#first he plagues my spotify

[cerberin]

stupid ryan playing juice in the car

[hnychn]

I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME

SUMMARY — If there is anything that is universally acknowledged to be wholly true and incontestable, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything in the world. But does she know that?

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i got into a huge argument with my father a while back and it’s been weighing on my conscience. this series is largely based on our relationship and it’s been so therapeutic to write everything out and indirectly give myself an ending i want. the series isn’t complete, if anything, it’s no where near done. i want to make sure everything is perfect before i even think about posting the first chapter. its been so long since i’ve felt this strong need to write and i forgot how much of a beautiful feeling it is. everywhere i look and everything i see gives me so much inspiration for this series. but for now, here’s a little sneak peak of my new child.

(i am him as he is me spotify playlist)

SERIES WARNINGS — heavy religious themes, female reader, sugugeto, heavy angst, child abuse, childhood neglect, reader is a brat in the beginning, reader is assumed to be a person of color…

TOTAL WORD COUNT — tbd…

BEFORE YOU READ — the reader is mentioned to be a third year at jujutsu tech, and i completely understand the ages and time line don’t add up, but for the sake of creativity, let’s all just pretend it makes sense and ignore the age inconsistencies. <33 thank you!! <33

PREVIEW —

The rhythmic buzz of the cicadas and the sweltering humidity of the summer air marked the beginning of summer and the end of… everything. Satoru could feel the material of his pants begin to stick to his legs the longer he sat on the rotting wooden bench. The train tracks before him were rusted and old; they had weathered the storm of time and had the marks to prove it. These tracks were the end. The led you to the beginning. All Satoru had to do was wait.

—

“Maybe it was because I knew she would always come back to me. Maybe I was testing her love for me. Maybe I wanted to push her away before she pushed me away.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“There’s a lot of regret.”

Satoru could still feel the weight of that nostalgic love and regret in his stomach. It has buried itself so deep within him, he’s hardly sure anything would make it go away. The woman next to him looks different now; youthful, free. Satoru wants that. But does he deserve it?

I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME [MASTERLIST]

— CHAPTER ONE: “He Doesn’t Know I Learned it From Him.”

Gojo Satoru, in all aspects, is a God reborn. He holds the world and its universes in the palm of his flaming hand; unknowingly burning everything he holds dear.

— CHAPTER TWO: “I Was a Girl Gulping a Woman’s Grief.”

With an emotionally distant mother and a father plagued with a god complex, there weren’t many people you could look up to. maybe, you have to look down.

— CHAPTER THREE: “Do You Believe Me When I Tell You I’m Trying to be Better?”

With tensions at an all-time high, it’s hard to ignore what has gone neglected for so long. Dams are broken and feelings are hurt, but if there’s one thing everyone knows, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything. But does she know that?

— CHAPTER FOUR: “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

There is nothing more heroic than the sacrifices made by a mother. But what is born of those sacrifices made? Virtue? Honour? Strength? You knew the answer to that question all too well: Guilt.

— CHAPTER FIVE: “Desperation Sits Heavy on my Tongue.”

You and your father are more alike than either of you are led to believe. He doesn’t reach. You don’t beg. Where does the tension snap?

— CHAPTER SIX: “Through Heaven and Earth, I Alone am the Honoured One.”

Hymns were sung at his birth and prophecies were written for his future, in all aspects, Gojo Satoru was a god reborn. But who is a God to a little girl searching for her father?

[bonkhrnyjail]

sweet plum | chapter six

masterlist | pinterest | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

summary: the last of us wrap party is tonight, and the tension between you and pedro can no longer be ignored…

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: alcohol consumption, mild sexual content

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR THE LOVE ON CHAPTER FIVE omg. i’m kicking myself for not posting this fic on tumblr sooner! pls enjoy chapter six and feel free to not analyze what our lovely reader’s actions might say about me as an author or my relationship to conflict <3 love y’all.

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You’ve been avoiding Pedro like the fucking plague.

Sixty missed calls. Even twenty texts, and off the top of your head you can't remember the last time he actually texted you. The calls became less frequent as the weeks passed, but he still tries at least once every day. You silence them every time.

The day you kissed him, he tried to call you ten times in a row, unbeknownst to you. You had thrown your phone across the living room the second you made it through the door and laid completely catatonic on your bed until your roommate got home.

“Babe, you’ll never guess who I saw last night— Are you good?” she inquired nonchalantly as she entered your room to find you face down in your mound of stuffed animals.

Droplets began to prickle the corners of your eyes as you let out a muffled groan in response. Your mouth wasn’t capable of words, the fat, dry lump in your throat stubborn and unyielding, forcing you to clench your teeth around nothing. A hand landed softly on your shoulder.

“Woah, hey,” she started to rub your arm up and down as a full body sob rippled through you. "Talk to me."

You looked up at her, tears rolling fast and hot down the apples of your cheeks, and threw yourself into her chest.

“I- I- I did something st-stupid,” you managed between sobs. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she tried to reassure you gently, smoothing down your hair. “Unless you accidentally shaved some of Pedro’s hair off or something. I’m sure he’d forgive you anyways, though.”

You tried to form words against the sobs clawing their way out of your chest.

“Bad, Abby. Like, r-really bad.”

“Well shit. What’s the damage?” she spoke somewhat brashly, which was nothing new when it came to her attempts at being gentle. “Do I have to kill somebody? ‘Cause I will, I've been playing a lot of first person shooter, I can handle it.”

Laughter overtook your cries, although whatever sounds were coming from your throat were a horrifying mixture of both. Abby chuckled at the sound. You continued like that for a while, laughing and crying and laughing again, until the tears finally stopped.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she blurted as a soberness enveloped her tone. “I’m sure I can come up with a solution. You know I’m crafty.”

“Do you know how to erase memories?” you mumbled as you sat up straight. “That’s the only solution I can think of.”

“No… but I own a bat. Blunt force trauma is a pretty surefire solution.”

“Jesus… not to Pedro.”

“Did you, like, shit yourself or something?” she blundered, immediately biting down on her lip after the words left her mouth. “Sorry, no, this is serious. Serious time.”

You let out a gargantuan sigh as you stared fervently into your lap.

“... I kissed him.”

“You WHAT?” she grabbed your shoulders and shook you aggressively. “YOU WHAT?!”

“I—”

“WHAT? HOW? WHEN?” she shrieked, piercing the hell out of your eardrums.

“I kissed him, on the lips, on the doorstep.” 

“ON THE DOORSTEP?!” she flailed her arms, slapping your shoulders in the process. “AND I MISSED IT?!”

“You’re hurting me.”

“WAS IT GOOD? IS HE A GOOD KISSER?”

“Can we use our inside voices?”

“FUCK— ok, sorry,” she mellowed, blowing air through raspberried lips. “Why are you so upset? I thought you wanted this to happen!”

“I... I did. And didn’t. It’s complicated,” you babbled through your frustration. “I just… kissed him. I didn’t think, or ask, and I can’t take it back.”

“Well, did he kiss you back?”

“Uh… I...” you muttered hesitantly. "I think so."

Abby sprung from your bed, squealing and dancing as her fists punched awkwardly into the air. The sight alone made you cackle.

“OK- so, what happened after that? Did he confess his love to you?” 

“Jesus christ… no, that’s not what happened,” you groaned. “I sorta... ran away.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Oh god, please don’t kill me,” you whined. “I didn’t know what to do, I only realized what I had done after I had done it and I fuckin' panicked. He tried to grab my hand but I ran inside as fast as I could.”

“Dude, you have got to be kidding me,” her tone went flat, eyes laced with disappointment. “Where's your phone?”

“I don’t know, I threw it across the living room when I got up here. I was kinda freaking out.”

Abby immediately jumped off of the bed and started toward the door to your room, despite your insistent pleas to leave it be. She came storming back inside moments later.

“10 missed calls. 10 MISSED CALLS,” she pointed aggressively to your lock screen displaying the missed notifications. “Look, he even texted you.”

You snatched the phone out of her hand, shoving it under your pillow. “I can’t… I can’t right now.”

“If he didn’t want this, he wouldn’t call you that many times, and he definitely wouldn't have kissed you back," she trailed off for a moment, some sort of realization sparking behind her eyes. "Wait, did he get you those flowers on the kitchen counter?”

“I- yes. Just because I helped him out today last minute.”

“No, not because you helped him out last minute. Flowers from a man mean one of three things. Number one, congrats. Number two, condolences. And number three, please have sex with me.”

“Jesus,” you giggled. “And what does it mean if he brought me a coffee too?”

“Your usual?”

“...Yes.”

“Please have sex with me and be my wife forever and ever.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped back into your pillows, covering your face with your hands and groaning. Abby sat with you for a while, but eventually gave up, knowing damn well that you're to stubborn and you'd make your own decisions regarding the whole situation. She knew she never stood a chance to change your mind anyways.

The days passed, slowly at first, but eventually you found your way back to a steady rhythm. You went to work, saw your friends, read a lot, and spent practically zero time on your phone. Impressive how avoidance managed to cure your social media addiction. 

You'd pushed it out of your head that you’d have to see Pedro in a few weeks. Then the weeks turned to a week, then to a few days, then to a day.

You woke up this morning and it all came crashing down.

The wrap party is tonight. Then the premiere tomorrow. Everyone is going. You couldn’t get away with skipping it if you tried. Bella would probably storm into your apartment and drag you out by the hair.

You haven’t even told Bella about the kiss.

You end up lying in bed for hours, watching video after video on Youtube to silence your racing thoughts. You had set an alarm on your phone earlier to remind you when to start getting ready, and it frightens the hell out of you, jolting you from a groggy haze of half-sleep. You curse under your breath and roll lazily onto your feet, your blankets crumpling to a pathetic-looking pile on the floor. 

You power up your speaker and choose some music, an upbeat and catchy playlist to try and redirect your energy. The upside in all of this is that you can get all dolled up. It gives you an excuse for extensive self-pampering and wearing outfits that mostly collect dust in your closet. 

An everything shower is an understatement of what you have planned. You have your products lined up, various scrubs, masks, body washes, etc, and a fresh razor sitting right beside them. You crank the faucet on, just a hair below the boiling point, and step into the tub.

