade's monotone voice drifts through the blurry edges of his mind, almost throwing him out of his serene bubble.

Not wanting to leave the peaceful corner of his mind just yet, Dream cuddles deeper into Techno's chest, successfully ignoring the Piglin's warning.

Above him Techno let out a long, tired sigh, yet, the hands around his waist are pressing him closer, a silent promise to shield him from any upcoming danger.

With a small smile on his lips, Dream lets himself sink into the peaceful abyss, the sound of Techno's heartbeat guiding him. He falls asleep to the familiar lullaby of Techno’s heartbeat.

And so, far up in the north where the sun rarely shines and the snow never stops falling, the blond warrior found his own sun to warm up his broken soul.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for weeks! Sorry that it took me so long, dear anon! I hope you like it!

[tommybaholland]

Hello, I have a request that's been eating at me. I read a lot of fics where the reader is afraid of thunderstorms, but I really can't relate. My family used to sit on the porch and watch the lightning like I was looking at fireworks, the rumbles lull me to sleep. I was also one of those kids who rain outside in heavy rain. Can I request some Shouto, Izuku, Kaachan and Kaminari heacanons with an S/O who looooves thunderstorms and heavy rains please?

s/o who loves thunderstorms 

featuring: todoroki, midoriya, bakugo, and kaminari

the older i get the more i appreciate the sounds of heavy nature. i also like the idea of flipping concepts and doing something different! thank you and enjoy. x

todoroki

he also enjoys the soothing sound of thunder and heavy rain

he’s already a pretty sleepy boy so staying up and watching storms with you is almost out of the question

he’ll do it if you want but he’ll most likely be fast asleep in about ten minutes 

and you’ll know when his head starts to lean into your shoulder 

he prefers falling asleep with you during a storm

he finds the sentiment very comforting and the way you snuggle up to him makes him feel all warm and cozy

he’s not a huge fan of you running outside in the rain but he can’t complain if it makes you happy, he’s happy to watch you from a drier spot

one time you asked him if his quirk would work during a storm 

like if he could freeze the rain or if he could even use his fire side at all

that got him thinking and he became curious about it too because he didn’t know either

he did have preconceived notions about it like that his fire side would be particularly useless during a heavy rainstorm

and that he could only make ice itself and wasn’t so sure that he could freeze moving rain

you thought that maybe this could be a new revelation for his power and that he could combine the two quirks and create steam or something

although he was doubtful, he tried anyway but the rain was still affecting his ability mostly to produce heat 

“it looks like i’ll have to try it another time when it’s not raining. now, we should get inside before you get sick, my love.”

he makes sure you’re all showered and dry and comfy before getting relaxed with him under a blanket 

at this point you’re glued to his left side because of how warm he is 

he’ll even raise the temperature a little higher so it feels like the blanket just came out of the dryer and you feel so comfortable 

it makes you fully relax as you doze off on him with the soothing sound of rain hitting the building in the background

he sees you struggling to stay awake, “you can fall asleep on me if you like, baby.”

he rubs your back with his warm hand and kisses your head, effectively making you succumb to sleep 

midoriya

he seems like someone who would be spooked by thunder and lightning claps

so you’d most likely be the one comforting him during a storm

and he definitely doesn’t like you going outside in that kind of weather

he’s afraid you’ll get struck by lightning

however, he wants to beat this fear of storms because he might have to fight a villain during one and he wants to be prepared for anything 

so he starts practicing kicks outside whenever it rains 

more like every time it rains 

and he’ll be out there for a while, just trying to improve his mobility in the rain 

which is not out of character for him

even before you started dating, you knew that he was persistent and didn’t give up so easily 

it’s both a good and bad quality to have 

the bad being that he doesn’t know when to quit, even when his body is telling him to do so

you felt a little hypocritical about dragging him out of the rain like he’s done to you 

but this wasn’t so much about the rain than about what he’s doing to himself 

once you finally get him inside and make sure a hot shower, warm clothes, and some tea are in order 

 he’s very grateful for how much you take care of him

“thank you, sweetie. i know i can push it too hard sometimes but i do appreciate what you do for me. you should try training out in the rain too sometime though!”

it’s hard not to smile at his undying enthusiasm

you agree to go out with him next time but for the time being, you’d rather stay inside and listening to the storm with him

even though he trains outside in the rain now, it doesn’t change him getting jumpy from the thunder claps

but luckily, he has you to snuggle into him to look forward to

bakugo

he doesn’t understand your fascination of heavy rain and thunder 

meanwhile he’s literally out like a light during storms

he’s used to loud noises like that given his quirk so it never bothers him

it can keep you up though because you just love to watch it

so he doesn’t love to share a bed with you during a storm as he just wants to sleep 

more like he just wants you to sleep next to him instead of watching some stupid rain 

