#Fearless and Loathing

[crimsonspring]

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, once most loathed creature of Tarus City, looks and sounds almost unrecognisable as he stares down at his sniffling beloved, with crimson eyes that twinkle with specks of admiration, yearning and concern. His strong arms, so used to battles and defending himself from acts of violence, now cradling his treasured lover ever so kindly and tenderly. His voice, often rough and speaking out of pain and anger, hardly louder than a decibel and soft enough to lull an infant to sleep when he speaks to her.

His calloused fingers comb through her hair, and he reminds himself to ask her another time if he could braid her hair, just like when they were in the Grasslands. But not right now, not when his other hand is occupied with rubbing the small of her back in soothing circles. His actions has practically turned her body into putty, melting it deeper against the mould of his body as she lays atop him, face buried into cotton of his shirt. She looks so vulnerable at this very moment, a little different from the fearless hunter everyone is accustomed to seeing and knowing. He feels the atoms of anger (on her behalf) and natural protectiveness form in his chest as he tries to think of what possibly could have upset his lover tonight. This damned world is undeserving of her, he thinks, so he tries his best to fill in the cracks the world has left her with.

"Everything has been so tough," her tiny voice answers. In the midst of the ever-changing, Sylus seems to be the only constant she has. It feels like as everything is against her, and he is the only one for her. "I'm so scared," her voice barely audible, yet Sylus doesn't miss the crack at the end of her sentence. Instinctively, his palm stops its ministrations of the gentle circles on her back. His knuckles now bending ever so slightly to clutch onto her back more protectively.

"What can I do to make you feel better, sweetie?" His voice is low, the vibrations grumbling from his chest against her own. Almost desperate to make her feel better, he starts peppering kisses into her hair. It's a win-win, Sylus thinks. While she finds some comfort in his affection, he gets to indulge in the faint smell of her strawberry shampoo and the way she melts further into his body. It causes his hold to tighten around her. "What can I do to make you feel... less afraid? Safer, if you will," he asks, noting her admission of fear.

She pauses, as if to think, then moves to rest her chin on his chest as she stares at him for moment. They simply gaze into each other's eyes, a silent language both of them are fluent in. Sylus doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but could it be that her eyes are mirroring his; the way it screams of pure and true love. Sylus knows that without a doubt that he'd love her even if it was never reciprocated, so when the familiar gaze is reflected in her eyes, a breath gets stuck in his throat. He clears his throat, fingers brushing away a lock of her hair, "What is it, beloved?"

She stays silent for a moment more, and Sylus bears in mind the way he grows a little nervous under her loving yet intense gaze, though he tries to mask it with a raised brow. "Well?" Her hand finds his own that had tucked her hair away, bringing it to her cheek. Like clockwork, Sylus moulds his palm against her soft cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin.

"I think I only feel safe with you."

It knocks the wind out of him. Sylus is self-aware of his reputation- once, he was the creature so feared by humans that it ignighted much self loathing. And even now, people fear him as the infamous figure that breathed danger in the N109 Zone. Sure, it is for different reasons now, but Sylus has always felt to be synonymous with Monster.

"With me?" he repeats, a crease forming between his brows as his heart begins to pound against his chest. She simply nods and confirms, "Yes." One word to cause a visceral reaction in his heart.

She doesn't say anything more and doesn't elaborate, and Sylus is far too taken aback to push it further either. Thinks he needs a moment to himself to take in this revelation. A monster like me... that is what makes her feel safe? He sighs, shakes his head as if to deem herself almost foolish for feeling as such. there could be trillions of creatures in the entire universe, and she would be the sole one who'd find safety with him.

And if Sylus hadn't already made it his mission to keep her in safety, he makes a silent oath with himself at the moment; he'll protect her until his dying breath. This woman shall never have to worry for as long as she decides that he lives.

He pulls her in impossibly tighter, "That's the first time someone said those words to me." He echoes words he has said before (albeit she doesn't and won't remember a thing) and he reminisces the memory for a bit. The same way she sees the beauty in him, the similar softness she so graciously graces him with - such a stark contrast from what others are to him. It reaffirms to him though, that she is his one true soulmate, across all universes and through time. He'd burn the world for her take a claymore to his chest, if ever need be. In the previous and present lives, she would always be kind to him and he would always be hers.

She hums, then nuzzles her nose against the crook of his neck where she presses the petals of her lips against his warm skin. "Well, everyone else doesn't know you like I do." she mumbles, and sylus chuckles.

The whole world can cower in fear and misjudge him, for all he cares. He is simply Sylus in her eyes, "I don't want anyone else to know me like you do."

[harmonysanreads]

Phainon and the artist who refuses to accept him as their muse.

You can paint the deeds of the Goldweaver on fine pottery, dress desserts in respect to the Undying Prince, weave tunes to unravel the Fool from his ineffable shell, dedicate verses to the untouchable Maiden — but you remain ever uninterested to grant the Deliverer the honor of being the reason your mind paces restless. The hero's soft spot for art, regardless of how niche, is common knowledge to any Chrysos Heir enthusiast. He just has mysterious ways of finding talent and celebrating it with his heart.

In the beginning, it was a wish he kept hidden beneath heartfelt praises and admiration. Your gaze charmed the man ; when you study any subject that you deem fit to feature in your art, you scrutinize, pick apart and reconstruct it from within before giving it new meaning. The prospect of having that gaze fixed on him alone for even a minute, studying him, had caused ripples in his daydreams. He so yearned for you to understand him, he believed you would be able to prove that he's not the titular blank canvas everyone says he is.

When his hints and nudges failed to inspire you, he opted for a formal approach. But you met him with a resolute rejection, unwilling to taint your ideals in exchange of fickle currency. That fearless response, the defiance you held so close to yourself made his heart ache. A hero's pride should've prompted him to abandon this chase for good, but he couldn't find it in himself to look away. He found himself pining for another glimpse of that light, the kernel of your soul.

“Go home, Deliverer. I've told you too many times by now, I won't accept you as my muse.”

There is that averted stare again, something in him stirs, whispering bitter revelations of how your eyes will deny him even if he cut himself to pieces and forfeited them to your feet.

He feels his fingers curl around themselves. Forcing a laugh, “And I have asked you too many times why. Even hatred can inspire people, but you... you're so utterly indifferent to me. You wound my heart. I wonder just what is my problem? Is there nothing special about me?”

You glance over your shoulder, your sudden bewilderment confuses him for a millisecond, “I don't know? Do you perhaps think there is nothing special about you?”

That stuns Phainon long enough for you to slip away.

And the question haunts him, chases him everywhere. The prophecy deems him as the perfect vessel that will save Amphoreus, but is he? Is the prophecy even true, just as how Anaxagoras has been saying? If there is indeed nothing within him worth earning him your recognition, then he should change — how will he change? What kind of person do you like? Is it the way he talks? Does he need to behave more refined? Or does he need to be cursed like Mydei and Castorice?

As he ponders about the possibilities and the ramifications of molding himself to your tastes, envy leers over him, replacing once tender affection with loathing for anything that monopolizes your interest from finding refuge in him. It wouldn't be too difficult to take upon a new identity, but what about the distractions that caused this situation to escalate in the first place? Wouldn't it be so much easier for you to... look at him, if he just makes it so that there will exist nothing else that will be capable of competing with him for your attention?

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[ozzgin]

(Since I think you’re taking requests. If not, feel free to delete.)

But in the spirit of now having yandere circus and October coming. Which ones of the Yandere circus would be the most willing to let me do their circus makeup.

Circus 🎪 anon-

All of them, really. They all love you terribly and would never say no to anything. Though I had a thought involving Pantalone, so that’s what I’ll be writing! :D

Content: gender neutral reader, implied self-harm, obsessive behavior, prompt: Aftercare

Pantalone exudes confidence. He is, after all, a master of the trapeze, one of the top acrobats the Night Circus has ever seen. Everyone is left with an open mouth upon seeing his impossible performance. The public loves his fearless act of defiance.

When it comes to you, however, he’s a deplorable miser.

He’d never show it to you, of course. To you, he’s flirty and cheeky, always making you blush and taking care of your needs. Oh, but how terribly he yearns for your affection. The anxiety scratches at the back of his head, haunting his sleep, plaguing him with doubt.

He’d do anything for your love, for your attention. If only you’d have your eyes on him alone. If only the circus had no one but him and you in it. He hates the other artists, he despises the way they look at you, he loathes the fact that you’re so kind to everyone.

Sometimes, his jealousy becomes too much.

“How is your face so scratched?” you ask, noticing the deep, red lines blooming on his features. “You don’t even have-”

You stop yourself and glance at his stumps, then sigh.

“Would you help me with my makeup,” Pantalone requests meekly. He glances at you with pleading eyes filled with desperate need.

Then, he nods towards his lap, and you follow obediently. His dearest Columbina.

“I think tonight will be another success,” you say, trying to cheer him up.

“As long as you’re there to watch me.”

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist] | [Yandere Circus]

[harocat]

Why Inuyasha fans should watch hit Chinese fantasy drama Love Game in Eastern Fantasy.

This wonderful art was created by Sparky! You can find her twt account here, and if you're interested in commissioning something yourself, her vgen account here.

I promised I'd make this post, and I also promised I'd commission some chibis of the lead pairs from both shows swapping outfits as to entice you, so here we go. If the adorable art isn't enough to convince you, read this way!

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy is a 2024 Chinese fantasy drama starring Esther Yu and Ding Yuxi. It's thirty-two episodes long. The show has been a big hit in China due to its charming storyline, hilarious meta-humor, strong performances, beautiful costumes and sets, and well crafted characters. Let me get this out of the way first; yes, that is the English title of the series, and yes it's a pretty bad and unappealing sounding title. It's not uncommon for English titles of Chinese dramas to be kind of terrible. I promise it does not reflect the quality of the series itself. The original Chinese title is 永夜星河 (Yong Ye Xing He: Eternal Night of Starry River). This, although pretty, doesn't have much to do with the series either. For the rest of the post, I will be abbreviating the title to LGIEF.

Let's start with an introduction of our lead characters, then we'll go into why I think Inuyasha fans specifically will enjoy this series, although it should become quite obvious along the way.

Ling Miaomiao

Funny, compassionate, and clever, Ling Miaomiao is a young woman from the twenty-first century who is transmigrated out of her boring every day work life and into the novel Catching Demons. Once inside, she retains her memories of the real world and is given two main tasks by 'the system', the mysterious force that governs her stay in this parallel world; the first one is to stop the catastrophe of heaven, a potentially world ending event, and the second... is to make the second male lead of the original novel, a standoffish, suspicious young man named Mu Sheng, fall in love with her.

The problem is that she hasn't been transmigrated as Ling Miaomiao, but is instead in the body of the character of Lin Yu, the second female lead of the original novel, as well as an antagonist. Well, Ling Miaomiao doesn't have it in her to be a villain, and besides how can she capture the affection of Mu Sheng that way? It turns out that the best way to do so is by being herself. But of course, as goes in these stories, she didn't expect to fall in love along the way.

Miaomiao is, in addition to having one of the best wardrobes I've ever seen, so charming, so cute, so amusing, and such a sunshine of a character. She's not pliant. She sticks to her guns and doesn't take shit, but she's also kind, tolerant, accepting, and borderline fearless at times. Esther Yu has wonderful comic timing. She is a delight.

Mu Sheng

Courtesy name 'Ziqi', and what I'll be referring to him as in this post. Ziqi is the second male lead in the novel Catching Demons and the adopted younger brother of the novel's protagonist, Mu Yao. He's very close to his sister, and his self esteem is debilitatingly low, to the point he sees protecting her as the only reason for his existence. In the original novel, he becomes an antagonist at a later point.

Ziqi and his sister, Mu Yao, are demon catchers. They're both powerful cultivators (magic users) and warriors. Her family (and his adopted family--- sort of) were all killed by a powerful demon called the Resentful Woman about a decade before, and Mu Yao is on a quest to find her and defeat her, with Ziqi tagging along. But Ziqi has a secret, and it's one that he is terrified of his sister, who abhors demons, finding out. He is half demon himself. A gold ribbon he wears in his hair at all times protects him, keeping his true identity hidden unless it's removed.

He loathes his heritage and sees it as shameful-- until Ling Miaomiao comes along. Ziqi is brusque, angry, and bitter. He has a front of bravado, but is DEEPLY insecure. He starts out very rude. He's love starved but shirks away from love. He's jaded, but extremely innocent. He's a tsundere (even described as such in official material, which I found funny). His actor pulls off the best sad kitten eyes any man ever has, and your heart will break for him.

To clarify, although in the original novel Catching Demons, Ziqi and Miaomiao are not the leads, in the drama Love Game in Eastern Fantasy, they 300% are! This is a story about what happens when the second leads... become the leads.

Other Major Characters

Mu Yao- Ziqi's adopted older sister. He is extremely close to and protective of her, but her hatred of demons due to her past makes it so revealing his secret seems impossible. Mu Yao is a demon catcher from the famous Mu clan, which has been the most prominent demon catching clan for nine hundred years. She is friendly and no-nonsense, and as the story continues, she grows and matures in her views. She is very close to Ling Miaomiao, and she is in love with the original male lead of the novel, Liu Fuyi.

Liu Fuyi- The original male lead of the novel. He starts out quite 'wooden', which I think is deliberate because Ling Miaomiao even commented on him being a badly written character as she read the original novel. However, as the story goes on and he becomes more of a real person, he fills out and ends up likable. Stalwart, calm, and noble, he is in love with Mu Yao but dares not say it. He has a more nuanced, less prejudiced view of demons than Mu Yao does.

Cuicui- The last member of our group of demon catching travelers. Cuicui is a young bamboo demon who quickly bonds with Ling Miaomiao, sneaking along by turning himself into a bamboo hair pin she wears. He is very Shippou in that he adores LMM and bickers with Ziqi, but I actually do like him a lot better than his Inuyasha counterpart. He's quite useful, and he forms a pretty sweet bond with Ziqi over time. I have read that Cuicui is not ever gendered in the original dialogue, but as I'm unsure of this, I defaulted to the gender of his actor (who is a total cutiepie btw).

You can very much see even from here how the main cast really fills those Inuyasha roles! Together, they are the Four Bamboo Masters.

(Actual art of the Four Bamboo Masters+Cuicui by artist extraordinaire Ling Miaomiao)

The World

The universe of Catching Demons is a fantasy ancient China filled with yao which is the Mandarin Chinese word for demons of the variety featured in the series. If you understand youkai, you somewhat understand yao.