The steam coats your lungs as you inhale deep, the sudden sensation of the water colliding with your skin sending a stark chill down your body. As you close your eyes, leaning your head back and letting your hair fall into the steady stream, your focus slips to a corner of your mind, the pesky corner that you've tried desperately to keep locked away. Because once the thoughts start, it’s damn near impossible to wrangle them back in.

The fantasy is vivid. You can almost feel Pedro’s hands in your hair, massaging shampoo slowly and intentionally from behind you. He’s close, his bare body pressed to your back, his skin hot and pulsing against yours. He leans you back to rinse the product from your hair, pressing a small kiss to your forehead as he squeezes your shoulder softly. 

“Mmmm,” he hums, trailing languid, open-mouth kisses across your cheek and down your neck. “My sweet plum.”

A faint voice in the back of your mind is shouting wildly, trying to stop the scene from playing out in your head, but it's not enough to break through the noise.

He runs his hands down the front of your body, gently tracing your curves and valleys, finger-painting your skin with adoration. Your head falls back into him as his kisses grow deeper, longer, more desperate, him hardening against you as his gentle caresses turn to needy grasps. 

“Let me… please,” you whisper into his ear, snaking your hand behind you and running your palm against the underside of his shaft. His body presses harder into yours as he lets out a soft grunt of approval directly in your ear, the vibration of it surging straight to your core.

A jolt of cold water shocks your body, tearing you from your fantasy. You come to and find yourself leaning against the wall of the shower, your ass having knocked the knob to the coldest setting. 

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath, cranking the control back to where it was and reaching for your overpriced shampoo bottle. 

You go through the motions of the rest of your shower, losing yourself in the music and singing along as you always do. Shower concerts have been your most recent replacement for the therapy that you can't quite afford.

You paint your toes, your leg hoisted up precariously on the counter and torso bent over to reach as your fuzzy robe dangles from your hips. You choose an eggplant purple, matching the accents in your dress. The press-ons that you found are a damn-near perfect match to this color, with a swirling design decorating the tips of the almond shape. 

The dress is more of a dainty feminine than you typically go for. You generally gravitate towards sultry colors and styles, but the cut of this dress instantly drew your attention. A plunging neckline with miniscule gold buttons decorating the front. Beneath the bust, a sheer panel with corset boning outlines the waist, and the remainder of the skirt flows heavily, the hem sitting perfectly at your ankles. It reminds you of a Free People style dress, but in your size. Hallelujah.

With a feel-good playlist booming through your speaker, your makeup goes on quick and easy. A thick, black wing smoked out with a deep purple and a subtle, black cherry sheer lip. Everything else you keep fairly light and natural, letting the boldness of the eye do the talking.

You pull your hair up into a bun, making sure the dress is the center of attention. You leave a few, short pieces out and curl them, creating the sense of a haphazard version of a Victorian era updo. After donning some simple gold jewelry and your Mary Janes, the outfit is complete. You throw on an oversized brown blazer just to keep you warm, but you’ll likely take it off the moment you get to the party.

Your uber arrives moments later, somehow exactly as you descend the stairs outside your building. Your driver, an older man named Mario, gets out and shakes your hand as he introduces himself and his very nice BMW named Maria.

You've never met anyone quite this aggressively Italian.

The good-natured man even asks if you'd like to pick the music for the ride. You choose something that you hope the both of you will like: ABBA.

“This was popular when I was your age!” he gushes, the gravel and rasp in his voice more audible than the actual pitch. 

“ABBA is absolutely timeless,” you chime, adding a few more songs to the queue.

You chat the whole ride there, his jovial presence somehow working away some of the knots of anxiety in your stomach. He asks all about your work, thankfully steering clear of who you work with, and even prodding you for styling tips for his “thick and unruly” curls. 

He pulls up to the entrance, stopping near a hoard of your coworkers from the crew crowded amongst the steps to the double doors. You exchange goodbyes with Mario and slide out of the car into the brisk air, your blazer draped over your shoulders and doing a very ineffective job of retaining any of your body heat. You hear a shriek of joy emerge from the blob of people in front of you, followed by your name in the same cadence. Most of the heads you can see turn to face you, arms reaching out for hugs and smiles as far as you can see. 

You’re going to make this a good night. No matter what.

.   .   .   .   .

It’s significantly warmer inside the venue, so you decided to drop your jacket at the coat check. It’s much more crowded than you expected, but then again, everyone was invited. Some of your friends from makeup even made the trip from New York to be here. Since you’ve never been to one of these before, jokes keep getting thrown around along the lines of “Baby’s first wrap party!" and you losing your wrap party virginity. The group dynamics from the days on set settle right back into a rhythm, your place as the baby of the group still yours for the taking. You don’t mind the coddling, as it seems to help keep your mind off of the inevitable. 

There’s a slurry of waiters dipping and dodging amongst clusters of bodies, hors d'oeuvres and drinks displayed gorgeously on shiny golden platters. Someone’s arm is dragging you towards the open bar across the dance floor, where a herd has already begun to form. A slew of voices and faces pass you by as you travel swiftly through the crowd, and you’re unable to make out anything distinct amongst the clamor.

Until you hear his voice.

That familiar boom of laughter, crisp and thunderous, crystal clear amongst the hundreds of noises up against it. You immediately whip your head around to locate the source, forgetting your hand is in the grips of your friend and nearly snapping her limb off in the process. She lunges forward into you, nearly knocking your hors d’oeuvres plate from your hand and garnering the attention of several people surrounding you.

You somehow stumble back to balance and a very attentive waiter quickly swipes the mostly finished plate from your hands. The swiftness of everything is making you dizzy, sounds and sights swirling in the warm glow of the gorgeous chandelier decorating the space above you. With every turn of your head, the crowd in front of you shifts to blurry outlines of colors and shapes, like ink bleeding from the hard lines where people should begin and end. 

Suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing your organs to a pulp.

“Who-” you look down to see two small hands with black painted nails. “Is that my Bellie?”

A head pops into your peripheral with a wide, toothy smile. You let out a little shriek as your arms envelop them and squeeze, lifting them off the ground a bit with the sheer force of it.

“I missed you so much—'' you pause, taking in their presence once more. “Look at you! You look amazing!”

“I look amazing?” They toy gently with the skirt of your dress. “You look amazing!”

You embrace once more, the excitement of seeing them in person completely overriding your ability to control the gleeful noises escaping your body. They pull away, your hands still gripping each other’s elbows.

“Have you seen P? I know he’s already here,” they pull their phone out of their back pocket, his location pulled up on Find My Friends. 

“Oh, uh… I— I haven’t yet,” you hear your voice quickly morph into a downbeat tone against your will. 

“Uh oh,” they blurt. “Why is your face doing that? Did something happen?”

“I- uh…” you stumble over a sad attempt at words, muttering unintelligible syllables. “Well—”

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt as he appears through a sliver in the crowd.

And, god, he looks handsome as ever. A nice, nice white suit clings ever so perfectly to his muscular, statuesque frame. The collar is folded neatly against his strong, thick neck, a few subtle veins protruding softly from his caramel skin. His dimples are on full display as he throws his head back with laughter, the little heart-shaped patch in his beard perfectly prominent. 

Bella follows your gaze until they see him. They call out his name and wave him down on their tiptoes. He immediately clocks the voice, and you watch as the small smile on his face spreads to a wide grin. He excuses himself from his current conversation and starts towards your direction.

Your stomach drops. You quickly survey around you to find that there is no clear escape, there are clusters of people surrounding you on each side and no pockets that you could gracefully slip into to weave your way through the crowd. For better or worse, you’re trapped.

He quickly scoops Bella into a bear hug, his arms enveloping their small frame in it's entirety. He spins them around, their feet dangling, hovering just above the floor. You stand there, frozen, little bunches of your dress clumped up in your tight, fidgeting fists. The fabric rolls between your thumb and forefinger, a haphazard attempt at soothing the anxiety surging through your veins.

It takes him a minute to acknowledge your presence, and with every second that passes, your urge to bolt revs in your belly.

Once his gaze meets yours, a soft, forgiving smile paints across his lips. You force the corners of your mouth upwards, attempting to create what hopefully appears like an expression of joy. Hopefully.

“Hi.”

It comes out more like a sigh when he says it, like it’s been pounding at his chest, just waiting to be released. His hand lays flat on his abdomen as he taps his pointer finger repeatedly. The muscles in his neck flex, creating movement in the collar of his shirt.

He’s nervous. You know him well enough to know that, and you know you’re likely not hiding your true state very well either. He knows you just as well.

You try to respond.  The air you've been holding prisoner in your lungs tumbles out, catching in your throat.  A feeble, "H-hi," is all you can manage.

“You look…” his eyes wander your body, your face, your hair, his lips parted ever so slightly. “You look lovely.”

The statement reverberates in your mind until you hear a distant call of your name. A quick turn of your head finds your favorite hairstylist waving you down.

“I—” you swallow and start over. “Thank you. Thanks. I—, sorry, I gotta—” you motion toward your destination with your thumb before decidedly turning and slipping through the crowd, a copious amount of polite little statements slipping off your tongue in order to get out of sight and away from him.

.   .   .   .   .

“So… what the fuck was that?” Bella states gruffly, sitting opposite of you at a small high top table, tucked away in a quieter room off of the main ballroom. “That was, like, painful.”

You let out a small groan, knowing you’d have to tell them at some point, but dissenting the fact that the time for that confession seems to be right this very second.

“I kinda… I fucked things up between us.”

“I doubt that,” they say reassuringly.

“No, seriously, I—” you stop yourself mid-sentence to catch your breath. “I kissed him, Bel.”

They let out a satisfied chuckle.

“Well thank god. It’s about goddamn time.”

“No, no you don’t understand,” you babble. “I kissed him without thinking, realized what I did, and ran.”

“Ohhhh my g—” they blow a raspberry. “Ok. Well. When was this?”

“Like… a month ago?”

“A month?!”

“I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Jesus christ… I’m assuming he’s tried to call you, yes?”

“Pretty much every single day since it happened,” your words come out more sigh than pitch.

Bella rubs their temples, an incomprehensible expression on their face.

“Gosh, it feels like mom and dad are fighting.”

That makes you snort laugh, to your own surprise.

“Well clearly he’s not angry at you. And you can’t avoid him forever,” they reason, their bluntness somehow comforting, unraveling the little knot sitting in your gut. “I wish you two would just put all your cards on the table. Worst comes to worst, things don’t work out.”