“hey, dumbass. quit staring out the window and come lay next to me!” 

he literally has to drag you to bed so you don’t stay up too late

he’ll hold you tight against his body to try to get you to relax and go to sleep

but then you’ll start squirming in his hold and feeling those movements against him makes him blush

“why are you so fidgety, you idiot?”

he ends up laying on top of you, which is perfectly fine because it’s one of his favorite ways to cuddle you anyway

he will not, however, run around like an idiot outside in the rain

he also doesn’t even care that midoriya is training outside in the rain because what villain would be dumb enough to attack in a thunderstorm?

he usually has to go out to reign you in at some point 

and one time when he finally caught you by your wrists, he couldn’t help but notice how attractive you were in that moment

your hair drenched was and stuck to your neck 

and he was mesmerized by the droplets of rainwater running down to pool in your heaving collarbones 

he felt the need to pull you in for a kiss with his hands holding either side of your head

he was definitely the stupidest thing he had ever done but the way you looked at him after the heated kiss was all worth it

unfortunately, he got sick after that and blames you for all of it but he feels lucky that you’re there to take care of him

kaminari

he likes them but mostly because he feels “more powerful” due to the lightning

so he’s more of a heat storm person that likes to watch the lightning behind the clouds

he can get a little too overzealous about it, “what if i could bend lightning like in avatar? wouldn’t that be the coolest, babe?” 

you point out that he can already bend lightning but he thinks that ‘electrification’ doesn’t sound as cool

sometimes he attributes your attraction to him to your love of thunderstorms and lightning

you had never really made the connection and you always tell him that he’s just a cute and sweet boy that love you too

he also can get a little jumpy with the thunder because sometimes it’s really loud and you never know when the loud ones are going to hit

he’ll try to keep himself from getting too scared 

but then he sees how midoriya’s s/o is when midoriya gets jumpy with the thunder 

so sometimes he’ll exaggerate his shivers and jumps when you’re cuddling him during a storm so you’ll get even closer to him 

then the warmth and weight of your body against him makes him blush

he’d be the most willing to go out into the rain with you

let’s face it, the real reason you’re dating him is that you’re both idiots

one time he decides to try to bend the lightning from the storm and just caused a huge explosion 

thank god you were with him because he ended up short circuiting and would’ve been left out there alone 

it took a lot of your energy to get him back home and you nearly collapsed once you had returned

he felt really bad after that and apologized profusely for putting you in danger

you also ended up falling ill after that so he made sure that you were well cared for 

he brought you all your favorite snacks and things but made sure you were drinking water 

and he got you a white noise machine that played heavy rain and thunderstorm sounds so that you would get adequate rest 

even if he can’t exactly lightning bend, he still makes you just as happy as storms do

welcome back to bnha night! request some ideas..

[pitaparka]

a steadfast heart will conquer

summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.

pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises

At midnight, you speak in fragments.

“I’m at your front door.”

He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.

“It’s raining.”

He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.

“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.

He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.

There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.

He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.

But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.

The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.

You don’t answer.

He lets you not answer.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.

He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.

“What happened?”

There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.

So he waits.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.

You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.

The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.

He notices the red mark right away.

On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.

“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.

Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.

“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.

“No.”

He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.

“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.

“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.

“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?

“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”

You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.

“Can I stay here?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.

Your hair smells like roses and rain.

You take his bed; he takes the couch.

It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.

“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?

“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.

“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.

“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”

Now he’s the one that feels bad.

He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.

He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.

He has one pillow. you have one too.

You both listen to each other breathe.

You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.

It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.

The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.

You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.

You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.

He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.

“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.

“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.

“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.

“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.

“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.

“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.

“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.

“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.

“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.

“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.

You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.

He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.

You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.

He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.

He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.

He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.

Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.

After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.

“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”

“Wow.”

“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.

“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.

“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.

“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”

He stares at you.

You ignore the messages and lock your phone.

You look up at Frankie.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.

You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.

He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.

“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.

“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”

“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.

“What do you think I should tell him?”

He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.

“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.

“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.

“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.

“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.

“Should I go see him today?” you ask.

“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.

“You’re no help.”

“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.

“Sure.”

“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.

“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.

“Okay.” you say.

He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.

He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.

As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.

He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.

But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”

The water turns off.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”

There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.

“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.

“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.

With a smile, you close the door in his face.

The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.

It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.