Japanese "yokai" is the Japanese transliteration or pronunciation of the Chinese term "yaoguai" and involves similarly strange creatures, with both languages using the same Chinese characters to describe them. ( x )

Yao in this world are for the most part, morally neutral, but are generally viewed as evil by humans. Those that are evil often ended up going that direction because of humanity's actions toward them. They can form from aspects of nature; bamboo, foxes, water, cats, birds, etc. There are also object based yao based on mirrors, paintbrushes, etc. Inuyasha fans will definitely see some similarities in the folklore between the series.

As with many high budget Chinese dramas, the settings are beautiful and atmospheric, capturing both the gorgeous architecture, clothing, etc. of a fantasy ancient China, as well as the nature and magic of this specific world. The effects are quality for a tv production, and the costumes, makeup, and wigs are next level. There's so much rich detail in them. Ling Miaomiao's hair ornaments alone deserve an entire post praising them.

Since this is also a transmigration story, the mechanics of 'the system' often come into play. This results in some of the best humor in the series. Ling Miaomiao's battle with the system is hilarious and clever. It's rendered as if it is a video game, with LMM in the early episodes 'dying' and having to respawn... many, many times. In order to clear her mission, Ling Miaomiao must get Mu Sheng to 100% favorability toward her, which is calculated adorably by little mushroom shaped demons.

One of the biggest appeals of the series is Miaomiao's modern mind set in this ancient world, and the fact that since she believes this to be just a novel at first, she is hysterically meta, often commenting on the quality of the story and well...

The Love Story

This love story is like crack to Inuyasha/Kagome fans (aka me). You should have gotten the vibe of the obvious character similarities from above, but their romance plays with so many of the tropes that made InuKag great and pulls them off so well. It doesn't feel like a rehash, it just happens to use similar tropes to great impact.

Look, this scene is spoiler-y for episode eleven, but I just think that if anything is going to sell you on this show, it's probably going to be this scene, so watch it.

In it, Ziqi has been forced to remove his hair ribbon to battle a demon, because he's not near strong enough without doing so. The rest is self explanatory from the video.

This is a really gentle love story. It has a lot of what I love about InuKag, which is a casual intimacy, a soft, sometimes unspoken affection, and a chemistry between the characters that speaks of a deep connection that goes far beyond just their romantic attraction. These are two people that click, and it's beautiful to watch the way they impact each other. It's about support, belief, trust, and acceptance. They start off very much on the wrong foot, as our intrepid lovers in IY do, but when they come together, it's all of that and more, plus a level of playful bickering.

I, Mu Ziqi, swear to the heavens that if I lose you somehow, I'll come back to find you. No matter how far it is, no matter how hard it is, I will bring you back.

And I am not the only one who has noticed the similarities to Inuyasha:

1, 2

Plus all the likes and reblogs on this post.

What else does the show have to offer?

I don't really want to go further into spoilers, but I love the themes of this story. It's about learning to love yourself, trust, and compassion of course, but it also ends up being a super uplifting commentary on the power of storytelling, memory, the impact fiction can have on us, the way love is laced into everything we create, and the power simple acts of kindness can have. The value of this series goes far beyond just being similar to Inuyasha, although that's definitely a plus.

Famous last words from early series Ling Miaomiao. Girl, you have no idea.

Does it have a happy ending?

Yes. I will leave it at that.

But I've never watched a Chinese drama...

This is a great place to start. There's little to nothing that should confuse you as a first time watcher. It's a perfect introduction.

Where can I watch it?

Luckily, unlike a lot of Cdramas, LGIEF is extremely accessible and available on several streaming sites. It's on Netflix, Viki, Youtube (up to ep twenty-three), and WeTV. If you have a Netflix account, it's there right now!! Audio is Mandarin Chinese of course, but subtitles are available in several languages.

If you do watch it, let me know! And make sure to share this post of course.

I watched LGIEF and I loved it (of course). What should I watch next?

Here's a few Chinese dramas that are readily available streaming, that I think LGIEF fans would enjoy:

Love Between Fairy and Devil (thirty-six episodes, streaming on Netflix, Viki, and IQIYI): When a low-ranked fairy accidentally resurrects a powerful demon, their fates become cosmically entangled as the world is thrown into turmoil.

For me, not just my favorite fantasy drama of all time, but my favorite drama period. Like LGIEF, this drama stars Esther Yu in the role of the heroine. One of the screenwriters is also the same as LGIEF, and much of the production team is similar.

This is a gorgeous story of the redemptive power of love of all kinds, of breaking the cycle of war, and of defying fate no matter the cost. A fantastic cast, stunning costumes, and the best soundtrack ever. If you're like me and are wary of the 'good girl changes the bad boy' trope, don't be. Dongfang Qingcang (the male lead) is an amazing character; he's deep and layered and complex, and he is never actually a villain. His trauma is convincing, and everything about him is so, so good. Xiao Lanhua is the heroine. Her character arc is so lovingly done. The two leads don't change for each other, they change because of each other. It's simultaneously one of the funniest dramas I've ever seen and devastatingly heartbreaking. You will laugh, you will cry. Happy ending though, I promise.

The Romance of Tiger and Rose (twenty-four episodes, streaming on Amazon Prime, WeTV, and Viki): A young screenwriter falls ill while working on a script and wakes up as one of her characters.

Confession that I am still working on watching this one, but it's quite popular and the first episodes are charming. It's mainly on here because it stars Ding Yuxi (Ziqi) as the love interest in another transmigration story. It's also not as long as a lot of other dramas, so it's a bit less of a commitment. It's a well known drama that is highly rated in most places.

Destined (forty episodes, streaming on IQIYI): Liu Yuru has suffered in her family; her only hope is to marry her crush, but fateful events force her to marry a rumored playboy from a rich family.

This is not the most appealing summary, but I promise it's misleading. This show is good. The main couple is ride or die, and they become best friends long before they become a couple. The heroine is extremely smart, capable, and business savvy. The hero is charming, funny, and so charismatic. It's the most fun you will ever have watching people do business (I kid; there is business, but there is so much more to the plot). The supporting cast is fantastic, and the relationships!! Wonderful friendships between women, wonderful friendships between men, and wonderful platonic friendships between men and women. SUPER good at subverting tropes. This is a costume drama, not a fantasy, but you won't miss the magic. Oh and did I mention this is by the screenwriter behind LGIEF and LBFAD?

Love You Seven Times (thirty-eight episodes, streaming on IQIYI): It tells the story of Xiang Yun, a fairy from Marriage Pavilion who becomes entangled with the ancient God of War, Chu Kong. Because of this encounter, they must go through tribulations in the human world seven times.

Stars Ding Yuxi (Ziqi) in the role of the hero. An ultimately flawed, but still fun fantasy drama. Gorgeous costumes, wigs, sets, etc., and a lot of heart. Don't expect writing as slick as some of the other dramas here, but do expect to enjoy yourself watching these two immortals discover each other while fumbling throughout seven very different lifetimes. Each lifetime has its own very unique vibes and aesthetic, and seeing how they all pan out if half the fun. Plus, if you like Inuyasha, you absolutely must see the arc where Chu Kong becomes a cat demon.

Moonlight (thirty-six episodes, streaming on Amazon Prime, Viki, IQIYI): After graduating university with a major in financing, Chu Li successfully enters her dream company, Yuan Yue Publishing House. There she meets author Zhou Chuan, who is said to be gentle as a jade when he's really not.

I can’t believe I forgot this at first! I haven’t seen it yet, but it’s a previous collaboration between Esther Yu and Ding Yuxi from 2021. If you enjoy their chemistry and the way they play off each other in LGIEF, you may want to check it out. It’s a modern romance drama, which isn’t as much my thing, but it’s deeply loved by a lot of drama fans and has great reviews.

[ouiouibaguettt]

Rival Heat

YN -> your name

masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

3,7k of words! request from @liverpoolfan96

For aitana bonmati one reader is Aggie big sister and there close and she protective of Aggie and aitana and reader don’t get on and she says something in her press conference about Aggie and in gagne fouls aggie in 1st leg and second leg so that when they come to blows but later airana aplgosies to Aggie but yn still stubborn but I’m end do and end up getting together but add all the teams both Barca and Chelsea in it

The announcement of the Champions League semi-final draw had barely echoed through the halls of Cobham before your jaw tightened. Chelsea vs. Barcelona.

Again.

The memories of past battles flooded your mind—tight games, brutal tackles, heartache and celebration all tangled into ninety-minute wars. But this time, it wasn’t just about the badge on your chest or the rival colors across the pitch.

This time, it was about Aggie.

Your little sister, still fresh-faced despite the number on her back, had fought tooth and nail for her place in Chelsea’s midfield. She wasn’t just talented—she was fearless. You’d trained with her, protected her, watched her bloom. And now, she was about to line up against the player you loathed most.

Aitana Bonmatí.

You didn’t hate many people. In fact, most days you stayed cool, composed, professional. But Aitana had a way of setting every nerve on edge. It wasn’t just her skill—it was her smirk, her icy focus, her arrogant interviews. You’d clashed more than once on the international circuit, and sparks flew every time.

So when the Spanish media published Aitana’s pre-match interview and you saw the quote—

“Aggie’s got talent, sure, but talent and experience are not the same. At this level, pressure exposes everything.” —you nearly threw your phone across the locker room.

Aggie didn’t react. She’d always been good at brushing things off. But you weren’t Aggie.

The press conference that followed was tense. You didn’t bother hiding the edge in your voice when a reporter asked if you’d seen Aitana’s comment.

“Some players talk more than they should,” you said calmly, staring straight at the camera. “We’ll see who crumbles under pressure.”

Aggie gave you a look later that night, one of those soft, warning glances.

“She’s not worth it,” she said.

But you didn’t agree.

You knew Aitana. And something told you she knew exactly what she was doing.

Camp Nou was packed to the brim. The crowd, vibrant and electric, pulsed with Catalan pride. Barça had something to prove after last year. So did you.

The first twenty minutes were fast. Chelsea held firm, Aggie holding her own in midfield against giants like Keira Walsh and Patri. But then came minute twenty-two.

Aitana.

You saw her sprinting into a 50/50 with Aggie, and everything in your body screamed too late, too hard.

Aitana’s studs scraped down Aggie’s ankle, and your sister crumpled. The whistle blew, but the damage was done. You rushed in, shoving Aitana back instinctively.

“Touch her again and I swear—”

“Control yourself,” she hissed in Spanish, brushing off your hand. “She wants to play at this level? Then she plays.”

Yellow cards were shown. You barely noticed. Your vision was locked on Aitana’s unreadable expression, and the heat between you could have burned the stadium down.

The match ended 4–1 for Barça. Caroline Graham Hansen was unstoppable, and even Sam Kerr’s equalizer couldn’t spark a comeback.

In the tunnel, you caught Aitana glancing at you once, eyes unreadable. She looked… tired.

You didn’t care.

The second leg at Stamford Bridge should’ve been about redemption. Instead, it felt like salt in an open wound.

Aitana was everywhere—pressing, weaving, pulling strings in midfield. You’d trained like hell for this game, but Chelsea struggled again. Down 2–1 at halftime, you were barely holding it together.

Then came the seventy-second minute.

Aggie made a turn near the halfway line, and Aitana closed in fast. The tackle wasn’t violent, but it was late—calculated. Another clip to the ankle. Aggie yelped and stumbled.

You snapped.

The red mist descended as you ran toward Aitana, chesting into her, shouting in her face in front of 40,000 people.

“You think you’re so clever?” you snarled. “Pick on someone your own size.”

She didn’t back down.

“I didn’t touch her hard. You're just always looking for a reason to hate me.”

And that was when it hit you.

You weren’t angry because Aitana fouled Aggie. You were angry because you didn’t know how to deal with what Aitana made you feel.

You’d watched her brilliance for years. Watched her win. Watched her dominate. And part of you had always wanted—desperately—to match her, fight her, prove something. But maybe you also wanted to understand her. Maybe you already did.

The ref stepped in before it turned into a brawl. You got a yellow. Aitana got a warning.

The match ended 4–1 again. An aggregate embarrassment. You didn’t speak in the locker room. Aggie did, quietly:

“She said sorry, you know. After the final whistle. I think she meant it.”

You scoffed. “Not interested.”

But even as you said it, something inside you shifted.

Two days later, while leaving Cobham late, you found someone waiting in the parking lot.

Aitana.

She stood there in a hoodie and jeans, hands in her pockets. No cameras. No boots. Just her.

“I came to talk,” she said in a low voice. “Not about football.”

You stared at her, frozen.

She sighed. “You think I hate Aggie. I don’t. I respect her. She’s… fearless. And I fouled her because I was frustrated—not with her. With you.”

You blinked. “With me?”

Aitana stepped closer. “You always act like you’re protecting her. But I think what you’re really doing… is avoiding this.”

She gestured between you.

“This fire. This tension. This… whatever it is. You don’t hate me. You just don’t know how to admit you feel something.”

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t.”

A small smile ghosted across her lips. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Silence.

You should have walked away. You should have told her to go. But you didn’t.

The season was over. The wounds still fresh.

Champions League dreams? Crushed.

Media speculation? Nonstop.

You were doing your best to avoid it all—until Emma Hayes cornered you in the hallway with that familiar glint in her eyes.

“There’s a UEFA player gala this weekend. You’re on the guest list.”

You frowned. “Can’t someone else—?”

“No,” she said. “You need to show face. And so does Aggie. And before you ask, yes… Barcelona will be there too.”

You didn’t ask, but your stomach turned anyway.

You knew Aitana would be there.

The venue was a glass-wrapped museum on the Seine, all minimalist decor and floor-to-ceiling views of the city. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t belong no matter how expensive your dress was.

You wore black satin. Sleek. Sharp. Enough to send a message: don’t mess with me.

Aggie stuck close early in the evening, but the crowd swept her away in a sea of laughter and teammates. You didn’t mind. You preferred the edge of the room anyway.

Until you saw her.

Aitana.

She stepped in wearing a deep wine-colored gown with a low back and the kind of confidence that made the whole room notice. Her hair was swept up, lips painted, eyes lined in something that made them look even more dangerous than usual.

She caught your stare from across the floor. Didn’t look away.

Your throat dried.

A waitress passed with champagne. You took two.

God help you.