“I just really don’t want to lose him, Bellie,” you mumble into your drink.

“You will if you don’t talk to him,” they quip right back, eyes stern and decided.

You know they’re right. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you know.

“I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow. Tonight is supposed to be fun.”

“Fair enough. Now, come dance with me.” they hop to their feet and extend a hand.

You take it with a smile, and within a mere second they’re whisking you towards the dance floor.

.   .   .   .   .

You’ve had 3 drinks. Three strong drinks. On a stomach with only a few bite sized hors d'oeuvres to soak up the copious amount of gin in your system. 

And it’s helping, sure. Helping you forget momentarily that Pedro is probably within 100 feet of you at any given moment. Helping your breath move in and out the way it’s supposed to, without catching on threads of worry webbed inside your lungs. Helping to loosen the knots that riddled your body when you got here.

But it’s also making you dizzy. 

Dizzy enough that you’re not quite sure when you end and others begin. It’s all lights and laughter and limbs, filling your senses to the brim. The corners of your vision have a little haze to them, a haze that’s starting to grow inward.

You stumble your way out of the hoard, searching for the nearest corner to tuck yourself away in for a moment. A friend hollers after you, asking if you’re alright.

“I’m good! Just got the spins,” you reassure her. “I’ll be back.”

A little awning reveals itself to you in a narrow sightline through the crowd. You follow the slender gap without a second thought. Once you reach the end, you find a dimly lit hallway with an emergency exit sign illuminating a sturdy black door. You steady yourself on a railing and lean your weight into the wall, your head bowed slightly and shoulders rounded.

The pattern on the carpet sways in your vision as you let yourself hang for a moment, releasing tension from your upper body and pushing your feet firmly into the floor as some attempt at grounding. After a moment, you decide to take your shoes off in hopes it will inspire your body to feel more “at one with gravity”.

The sound of booming bass still accosts your ears, but more muffled now, and the sound waves flow through you, perfectly in time with the beating of your heart. It isn’t until your name is spoken the third time that you really hear it.

Your eyes shoot up to find Pedro, a worried, scrunched brow on his face and a bottle of water in his hand. 

“Oh- um…” you stammer. You continue to fight for the right words, any words, until he cuts you off.

“Drink this,” he twists the cap and gently places the bottle into your right hand. “I haven’t seen you take a sip of water the entire night. No wonder you’re dizzy.”

A moment of confusion clouds you, but you quickly remember that you shouted over the blaring music for all to hear of your current state. Your voice can be quite head-turning with a lack of inhibition. You obey his word and take a swig from the bottle, the crisp, cold water relentless against your sensitive teeth. The temperature is a visceral opposite to the flush of your face, causing you to furrow your brow slightly as it travels down your esophagus. 

He lets out a chuckle as he scans your expression.

“Cold?”

You produce an affirmative grumble and try to pass the bottle to him, but he gently pushes it back towards your chest. 

“Have some more.”

Your eyes flutter under the softness of his gaze. You try to gulp down the dry seed in you throat.

“Pedro, I—”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“Bella told me I have to talk to you,” you admit, your chin tucked and stare driving into the carpet, whispering in a way that sounded more like you were reminding yourself than telling him.

It makes him laugh, releasing that sweet, boisterous sound and it's accompanying smile you missed so dearly.

“Taking orders from Bellie now, eh?”

“They can be a bit militant when push comes to shove, to be honest,” a puff of air passes through your nose as a smirk tugs at your lips, your eyes glued to the floor. "'Specially if I'm being an idiot."

You take a few more sips of water and Pedro shifts to stand beside you, kicking his foot up with his back flat against the wall. Neither of you speak, only the sounds of your breath filling the space between you. 

You both inhale at the same time, as though you are both about to speak. 

“F—sorry, y-you go,” you gulp, though your mouth is bone dry.

He lets his exhale escape through puckered lips, and you watch as his hiked up chest deflates. His hand sits flat against the first button of his suit jacket as he thumbs at the lapel.

“I’ve spent the past month in agony, you know.”

You gaze up at his face, his eyes fixed on the glint in his freshly-shined shoes. He rolls his bottom lip through his teeth nervously, the hue of the skin shifting from an off-white to a bitten pink as it’s released from the grip.

“Missing you…” he spoke softly. “Wanting to talk to you…”

Guilt spreads like a wildfire, scalding your throat.

“Pedro, I— I am so s—”

“Wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.”

The words kick the air from your lungs, your lips parting to make way as the muscles in your jaw give out entirely. He turns to face your visage, and you find his painted with an expression of pure yearning. His eyes have a sparkle to them, but not of joy. It’s more like a heat, a burning that seems almost painful to endure. The thick, inescapable tension wraps itself hermetically around your neck.

“I— You didn’t even give me a chance to kiss you back.”

Before you can even process the words, the clinking of glasses sounds in the distance. Through the muffled shouting you hear a strained attempt at organizing a drunken group photo.

“We should probably…” you floppily gesture towards the ballroom, the alcohol seemingly turning your bones a bit soft and pliable. “Can we talk about this after the party? I'd like to be a little more sober if I can help it.”

“Right, uh—” he adjusts his tie slightly, insecurely clearing his throat. “After the party. I can do that.”

“I promise,” you assure, though you’re acutely aware that he has very little reason to trust you, considering you avoided him for almost a month straight. You reach for his hand, the one that’s still fidgeting with his jacket, hopeful your touch will convey your sincerity in a way that your words can’t.

He smiles, somewhat forcibly. and offers his arm.

“Shall we?”

You make your way back to the crowd, observing with a small chuckle as a few people with phones in hand attempt to herd people left and right, trying to create some semblance of a formation. The two of you slip into the hoard easily, gliding right into a perfect little cranny to the left of the pointed cameras.

Pedro slides his arm around your waist as you pose, and you’re certain he can feel your raging pulse thumping through every vessel beneath your skin.

“Ok, now a funny one!” says one of the photographers.

You turn to each other, smiling and searching for an idea. Drunken and foolish, you take his arm and pretend to bite it. 

He lets out a hearty laugh before leaning into the “scene”, his face mocking an expression of terror. You have to stifle your giggles with an open mouth, which results in a strange, almost strangled sound escaping you. It only encourages his laughter, which encourages yours, and droplets form at the crest of your eyes as you wait for the signal to drop the pose.

“Got it!” someone blurts across the ballroom.

“Sorry about that,” you guide his arm back to his side, giving it a gentle pat into place. “These hors d'oeuvres just made me hungrier.”

You laugh at your own joke, snorting on the inhale, and you look up to see his smile, wide and gleaming, the bounciest part of his cheeks sporting a salmon-pink hue. 

A distant voice calls for Pedro, hollering something about an actors-only picture, and he turns his head to find the source. You grab his hand before he starts towards them.

“Call me, ok? After the party,” you gently squeeze at his wrist. “I promise I’ll answer this time.”

He nods, his sickly sweet smile punctuated with picture-perfect dimples. He turns his back to you and weaves his way through the crowd. 

.   .   .   .   .

You finally made your way out of the coat check line after a grueling twenty minutes of needing to pee but not wanting to give up your spot in line. You’re standing outside the entrance now, the brisk air nipping at your bare ankles. You idly pull out your phone to find two text notifications from Pedro.

The first is an address, with a unit number. Los Angeles. You recognize the street name.

The second message reads:

I just got home. Buzz me when u get here. :) 

You almost start to skim through the unread messages he’d sent you since that night, but you’re quickly derailed by another buzz.

Pedro Pascal sent you $100. Description: for your ride.

You laugh out loud, amused by his overestimation of the price, but nevertheless stunned by his unfailing thoughtfulness. You start towards the stairs, your nerves burning and buzzing, entirely uncertain and out of control of what the evening holds.

. . . . .

[prettyboykatsuki]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SHARPEN YOUR TEETH (AND BITE AS HARD AS YOU WANT) | WYLL RAVENGARD

☾ tags ; SPOILERS FOR ACT ONE AND TWO OF BG3, gn + afab!reader, werewolf!reader, selunite cleric!reader developing relationship, canon typical violence, mild gore / blood, mutual pining, heat cycles, scent kink, oral (f + m!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, petnames (starlight, my love, my heart), lots of referring to reader as a dog / mutt / puppy, messy sex, reader has body hair / pubic hair, soft top wyll, a single pregnancy joke, 18+ MDNI

☾ wc ; 21.8k (????)

☾ a/n ; h...hello wyll nation. local deranged man here to offer this politely and run away. i dont really know what happened here. this was really just meant to be porn about a scent kink and uhm. well

i dont know if i wrote this fic as much as it used my physical vessel as a way to escape. it just sort of occured. im rarely nervous to post fic for a character but this is my first time doing a real wyll fic and bg3 fandom as many people i respect. so please be kind.

anyways. the embracing of monstrosity vs the rejection of it. so on and so forth. hope u enjoy. also banner is from slime isekai anime.

☾ synopsis ; there's a werewolf at camp. nothing new. wyll is growing increasingly fond of them. very new.

ao3 link for reading | spotify playlist.

The violent tearing sounds of teeth ripping through the flesh pulse and echo through the night air. 

Blood sprays onto the furred creature responsible for it. All else grinds to a halt, the gnats and fireflies silent in awe as sharp claws crush through bone. Wyll can hear the sound of his own blood pumping as his eyes watch the massacre, hand drawn on his rapier. He looks over through the rest of his party 

They remain just as awestruck. Astarion stands breathlessly. Shadowheart slinks into her namesake, eyes closed and trembling in the dark. 

But Wyll watches, eyes fixed on the bloodshed. On the violence. The realization dawns on him too late that one of his party members is missing. You’re missing. He stares back at the creature, underneath the moon - silently slaughtering every last of their opposition until the battle field is left in a field of crimson. Death plagues every inch of dirt to the naked eye. 

A whimper sounds. Followed by the sound of skin and bones retracting and moving back into place. 

Where a werewolf once was is your naked form. Sat on your knees and bent over your body with tears at the corners of your eyes. Just your ears and tail remain, your mouth and hands covered in a thick layer of blood. You sniffle, the only light left to illuminate you ritual candles and moon as you turn your head back to your party. 

“Uhm,” Your voice is coarse, thick with exhaustion and tears. Wyll stares at you in awestruck silence “We should probably talk.” 