You tried ignoring her. Really, you did. But every time you turned, she was there—talking to Alexia, laughing with Salma, slipping into a conversation with Keira Walsh and Lucy Bronze.

And then she started walking toward you.

You weren’t ready.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, voice low.

“I didn’t want to,” you replied honestly, sipping your drink.

“But you did.”

You glanced at her. “Curiosity. Morbid, maybe.”

She smirked. “You always have an excuse.”

There was music playing softly in the background, some jazzy instrumental you didn’t recognize. The air between you shifted as people drifted away.

It felt like you were alone in a crowded room.

“You clean up nice,” she added, eyes trailing down your dress. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you like this.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Don’t flirt with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t work.”

She stepped closer. “It already is.”

You swallowed hard.

Later, after dodging a dozen photographers and polite conversations you didn’t care about, you slipped into a quiet hallway with glass walls and dim lighting. The city blinked in the distance beyond the river.

You needed air.

You didn’t expect her to follow.

Aitana’s heels clicked softly on the marble floor. “You keep walking away.”

“I keep needing space,” you muttered.

“And yet here we are,” she said, stepping in front of you. Blocking your exit. Not touching. Just… looking.

You met her eyes.

She was close enough to kiss.

Close enough to hurt you, too.

“Say it,” she whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you want this.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you backed her into the wall and stared at her lips.

She gasped—softly—but didn’t back down. Her hands hovered at your waist, not quite touching.

“I hated you,” you said, voice hoarse.

“I know,” she replied. “I hated you too.”

There was something electric between you, heavy, charged.

Your hands found the edge of her jaw before you could stop them.

“You’re still a pain in my ass.”

“I plan to be.”

And then, finally—finally—you kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow.

It was months of tension, years of rivalry, confusion, anger, and burning need.

It was her fingers gripping your hips, your lips claiming hers like you’d starved, your back pressed to the glass, her breath hot against your skin.

It was reckless and perfect and overdue.

You pulled away only when a burst of laughter echoed down the hall.

She leaned her forehead against yours, smiling, breathless. “So… what now?”

You stared at her.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’m not walking away again.”

The kiss didn’t end in the hallway. It just paused.

Barely.

There was a silence between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with what hadn’t been said—and what you both were desperate to do.

Aitana’s hand lingered at your hip. Yours was still curled near her neck, thumb brushing over her pulse.

And then, without a word, she stepped back, slid her fingers down your wrist, and laced them through yours.

“Come with me,” she murmured.

You nodded.

The gala faded behind you. You walked fast, half-laughing when someone called your name and you ignored it completely. Aitana’s heels clicked down the marble stairs. Your hand didn’t leave hers.

You didn’t wait for a car.

Her hotel was too far. Yours was only five blocks away.

The Paris air was cool, but your skin burned.

Neither of you spoke, not really. Every glance said more than words could. Aitana’s eyes were dark, unreadable, but her jaw was set like she was daring herself not to lose control too fast.

When the elevator doors closed behind you both, you turned to her slowly.

She was already watching you.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to hers. “Not even a little.”

Her lips parted—but didn’t argue.

You kissed her again before the doors even opened.

The second the door closed behind you, it was like someone struck a match.

Aitana pushed you against the wall with more need than finesse. Her mouth was on your neck, your hands tugging the zipper down the back of her gown. You weren’t thinking, not clearly, not at all. All that rivalry, all that hatred—it had always just been tension in disguise. And now?

Now it was coming undone.

She kissed like she played—fierce, precise, demanding. She tasted like champagne and trouble. You let yourself get lost in her, dragging her onto the bed like gravity gave you no choice.

Clothes hit the floor. One by one. Slowly. Then all at once.

You learned each other’s skin like you'd been waiting a lifetime to do it.

It was hot. Messy. More intense than anything you'd let yourself imagine. Her voice in your ear. Your fingers curling into her back. Gasps swallowed between kisses. It was more than sex—it was a battle neither of you wanted to win.

And when it was over—or rather, when you paused long enough to breathe—you lay tangled in sheets, chest heaving, her body pressed against yours, face tucked into your neck.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, heart still racing.

“You’re going to ruin me,” you whispered.

Aitana laughed, low and raw. “Too late.”

You didn’t sleep much.

But when you did, it was in her arms, the silence between you finally calm.

It felt dangerous.

It felt good.

And it wasn’t just physical—not anymore.

The sun cut through the sheer hotel curtains like a slow blade of gold. Paris looked soft from the twelfth floor—muted, early, still asleep.

You weren’t.

Aitana’s breath warmed your collarbone, one leg tangled over yours, her fingers curled loosely around your wrist like she’d held on even in her sleep.

Your heart thudded, calm but alive. The ache in your muscles wasn’t from training. It was from her.

You should’ve moved.

But instead, you studied her. Her lashes against her cheek. The faint smudge of mascara under one eye. A love bite on her neck.

Your neck.

You’d made a mess of each other—and it had felt inevitable.

You closed your eyes again.

The door buzzed once. You barely heard it.

Then again—louder.

A sleepy groan left your throat. Aitana stirred, tightening her grip on your waist.

Then the knock turned into a voice.

"Hey, you awake? Mom and Dad are on FaceTime—they want to see you real quick before they head out.”

Your stomach dropped.

Aggie.

“No—Aggie, wait, don’t—”

The door creaked open before you could get out of bed.

She stepped in, phone in hand, grinning. “I told them you were probably—”

And froze.

You were half-sitting up, hair wrecked, the hotel sheets clinging to bare skin. Aitana was on her side, propped on one elbow, the straps of her bra still tangled near her shoulder.

The covers barely covered either of you.

Aggie’s mouth fell open.

You stared at her, stunned.

Aitana blinked once, then slowly pulled the duvet over both of you with impossible calm. “…Hi.”

Aggie didn’t respond.

But her phone was still up.

And on the screen, your parents' faces were squinting in confusion.

“Is that—who is that?” your mom asked, leaning toward the camera.

“Aggie, sweetheart, are you—what’s happening?”

Aggie quickly flipped the camera to face the ceiling and backed out of the room with the most horrified look you’d ever seen on her face.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, walking into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. “What the actual hell.”

You collapsed back onto the mattress and groaned into your hands.

“She’s never going to let this go,” you mumbled.

Aitana laughed—laughed—as she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “You know… that could’ve gone worse.”

You looked at her like she was insane. “She walked in on us. Half-naked. While on FaceTime with our parents.”

“And?”

You blinked.

“You’re very calm about this.”

“I’ve been caught in worse situations,” Aitana said with a smirk. “Also… this is kind of hilarious.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

She turned toward you, her smile softening. “Maybe. But you didn’t push me away last night. Or this morning.”

You met her eyes.

The teasing was gone. What lingered was something quieter. Something real.

“I don’t want to,” you said, voice low.

“Even if it complicates everything?”

“Especially then.”

Aitana leaned in and kissed your shoulder. “Good.”

Outside the Room You emerged an hour later, dressed, showered, and bracing for disaster.

Aggie was sitting on the hotel bed in your shared suite, phone abandoned, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked, voice tentative.

She stared at you.

Then at Aitana, who was trailing a few steps behind you, still tying her hair up.

Then back at you.

“You’re sleeping with my rival,” she said flatly. “You’re literally sleeping with the enemy.”

“Not… the enemy,” Aitana offered carefully.

Aggie ignored her.

You sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Last night happened. But it’s not just… that.”

Aggie squinted. “Is this like… a thing?”

You looked at Aitana, then back at your sister. “Maybe. Probably.”

Aggie stared at you.

And then—shook her head. “I don’t want the details. But for the love of god, lock the door next time.”

You thought things might settle down.

They didn’t.

If anything, it was worse.

Because now that you’d kissed Aitana… touched her… slept next to her, it was impossible not to think about it every time you saw her name in a headline or her face in a highlight reel. It was like your brain refused to shut up.

And worse—your teammates noticed.

Back at Cobham, pre-season was already starting to loom. Some girls were still trickling back from international duty, but enough of the core squad had returned for the locker room to buzz with gossip again.

Especially Lucy and Keira.

They’d already been looking at you funny since the gala in Paris.

“Okay,” Lucy said one morning, leaning across the bench with a suspicious squint. “What’s going on with you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re glowing,” Keira added with an obnoxiously smug grin. “Did you hook up with someone at the gala?”

You scoffed. “No.”

They exchanged a look.

Lucy raised a brow. “No no or mind-your-business no?”

You pulled your jersey on and muttered, “Drop it.”

They absolutely did not drop it.

A Message from Aitana Later that night, your phone buzzed while you were doing recovery stretches alone in the training center.

Aitana: miss me yet?

You rolled your eyes.

You: don’t flatter yourself Aitana: already do. Aitana: also… I can’t stop thinking about that night. Aitana: when can I see you again?

Your breath caught. You stared at the screen like it might combust in your hands.

Before you could type, another message came through.

Aitana: I want to do this for real. No games.

That… wasn’t what you expected.

You sat with it for a second, heart stammering in your chest.

Then typed:

You: Me too.

In Barcelona Three days later, you found yourself in Spain under the pretext of "personal downtime." A short break before club training got serious again.

Aitana met you in a quiet coffee shop in Gràcia. Sunglasses. Hoodie. The most suspiciously obvious disguise you’d ever seen.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

When she kissed your cheek, her hand lingered at your back just a little too long.

When you sat down across from her, you couldn't stop staring.

This was dangerous.

But it felt like breathing.

Her Apartment Later, when she invited you up to her place—just to “talk,” obviously—it was less intense than Paris. Softer. More curious. More hers.

She showed you her music playlist. You laughed at her kitchen magnet collection. She made you tea she didn’t actually know how to make.

And when you kissed on her couch, it wasn’t desperate. It was careful. Lingering. Her thumb brushing your cheek. Your hands curling into her oversized Barça hoodie, the one she’d insisted you borrow “just in case.”

“I still don’t know what this is,” you murmured later, curled into her side.

“I don’t either,” she said softly. “But I want to find out.”

Back at Chelsea You didn’t think you were being obvious when you returned.

You wore your hoodie up. You kept your phone face-down. You didn’t smile that much.

But Keira and Lucy? Bloodhounds.

“So,” Keira said casually at lunch. “Enjoy your downtime?”

You sipped your smoothie. “Yeah.”

Lucy leaned her chin on her hand. “Anyone special involved in that ‘downtime’? Anyone who, I don’t know… wears number 14 for Barça?”

You nearly choked.

Keira’s mouth dropped open. “NO WAY.”

Lucy actually squealed. “You did!”

You buried your face in your hands.

“We’re doomed,” you muttered. “I’m doomed.”

They high-fived.

“Welcome to hell,” Keira whispered gleefully. “We live for this drama.”

It started quietly.

After all the sneaking around—gala nights, hotel kisses, silent hallway exits, and nervous glances—it only made sense that going official would be… subtle.

But of course, nothing with you and Aitana had ever stayed quiet for long.

The first to know were your teams.

On Barça’s side, Aitana sat next to Alexia on the team bus one morning, earbuds in but not playing music.

Alexia noticed right away. “You’re twitchy,” she said, not unkindly.

Aitana hesitated.

Then: “I’m seeing someone.”

Alexia smiled knowingly. “Yeah?”

A beat.

Aitana lowered her voice. “It’s… her. From Chelsea.”

Alexia turned slowly.

“Aggie’s sister?”

Aitana nodded.

Alexia’s face went through shock, surprise, amusement—and then approval. “God, I was wondering how long it would take before that tension exploded.”

Salma overheard. She cackled.

Meanwhile, you told Aggie first.

Properly, this time.

Sitting beside her in your shared flat, scrolling through a reel of Aitana’s recent game clips.

“She makes you happy?” Aggie asked, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “More than I expected. More than I thought was possible with her.”

Aggie leaned back. “Fine. But if she hurts you, I’m fouling her next time. Elbow to the ribs. No regrets.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

Lucy and Keira were next. Their reaction? More dramatic.

They screamed.

They dragged you to brunch and demanded every detail.

“We’re helping you hard launch,” Lucy declared. “This deserves strategy.”

It happened three weeks later.

Barça had a weekend off. Chelsea did too.

You both met up in Ibiza—discreetly at first, until it wasn’t.

Because Aitana posted the photo.

No caption. Just a beach snapshot.

You were sitting on the sand, wearing her hoodie again. She had her chin on your shoulder. The sunset behind you both made everything golden.

You weren’t kissing.

But her hand was resting on your thigh.

It was intimate.

Undeniable.

Instagram exploded.

Thousands of comments in minutes.

Alexia dropped fire emojis. Keira commented “FINALLY” in all caps. Aggie just posted a gif of someone putting on sunglasses and looking away dramatically.

You didn’t even need to post your own picture.

You just reposted hers on your story with a single emoji: 💕

You were lying on a rooftop lounger together, soft music playing. Her arm draped across your waist, your phone buzzing endlessly with notifications you refused to check.

“Now the world knows,” she whispered.

You turned to her, brushing hair from her face. “Let them.”

Aitana smiled—and this time, it wasn’t sharp or teasing or competitive.

It was soft. Real.

“You still think I’m the enemy?” she teased.

You leaned in, kissing her gently.

“Not anymore.”

[momoyoshi73]

Top 5 devastating "What happened to you?" yhk moments in orv, unranked.

(Aka: 5 ways yoohankim destroyed me)

1. Oldest dream reveal

Dude this one was fucking insane like imagine seeing the most clever, tactical, and rational man you know who also happens to be the person you love more than anything else–in that state...trembling on the ground with tears falling from his eyes as he weakly searches for broken shards of his sword that he can use to kill himself, all because he loves you too much to escape the guilt of unintentionally bringing your world to ruin. All because he is clueless that you are glad he had done so, for that ruined world is what saved him...it's what brought him to you.

2. You did well

When Han Sooyoung finally saved Kim Dokja, seeing his clothes in tatters with cuts and bruises all over his body to the point she wouldn't be surprised if he'd keel over at any second. But he doesn't. He doesn't cry or shout, he doesn't fall, he doesn't plead nor break. He smiles at her, asking her if shes alright...telling her that she did well. And that fucking breaks her inside because she thinks 'why the hell are you asking me that, look at yourself?' And she wants to shake him around and punch him in the face for not taking care of himself and for deceiving her but at the same time, she wants to sob into his arms and beg him to never do this again. But she can't do any of it. Because he's just way too lovable in her eyes. So she just stands there, on the verge of tears, recieving comfort from the man she wanted the save, the man she always failed to protect.