_ 

“So,” Gale’s voice and the obvious exasperation in it is enough to make Wyll feel sorry for you. You’re sitting at the campfire, finally clothed - with a blanket around your shoulder and Astarion tending to your wounds. “We have a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a werewolf, and a githyanki. Anything else we need to check off before we apply for a tent at the circus?” 

Karlach takes the empty seat next to you, wanting to wrap her hand around the fluffy base of your tail and frowning when she realizes she can’t. Your ears are folded down, the corners of your eyes still wet with tears. You lean into Karlach’s heat, just enough to feel it. 

 The air is cool, thick with the scent of dirt and smoke. The campfire licks with light flames, surrounded by half cut logs for extra seating. You, Astarion, and Karlach crowd on a single half - draped with an extra bedroll for cushion. 

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Gale,” Karlach says, glancing over at you “It’s hardly like they’re a threat to us. I mean.. look at them.” 

Your frown deepens as you hang your head in shame. 

“I thought we were past this, no? I mean we’ve all already been honest with each other so far. It’s a little late to be keeping something like this a secret is it not?” 

“That’s true,” Wyll interjects, standing next to Gale across from the three of you - staring at your curled up form with sympathy. “I really don’t understand why you hid it for this long. Surely, you could’ve told us earlier?” 

Your voice is weak and unusually frail. “The opportunity never presented itself.” 

“You could have mentioned it when Astarion told us he was a vampire?” Wyll suggests. 

“I didn’t want to steal his thunder, you know? Felt a bit rude, really.” 

Astarion laughs, clearly wanting to laugh himself into hysterics but having enough tact not to do so. “Not a thing in that head of yours aside from our parasite, is there darling? But you know, I’m quite delighted by this revelation.

“Really?” 

“Now we’ve got two monsters at our camp as opposed to just one! Evens out the playing field, in case things go south.” 

“I’m not a monster,” You murmur, pouting. “And I don’t think you are either, for the record. I’m just a shifter. And my goddess is kind.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Gale asks somewhat bitterly.

“Selune,” Shadowheart pipes up this time, for the first time since your arrival back to camp. Emerges from her own tent in the corner like a ghost. Her arms are crossed, brows pinched into a tight face of displeasure “She has a network of werewolves in her ranks. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

You look up at her saddened, like a kicked puppy for lack of a better word, casting your gaze away from hers. Shadowheart looks ferocious, her appearance locked onto your pitiful form with a familiar angry smolder. Wyll can’t decide if you’ve done anything so grand as to earn her ire, even if you’re a Selunite werewolf. Though, given all that Wyll knows about her, that may as well be the greatest sin of all.

Your voice is tiny and high-pitched as you play with your hands in your lap “I didn’t intend to hide it from you but y-yes. I don’t bear any hatred towards you or other Shar followers, but uhm, well, I didn’t think you’d be very happy about it. A-and then, well you know, back in the grove you mentioned you hated wolves so, I just… planned on never shifting.” 

“You have control over something like that?” Wyll inquires. You nod, not looking up at him. 

“I was born as a werewolf, not turned. So the moon doesn’t affect me in the same way it would someone who was turned and I have more control over when it happens. I can shift in and out. Usually no problem but when I’m caught off guard like that,” You lift your tail and swing it from side to side as if to emphasize the point “Sometimes I mess it up.” 

“Chk. What a waste of ability. Think of how many we would’ve slaughtered had we known from the start.”

Wyll looks around. Everyone has gathered now, standing around the fire. 

“A werewolf… I know little of them. Wild shape magic is vastly different. I hope your condition does not cause you too much trouble. Or us, for that matter.” Halsin adds apologetically. 

“I didn’t intend for it to come out this way,,” You mumble pitifully. Shit, he really can’t help but feel bad. “I really did fully plan on keeping it to myself until the end. But, well, we were desperate. And I didn’t want to see anyone die,” 

“Given our circumstances, I think it would be amiss to scold you for your bravery,” Wyll supplements, trying to ease your worries. He does mean it. Regardless of what happened, you did save everyone. “Plus, we’ve all kept secrets here.” 

“Exactly right, soldier. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” 

“Wow, what sort of double standard is this? When I came out as a vampire, you people couldn’t stop talking about how afraid you were I was going to bite you!” Astarion says with an exaggerated frown. You smile at him weakly. 

Wyll gives him a disbelieving look. “Well you’re not exactly subtle about wanting to suck our blood, are you Astarion?” 

Astarion huffs. “Everyone here is so unfair.” 

Wyll laughs goodnaturedly, his eyes turning back onto you. He examines you in silent thought, his mind sifting over your last few months together. 

After Gale gets over his initial frustration, his curiosity gets the better of him. He rejoins everyone—across from you on an empty log and Wyll joins along with them. Shadowheart and Lae-zel come too, as does Halsin. 

Around the campfire, Gale pulls a book and quill from his tent before making himself comfortable. 

“Well since we’ve all made up, I am a little curious about your condition.” He admits. A very Gale thing to do, Wyll thinks. 

“I don’t mind any questions.” You reply gently. “It’s the least I can do.” 

The whole camp softens at your display. Surprisingly, Shadowheart is the first to ask a question.

“Is it more comfortable for you…in your wolf form?” 

You seem taken aback.. Though it dawns on you quickly why she would be asking that specifically. 

“Ah, kind of? My humanoid form is also me but it feels… limiting at times.” 

“Limiting?” 

“Eating meat without my  canines is a pain in my ass. Same with not being able to express myself with my ears or tail. I like traveling on my paws depending on the terrain.” You say, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me though mostly,” 

Gale’s quill hitting the paper makes a loud scratching sound. Astarion has a snarky comment about it that Wyll misses. He’s too preoccupied with other things. 

Hoping that you don't feel too badly about all this, for example. 

“Does it affect your daily life in any way?”  

“I don’t think so? I don’t know. It’s always been like this, so there’s nothing that different to me. I do notice how different I am around humans maybe,” You say, before perking up. You’ve just remembered something important. “Oh, but there is one thing.” 

“What is it?” Wyll asks. 

“My senses are much much sharper than other peoples. My sense of smell, especially.”

___ 

You remain together. Despite the mess.  Somehow. 

With this parasite in mind, and nothing left to lose - it’s better to stay together. Now that there are no important secrets kept hidden, the vibe is much more relaxed. The impending doom adds a layer of familiarity too. Wyll has often traveled with bands of strangers, but never for so long and with so many. 

It gives him a sense of familiarity. Home. What a foreign word. 

He thinks a lot of it is your contribution. They’re your pack, as you say so often. A special one with lots of different sorts of people. And you - you’re loyal to a fault. It helps. You and Karlach are a lot alike, but Wyll would venture to call you a little more tender. It helps fill in the gaps. 

Wyll knows you’re a werewolf but it’s hard not to think of you as a dog in that sense. A different dog to Scratch, maybe. But a dog all the same - with folded ears and a softail and propensity for drooling depending on the way you sleep. 

He’s only really reminded of the fact that you’re part wolf when you use your abilities in battles. It’s your failsafe. You only do it when you think it’s dire, and before that you air on the side of diplomacy. You’re a hunter should the need arise though. Sometimes you don’t transform completely. Where your usual canines are meant to linger in your mouth are a set of teeth too big for it. Instead of hands, sometimes there are soft paws with sharpened nails. 

There are three ways you can transform for that matter. Human, werewolf, or just wolf. Wyll finds these little distinctions fascinating, and more fascinating that you tend to opt for one end of the spectrum or the other. 

Wyll quickly learns some of your physical attributes are the same irregardless of what you look like. The fact you are agile and quick and strong, or the fact you can travel fast on all fours. The fact you like meat, and the fact you whine rather loudly when you’re upset. 

When you’re using your abilities, many would think you a ruthless killer. 

But after everyones cleared from harm, you’ll transform back into your usual human self - naked and covered in blood and frowning. You spit up meat that tastes bad and whine loudly if no one tells you good job.

(That job often falls on Wyll or Shadowheart. Gale or Karlach if they’re traveling with you. Astarion is only kind enough to do it in a semi-mocking way, but Wyll is keenly aware of how sincere his praise can be.) 

In moments like that, you’re just a dog again. A puppy, sometimes. Loyal. And novel, and interesting for many reasons. 

Wyll should expect your loyalty by now. He sees it so often, how unyielding and faithful you always are. To your goddess and to your pack and to whatever else you’ve deemed important to you. 

He should’ve known that you’d probably try to seek him out tonight, after everything that’s happened among all of you. 

He did watch you for a bit at the start. You worked clockwise through all of your companions, stopped in between for stories and gossip. Some of the tiefling kids wanted to see your tail and you’re too good a spirit to tell them no.

Wyll wouldn’t dare hope for you finding him, but he is a little relieved when you do. 

“Wyll! There you are,” 

 Wyll’s eyes snap up.

“Ah, Hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” He says regretfully. 

“Of course I noticed! How could I not notice our very own warlock disappear? It was no party without you.” 

Wyll wonders if you’re being sincere. He hopes you are. The night air is cool as the two of you share space. Away from the party, only sand and rubble between your feet. And a body of water that looks like it could go on forever. 

It’s a full moon tonight. 

“Really? I’m honored,” He peers out into the lake. Suddenly aware of his body, Wyll recoils into himself. The movement is subtle enough to be overlooked. The horns on the top of his head feel especially heavy. The skin pulled around the base of them throbs. It’s not painful, but it is unpleasant. “In truth, I don’t feel a festive mood and I didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.” 

“Is it too intrusive for me to ask?” 

“Not at all,” Wyll assures. Your words are comfortable and soft, concerned without being pitiful. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” 

Wyll can hear his own somber. He doesn’t wince, but it's impossible to ignore. Even explaining himself only adds to his melancholy. He’s quiet for a while, his voice touched with a destitution and irony. And bitterness, maybe. 

You remain still and steady beside him. He can’t tear his gaze away from the endless water, comforted by its vastness. How it generally disregards him and distorts his reflection.

“You don’t want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons you see. And the guests won’t take kindly to scars quite so monstrous.” He jokes, trying to keep his voice light. 

He doesn’t think he succeeds at it. 

Silence once more. Wyll can see you, but your expression is unchanged. Your eyes are clear underneath the ever changing moon. 

“You don’t unsettle me. You never have.” There’s conviction behind your words. They comfort him.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do.” Wyll tells you, and means every word. He tries to brighten up, waving you off. “Don’t let my introspection spoil your night. Off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.” 

He hopes it’s enough to get you to forget about him for tonight. 

When you walk off, Wyll is expecting you to disappear. It’s enough that you’ve checked on him. He would’ve been content with it, left to reflect on his troubles alone. You’ve done something significant with your reassurance. He isn’t so tactless to keep you from celebrating. even when he would maybe want more time with you. 

You return to him though. With a bottle of wine, and a bedroll you spread in the empty sand next to him. You give him an unreadable look followed by a cheeky smile, making yourself comfortable on the ground. 

“Come on. Sit.”

Confused, Wyll sits. You open the bottle of wine with your teeth as a cork and drink from the top before passing it over to him. He takes it from you and stares at the place you’ve just drank from. You start to talk while he debates mimicking you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s less difficult than it is,” You say almost thoughtlessly. Almost. “You’ve lost your body. Yourself. That must be hard.” 

Wyll looks at you, then back at the colored glass of the bottle. He clears his throat. “It is. More than I imagined it to be.” 

“You know, I was born a werewolf. And I had just about the best circumstances a person could have with that in mind. Selune accepts me and my clergy was mostly kind. Still, I heard the word monster a lot from people outside my circle. I could feel the distrust that I incited in outsiders. So, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through,” You say, your legs stretched out far into the sand, past the confinement of a tiny square bedroll “But I do know what it’s like to feel accused when you’ve done nothing wrong. You especially, Blade of Frontiers. I think you’re allowed to grieve the trust it feels like you’ve lost, or might lose. If it’s worth anything, though, I know you’re not a monster.” 

Wyll barely gets a chance to process the words as they come. He wonders if this is what people mean by feeling seen by someone else. “You know?” 

“Damn right I know,” Your response comes without hesitation. The night air blows along his skin, a soft and tender caress. Wyll frowns when you don't elaborate.

“How could you know something like that?” He asks.

“Lotsa reasons. You’re still nice and thoughtful and caring and charming. But, hm, well the most obvious reason is a little more primitive.” You take a deep inhale. “Your scent,” 

“...I’m sorry?” 

Your laugh is bright, and bubbly. 

“Your scent,” You repeat calmly, taking a deep sigh after saying it. “Everyone at camp has a scent. It’s a little abstract, but they change when people change. Shadowheart smells the leaves of black currant and uh, Halsin smells like sequoia wood. Lae’zel smells like black tea and metal. Gale smells like licorice. Astarion smells a lot like applemint. Karlach smells like smoke and star anise,” 

Wyll finds himself both awestruck and amused.

“These are all rather specific,” 

“I’ve always been a bit of a bloodhound so I’ve developed a talent at identifying specifics. It was shitty when I was a runt. Even a trip outside could give me the worst fuckin’ headache, but it got better the more I got used to it.” You give Wyll a glance “Anyways. Scent changes. When someone changes, their scent does too. Moods and days and everything affect it too.” 

“And mine hasn’t changed, is what you’re saying?” 

“No. Not in the way that’d make you different. It’s stronger, but it hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed.” You say quietly, and take a deep breath. “Not to me at least.” 

“You’ve conveniently left out my scent from your description.” Wyll says with fond amusement. He feels reassured. It’s absurd, yet Wyll is so inclined to believe you. “Is it something so awful?” 

You flush, suddenly becoming timid. 

“Yours is… good,” You say simply, and softly. You seem embarrassed to continue. He can’t help but find it so incredibly endearing. “It’s just harder for me to describe. But it’s good. It’s personally my favorite. “ 

You add the last part a little quieter. 

“And it hasn’t changed,” Wyll says more than asks this time. 

“No. Stronger, but the same.” You curl in on yourself, crossing your legs as you turn your head to face him, head tilted towards one side with a smile. “You’re not a devil to me. Just Wyll. And I like just Wyll.”

Wyll feels his chest tight as you lean your head on your shoulder contentedly. He tries not to read it into, hoping you can’t hear how loudly his heart is pounding. He takes a drink from the wine bottle straight, the same place your lips touched moments ago. 

He likes you, too. The words don’t come out right. 

“Yes…I’m,” He’s speechless, hands folded in his lap as he stares at you. “Me too. Our journey together has proved important to me. Thank you.” 

You smile but don’t say anything more.

___

With the goblin camp clear, the journey towards the Shadowfell lands becomes increasingly pervasive. You’ve done more traveling and less resting in the last few weeks than you have thus far in your journey. 

Smoke clouds in the horizon are what draw you to Waukeens rest. 

On your way to the mountain pass, for easy access to the city, lay a massacre of bodies and fire. The distress has far from subsided. The thick smog continues to build, folds into itself like massive heaps of wool - suffocating everything on every path in its surroundings. The smell of ash is invasive, even from a fair distance away. 

Blood trails from one end of the path towards the main entrance. As your party’s distance begins to close in, Wyll feels his lungs fill up with a familiar tightness. The burning air makes his eyes and lungs sting.

“Shit, the fire is still burning. There must still be people in need of aid. We should,” You cough hard as you look at what's in front of you. Eyes squinted trying to make out the horizon. “We should get there and see if we can aid them,” 

Astarion groans “For just one day, could we rest? Leave this nonsense up to the other wandering travelers desperate for recognition? Is that asking so much?” 

“As long as I’m pinning down bodies for you to feed off, you’ve got to listen to me, you know? You laugh warmly at his sarcasm. “Now, If you don’t stop complaining you’ll fall behind, pretty boy, and there’ll be not a thing left for you to suck dry.” 

“I should report you for that, you know. Threats of starvation against the imprisoned violate the law,” 

You laugh a little as you start to make your way forward. The four of you jog towards the entrance of Waukeens rest with urgency, more yours and Wyll’s than Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s.

Among the scenery at the front entrance of Waukeens rest - what concerns Wyll most is not the death. Not the bodies ashen among flame or the flames themselves that continue to widen and encompass. It is that, among those bodies, are members of the Flaming Fist. Past the sour memory of his life comes the worry, the fear. 

What in the Hells are the Flaming Fist doing around this area?

Away from the woman praying over a body, are a small number of Fist’s pushing on the doorway of a locked and burning building. You’re quick to run to it. Wyll barely keeps up. 

Before you can ask about the situation at hand, a Flaming Fist member addresses you and your party. 

“Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside, don’t just stand there - push!” 

Wyll’s voice betrays him, speaking before he has a minute to think. “Ravengard? He’s here?” 

“Yes, now make yourself useful- push, damn it, push!”

Wordlessly from next to him, you gear yourself up and push kick the door in. Strong enough that the wood crumbles to nothing, Wyll watches the doors open wide and the flames that lick at the inside of the building. A cloud of smoke billows out as the Flaming Fist pour in, your party quick to follow in alongside them. 

Through the thickets of smoke and up stairs half-broken, sounds Counselor Florrick's voice from behind the broken door. Maneuvering through ember and broken floorboard, you proceed the same as you did before. Pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the door - you use your foot and kick the door in again, causing it to break nearly instantly. 

Counselor Florrick coughs as she makes her way outside.

“Come. I’m afraid proper thanks must wait,” She says with a heaved breath. It’s too clouded with smoke for Wyll to make anything of her face and Wyll can only assume that is the case both ways. 

Back down through the way you came, you take a deep inhale of smoke and cough. The scent must be nauseating, far too much for you - but you don’t let it show through your face. 

Once everyone has been accounted for outside, Counselor Florrick approaches your party in the broad daylight of the courtyard. It’s there she recognizes Wyll. 

“Hold on,” Wyll says, reaching into his pack. He hands you a sachet of herbs he’d purchased alongside you from a merchant in the goblin camp. “For your nose,” 

You give him a look of surprise, your ears perking up and tails swishing as you take it from him gratefully, holding it up to your nose for a deep breath. 

“Fuck, thank you.” You reply gratefully. Wyll nods in reply.

“Counsellor Florrick - are you alright?” Wyll says first, concern pouring through. Regardless of all else. 

It’s clear right away, the horror in his face once she’s seen what’s become of him. Wyll lets it roll off of his back, the momentary sting not enough to make him flinch. It’s a reminder to start adjusting to what will be one of many. 

Her sympathy is tangible, though it doesn’t make Wyll feel better. 

“Wyll - by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” 

He shakes his head to dismiss the thought.  “A story best left for calmer days. Now breathe deeply, are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.” 

Wyll’s shoulder sag with relief.  She turns to address the Flaming Fist accompanying her. 

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Drow have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard - westward if my eyes and ears can be believed.” She pauses, thinking before giving further instruction “Report to the manip and send for reinforcements. We must find the Grand Duke.” 

“On your command, Counsellor.” The head of the Gauntlet affirms, bowing their head before taking off. 

It’s there that Wyll feels panic. Uncertainty like nothing he’s felt in the last seven years. Maybe longer. No longer a passing thought or a sour memory, concern for his father washes out what might’ve been grief.

“No. It can’t be. You mean, they’ve taken -” 

Counselor Florrick's expression darkens. “Yes, Wyll. The drow have your father.” 

“Shit, what? Wyll, you’re a noble?” You interject for the first time in the conversation. When Wyll turns to you, above all else is concern. He shakes his head.

“The circumstances of my birth are no matter of pride for neither me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. How can we help?.” 

“Rescue Ravengard from his drow captors. Baldur's Gate needs him, now more than ever,” She says, addressing you primarily and Wyll after. She pauses to examine Wyll a second time, like now that she’s out of the smoke she is really looking. 

A passing glance of her brings back memories of a childhood long forgotten. Days spent in courtyards training the sword and waiting for father to finish his duties. An ache starts to form in the cavity of his chest, but Wyll swallows it. 

Where duty calls, it is only common sense the Blade will answer. He holds a fist over his heart and bows. 

“Trust us to see it through, Counsellor.” 

“Who is this Duke Ravengard?” You ask, finally - though it’s not to him. Rather it’s to the Counselor. Wyll wonders if that’s a choice you’ve made on purpose. 

“The invisible force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city’s collapse is certain.” She pauses, looking troubled “I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.” 