3. I'll finish your story

When Kim Dokja saw the most vulnerable, pathetic, and defenceless side of Yoo Joonghyuk. The strongest and most fearless man he ever knew was breaking right in front of him, stuttering and covering his ears, curling up in fear of the tragedy he was forced to bear his entire life. Kim Dokja knew that he had no right to comfort him because he had read his suffering for his own salvation for so many years. Because he fed on the protagonist's woes for far too long just to relieve his desperate need for comfort. But he saw the hopeless man in front of him, and his heart crumpled. He wanted to save him, even though he knew he couldn't. Even though he despised himself for it because he knew it would make him nothing more than a hypocrite—just like the constellations he loathed so deeply. So he held Yoo Joonghyuk's hands, telling him he can rest and that he'll finish his story. And for the first time in so many regression turns, yoo joonghyuk felt a glimmer of hope. And it was from the very man who unknowingly ruined his life and stained it with tragedy.

4. Write on the wall

Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung saw Kim Dokja behind the unbreakable fourth wall, sobbing, crazed over the truth of his past. They knew that Kim Dokja would probably escape this situation on his own, that this was all just predetermined history. They knew they couldn't change anything recorded on that wall no matter what they wrote. But how could they not, when their beloved reader was so devastated? So they wrote on the wall, screamed at it, telling him to regain control. And unbeknownst to those two, Kim Dokja from the other side could hear their words.

5. Museum fight

After Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk failed to save Kim Dokja in the 1865th turn—losing all of his fragments as a result—they separate for 5 years. Once they meet again, they brutally fuck each other up, causing the worst ruckus in Seoul that no one could stop. They let out all their pent-up rage and resentment, which weren't even directed at each other, but to Kim Dokja. Han Sooyoung knew that no matter what she did to move on, she was still undeniably happier in the ruined world where she met her sole reader. And that's when she takes a closer look at Yoo Joonghyuk, realizing how haggard and lifeless he looks. Then she regrets her actions, reqlizing she fucked up, that she should've asked him how he's been all this time. Because deep down, she realizes that he's exactly the same as her. They're both regressors, unable to take a step forward after the day they lost him.

[lanalace]

Our Last Hunt - Part 2

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 1] [Chapter - 3]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word count: 8.5k 🍏🍎

Chapter 2

The first thing Y/n registered was the insidious thrumming, a foreign vibration that pulsed through her veins, a sickening reminder of stolen life. Her skin still prickled where Caleb had touched her, a phantom sensation that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. She blinked against the weak morning light, disoriented, her limbs heavy and strangely energized all at once.

Fragments of the nightmarish feeding tore through her mind, the shocking heat of Caleb’s blood, like liquid fire scorching its way down her throat; the raw, involuntary moan that had been wrenched from him as her fangs pierced his flesh. The memory was a brutal violation, twisting her gut with revulsion. She had crossed a line so deep it was unspeakable, staining their bond beyond forgiveness.

‘I used him. I came grinding on my brother like an animal. I forced myself on him. My own brother. I let that— that thing inside me defile him.’ The shame was a crushing weight, suffocating her with guilt. She had crossed a line so unforgivable, stained their bond in a way she could never erase. ‘How can I even look him in the eye after that? I’m a horrible sister…’ She covered her face with her hands, it felt as if her life was falling apart again within the span of 24 hours. 

‘Gege surely hates me. He probably thinks I’m some disgusting deviant after what I did. Ugh! How could I even do something like this?’ She whined, desperately wanting to disappear, have the bed swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to face him. Alas, that was impossible. ‘It’s all my fault for going out without gege. Now I’m this… monster. I hate it.’

In her distress, her tongue instinctively traced the subtle sharpness that still lingered where her fangs had extended. They were retracted now, thankfully, but the phantom ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new reality. And then there was the sound. A steady, rhythmic pulse, insistent and clear, emanating from the room next door. Caleb’s heartbeat. She could hear it through the wall, a horrifying intimacy, a constant testament to her irrevocably heightened senses.

The scent of freshly made rice and sweet aroma of braised chicken wings drifted under her door, a domestic normalcy that felt like a cruel mockery. ‘Caleb.’ He was up, moving, preparing food as if nothing monstrous had occurred between them. A fresh wave of shame, hot and searing, washed over her. ‘How am I going to face him? I don’t think I can…’

That thought was rendered useless because the moment it came, Caleb entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray with forced cheerfulness. He smiled, a gentle, nurturing expression that felt… calculated, his galaxy eyes holding a strange, unreadable depth.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I made your favorite.”

The sight of the familiar breakfast felt repulsive, despite the heavenly sight. It was now tainted by the memory of the night. ‘I don’t deserve his care.’ she lamented as she kept her head down, her hair falling in a way that exposed her neck to him. 

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the bandage he’d placed on her neck after she’d passed out, his fingers brushing her skin with a possessive tenderness as he set the tray on her bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, laced with concern. His hand felt warm  on her chilled skin felt so good, she almost leaned into it. Almost. But she remembered her place and stayed still, allowing him to assess her wound. The brunette’s touch lingered a fraction too long, a subtle affectionate caress that made her skin crawl.

Y/n mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to physically shield herself from him. “Tired. And… sick.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course, you are. Last night was… intense.” He paused, his gaze sharpening, as he replayed the events of the previous night.

 “You were so close to losing control, Y/n. You’d have killed someone if I wasn’t here to… guide you. We’ve got to get a handle on things. You're going to need me now, more than ever.” The words were gentle, almost soothing, but the underlying message was a chilling assertion of his control.

“We?” She said, trembling. “You want to help me even after what I did?” Her whole body began to quake as tears fell from her eyes. Caleb’s brows furrowed as the familiar scent of salt cut through the air. ‘She’s crying?’ 

Without warning, he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed her damp cheek, her beautiful crystalline eyes were glistening. “Meimei.” His voice was unusually tight. “What’s wrong?” He questioned her. ‘What could possibly be troubling you, little one?’

Y/n’s face scrunched up before a pathetic sob left her lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cried, her voice raw with self-loathing. Before he could respond, she rushed out, “After what I did last night…  I’m sorry gege. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I swear!”

Something inside Caleb snapped.

He hauled her small frame against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together. “You silly girl,” he murmured against her hair, rocking her gently. “I could never be mad at you. It’s not your fault. It’s just your biology now.”

His voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper. “What kind of brother would I be if I turned away from you in your time of need?”

He slid onto the bed properly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling her closer, cradling her on his lap like something precious. Something that now belonged entirely to him. ‘My sweet, naive meimei, of course you would blame yourself. Did you forget how much I enjoyed you that night?’ he thought bitterly. How easily she twisted the night into something shameful when, for him, it had been a revelation.

‘Only you would be more concerned about potentially upsetting me rather than the fact that you are now undead.’ He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head. 

“But I—I forced…”

“Ssshhh meimei.” He hushed her firmly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing her tighter against him. “Gege isn’t upset with you. You were hungry, that’s all.” 

He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to touch her like he did last night, he hoped for it— wished to feel her needy body come alive for him again. Alas, with her current state, he will have to take things at a much slower pace than he anticipated. ‘At least she isn’t fighting my touch right now. This is enough.’

“For now,” he murmured into her hair quietly.

“But—”

”That’s enough, meimei.”  Caleb said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n stiffened instinctively, understanding the warning. She knew better than to respond when he was like this. His voice softened a fraction. “I will never abandon you. Never.” He knew her well, knew that was really what she feared.

“No more crying, yeah?” he teased gently, wiping her damp cheeks with his thumb. “What kind of vampire cries?”

A broken laugh escaped her lips, small but real and Caleb’s heart swelled. He kissed the top of her head, a possessive gesture.

‘Soon,’ he promised himself. ‘Soon, you’ll realize I am the center of your world just as you are in mine.’

🍏🍎

A few weeks had passed since the turning. A semblance of routine had settled over Y/n's life, though it felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake. Caleb was a constant presence, a concerned shadow hovering just at the edge of her personal space. He found endless excuses for casual touches – a hand on her shoulder as he passed, a lingering brush against her arm when he handed her a book. Small gestures, carefully calibrated not to spook her, but Y/n felt them nonetheless, each contact a subtle reminder of the intimacy they had shared and the chasm it had created within her.

To her relief, she could still enjoy human food. A warm bowl of ramen, the sweet tang of fruit – they provided a small measure of comfort, a taste of her former life— of normalcy. But it was just that: a taste. A snack. The gnawing emptiness, the true hunger, only blood could satisfy. And on that front, Y/n remained firm. She refused to drink directly from Caleb ever again, the memory of that night still a raw open wound. 

Instead, he reluctantly poured his blood into a porcelain cup for her, a ritual he performed with a sigh, his eyes lingering on her lips with a frustrated longing. He was becoming more agitated as the days rolled by, though he hid it well. He treasured the forced intimacy of their feeding, a connection Y/n desperately tried to avoid. But his need to keep her alive, his possessive desire to be her sole provider, ultimately outweighed his displeasure. Still, it never stopped him from offering himself to her every so often.

One evening, the familiar hunger gnawed at Y/n. Caleb approached, his eyes holding a familiar, possessive warmth. He offered his wrist, a silent invitation.

Y/n recoiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, gege.” Her voice was firm, despite the tremor in her hands.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “But, little one, the direct way is the best for young vampires.”

“Please,” She interrupted, her gaze fixed on her hands. ���Just… just put it in a cup for me.” ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t bring myself to… to bite him like that. It felt so wrong.’

Caleb sighed, a long, drawn-out sound filled with frustration. “You know I don’t like that, meimei...” He hated it, in fact. It lacked the intimacy he was craving. ‘She’s pushing me away. Doesn’t she understand what we shared?’

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. “But… I can’t help it. Please, Caleb.” She pleaded with him. Y/n wished to keep her relationship with him as siblings. She couldn’t bear to damage it any further. ‘I feel so ashamed. Every time I look at his neck… I just remember…’ Though his neck had healed up immediately, the memories still linger.

He relented, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine.” He turned away, a hint of wounded pride in his posture. He returned moments later with a small, ornate ceramic cup filled with his blood. 

“Here.” He offered it to her, his eyes searching hers. ‘She’s making this so difficult. Doesn’t she realize this is for us?’

Y/n took the cup grateful, her fingers brushing his. Even that small contact sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through her. She drank slowly, the coppery liquid satisfying the immediate craving but leaving a hollow ache in its wake. It wasn't the same as drinking directly from him. It lacked… ‘It’s enough. It has to be enough. I won’t let myself… need him like that.’

Days turned into weeks under Caleb’s watchful eye. He had long reported Y/n’s death to the guild, a necessary lie to protect their secret. But the past had a way of resurfacing.

One afternoon, as Y/n read, a sharp knock echoed. Caleb’s usual calm shattered. The door burst open, revealing Dalton.

“Caleb, I heard about Y/n. So sorry for your loss, brother.” Dalton began, his gaze sweeping over the living room before landing squarely on Y/n, who froze, the book clattering to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with suspicion. “Y/n? But… Caleb said…”

Y/n shot up from where she sat. Her mouth opened to explain, to lie, she wasn’t sure. But her panic was evident. However, she never got the chance.

Caleb moved faster than she could see. One second Dalton was standing. The next, he was writhing on the floor, a terrible gurgling noise escaping his ruined throat. Caleb straddled him, hands blood-soaked, face twisted in something that wasn’t human. It wasn't the controlled precision she knew from their hunts. This was raw, untamed savagery. He kicked the door closed, his hand shot out, fingers like steel claws, and clamped around Dalton’s throat. Dalton gasped, his eyes bulging in terror as Caleb lifted him off the ground. A sickening crunch echoed as Caleb twisted his neck with brutal force. Dalton’s body went limp, his eyes staring blankly.

Y/n screamed, the strangled cry escaping her lips. She had seen Caleb kill before, but never like this. The sheer speed, the unrestrained violence… it was terrifying. ‘Oh my god. What did he just do? Dalton… he just…’

She backed away, hands flying to her mouth, heart hammering out of control. Caleb had ripped the life from Dalton with brutal, casual precision as if breaking a rabbit’s neck. Like it meant nothing to him.

It was horrifying.

They had hunted together for years. She had seen Caleb kill—but never like this. Never so… savagely.

Caleb turned to her, his chest heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes blazing with a primal protectiveness that bordered on madness. “It had to be done, little one. He couldn’t know. He would have told others. I had to protect you.” He dragged Dalton’s lifeless body towards her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. “Now, you need to feed. Practice control.”

Y/n stared, paralyzed with horror. She had hunted alongside Dalton over the years. He was a good man, a dedicated hunter. Her gut twisted. She remembered Dalton’s stupid jokes around the campfire. His family photos. His rough, easy laughter. But now he is just gone. And Caleb was the one that ended him. So brutally. Caleb let his control slip entirely, his features contorted in a primal rage. He couldn’t allow Dalton to reveal her secret, to threaten their carefully constructed isolation. He had to protect her.

Dragging Dalton’s lifeless body towards Y/n as if it weighed nothing at all, Caleb’s eyes, still blazing with a feral intensity, softened slightly as he looked at her. “He can’t tell anyone now, meimei. It’s for your own good.” Caleb approached slowly, crouching beside the body, his voice low and coaxing. “You need to practice, little one. To learn to control it. It’s better if it’s someone you know. Easier.” 

He positioned the body before her. The scent of freshly spilled blood was thick and cloying, triggering an instinctive hunger. He gently took her hand, guiding it towards the still-warm flesh of Dalton’s neck. The scent of Dalton’s blood, freshly spilled, hit Y/n’s heightened senses. It was sharp, metallic, and undeniably enticing in a primal way. Her fangs descended instinctively, a horrifyingly natural reaction. Yet, revulsion warred with the burgeoning hunger. She knew this man. He had a wife, two young children. She couldn’t do this. Looking at Dalton’s still face, the vacant eyes… “How can you say that?” 

‘I knew him. We hunted together— laughed at his terrible dad jokes around the fire. He had a family waiting for him to come home.’

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “You have to, Y/n. It’s the only way to learn.” He coaxed her, his hand on her back, gently urging her forward. “Just a little. For practice. If you won't drink from me, you won’t know how to properly restrain yourself.”

“That will lead to deadly mistakes. It will land you on the guilds radar. You need to learn.” 

‘She needs to understand her new nature. And she needs to rely on me.’