“Shit. Then, not to be rude, but why entrust this to me? You have others at your command. More well equipped, I’d imagine,” You ask, bearing no hostility. A fair enough question for you, head of pack, with concerns for everyone else. 

“Isn’t it clear? You travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Who might I trust, if not a legend? Who might rise to the moment, if not Ravengard’s own son?”

You pause to mull over her reply. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, before your focus returns to the Counselor.

“I don’t think the drow have taken him back to Menzoberranzan. More likely they’ve taken the Duke to Moonrise Towers.”  You say tentatively. “Though Hells, I can’t be sure. Goblin’s bein’ here is weird and their affairs are tied together somehow. Plus, the drow we’ve met in this area so far have relations to other cultist bullshit,” 

“I was thinking the same,” Wyll adds. 

“Moonrise Towers? Along the old road? That place is cursed, few could survive there…unless darker forces are at work,” She pauses, taking a moment to assess the situation “This was no random attack, then. The Grand Duke was their target.” 

After more deliberating, you look firmly at the Counselor and nod - a serious promise. 

“Moonmaiden guide us - we’ll head to Moonrise towers and find Duke Ravengard. Though for now, I won’t promise  anything.” 

“Thank you. When the Grand Duke returns to the city, he’ll hail his only son a hero.” She says with a deep breath “Approach the towers with care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow.”

She turns to address him this time “Remember Wyll. ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So father said. I won’t soon forget it.”

“We’ll be heading off now, towards the towers. Take care of yourself.” 

“You too, Counselor Florrick.” 

With that, the Florrick disappears back out into the smoke and open road. Left in the aftermath is the rest of the party, not barring you - and Wyll with nothing but worry. 

Your eyes find Wyll’s with ease, filled to the brim with concern. Wyll casts his gaze away instinctively. 

“Shit,” Wyll swears, unsure of what the reaction from you will be.

“Wyll,” Your voice calls and soothes. Before his response forms in his mouth, he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. In a sudden movement, you lean into him. Even amongst the swallowing heat of fire and ember - Wyll is conscious of your skin. The scrapes and cuts on your fingers raised press against his own. You inhale a long breath and Wyll realizes what you’re doing. It’s confirmation when you pull away and glance at him seriously. “Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?” 

The question itself is exposing. It’s a raw nerve, split open, tender and unhealed. There’s no shame in it. Or maybe there is, always has been - and Wyll has spent nearly seven years outrunning it. This much he knows - he never intended to show you this part of himself.

And he knows that this is not the first time he’s betrayed your trust. You ask Wyll to trust you, and Wyll wants to explain he always has. 

There is no betrayal in your face, no disappointment.

You come to him ready to receive anything. Crystal clear eyes and a sincerity in your heart - there is so much said in so little. 

“I’m sorry. It was never,” He’s struck by grief in a sudden moment. You’re kind, but it goes well beyond just that. “I had no intent to hide it.” 

“But you had no intent to share it either,” You say, your voice soft-spoken and tender. Forgiving, though you don’t make Wyll feel like there’s something he needs forgiveness for. “It’s okay. We’re damn similar sometimes aren't we?” 

When you let go of Wyll, he stares at you. Wide-mouthed and unsure of himself. For a brief moment, his surroundings become blurry. There’s no one else in the party. There’s no smoke. There’s no fire. No ash. For a brief moment, there’s just you - and you’re smiling.  You feel like forgiveness. 

“Florrick spoke true,” Wyll affirms, unsure of what to do with himself. “I am a Grand Duke’s son.” 

“Not just a grand duke - Ravengard has more power and influence than anyone.” Astarion adds. 

“My father and I were close. Once upon a time. Until he disowned me and cast me out of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says with a hardened heart. He’s forgiven his father. He’s spent years rationalizing the choice he made. But he’s reminded in an instant that the wound is still tender. “I can’t tell you more - the pact forbids it. My lips are quite literally sealed.” 

“Okay,” You give Wyll a look, clear and bright. “Then, Wyll - do you want to save your father?” 

He wasn’t expecting that to be your only question. It must show that he’s taken aback, but you remain where you are unflinching. 

“Yes, I—yes. Regardless of our relationship, he remains my flesh and blood.” You press your lips together, an encouraging half smile, prompting him. “And I don’t want him to fall into the hands of Absolutists for any reason. He made me an exile, but I’m not about to let him suffer at the hands of his captors.”

“Alright. Then we’ll save him,” You brush over the weight of that sentence, addressing your other companions. “The only lead we’ve got so far is Moonrise towers, so we’ll stick to our original plans. Visiting the creche and then traveling through the Underdark.” 

Wyll stares at you as you continue to talk, the words feeling like little more than noise. Lost in thought, you let him remain undisturbed. When your eyes meet, you don’t do anything more than grin - fang poking out form underneath your lip. 

And it’s the second time in his life, Wyll feels like you’re seeing something he can’t. Himself, maybe.

__ 

A confrontation with the githyanki and a red dragon later, you return to camp the night of visiting Waukeen’s rest.

When night falls, you join Wyll in his tent. The gesture is innocent. You ask about having a sleepover. Wyll tries to remember there’s nothing but friendship between you. Eventually helets you into the cramped space of his tent. There’s barely enough space for you both, but you manage.

Before bed, you ask Wyll to tell you about himself. Anything he can afford to tell you. For a long while, he talks about being the Blade of Frontiers. But then, when it’s late enough and the gap between you continues to shrink - he talks about his life in the city. It doesn’t happen on purpose. Wyll is hardly so ungentlemanly. It’s unlike him to cluelessly go on and on about himself. 

You just happen to know exactly the right questions. Before Wyll knows it, he’s telling you about all of his escapades. His life as a nobleman's son and escaping to fraternize with lower city youth.

Wyll can’t disclose his pact to you, but he can tell you about the kiss he had at fifteen. He can tell you about the first time he lost a tooth, or describe the well-worn picture of his late mother in his fathers wallet. For a while, Wyll recounts tales of a life he’d thought he’d abandoned. When the words come out, they don’t feel like violence. Don’t coat his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Instead they taste light like memories, and come out just as soft. 

He doesn’t remember when either of you drift off to sleep. 

When morning comes and Wyll finds you still in his tent, he feels the ability to claim plausible deniability drift away from him. 

You mean more to him than he thought. The moment passes to tell you. 

___ 

The journey to the Underdark is never an easy one. 

Underneath the desecrated Selune temple was the beaten path. A long ladder down through a broken Selunite outpost. Not only have you all fought a spectator, a bullete, several hook horrors and an entire beach of duegars - you’ve just slaughtered an Absolutist leader with your bare hands. 

The remaining duegar have fled the scene after a night to recover, leaving Nere’s body for the lot of you to loot. The gnomes have gone too. Wyll tries to hold confidence all of them will make it in one piece. 

The Sovereign had made his request clear, slaughter Nere and bring his head. Wyll has watched you kill and devour several bodies in your time together, but there’s something novel about watching you do it now. A knife, pulled out from your sheath - sharp as it cuts and saws through the flesh. It’s a clean, precise slice. Nothing like you, Wyll thinks fondly. 

He can surmise that it’s because you’re rather fond of the myconid colony. They’re kind to you and you are always fond of those who are kind. In that way you’re easy to appease. But he didn’t know you were capable of this level of care. You tend to be matted and ruddy. Generally messy. 

Wyll likes you that way. 

The head comes off the body unceremoniously. You wrap a cloth underneath the bottom, and tuck it in your pack along some cubes of ice you had Gale make you with magic that morning. 

Wyll only sees the outline of your back. He watches as you stretch your palms out and examine them for blood. When you find none, you turn around with a little tired sigh.

Promptly, you prop yourself onto Shadowheart. Your ear and tails have made a reappearance, your chin resting on her shoulder. 

“I'm tiiiiiiiiired,” You whine, long and drawn out. Your teeth stick out from your lips when you pout, Wyll notices. The heat of the forge and all of the surrounding lava have your skin sticky with sweat. The deep purple of the destroyed Sharran enclave feels out of place among the fires “I don’t want to go to the Shadowfell lands. I won’t. You can’t make me,” 

You’ve picked up a habit of being touchy. You tend to cling to Shadowheart, which Wyll finds ironic. Even with her cold exterior, the half-elf doesn’t push you off when you hug or pester her. You make promises to Karlach you’ll join her for it once her engines all fixed. Lae’zel finds it pointless. Halsin doesn’t mind, and likes to turn into a bear so all the furry creatures at camp can turn into big pile. 

Gale also doesn’t mind, but the wizard usually airs on the side of embarrassment - a faint blush crawling over him whenever you wrap yourself thoughtlessly about him. Astarion pretends to reject it, but willingly pets and scratches you when he feels less combative. Something you happily recieve.

And Wyll… well, it doesn’t bother him. You approach him often enough, and he’d be hard-pressed on a reason to reject you. 

(He ignores the way your touch seems to linger, unsure if he’s seeing things that don’t belong. Wyll is fond of you. Your heart is good - he thinks of you often  but he isn’t so sure that means something. Well it means plenty to him, but what of you? 

You like the sensation of physical affection, he reminds himself Nevermind the times you’ve fallen asleep as a wolf in his lap. Nevermind the occasional naps in his tent, or whines when he’s too busy to pay you mind.)

“You’re not ferocious at all, do you know? More like a drooling mutt than a werewolf,” Shadowheart huffs sarcastically. 

“What I lack in ferocity I make up for in vigor.” You reply with a hum, rubbing your cheek against Shadowheart’s shoulder. “And the situation doesn’t spark any vigor in me. We’ve already been underground this long and next we’re going somewhere even darker.” 

Astarion pipes up, sitting criss-cross onto the marbled floor in one of the few spots free of blood, sorting through his varied belongings and trinkets. “I would figure werewolves and vampires share their love for the darkness, no?” 

“We can’t see the moon well from either place. I need to see the moon to track some things related to my form. I count the phases in my head but if I don’t see it for too long - I start getting homesick like a man at sea.” You whine and huff again, this time peeling yourself off of Shadowheart and throwing yourself onto Wyll. 

He steadies himself enough not to topple over by your strength and weight as you drape yourself across his back. You nuzzle your cheek against him tenderly. It’s different to how you do it to Shadowheart or Astarion (when he’s not adamantly pushing you away.) It’s more tender, closer. Your nose brushes against the nape of his neck. Wyll doesn’t flinch, even at the warmth of your breath. You inhale again and Wyll can hear the swish of your tail.

He pretends to be ignorant of it and doesn’t push you away - instead laughing lightly. 

“Oh, Moonmaiden - let your moon be my light, and I shall let my sword be your shining symbol.” You  recite with a sigh. The words reverberate along his skin.  “Moon my love, you are terribly missed.” 

“Keep your Selunite prayer out of my ears, would you?” 

“Don’t be so moody, my cold blooded Sharran. Our Lady of SIlver is a kind and accepting goddess, so her blessing will extend even to you.” 

Shadowheart crinkles her nose. You laugh noisily next to Wyll’s ear. He smiles softly.

“After we’ve delivered the head to the Sovereign, we can travel back overhead before going into the Shadowfell. That way, you’ve had some time with the moon and we’re able to get in more rest before taking it on,” 

You pull away from him now, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around with a laugh. Wyll looks at you wide-eyed as you grin at him, knocking your foreheads together innocently.

“Ah, what a great idea! If everyone else is on board, then let’s make our way to the Sovereign now and recoup on the surface. We’ll return to Grymforge come mornin’ and head off that way. Is everyone on board with that?” 

You look around for affirmation before resting your gaze on Wyll with a smile. 

Wyll feels his heart tug slightly, returning your smile before averting his eyes. You scamper off to Astarion, attention easily pulled in every which way. Shadowheart saunters towards him. 

“You’re rather obvious, Blade of Frontiers. I thought a folk hero would have a little more suave about these matters.”

Wyll clears his throat. 

“...I don’t know what you’re referring too.” 

Shadowheart laughs good-naturedly. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

___

There are few times you take your proper werewolf form. 

It’s an accommodation thing from Wyll’s understanding. People are frightened less of full wolves or your humanoid forms. The hybridized version of yourself is what people find the most monstrous, and so - you’ve gotten used to putting on the shelf. 

The only time you take that form is when you hunt for meat. It’s easy enough to get ahold of other camp supplies - like liquor or vegetables if they’re lucky. But meat is hard to find, especially hard to find where it hasn’t got spoiled. Astarion hunts only out of necessity, so he’s not really any help. 

You hunt because it’s natural to you. A life of pilgrimage and spent in a Selunite enclave has gifted you the knowledge of preserving meats, too. When you’re camped out near enough forest - you’ll hunt. Most often before a long stretch of travel, you’ll go into the woods alone and disappear - returning with a feast. No one goes with you. In the forest, among fallen trees and soil - you’ll gut and skin the prey. You’ll bring back the final products, clean hides and things to turn to leather and meat ready for curing. It’s to prevent any more unusual bloodshed from occurring at camp. More sanitary, you always say. 

Wyll has no intention of following you tonight while he knows you’re hunting. His interest in the woods is to scope them out one last time before you leave this place for good, keep it in his memory and prepare for the road ahead. 

When he hears the sound of a faint growling, he thinks for a minute you’ve been injured or are in some kind of danger. 

The moon is shining just enough to cast light on your form. He figures out quickly you’re safe.

There’s nothing new to see. Thick, crimson blood makes a mess of your appearance - dripping down your fangs. It sticks and matts in your fur, covering your face in messy splatters. Your werewolf form is your most monstrous. Unnatural limbs and features - a form like a human but the face and ferocity of a wolf. 

In front of you are corpses of animals, bled out and laid in a pile. The scent of blood is so strong Wyll can smell it from a distance away. It’s a distance you’d usually be able to smell Wyll from, but it must be masked by the smell of copper and flesh. 

The moon has waned, nearly to its fullest. You turn yourself towards the black sky of midnight, towards the moon - and you howl. It is a loud, tremendous sound. 

Wyll has never heard you howl before. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life. An elongated melody, deep from your chest - high and throaty. You howl to the sky. You howl to the moon. To your goddess, most certainly. You howl in the version of yourself everyone finds most disgusting. The monster in you is alive and bare-chested to the world. Stood on your two feet, all matted fur and eyes like beams of light - you howl towards the sky.

And Wyll watches. Listens. Commits the sound to memory. 

In the version of yourself that is so embraced by monstrosity, you howl like a song to the moon you so adore.

He’s never found you so beautiful. 

___

Time moves differently in the Shadowfell lands. 

Slower. In every other part of Fae’run, the nights and days don’t blur into each other. But here, in the abandoned and unyielding darkness - everything feels thick. Muddy. The soil that does not dampen, the trees that do not grow leaves. Instead of preserved amber, there is only shadow. It swallows everything, every place in the land. 

The upward battle of survival persists. The Harpers have (barely) welcomed you into the Last Light Inn. Flaming Fist Marcus is dead, and the Moon Maiden has given her her blessing. You’ve even been able to give Karlach her first upgrade. 

The air speaks for itself though, that you’re nearing something important. The beginning of something. Or the end, though Wyll sways towards hope and optimism. 

In the presence of darkness and solace, -Wyll finds that you remain yourself. Bright and clear and comforting, even in the face of impending doom. 

Your camp in the Shadowfell lands is brightened by artificial lights. It spans over more land now. The main area which hosts all of your companions lies at the foot of an abandoned building. An abandoned house, torn by vines of shadowfell and roots. The base of camp is spread over dusty ashen floors, everything colored gray. 

When it’s time to rest, most lights remain on. He finds it’s easier to sleep with Selune’s blessing. 

Tonight, Wyll can't get any rest at all. He’s still awake while his companions have fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the skies. They lack the deep shades of purple of a normal night sky, unmistakably dark.

His eyes remain lidded as he takes a look at his surroundings. Shadowheart is asleep, and Astarion is deep enough in meditation that Wyll doubts he’d noticed if he walked off. Among his companions, you’re missing from your bedroll. 

Wyll sits up as quietly as he can. He looks towards your tent, to see if you’ve woken up to sleep inside - but doesn’t find you there either. His brow tightens, shoulders tense as he blinks rapidly trying to wake himself up. 

There aren’t many places in this camp to go, despite the terrain being wider. The other tent occupants remain in place. From where Wyll stands you’re not with anyone else like Karlach or Halsin. 

There’s only one more place that would leave you.

Through a curve and another straight path are wood stairs. At the top is a skeleton of an old house. One that stood long before the curse, and remains long after. 

Wyll has never gone there on his own. He only saw it once while they’d settled in for the first time. There’s nothing inside of it. A fireplace, a broken cupboard and cabinet. A table and chair, and two old beds that have gone rickety overtime. 

He ducks his head as he enters through what must’ve once been a door. 

It occurs to him he’s never really seen you pray. Not fully at least. Though you utter it on occasion, the words of your goddess - you tend to speak them lightly. Wyll gathers its out of respect for Shadowheart. 

He finds you on the edge of a large bed in the center of the room. You’re in your humanoid form, with only your ears and tail and teeth - your hands are clasped tightly around a necklace. The fireplace is burning, but it’s not what illuminates you.

All around you though is a pale blue glow, like the moon itself has surrounded you with all of its might. You’re quiet in incantation  - the warmth of a smile lighting up your features. You’re not in your usual nightwear of a loose shirt and pants. Instead you wear the silk of a slip and something like a Selunite robe, open. Wyll has seen so much of your skin before, everything past your knees barren. But its a new feeling. Your neck and shoulders are just the same, your hand on your chest ducking from view.

You breathe deeply, before your eyes flutter open and see him at the door. You smile at him.

“You’re awake,” You say first, letting go of the necklace chain. “Hope everything’s alright?” 

“Sorry. And yes, everything is fine - I had just woken up and couldn’t find you,” Wyll feels flush as he adds the rest to the conversation “And I uhm. Well I was worried something might have happened.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I figured everyone would be asleep so I didn’t bother telling anyone,” You say apologetically “Our Silver Lady called to me so I felt I ought to answer.”

You pause before laughing. “Wait, sit first. Unless you’re going back to sleep right away.” 

Wyll shakes his head as your grin widens making his heart feel rather funny. 

He sits next to you, fond as you bring your leg up and face him. Your back rests on the broken wood at the foot of the bed. You’ve tidied the room a bit, and these sheets don’t have as much dust as they did when you first got here. 

Wyll mirrors your actions, sitting with a leg up - bent at the knee as he stares at you. 

“You said your goddess called to you?”

“Ah, yes,” Your voice is uncharacteristically shy. Wyll can’t help but stare at the bare crook of your knees. “Shadowheart had mentioned it. There’s something in these lands. And well,   wherever Shar goes, Selune will follow and all. Don’t really know what it means, though. Bit of mystery.” 

“You’re a cleric, right?” Wyll asks, taking a brief moment to assess and remember all the little details about yourself you’ve told him. 

When he thinks of it, there’s so much about you he doesn’t know. Though he feels you know everything there is to know about him. It’s not that you’re secretive, but it’s rare to get a moment alone. Harder to find a moment appropriate to air out your past. 

Alone with you in this shadowy, dimly lit room - Wyll hopes time will slow. Long enough to know something more about you, at least.  

“Right. I try not to crutch too much on my magic so I tend to stick to fighting,” You say with a laugh “I also had to learn physical combat and martial arts. It feels like a waste not to use.” 

“I see,” Wyll says with a thoughtful hum “But you are a cleric, all the same. Quite an impressive title to bestow on someone, I’d imagine.” 

“Ah, truthfully - I find it a bit difficult,” You reply sheepishly, surprising Wyll.“I’m sort of simple, all things considered. I thought I’d be my Lady’s sword or just part of her clergy, but I never imagined I’d do anything so important. Or have powers so great.” 

The sound of your voice feels especially pleasant to Wyll like this, murmurs just between you with no threat of doom. Like between these broken wooden planks, is a peace impenetrable. He likes being with you.

“Before your capture, were you? Set out to do something important, I mean,” 

“Importance is relative. But, it was a mission I was proud taking,” You reply thoughtfully. A confirmation of the sanctity in your character for you to make such a distinction. “I had been sent by my clergy to wander Faerun - to aid other lycanthropes and those touched by madness or ailment. 

“You alone had been sent?

You nod, staring down at your hands folded in your lap. 

“Aye, me alone. I’d wandered around for several years when I was sent away before the ship had captured me. I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate as part of it,” 

“Where do you hail from?” 