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she reluctantly leaned down. “I’m sorry Dalton. I’m so sorry...” She whispered before sinking her teeth into someone she once considered a comrade. The blood smells sweet, but the moment it hit her tongue, it tasted wrong. It tasted metallic and bitter, almost rotten compared to the rich sweetness of Calebs.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and tried to swallow, her stomach churning. ‘It’s not the same. It’s… disgusting.’ She gagged, her body rejecting it. Bile rose in her throat, and she vomited, expelling the tainted blood and even the small amount of Caleb’s blood she had drunk earlier. It was barely palatable, a grotesque imitation of what truly satisfied her. Caleb watched from behind her with a strange mixture of concern and something akin to triumph in his eyes. Even after everything was out of her system, she still retched a few more times before collapsing, her body wracked with shudders. 

Caleb was there instantly, gathering her into his arms, his embrace tight and possessive. Though the state she was in tugged at his heart, hating to see the one he converted in sure dire need of care. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips with satisfaction. ‘It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. You won’t deny me anymore, will you meimei?’ He pulled her closer, nuzzling the top of her affectionately as he walked down the hall. 

Caleb carried her into his bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, as if the simple act of holding her was something sacred. The heavy curtains sealed the world outside, leaving only the two of them cocooned in twilight. Y/n trembled in his arms, her body weightless, her mind fraying at the edges from hunger and horror.

He set her down on the bed, lingering over her longer than necessary, his hand cradling her cheek. His thumb brushed the hollow beneath her eye, tracing the fragile skin there.

“You’re too weak,” Caleb murmured, his voice low and thick with something more than concern. “No cup this time. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart twisted violently at his words. She shook her head weakly, trying to push herself back, but he caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them gently against the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot against her ear.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered. “You need this. You need me.”

She tried to turn away, tried to close herself off—but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, possessive weight, his thigh slipping between her legs, anchoring her. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her face back to expose her mouth, her fangs, her desperation.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed.

Without giving her time to protest, he bent his head, baring his throat to her. The strong column of his neck pulsed just inches from her lips, the scent of his blood saturating the air between them—rich, dark, utterly intoxicating.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pull. But hunger gnawed through her self-control, stripping away every barrier she had left. Her fangs ached. Her breathing quickened. Her entire body strained toward him before she even realized she was moving.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and with a low, commanding growl, he pulled her mouth against his neck.

“Now, meimei,” he ordered, voice trembling with restraint. “Drink.”

Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound. Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect.

Y/n moaned against his skin, the sound raw and broken. Shame and desire twisted inside her, a vicious tangle she couldn’t unravel. Every swallow sent heat blooming through her veins, spreading outward until even her fingertips tingled. Caleb’s blood didn’t just feed her—it claimed her, seeping into every crack and hollow space inside her soul.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked. He shifted his hips, grinding her deeper into the mattress, keeping her caged between his body and the bed. “Drink, little one. Take everything you need.”

His free hand roamed her body in slow, possessive sweeps—tracing the line of her waist, skimming the curve of her thigh, sliding up her back to bury in her hair again. Every touch was a brand, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.

Y/n clung to him, lost in the heat and closeness and the dizzying pleasure of his blood on her tongue. Caleb tilted his head back further, baring more of his throat to her, surrendering completely. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as if he were barely restraining himself from doing more—taking her, binding her even tighter to him.

When she finally wrenched herself away, gasping for air, her lips were stained crimson, her hands fisted tightly in his shirt. Caleb cupped her face, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that wasn’t just physical.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.”

He kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent, tasting his own blood on her skin. His body still pressed hers into the bed, his hold firm, inescapable.

Y/n shivered beneath him, overwhelmed by the bond coiling tighter between them. There would be no escaping him now. No pretending she could survive without him.

And deep down, a part of her— the part that still remembered the terrible, aching loneliness of her new existence and didn’t want to.

🍏🍎

Caleb carried her into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, each movement imbued with a strange reverence, as if the simple act of holding her broken form was a sacred rite. The heavy curtains sealed away the outside world, plunging them into a suffocating twilight that mirrored the darkness engulfing Y/n’s mind. She trembled in his arms, her body achingly light, her thoughts fragmented by the gnawing hunger and the lingering horror of Dalton’s death. Yet, a heavy silence clung to her, a refusal to voice the terror that coiled in her gut.

He sank onto the bed with her still cradled against his chest, the mattress giving way beneath their combined weight. He shifted, trapping her between his body and the plush mattress beneath her. His hand, surprisingly gentle, slid down the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse with a slow, possessive intent that sent a shiver of dread through her weakened body. Her pale face seemed to shrink within his grasp, almost lifeless.

“You’re so weak, little one.” Caleb murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear, thick with a possessive undertone that belied his concern.

“No cup this time,” he breathed against her temple, his voice deepening, roughening with a raw urgency. “You can barely move. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, completely unwilling even in this dire state. She shook her head weakly, a pathetic denial. Putting her hands against his broad chest, she tried to push herself away, but his grip tightened, one hand snaking around her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the soft fabric of the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot and possessive against her ear, stealing the air from her lungs.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered, his voice a silken command. “You need this. You need me.” 

The words were a chilling echo of her own desperate thoughts, twisting her dependence into something sinister. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need him this way, that she could drink from a cup but her throat was so dry, it felt as if someone rubbed it raw with sandpaper. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as his words, it was all she could muster. 

She tried to turn her face away, to burrow into the pillow, to create some semblance of distance, but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, suffocating weight that stole her breath, his thigh slipping between her legs, a subtle invasion that anchored her to him. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, tilting her face back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, her parted lips, the faint, tell-tale lengthening of her fangs, her raw, undeniable desperation.

“Let me take care of you.” he breathed, his voice a low caress that felt like a brand.

Y/n squirmed weakly beneath him like a trapped animal. She was fighting against the inevitable, she knew, trying to turn her head away from the suffocating nearness of him but Caleb’s fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his determined gaze. The violet galaxy depths of his eyes held an intense hunger that mirrored her own desperate need.  The strength in his touch was undeniable, not overtly cruel, just a reminder of his control. He wasn’t asking; he was claiming.

“Don’t fight me, little one.” he said, a low growl vibrating in his chest, a primal sound that sent a shiver of fear and a reluctant stirring of something else through her weakened form. “You know, you can’t.”

Without giving her fragile mind a chance to resist him further, he made a shallow, deliberate cut on the side of his neck, the bead of crimson welling instantly, a stark invitation. He bent his head, baring his throat to her, the strong column of his neck pulsing just inches from her parted lips, the intoxicating scent of his blood saturating the air between them, filling the dark room with an irresistible lure. She shudders violently, desperately wanting to taste him again.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in her throat, fighting the primal pull that threatened to consume her. 'I can't... I'll lose control again. But... I'm so weak. And he... he smells so good!’ Her body trembled, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mouth opened, lip trembling as her fangs ached with need, her breathing quickened in shallow, ragged gasps. Her entire body strained toward him, an instinctual surrender that bypassed her conscious thought, shame a distant whisper against the roaring hunger.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull with firm tenderness, and with a low, commanding growl that resonated deep within her bones, he pulled her mouth against his offered neck.

“Now, meimei.” he ordered, his voice trembling with barely contained annoyance at her continued refusal. “Drink.”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, tears scalding the corners of her eyes as she obeyed, her body moving with a desperate will of its own. Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the suffocating silence of the room. 

Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and something else, something akin to pleasure. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer, molding her body to his. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect, a stark contrast to the vile taste of Dalton’s.

“Ah~ That’s it.” He groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, a tremor running through his body as he restrains himself from taking her this second. He shifted over her, seating himself fully between her thighs, his cock grinding up against the insistent heat of her core through the thin layers of her clothes, a blatant invasion that made her gasp. 

“Drink, little one. Take everything you need.” His other hand tightened on her captured wrists, keeping them pinned above her head in his large grip.

The heat of him, the weight of him pressing down on her, the suffocating closeness, the intoxicating scent of his blood was a sensory overload to her depleted body.  A blurring of pain and pleasure, of fear and a desperate, unwanted desire consumed her.

Y/n gasped, the hunger clawing at her insides now a maddening beast. It wasn’t just thirst, no. It was physical desire and it was tearing through the last fragile threads of her resistance. She was doing so good by ignoring the way Caleb was touching her.

‘Please… no. Not now.’ Her own body was betraying her, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. A shameful wetness pooling in her panties as she moaned prettily under him as he continued to roll his hips against her. She was about to cum and by the way he picked up the pace, he knew she was too.

Y/n stiffened, her body pressed tightly against him as her hips jerked repeatedly, using him to ride out her orgasm. ‘So good. So good!’ She couldn’t speak, only drink and with each pull from his neck, she sealed her fate. Y/n was no longer of sound mind. Now, a very persistent euphoric fog clouded her mind, stealing her will to do anything but respond to her body’s needs.

Caleb smirked. He felt it, felt her final, silent surrender. A low, triumphant growl rumbled deep in his chest and released her from his hold when her body went limp. ‘This is how it was always meant to be. She needs me like this.’ He had her right where he wanted, happily feeding, wet, needy and so pliant for him. He bent his head further, exposing the strong column of his neck, offering her lips more of him. The scent of him intensified, rich, metallic, utterly addictive. A siren’s call she never had the strength to ignore.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, fully satiated, her lips slick with his blood. Her hands fisted tightly in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a terrifying storm. Her eyes were blown, unfocused, a blood-drunk haze clouding her vision. Caleb cupped her face with blood-smeared fingers, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that went far beyond feeding.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.” She didn’t respond. He knew she would.

“Tell me what you need, meimei.” he breathed against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her lobe, dragging a low, involuntary whimper from her throat. He chuckled, bucking his hips against hers, earning him a louder, sweeter moan from her and she raised her hips to meet his. “Need more? Gege will make you feel so good.”

A weak mewl caught in her throat as Caleb pulled her in for a kiss. It was he twisted his hips against hers, the grinding pressure a blatant violation that sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through her weakened body, pulling a desperate, broken sound from her lips. Her gums itched as she nibbled her lip, instinct had long overridden fear, shame— everything. 

“Still thirsty?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation that sent a shivers down Y/n’s spine. She wasn’t, in fact she was full, her hunger for blood gone. She wanted something else, craved something more and he could feel it.

“I taste that good, huh?” He chuckled.

“Gege, I… need more.” She begged.

He guided her mouth back to his bleeding neck, his hand tangling in her hair, holding her in place, a controlling caress. Y/n didn’t hesitate to take from him again as she bit down again.

The reaction was immediate, violent. Caleb’s entire body shuddered, a raw, broken groan tearing from him, a sound that spoke of both exquisite pain and a twisted pleasure. His grip on her captured wrists tightened briefly before he released them, his hands flying instead to her hips, squeezing hard, dragging her hips up into his, a blatant demand.

He rocked against her hard as she drank. Quick, hard claiming thrusts made his breathing ragged with each movement. He was going to cum.

“Ah~ just like that.” he gasped when she licked his neck, refusing to let the trailing crimson go to waste. His mouth found the sensitive line underneath her jaw, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against her blood-tinged skin.

“So greedy, little one.” He chuckled, a low, possessive sound, the tension pulled taunt in his body. 

His hand slid under her shirt, splaying across her bare lower back, dragging her even closer, skin to heated skin, blood mingling with blood. His fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her trembling, aching for a connection she both craved and loathed. 

With one final thrust, he came with a long, torturous groan.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his thumb wiping a smear of his blood from her cheek, a possessive caress. “My good girl.” He kissed her then—messy, desperate, a brutal mingling of blood and breath and a terrifyingly possessive hunger.

“But I’m far from done with you.” 

Caleb barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were claiming hers again. Rough and unrelenting, the metallic tang of his blood stained both their mouths. He kissed her like a starved man and when he finally pulled back, a strand of saliva and blood connected them. 

Without a word, he dragged her shirt up over her head, baring her to him. Her tits bounces from the suddenness and her pert nipples quickly became erect from the slight chill of the room. He took in a breath at this sight.

“Beautiful.” 

He cupped the succulent mounds of fat in his hands, palms flattening over every inch of newly exposed skin before squeezing them, committing her to memory, claiming her body by touch alone.

He lowered his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, pausing to lave his tongue over the bite mark, tasting the bits of dried blood that lingered on it. As his mouth focuses on her neck, his fingers circled and flicked her nipples, pulling and twisting just the right way to have her trembling with need for him.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, her fingers clutching helplessly at his shoulders. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue over the wound sent jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Caleb whispered against her skin. “The bond pulling tighter? You’re meant to be mine, little one. Meant to need me.”

He nuzzled against the bite, pressing his lips reverently to the broken skin, then bit down just enough to reopen it — not to feed, but to taste. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of her blood mixed with his own, and he growled low in his throat, shuddering with barely restrained need.

“No one else.” he said hoarsely. “If you ever drink from another… I’ll feel it. I’ll know.”

His hand slipped between her tights and her underwear, cupping her sapping wet cunt firmly through the thin barrier of her panties and groaned. ‘So fucking wet for me.’

“I’ll feel it.” he rasped, pressing his fingers against her clit, circling it gently, dragging a desperate moan from her lips. “Your body…your blood… everything belongs to me now.”

Caleb slid her panties to the side, wetting his fingers with her slick before plunging two long, thick digits within her. Y/n gasped and let out one of the prettiest, airy sounds he had even heard. It went straight to his dick, twitching and hardening in an instant. Coupled with how incredibly tight her leaking hole is, he would surely be unable to hold back the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Like that?” His voice held a smile as he began to fuck his fingers into her. She cried out, taking everything he was giving her with broken moans as he stroked her, scissoring and stretching her unused pussy. Caleb’s fingers found the small patch of flesh that felt different from the rest of her, changing the angle, he targeted it, focusing on pulling another orgasm from her. 

Y/n squealed, gripping his shirt and looking at him with confusion and pure ecstasy swirling in her eyes. 

“That good, huh?” Caleb grinned wickedly, feeling her tighten and squirt a little as he doubled down on his efforts. His fingers moved at an inhuman pace and thankfully she was dripping for him, allowing for him free reign to do so.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers so much, little one. You wanna cum for me? Cum for gege?” He teases, speeding up, bullying that soft spot in her. In an instant, she came, squirting and convulsing. Her silent scream didn’t go unnoticed by him as he stared at her pretty little face with a shit eating grin and he removed hand from between her legs. He was so impressed he was able to make her squirt. He licked his dripping fingers, sucking them clean as if he couldn’t enough, making the most lewd sounds she had ever heard. ‘Does she even know how good he tastes?’ He thought as he licked the corner of his mouth, swallowing the last bit of her.

“That’s two, meimei. Think you can go again?” 

He didn’t need to wait for a verbal response as he saw her surrender in the way her body shuddered. The subtle loosening of the tension in her muscles, the soft whimper she couldn’t choke back as he watched with her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He felt it, just as surely as he tasted her blood on his tongue.

And it broke the last fragile tether of his control.

A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed her back, forcing her down onto the bed. His body loomed over hers, caging her in, his hands spreading her thighs wide without asking, without hesitation. He was granted the mouth watering sight of her slick covered coral pink folds.

“Fuck, look how pretty she is. Were you expecting this?” His voice breathy as he admires the clean shaven, slick glistening rose petals. Truthfully, he knew she didn’t but he could not help teasing her. He lowered his face between her plush thighs.

Caleb tongue, ever so gentle, licked the strip of her drooling slit. His eyes nearly rolled back from the sweetness as he moaned in delight, savoring her taste on his tongue. Y/n soft gasp arching her back away from his hot tongue. 

Caleb narrowed his gaze and in a split second, “Don’t even think about it.” his hands wrapped around the fat of her thighs dragging her back to his waiting mouth. His lip latched onto her tiny bud, circling it and sucking hard as the slick intensified. Y/n’s back arced off of the mattress, her body trembling within his hold as he pinned her hip to the bed. 

“Be fair, meimei. I’m thirsty too.” He voiced muffled as he tried to drown himself in her leaking cunt. She didn’t protest when he did, doing her best to stay still while he continued his ministrations. Y/n’s hands shot out to tangle in his locks, pulling his face close.

Caleb was in heaven. He always knew she would taste good but this far surpassed his imagination. He released her reddened bud, swiping his tongue from her opening to back to her clit, once, twice, before teasing her little clit with the tip. He moaned, the sound reverberating through her core making whimper with need. He kept teasing her like that, enjoying the way her body writhed of his tongue, her little flinches before she rolls her hips forward, offering more of her dripping cunt for him to feat on.

“Gege… pl-please…!” She tried moving her hips, her body racked with need. But Caleb held her down so effectively that she couldn’t move her hips an inch. 

He paid her no mind, taking his time devouring her at his own pace. He could tell she was close by her incessant mewlings and by the way her legs were trembling in his hold. He lapped at her opening, collecting her pooling essence on his tongue and drinking her in. ‘Fuck… she taste so good.’ Caleb mentally cursed, before burying his face into her folded. 

He had a prominent, raging hard on, wanting to replace his cock with his tongue. However, he retained himself, he was a patient creature, he would finish his delicious meal before indulging further.  His tongue digging into her core, lapping at her velvety walls as he curled his pink muscle, earning him a high pitched squeal from her while he shoveled her juices into his hungry mouth. 

Y/n came violently on Caleb’s tongue, back arched and legs quaking, shaking the bed beneath them. Her finger pulled roughly at her brother’s silky hair. He grunted from the light pain but his tongue didn’t stop his assault as he fucked her tight hole with it through her orgasm. He kept at it, ruining her until she laid there, panting and flushed all over. 

He pulled back to get a good look at her, her chest rising and falling as she huffed in exhaustion. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as pride filled him. Licking his lips clean, savoring the remnants of her release before wiping the rest of his slick shined face with the back of his hand. He was tempted to keep going, to eat her sweet little pussy 2 or 3 more times just for his own pleasure. 

“You taste absolutely divine. I can’t tell whether I like your cunt or your blood more.” He muse, his eyes gleaming with amusement.  Y/n said nothing, she didn’t even hear him, her ears were ringing from the rush of her orgasm. All she could do is suck in air and gaze up at him with half open eyes.

Caleb chuckled to himself, realizing she was far gone. He stepped off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes in the span of a second before returning between her legs, eager to finally become one with the woman he desired. He covered her body with his own, his face mere inches from her as he leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I am going to take you now.” He stated plainly.

”Take me?” Dazed out of her mind from the aftermath of cumming and still high from his blood. 

“Yes, little one. I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you re full of me. And then, I’ll do it all over again. I’m not going to stop until my name is the only thing you can remember.” He smiled deviously. Normally, he would never be this crass but he knew she couldn’t fully comprehend anything he said so he spoke his mind.

He wasted no more time, nuzzling her neck affectionately, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down her neck as he gathered both her wrists into one of his much larger hands, securing it while using the other to stroke his impressive length. Caleb’s member sat heavily in his hand at 9.8 inches one and as thick as her wrist. ‘Thank goodness you are already turned, if not, this would hurt you immensely and I’d have to stop here.’

The warm blooded hybrid glided his stiff cock along her over sensitive folds. A shiver him, releasing a breathy sight at the feel of her warm, wet petals soaking the underside of his cock. He bit his lower lip, stifling the next sounds he continued to move along the lips a few more times. Deeming his length wet enough, he pulled his hips back, lining up the mushroom head with her entrance, he grasped Y/n’s jaw, forcing it open.

“Drink from me, Y/n. Pleasure yourself as I take from you.” He says as his hand slips to the back of her neck and forces her teeth into his neck, one again. They both groan in unison, Caleb throwing his head back before sinking both his fangs and his dick in one foul swoop, moaning loudly around the column of her throat.

This snapped Y/n out her lust filled haze momentarily. She squealed and whimpered, tears falling around from the corner of her eyes. She tried to dislodge herself from his neck, feeling the brain fog coming back the more his blood seeped into her mouth. To no avail as Caleb’s hand held her firmly, pressing her face harder the more she tried to struggle.

Y/n glance over to him, panic evident in her eyes. He felt her stare but ignored it, liking and sucking along the skin in his mouth with fervor. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her again, hitting her cervix hard. He couldn't stop himself from grunting and whimpering near her in pure bliss from her tight snatch constricting around him so hard. 

Caleb released her from his neck and withdrew from her as well, sitting back on his knee’s. His pupils were dilated, black almost completely consuming his violet irises and he sat back to look down at her with a love sick smile gracing his features. 

“You’re so tight— so hot— Ah~!” He moaned pathetically when her cunt spasmed, trying every which way to adjust to his length. He looked down, gaze focused on the place where his dick is plunging in and out her pussy. The site of a pink tinged ring forming at the base of his cock made him dizzy with excitement.

“Gege… we can’t! Wake up!” She seethed through clenched teeth, she was in great discomfort but also great pleasure. Y/n tried her best to fight off the effects of his blood, but she was losing fast. She couldn’t even force herself to struggle with the way her body began to relax for him.

“Still want to fight, little one?” He chuckled, caressing her warm cheek. 

“That’s ok. Gege is just gonna have to fucked the resistance out of you.” He grinned as if he just won a first place prize. 

With that, he used his free hand to grip her waist and began to fuck her, setting a brutal pace. Y/n’s back arched, mouth agape’s and unable to vocalize her feelings at her brother rammed into her repeatedly, stealing her breath away.

It didn’t even take a full minute for the pleasure to envelope her completely. Caleb smirked down at her when she attempted to match his pace, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.

Loud slaps filled the room as skin met skin, his hips meeting hers in a rhythemantic symphony. It felt unbelievable intoxicating, having her so willing to fucking him back so desperately, her blood, wet on his tongue and her drinking from him anytime he coaxes her to. It was the epitome of euphoria. He could die in this moment and would not complain. 

Y/n came without warning, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hips flush against hers. “F-fuck..!” Caleb came a little, her cunt clamping down around him, milking him for his seed. His thrusts faltered for just a moment before deepened his strokes, fucking her into the mattress just as he promised with renewed vigor.  

Y/n whined, completely spent and sore. She didn’t want to keep going anymore— she couldn’t but Caleb continued to ram her swallow flesh, his tip bullying her poor cervix open. 

She tried to twist away, trying to resist the tide of heat and hunger that was beginning to build again as Caleb rushed over her g-spot with every move. Caleb only growled, low and dangerous, pinning her hips with bruising force as he fell over her body again. 

“Don’t run from me.” he snarled into her ear. “You’ll only make me chase you. And when I catch you…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, sharp and threatening. “I’ll mark you so deeply you’ll never forget who you belong to, just. Like. Right. Now.” He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust.

His mouth returned to the wound on her neck, suckling gently, coaxing another slow trickle of blood, savoring it with obscene pleasure. Every pulse of her heart fed directly into him, connecting them in a raw, visceral loop neither of them could break.

Y/n sobbed, half pleasure, half in shame. Caleb squeezed her hips hard, rutting into her like a wolf in heat. He needed to cum. Every fiber in his being screamed to fill her up, marking her as his so that she can never deny his love for her ever again.

“I’m close, meimei. So, so close.” He grunted out.

“Give me one more. Just..mmm~ one more. Let’s cum together.” 

His hand that was on her hip moved to her engorged clit, using his thumb to circle it quickly, trying to match the speed of his hips. Y/n choked and tried to wiggle away again. 

“To-too much. Too much, Caleb, please!” His dick dug impossibly deeper into her watery cunt, not allowing her to move away. He was too far gone to hear her out, not that he could stop himself, not when he’s this close to coming with her most precious girl.

“Be good. You can take it.” he growled, his voice rough with primal hunger. “You pretend you don’t want this. But I can feel you.” Dragging his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her arousal that coated the air thickly. 

Caleb whimpered like a pup, hips stuttered and as he pistoned into her sloppily. After three long and hard thrust, he came inside her, grunting out her name as a blinding white light obscuring his vision. His orgasme trigger hers as her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking more contact, wanting to be full of him.

Y/n collapsed on the bed first, the corner of her eyes darkening as she willingly succumbed to it, fainting beneath him. Caleb fell onto her, panting into the junction of her neck as he tried to ready his breath. Once he did, flipped their bodies, making sure to keep his cock warm inside her, laying her upon his chest. He could feel his cum leaking out of her and trailing down his dick but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Caleb sighed in content, wrapping his arms around his lover in a warm embrace. ‘For the first time in my life, I finally  feel truly happy. Satisfied. I finally own you.’ He queened her. ‘After all these years, you are finally mine and now, you can’t hide it. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ He thought to himself as he placed a kiss on the top of her head before drifting into a blissful sleep, knowing five things truths that ensure it would be restful.

‘There is no undoing this.

There is no hiding from the truth of their connection.

There is no going back to what they once were.

She is mine now, body and soul.

And I would never, ever let her go.’

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Genuine question: so we know that Cybertronians react to certain Earth substances. For example, Knockout reacts to pepper spray being sprayed in his optics. So, if we go by that logic, then they could be effected by other chemical compounds, like Scarecrow's Fear Toxin. So that raises the question, if the Autobots and Decepticons of TFP were under the influence of the Fear Toxin, what would they see? What would be there deepest, darkest fears?

-Optimus would see a dead and desolate Cybertron and his teammates and enemies alike are all dead. Everything is lost. And he is all alone. He is the last cybertronian alive and he's being tormented by shadowy phantoms that remind him of what a failure he is, that he couldn't save anyone.

-Ratchet sees all the people he failed to save. Every bot that ever landed on his operating table and who did not walk away from it. They are staring at him, looking just like they did when they died and they are all blaming him for their deaths. "Why didn't you save us, Ratchet?" "We wanted to live, we trusted you to fix us."

-Bumblebee's visions consist of Megatron killing everyone he cares about. No matter what Bee does, he can't stop him. He starts with Optimus, then Bulkhead, Ratchet, Arcee... and then he goes on to the humans. And Bumblebee is powerless to do anything but watch and scream.

-Bulkhead experiences the fear of rejection. Everyone he cares about are disappointed in him, loathes him, hates him for being such a failure. They are mocking him, calling him weak and stupid and blaming him for all their failures. And the worst is, Bulkhead believes them.

-Arcee sees Tailgate and Cliffjumper's reanimated corpses. They are hunting her, controlled by Airachnid who orders them around like dogs. They want to tear her apart, limb by limb and turn her into another undead for Airachnid to control so she can sick Arcee on her teammates and friends.

-Megatron, as fearless as he claims himself to be, sees himself falling apart. Part after part until he's left weak and voiceless. He has always found comfort in his strength and ability to command. It's what defines him. To be left without these tools means that he can do nothing. He can't fight back, he can't order his soldiers. He's just deadweight.

-Starscream's nightmare is quite simple. He hallucinates enemies all around him, that they are chasing him with the intention to kill him. Some look like bots he know, enemies and allies alike, but most are just faceless shadow-monsters. And no matter how exhausted Starscream is, he can't stop running or else they will get him.

-Soundwave sees Megatron abandoning him. The decepticon leader blames him for a mission gone wrong and then just... leaves. Doesn't even look back at him. And even as Soundwave reaches out to him, tries to stop him, he just can't reach Megatron. The distance between them grows bigger and bigger the further he reaches out.

-Breakdown has a particular reaction to the Fear Toxin where he believes he can no longer move, that he is paralyzed. It's a purely mental thing, there's nothing actually wrong with his body, but the conviction is so strong he can't move an inch.

-Knockout hallucinates himself rusting. It starts with a simple scratch on his forearm but when he touches it, it suddenly spreads with frightening speed. The rust ages him thousands of years in an instant, chipping away at his red paint job and creating small holes in his armor that won't stop growing.

-Shockwave sees all his research, his hard work, disappearing before his very eye. Data files corrupting and deleting, experiments self-terminating. Everything, gone in mere seconds. (Personally I think Shockwave wouldn't actually fall for any of this and would just watch it happen like "fascinating, it's almost believable".)

-Airachnid's hallucination is almost identical to Starscream's. She's also being chased but unlike Starscream, who mostly sees faceless shadow-monsters, Airachnid sees all her past victims. Dead, rusting and decaying, looking like they did when they died or like they just crawled out the grave.

[physalian]

13 Ship Dynamics I Crave

And I want to know yours as well. Most of these can be read completely platonic, btw.

“You make me a worse person, let’s be irresponsible together.”

“You make me a better person, holy fuck how did I dupe you into loving me?”

“Nobody fucks with you but me.”

“I’ve been lying to everyone and the mirror, but you see through my ruse, and I hate it.”

“I can fix him!” *Actually does and he takes some accountability

“I am Angst and Loner and Quiet Mean Guy. Except for this lil’ puffball of joy.”

“They’re a badass warrior with ten thousand titles and I’m their adoring support who no one will remember but them.”

“Pfft, a whole army, you say? Bestie and I got this, 800 to 1, let’s gooooo!”

“I hate him. I loathe him. He’s insufferable. He’s incorrigible. He’s—fuck.”

 “I don’t even know who you are but in an alternate universe we’d apparently have a gay ol’ time.”

 “They’re the ship’s fearless captain and I’m the silent badass second-in-command.”

 “Well, we had a shared brain cell, but they dropped it with their shoe down the sewer grate."

“We’re the two over-worked and under-paid hearts/healers and the only person keeping the other alive most days.”

[thedragonagebigbang]

Dive back in to the 2024 Big Bang Works!

The mod team is revving up for this year's edition of the event, and looking back on the incredible fic and art produced by last year's participants has us more excited than ever.

Read some works, admire some art, and re-share their promo posts on tumblr to give our creators some love!

The Voyager - Gin and Fig

Follow my Voice - Jacs and Akh

Child Fearless - edda and ooscoos

The Seawolf and the Soldier - Thea and Zaz

Raflesia and Wren

Endurance - Gyro and Phrixion

Into the Unknown - SpicyWarlock, Carlisle, Bard

Dear Alistair (can I come home yet?) - Cordy, Blu, Jakiran

Fed Up With Hunger - ghostbunny, vaamiel, livingmoth

This Body is Not My Own - Fataelity, Gin, blugegirlsbooks

time will change you - slothpoe and Tiira

Blume - missjlh, Rana, Lora Pora

When it Rains - vivi, Lady, Scarlett

Surviving the Depths - brood, Arja, Adurna

To Prey on a Wolf - Airdanteine, vaughn

the very condition of existence - inquisimer, WinterHartArts

The Hurt Brings Us Closer - whatsanapocalae and brotchen

Here We Go Again... - fade-and-loathing, scatterhearts, CiellaJess

Zevran Wakes in the Mud - blarghe, vilyar

A Simple Affair - contreparry and Sahher

Some truths are best left buried - Teine, Ed, Eden

Pics de Silence - Jello and Tramweye

No Esteemed Deed - Faust and Willemina

I'm Gonna Win (I'm Gonna Try) - Para and Meg

Butter Biscuit - Aint No Holy Ghost, mortalitasdeeznuts

Once We Were - Duchess, Kiwi, InkyBlackFire

Custom Banners by Sacherali

[sophiacloud28]

Bayverse WIP Excerpt

Bayverse stuff because I realized I posted something for all the turtles save for Mikey. I feel bad.

Excerpt, Bayverse Mikey, bonding

She's so busy.

Four days into staying with them and he's barely seen her without someone around or doing something. She's always cooking, always working with Donnie, always training with either Raph or Leo. And while the others seem to be trying to make sure they don't ruffle her feathers, he's seeing exhaustion starting to line her body more and more as they leave for patrol, and he hates it. He absolutely loathes it.

"Pizza's fine for tonight."

And that's why, when she talks about dinner, he finally decides to butt in.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset. He doesn't like the fact that she goes quiet as they work on breakfast — cooking's a blast, he should do it more often. But he can see the shadows under her eyes and it's starting to bother him.

"By the way, I'm calling dibs on your afternoon."

"But –"

"Dibs."

So, for once in his life, he's going to take a little of what he's been seeing Leo do and try to apply it.

Won't stick, but at least it gets her out of the lair and away from his brothers for a bit, even if it means he's gotta anger Leo by grabbing her and taking off on his skateboard.

"Michelangelo!"

Along with upsetting her once he puts her down, flinching under the look.

"I called dibs."

"And I was talking to your brother about it! You know Leo!"

"Yeah, well. Mr. Fearless Leader is being overprotective, if you ask me," he says, spinning his skateboard under his hand.

"Mikey."

"Not to mention passive. I mean, how has he not noticed when he already did it twice?" he ignores her objection while grabbing his board to put it slide it onto his shell, deciding to continue when she doesn’t respond, "Not because I'm not around that I don't notice you being all over the place, you know. Other than when you pass out on the couch, have you taken a break?"

"I meditate."

He scowls, "Fat lot of good that's doing you. You looked more tired coming out of that session than going in."

"How would you know?"

Good old brittle defense, "Cooking sesh aren't just because I wanna help, you know?"

Which he hates seeing cave in, but he knows it to be necessary as she takes a slight step back, hands going behind her back in guilt.

"I didn't… I'm sorry, Michelangelo."

"It's fine. Just… someone's gotta do something and my brothers ain't doing it."

"Fair," she breathes before speaking up, "So, what did you have in mind?"

"You still owe me a movie, but I guess we can do that next time. Walk? I can show you what I found."

"Unless we plan a movie night, I don't think that'll happen, Mikey."

"There's one every month. Only thing is who gets to choose the movie."

"Every month?" she asks, making him nod.

"Yeah. Once a month we take a break from patrol and stay home. Family thing. I think this month's at the end of this week, actually."

"Who's choice?"

"Mine. But I can make it yours. Did you have an idea?"

"I think I might. What do you guys like watching?"

"Leo loves period stuff, Raph's big into action movies, Donnie likes documentaries, and Dad likes Eastern movies."

"What about you?"

"As long as it can capture my attention for more than five minutes, it's a winner."

She chuckles, "Something tells me that's not as simple as it sounds."

"Just from listening to my brothers' groans? Nah."

"I think I might have something, then. As long as you guys are alright with slight gore and weird visuals."

"Weird visuals?"

"It's animated, so some of the expressions are really exaggerated. But the story's interesting."

"… I don't think we've watched anything animated."

"You up for it, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sounds fun."

"I'll ask April to snag it from home, then. Do you guys have a DVD player?"

He snorts, "Wait until you see the setup, pretty girl. You won't wonder about that then."

She giggles, "Fair enough." Before coming to a stop along the tracks, "I'm sorry I worried you, Mikey."

And he tries waving it off, "Just remember to take a break every once in a while. It says something when Leo and Donnie catch more of a break than you do."

"You think so?"

"They get lunch and dinner. You don't."

"… Fair enough."

Before walking back to her, not liking the way she's holding onto her arm and not looking his way.

He might not know the full details, but he can tell she's got it rough. No one breaks their back to support another unless they know somebody else will, or they're looking for something. And from the way Stella reacts, she's in the latter camp.

"Hey Stella?"

"Hm?"

"I know the rest of my brothers are stingy about it, but... You're family, okay? You don't need to show us you're useful."

She smiles, "I know. Hamato-san said the same thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoes, "Said something about Leo and I being fated to meet."

"Well, I don't know about fate, but I do know that I'm glad to have you around. I feel a bit more useful now thanks to all those cooking lessons, so much so that I was hoping to ask you if we could trade off. I cook some, you cook some. And, well, if nothing else, you're making us happy, and that's enough all on its own, I would think."

"… Is that the reason you took my afternoon?"

He waves his hand in a so-so motion, rubbing the back of his head, "Kind of. I really think you need a break, and the fact that I wanted to ask you if I could try cooking lunch on my own tomorrow was secondary."

"Tomorrow's lunch?"

"Yeah. I think I got a good idea on how to get everything done. If you want, though, you can stick around and give me advice."

"I was planning on using the pressure cooker for tomorrow's lunch, actually."

… Oh.

"Pressure cooker?"

"The tall pot that's right next to the slow cooker. The pork shoulder has already been thawing in the fridge for a day, now."

He brings his hands in front of himself in a stop motion, "Is that the only thing that's new?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me instructions on how to use it?"

"More than."

"Then you sit at the island and tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it. How's that sound?"

"If the fact that you've been able to keep up with me during the chicken stew is any indication, I think you'll be more than able to."

"Really?"

She nods with a smile, "Really. The only thing is the pressure cooker since it's something you don't know, but with how you get in the kitchen, you should be fine."

And joy bubbles up to the surface as he grabs her and twirls her around. There's a gasp before giggles come pouring out while he settles her on his shoulder, and he pulls out his skateboard while keeping a hand on her.

"Let me down, Mikey."

"Nah. I got something I want to show you."

"Wouldn't it be easier in a fireman's carry?"

"And have you missing the show? No way. You get the VIP seat, pretty girl," he replies as he rolls his shoulder, getting a giggle and something warm laying itself on his temple. He looks up and blinks as he catches sight of her smile. Of something soft in her eyes that makes him grin in turn.

"Thank you, Mikey." Before he chirps, almost embarrassing himself if not for the gentle chuckle she gives at it.

taglist:

@silverwatergalaxy @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @thelaundrybitch @luckycharms1701 @thepinkpanther83

@avery73 @the-cauldron-witch @redsrooftopprincess @iridescentflamingo @ninnosaurus

@milykins @yorshie @justalotoffanfiction @truffle-reblogs @adebauchedsloth

@raphsmuneca @theanonymousninja247

[emmkayyy03]

The Paradox of Detachment: Who Is Truly Free?

A wandering monk once said, "The one who knows that his body is temporary and is unshaken by its fate is closest to liberation." But if that’s true, then who is truly detached—the fearless warrior who laughs in the face of death, the rogue who risks everything without a second thought, or the mystic who hides behind mantras and astrological charts, seeking protection from every possible misfortune?

Let’s take a moment to step into their worlds.

The Warrior’s Detachment

Steel in hand, battle-scarred, the warrior strides into the storm, knowing he may not return. Death is not an enemy but an old companion, whispering at the edges of his consciousness. Pain? Just another moment passing, no different from the wind cutting across his face.

Before him stretches a battlefield—a graveyard in the making, where the earth drinks steel and blood alike. Blades glint like fangs in the sun, and the air is thick with the scent of iron and blood. He moves forward, stepping over corpses yet to fall, striking, bleeding, killing, knowing that at any instant, fate may turn its gaze upon him.

His body is not his own; it is merely a vessel for war, a tool sharpened for a purpose greater than himself. If detachment means surrendering the fear of death, if liberation is the release from clinging to the fragile shell of flesh—then isn’t he already free? Or is his fearlessness not wisdom, but just the grim acceptance of a world where life has no promises, only endings?

The Rogue and the Drifter

Then there’s the rogue—the outlaw who lives on the edge, the gambler who places his life on the table with a smirk, the wanderer who owns nothing yet moves freely. He has no permanent home, no ties to wealth, no concern for the future. Society may call him reckless, but is he not more detached than the merchant hoarding gold in fear of loss? Or is his non-attachment just another escape, a refusal to commit to anything real?

The Prostitute’s Reality

And what of the woman in the shadows, the one who offers her body as if it were no more than a garment to be worn and discarded? She moves through the night like a whisper, a ghost in silks, untouched by the love or loathing of those who seek her. If detachment means not identifying with the flesh, then is she not closer to liberation than those who clutch desperately at their purity, fearing even the brush of desire?

Yet, is she truly free? Or do unseen chains still bind her—the weight of a world that scorns her even as it seeks her out? Does she give without attachment, or has she merely learned to silence the voice that once longed for something more? If she offers herself without shame, without illusion, without expectation, then is she not as unshackled as the wandering ascetic, the sage who renounces his body in search of truth?

Perhaps freedom is not in what one gives or withholds, but in the mind that holds nothing at all.

The Mystic Who Clings to Protection

Then there is the seeker, draped in robes, whispering spells at dawn, his voice trembling with devotion or is it fear? He bows before the heavens, tracing sacred symbols, clutching charms meant to ward off unseen misfortunes. He speaks of renunciation, of detachment, yet his nights are restless, spent calculating omens and pleading with the stars to soften their decree.

If the body is fleeting, why shield it with spells? If destiny is unchangeable, why beg the cosmos to rewrite its script? He prays for liberation, yet clings to the very world he claims to transcend. He fears hunger, disease, misfortune—things the rogue laughs at, the warrior faces, and the woman in the shadows endures without pretense.

Is he not more bound than those who walk their paths without illusion? He renounces gold but hoards protection. He rejects the world yet fears its touch. In his quest to master fate, has he not become its most devoted servant?

The Singer and Detachment

Then there is the singer, who cannot hide behind illusions, for to sing is to surrender. The unskilled hesitate, but the master bares his soul without fear, knowing music is not his to keep. Each note is given away, dissolving as soon as it is born—like breath, like life.

Yet, is he truly free, or does he cling to the need for an audience, for remembrance? If the afterlife is for the unburdened, then the singer who sings without fear, who vanishes into his song, may already be there.

So, Who Is Truly Free?

Perhaps detachment is not in rejecting the body, nor in offering it freely to fate or desire—it is in knowing, beyond all doubt, that you were never the body to begin with.

The warrior who fights without ego, embracing death as easily as breath. The rogue who moves without fear, unburdened by past or future. The woman who gives without shame, untouched by judgment, neither proud nor broken. The mystic who prays without desperation, seeking nothing, grasping at nothing. Each may have brushed against true freedom, or each may still be ensnared in unseen chains of their own making.

Liberation is not in how one treats the body, but in seeing through the illusion that it was ever you. To move through the world unshaken, untouched—not because you deny life, but because you know it was never yours to hold.

[celuere]

So that last lil Juno loredrop said she could finish from her ears alone... >:]

Mind writing that oneshot? Nice and smutty with overstim mayhap? Personally I see it as Arle absolutely refusing to touch Juno anywhere except holding her wrists above her head and licking/nibbling the shit out of those ears while Juno is stuck there under her, rubbing her thighs together in an attempt to get some friction on that throbbing pussy. I wanna know how you see it tho, so I won't suggest a prompt. I wanna know exactly how you imagine this going without my outside influence :]

(Thank you for the random ArleJuno snippets. I live for them <3)

@nonchalantpirate

I got the same request twice from you guys so I’m just merging them together if you don’t mind😭 but those goddamn ears oh I’m SO obsessed with them they’re like my favorite feature ever about Juno sobsob but let’s get to work!!!!! Also uhmmmm new oc reveal and some research team shenanigans because i realized I have free will

The S.R.T building never stood empty. Wether it be for the ominous colorful lights shining through the twins windows or the various agents in the waiting area before Maelle‘s Prosthetic-Workshop or Irene greeting everyone with a warm smile at the entrance.

Today, it was the Knave she was welcoming with a bow of her head, even though the Harbinger told her numerous times that a simple nod will suffice. The snow from Snezhnaya’s regular weather was already melting on the fur of her coat as the diplomat took the liberty upon herself to wipe the crests on her chest clean of any remains.

„Is my wife still breaking her head downstairs?“, although Arlecchino did not know how to properly sign, the usage of her Anemo Vision and years of experience in lip-reading allowed the secretary to understand her more than well enough.

„She came in at approximately 8:56am this morning and hasn’t left the building ever since then. I think she and Anselm had a slight argument earlier in the noon if I am not mistaken but gossiping is sadly nothing I get paid for…“, the woman allowed herself a light chuckle as she waved her superior towards the hallway to continue with her path. Arlecchino merely flashed her a short smile of hers after thanking. She liked the woman.

But Anselm‘s name left a bad taste in her mouth. He could wave his cane with a built-in gun at her all he wanted but she loathed the blonde with a passion. Especially since he somehow isn’t familiar with the art of knocking and once ended up bursting into Juno‘s office while she was ballsdeep ins- while they were doing business talk of course.

At least the feeling was mutual as she passed him on the way to the staircase. The man was as proud as ever. Not even sparing her a single glance. His flawless walk almost screamed at Arle to kick him in the ass but he probably predicted that anyways with the way he at last looked back over his shoulder at her.

„On your way to Whitlock? Doors are locked if you‘re here for business talk.“

She sadly couldn’t throw a dagger at him because he was back inside his lab in the blink of an eye. Bastard.

But nothing will stop the Knave from seeing her wife! So down the staircase she goes. The temperature seemingly dropping with each of her steps as the first lights came into view. The institute runs on full electricity. How they do it? A secret that’s not of much importance to her anyways. Once you reach the first lower floor you were met with a long- really long- hallway spreading before you. Only dimly lit to keep energy costs low and now Arlecchino might be fearless and one of the most capable people of the nation- but it never failed to have the hair on her neck stand up. She had no idea how her wife practically lived here without constantly getting the creeps.

Better not tell the Harbinger about Talia‘s laboratory that takes up the whole 3rd lower floor underneath her and the bloodthirsty homunculus‘ harboring it. But luckily there is no need to venture any further as Juno can be found right on the 1st floor.

And she soon found out that Anselm did indeed not lie. All of the three doors that granted entry to her wife‘s personal facilities were locked. But Irene told her she didn’t leave the building today at all-

click.

The door to her office only slightly creaked open.

„Is he gone?“, black hair peaking out behind the heavy iron, who certainly did not expect to be met with the almost puzzled look of the Harbinger, „He is, but your husband apparently took his place…“, the woman who turned out to be Remi stepped to the side to let the diplomat inside.

„You are quite early…“, her wife flashed her but a loving smile as she was seemingly busy with reorganizing the bookshelf behind her desk. Which only left her with more questions.

„Indeed. A client called off my last meeting for the day so I figured it would be nice to pick my wife up early from her work. Now may I inquire as to why you are… hiding away in here?“, Remi flopped down onto the sofa to her left again as she let out an exasperated sigh when Juno nodded over to her as a sign to do the talking.

if she only knew for what that furniture is actually used for…

„How do I make this short… Anselm decided to be an ass today like always. You know, smartassing around, being intentionally insufferable. The usual. And he‘s been nagging Juno all day long about the results of her research and since I needed another shot of painkillers today, we figured it would be best to lock everything up and ignore him while she tempers around with a needle in my shoulder. That’s it.“.

„Sounds reasonable enough. I never liked that man to begin with.“

„I know, honey… you never fail to mention it at least once a week…“, Juno almost sounded exhausted mentioning it.

Was it that bad?

„But since the spook is over, I’m now heading back up to my own lab. Thank you for the medication, Ju.“, for the Harbinger however, a mutual handshake sufficed before she headed out the door and silence took over the office in the next moments except for the sounds of books being shoved in and out of their designated spots.

„Don’t you want to go home, Cherie…?“, sharp stilettos rounded the ginormous table as they made their way over to her woman. She was still wearing her labcoat, paired with heels almost as deadly as her own when Arle noticed the pained look on her face from the side.

„Or would you rather tell me what that look is for?“, and if Arlecchino was unable to do one thing, it was keeping her hands off of her wife. The two arms wrapped themselves around her waist all on their own, really.

„I… I don’t know where to put this book, Peruere… it‘s been bothering me for ages but I just dont know where to store it…“, the scientist groaned as she flipped through the pages, Arle could only make out a few sketches of what she thought was a Hilichurl‘s anatomy.

That‘s what is bothering her?

The Harbinger sighed before leaning down to let her lips connect with the shell of her ear, the cold metal of Juno‘s piercing stinging slightly against her warm skin when she felt the sensitive body party twitch at the sensual touch, followed by a choked gasp and a book falling to the floor.

„A-Ah- A-Arle-! Not my ears-!“, she breathed as she tried turning her head away in an attempt to escape her husband- to no avail. She was so evil for that and she knew it.

„Hm? Your ears? I’m not doing anything…“, she chuckled only lightly as she blew some air against the devil attached to her wife‘s body, not to tease her further but rather watch it twitch against the slight wind. It‘s like watching the ears of a cat.

„D-Don’t play… dumb with me…“, Juno retaliated as she tried to ignore the growing ache between her legs. She hates the effect the ears have on herself. Not because she doesn’t enjoy it but because it makes it incredibly hard for her to hide anything from her husband. From Arlecchino‘s side of things not bad point at all.

„I haven’t seen my wife all day. I merely want to make sure she knows exactly how much I missed her.“, wow, when did she shove up her skirt enough to expose the lace panties she decided to wear today??? „My… even my favorite… all for me?“, the answer was obvious enough that she didn’t even need one.

„Y-You are too arrogant for your own good…“, she secretly wondered why Peruere refrained from directly getting her off and just continued unbuttoning her shirt. To her surprise there wasn’t even a bra underneath.

„I‘d rather call it calculated than arrogant. Do you think I don’t know you like the back of my hand after almost seven years of marriage? You are truly hurting my feelings, ma vie…“, voice as thick as honey as she stared down her wife‘s ear like her next meal. Oh she knows what’s she‘ll do next.

„D-Don’t even think abo-“, her sentence was sadly cut short by a moan ripping through the air as she felt her mouth wrapping around the sensitive shell before her tongue lapped up the skin almost sensually.

Juno always wondered when her Husband is going to kill her.

More books came down on the floor as the Knave had her wife pressed flush against the shelf in an instant, trapping her between the furniture and her body to make it almost impossible for her to move when she pushed the soaked slip aside to wet her fingers with her slick.

The feeling of her drenched bush only added further to her own pants getting awfully tighter with every moment.

The ecstasy shooting down her spine as her Husband nibbled, sucked and licked on her rendered her more beyond speechless, she was busy trying to get some friction between that cursed hand and her eager clit and using her own hands was difficult when the Harbinger had them pinned to the shelf by the wrists above her head. Can’t have her interfere with her plans after all.

Arlecchino never felt more sinister than in that moment, teasing and bringing her wife close to insanity by doing nothing more than biting into her when she felt the first drops of her cum dropping into the hand on her pussy. She was careful enough to not let enough pressure onto the aching bundle of nerves, always retreating further when her wife grew a bit too greedy. Can’t have that, right?

The breathy moans echoing through the office were evidence of her defeat, she let herself get distracted by her husband again. Why is she even telling herself that she will stay strong next time?

She shivered slightly when Arlecchino let go of her soaked ear with a juicy plop, her saliva already running down to her neck and between her tits, „Mh… my… I must express my gratitude for this refreshing experience… It truly helped me rewind after such a tiring day…“, as reminder, something hard seemed to be pressing itself against her lower back.

Dear gods.

„I brought you a little dessert.“

„That book comes onto that board. No- one higher.“

„Yes, darling…“, she sighed as she put the book into its place with hanged shoulders and and dry sucked balls. She made sure to be extra efficient with the Harbinger.

„And this one goes right in front of you. A bit more to the left. Mh… no… more to the right.“, Juno groans slightly as she looks back into her pocket mirror when retouching her make up- even tho the rest of her still looked wrecked enough with the remains of her Husband‘s load on her chest.

„Understood, my love…“, Arlecchino‘s own ears still rung from the aftermath of their session which consisted of Juno ripping her a new one for completely ruining her efforts of the last hours that went into reorganizing her precious bookshelf. She was now punished by having to pick them all up and putting them back into place per wife‘s demands.

Anselm only stared at them with the most judgemental expression he can allow himself on their way out while he was signing with Irene at the entrance.

[pollkien]

Glorfindel propaganda (art by @misswhalie):

Second elf ever to have canonically been reembodied

“Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength” this is from LOTR but i think it’s cute

One of the mightest elves in Middle-earth

Slayed a balrog!

Dearly loved by the Gondolindrim. Also lord of the house of the golden flower. Adorable name

Guarded Turgon’s flank with Ecthelion during the Nirnaeth

He actually survived the fall of Gondolin, and died defending the survivors from an Orc ambush

Grass and yellow flowers grew on his cairn…

Spiritual power enhanced by reembodiment. Good for him. Wonder if it also enhanced his pussy power

The Maiar that he lived with considered him an equal

Manwë’s special guy that he sent across the sea :)

I mean come on look at his glorious golden hair

Turgon propaganda:

Gondolin was the longest lasting of the hidden elven kingdoms :)

Also a high king!

Tallest elf ever save for Thingol

Original wielder of Glamdring <3

“And most of all his kin Morgoth feared Turgon; for of old in Valinor his eye had lighted upon him, and whenever he drew near a shadow had fallen on his spirit, foreboding that in some time that yet lay hidden, from Turgon ruin should come to him” sexy

Called The Wise apparently

Has a staff of doom. Hot

Ordered the first elven execution <3

“‘I will not debate with you, Dark Elf. By the swords of the Noldor alone are your sunless woods defended. Your freedom to wander there wild you owe to my kin; and but for them long since you would have laboured in thraldom in the pits of Angband. And here I am King; and whether you will it or will it not, my doom is law. This choice only is given to you: to abide here, or to die here; and so also for your son.’” This goes quite hard

Single father! Come get your dilfs!

Finrod’s bestie :)

“Fingon and Turgon were bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be” cute

Ulmo’s special guy

“Gondolin upon Amon Gwareth became fair indeed and fit to compare even with Elven Tirion beyond the sea. High and white were its walls, and smooth its stairs, and tall and strong was the Tower of the King.” Wow. :)

Crushed by his own tower rip

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Wyll Ravengard (Baldur's Gate 3) x GN!Reader...a kiss out of envy or jealousy

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open for BG3

...a kiss out of jealousy for Wyll

The party had been your idea. Of course. It wasn't enough for you to make the world a better place with every action you took, you needed to bring joy and warmth everywhere you went too. Sometimes it was hard for Wyll to remember the days before he spent his time adventuring by your side, like trying to think of your dullest days in the midst of living dazzling new ones. You had given him purpose. But more than that, you had given him hope. A hope that his destiny was within his own hands, that he could make his own happiness and find a way to live his life full of pride. He only hoped that it would be by your side as well.

It was difficult to find the time to let you know how he felt. You swung from one near-death experience to another, each night the only moment of quiet contemplation shared with your whole group, hardly a moment passed alone between the two of you. Even now as the festivities escalated around him, Wyll hadn't noticed a single moment where you weren't surrounded by adoring companions and thankful locals. Admittedly if he left the secluded beach it might be easier to seek out a private word with you, but he hardly felt like stepping into the spotlight or drawing any more attention to himself than necessary. It hurt his heart watching as Gale fawned over you, leaning close and whispering some sly remark in your ear that had you throwing your head back in laughter. And then Shadowheart appeared by your side, drawing closer to your form and letting her fingertips dance delicately down your arm as she spoke to you.

The ache inside Wyll's chest threatened to crack him wide open as he watched suitor after suitor find their moment with you, all while he waited on the sidelines, willing himself to gather up the nerve to approach you.

"Are you okay Wyll?" He was kicking rocks into the crashing waves by the time you strolled towards him, missing your approach entirely in favour of focusing on his self-loathing. He spun to face you, the stars shining off your features like Selune herself illuminated you wherever you went, and struggled to find his words,

"Yes, apologies my fearless leader, I have never been one for parties, no matter how much your heroics deserve celebration." He sighed out earnestly, stepping away from the water's edge to drink you in in more detail. Wyll could look at you forever, sure that no creature in the realm had ever been in possession of more beauty, nor more worthy of such a stunning exterior to match your wondrous heart.

As he strode towards you, watching your thoughtful expression ponder his solemn remarks, he noticed the rest of the party couldn't help but monitor you as well, your magnetic energy drawing a wanting look from each of your companions as Wyll drew closer.

He wasn't sure what compelled him; the way you looked bathed in moonlight, hand outstretched to him as if his every prayer had been answered, or the lustful gaze of a certain wizard drifting over your shape from across the bonfire. But Wyll knew he couldn't deny the overwhelming urge that came over him as he took your hand, wondering if the meddlesome demons in charge of his destiny somehow drove him to insanity for a moment thinking about anyone else having you the way he craved. All sense of decency and chivalry cast aside, Wyll pulled you towards him not stopping short of you until your lips were just an inch from his. Using every ounce of self-control he possessed he paused there, giving you a moment to reflect. Giving you a moment to withdraw. Giving you a moment to cut him down before he could make any more of a fool of himself.

His will power quickly spent on that achingly long moment of hesitation, he dived in. His plump lips landed against yours with more force than you expected, a seemingly endless swell of wanting spilling out from his touch. His hands found your hips so he could stay firmly planted in front of you, body melting against yours as he felt you kiss him back. A smile played with the edges of his cheeks as he sought to keep your lips on his, every bit of contact filling him with the kind of magic he thought could only come from avernus. He could feel your hands reach up and cup his cheeks, not shying away from his scars but embracing them, taking him for everything that he is, the parts he liked and the parts he didn't. Your lips welcomed him the way your heart had, giving him a place to call home and a feeling of family he had lost so long ago.

Wyll barely realised just how widely he was smiling until finally you pulled back, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you looked into his eyes with a kindness that only made him want to kiss you again.

"Will you come and join the celebration now, Wyll?" Reminded of his surroundings, having forgotten there was anyone in this realm outside the two of you, Wyll scanned his eyes over your shoulder, locking eyes with a few disgruntled looking companions.

"Yes, I think I'll have a much better time now." He said with a wide, mischievous smile, mentally making no promises he won't rub being able to kiss you in everyone else's face.