“Amn. There’s a few small Selunite enclaves there. Mama was a Silverstar, which is mostly a pretty word for a very powerful priestess. My fate was divined when I was seventeen and the rest is history.” 

“Seventeen is young. What was your final destination then? Or was it more of a wandering practice.” 

“After some years, I was hoping to get to Waterdeep actually. Big church for Selune over there, very beautiful.” Your voice teeters on wistful, blooming with longing and nostalgia. You peek at Wyll through your lashes. “In that way, we have a lot in common.” 

“A lot in common. Do you really think so?” 

“Mm, I do. Banished at seventeen, a monster inside us, some sort of tragic background. We make a fun pair.”

“I didn’t know there was a tragic story in yours. To the extent you could call it one,” Wyll says quietly. You give Wyll a look. Though he doesn’t pressure you to expand on it, you seem relaxed enough to talk about it. 

You close your eyes briefly, letting them flutter open. 

“It was a year into my pilgrimage, I think,” You explore, a soft sadness tender in your expression. Wyll sits up a little straighter, readying himself to receive whatever you wish to tell him. “A small village in the Dalelands. Young girl, about seven. Her village had ostracized her. By the time I arrived, she was emaciated. Clever little thing had survived on her own but barely,” 

Wyll waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt you even briefly. He softens his gaze.  

“Anyway. When I go anywhere new, the basic practice is meeting locals. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t always disclose my wolven ways. Some people - they need guidance, others they need protection. In her case, she needed both,” You look far away somehow. Wyll feels empathy as much as he feels warmth. Your care for the human condition, he always finds, touches him. “She was much smarter than me, you know. Her lycanthropy was inherited like mine, but because she was so young - she had a difficult time controlling it.” 

You pause to take a long, deep, steadying breath. “She was my little genius. I cared for her  an awful lot. Still do. She beat me at lanceboard all the time, despite being seven and I wasn’t even letting her win you know.” 

“She must’ve been even more brilliant than I could imagine.” Wyll offers. You nod. 

“Despite my efforts, the relationship between her and her village wasn’t getting better. One day, I’d left her in my chambers for a while - to bring something back from a market nearby. Less than a few hours, and she’d been uhm,” Your voice starts to close. Wyll follows his instinct, squeezing your hand where it rests on your knee. It’s shaking when he reaches for it. He thinks briefly about kissing it. “She’d been killed,” 

Wyll pauses, lets you collect yourself. But he wants to know as much as you’ll tell him. 

“It was easy enough to figure out who’d done it. And in small villages like that, the hivemind bullshit and paranoia really gets to people,” Your voice intones on bitterness. Angry and heartbroken, you continue “Grown men raising an ax to kill a little girl. I almost lost my mind. I should’ve.” 

“But you didnt…? Or did you? In a situation like that, well,” Wyll looks at you sympathetically. “Any choice you made I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“I only punished the one who killed her. I didn’t kill him no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think she would’ve wanted that. Not her or my goddess,” You say with a deep sigh. “I used my magic and blinded him. Made an example out of him and reprimanded the rest of those fucking idiots.” 

“And after?” 

You clear your throat, but smile at him. Like you’re grateful he hasn’t recoiled from it.

“After, I buried her body in the soft earth, in the place where the moon shone most brightly - and mourned. Her death was so severe I couldn’t revive or heal her, I just buried…her. I thought about doing plenty of other shit. To kill, to chase, to defend - but ultimately, it felt more…meaningful just to… bury her.” 

Wyll frowns, pausing. He squeezes your hand, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he looks down. 

“I’m sorry,” 

You smile at him. Noticing the hand in yours finally, you even flush - though the moment passes quickly. Wyll stares at you in quiet, wondering if his eyes alone could tell you all he’s thinking. With you, his silver tongue is absent. His mouth is weighed too heavily with feelings sincere, with words meaningful. 

Wyll cannot offer you cleverness or comfort where he wishes to offer you honesty. 

“That night, the Moonmaiden had called to me. Just like today. It’s hard to explain what it feels like?  Like a cool hand on feverish skin. It was a revelation for me. I had suddenly felt so empty. And, after some sobbing, I’d realized something,” You say whimsically, drawing circles into the back of Wyll’s hand. 

“What did you realize?” He prompts. 

“Our Lady of Silver believes in the carving and following of our own path. But, what had I done but what was told of me? All my life I’d spent in the temple, in the monastery - among people of my own faith and beliefs. In the moment in which I felt so much anger, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Not on purpose, but that was the truth. I swore myself too soon to duty rather than the convictions of my heart—I’d lacked real purpose.”

Wyll smiles at you, brightened by the gusto in which you speak. He’s endeared by you all too easily. 

“And the convictions of your heart? Have you found them?” He asks, head tilted. 

“Not all of them. But you know I figured out one thing. I want to make the world a less lonely place. Her death will never not bear weight on my mind, but her tiny hand thanking me for staying with her. That was something, I’m damn sure. Maybe all of it,” 

He stares at you, speaking in quiet murmurs. You’re glowing, he thinks. You must be. 

“It’s a noble thing to want. At least to me.” 

“I’m glad you think so. My goddess has given me these divine powers, so my duty will always be to help people. But more than that - I want to guide the sick and afraid like the Moonmaiden guides me. I want to make it less difficult for people.” 

“You’re awfully wise at times like this.” 

“Wise?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve never heard that for me before. More used to hearing stuff like hard-headed, pack runt, cry baby. So on and so forth. But I’ll cherish it before you change your mind.” 

“Do you feel fulfilled here? Becoming a hero of a city, saving so many people - surely that too aligns with your convictions” 

“Asking an awful lot about me,” You tease finally. Wyll is hard-pressed to deny it. It’s so obvious. “But I do. I’d say managing to become Astarion’s friend is a high enough accomplishment with regards to you know, my convictions and all. It’s honestly like my life’s work. He even pets me now. Willingly!”

Wyll laughs loudly at the sudden excitement in your voice. You haven’t let go of his hand, he notices. 

He hopes you don’t.

“Quite an impressive feat, certainly. But I am a little hurt. Does our bond not incite a similar sense of accomplishments and vigor in you?” He teases.

You pretend to consider it. 

“The Blade of Frontiers, my most important companion.” You respond, with just as much cheekiness. “Calling it an accomplishment might be too egotistical.” 

“What else do you suppose you’d call it?” 

“Fate, maybe,” You say, though your voice is hardly above a murmur now.  “Somehow, the fact we’ve met feels more like a very lucky chance, I reckon.” 

“You feel so strongly about it?” Wyll says, more than asks. Because somehow it feels too much like a dream. 

“Of course. I feel strongly about you in general,” You respond, and still don’t let go of his hand. You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I feel strongly about us. And all we’ve seen, together. I feel strongly that regardless of all the darkness, the moon waits for me and that I’m very lucky to have met you.”

Wyll feels his heart jump into his throat. Hardly a confession, yet his heart pounds. The longing is ceaseless. 

In all the time you’ve spent together, Wyll has had all the time in the world to witness you. In your bravery and in your cowardice. At the best of yourself, and at the worst. Wyll has seen you lie when you’d rather be honest. He’s seen you cry countlessly for the deaths of people you’ve never known. He’s seen you tear through flesh and bone. He’s seen you as a furred creature laid on your back so Halsin would rub your stomach. He’s seen you as tenderly, achingly human. 

Wyll has seen so much of you. And perhaps more than that - you have seen so much of him. Parts of himself even he has no access to. A passing comment of how dashing his horns look, a pat on the shoulder when you pass a father and son. You see Wyll even when he forgets to see himself. 

Between you, there is no question that he is lucky. The luckiest man on Toril. 

“You know, when everything is through. Not if, but when,” Wyll says slowly and carefully. “I want to remain by your side. Wherever that road leads. I want us to be together or travel together. Though I don’t know what that would look like,” 

You give him a look of surprise, then a teasing smile - titling your head to one side. 

“I might go somewhere you don’t want to follow, Ravengard. I’m a wanderer at heart.” 

“Impossible. I’ve already followed you here, remember?” Wyll says with a smile, eyes meeting yours “As long as we’re together, no place is too dark nor too treacherous.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“There’d be no greater honor.” 

__ 

When Myrkul falls, the world is silent. 

For a first time, in a long time - the Shadowfell lands do not whisper the regrets of the dead. Instead, the remaining shadow swallowing the world begins to finally clear. In gradual steps, life returns to the land at Moonrise. 

And this is in no small part thanks to you. 

Though, Wyll watches you as you insist the glory is split between your party equally.  You’re all heroes, and you couldn’t have done it without them by your side. Wyll knows you mean that.

 It was you who took down the foes at Moonrise towers in slow increments, that planned and slaughtered until there was nothing left of it. It was you who destroyed the Thorms one by one. You who allowed Wyll to break Mizora’s pact. You who completed the gauntlet of Shar, who saved the Nightsong with your own two hands. That helped Astarion with the letters on his back, and that prevented Gale from using his orb - because you were so certain you all could win without it. 

It was your touch and kindness that gave Shadowheart grace enough to throw away her Sharran roots, to throw away her past and embrace her own convictions just like you had promised to embrace yours. 

The world has not been saved. The journey to the end has only become more perilous. But in the palm of your hand is the Netherstone of the fallen general - and an entire allegiance waiting to follow you into battle. The world has not been saved, and it is only bound to get more treacherous. 

But for now, you’ve accomplished something great - and Wyll is proud to be alongside you for all of the rest, as you move onto things even greater. 

For now, all of you remain at camp. A two day extended break before venturing towards the city. Among your camp now is the famed harper Jaehira and more importantly - Dame Aylin, the chosen of your goddess. And the cleric Isobel, her lover, of course.

Dame Aylin’s arrival at your camp has sparked plenty of interesting conversations. Revelations of Shadowheart’s identity aside (something you’ve been helping her through), Dame Aylin is not just a fellow Selunite - but the daughter of your beloved goddess. Not only have you just saved her life, you’ve freed her from thousands of years of torment. 

Wyll doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so utterly awe-struck in your adventure together, even once. You’re a hard person to shake in many ways, and you’re excitable - but nearly never truly awestruck like the way you have been for the last two days. 

Wyll is listening in on the interaction from afar, only taking small peeks at you as you, Shadowheart, Dame Aylin and Isobel crowd around in your tent. Your tail is swishing so helplessly behind you Wyll can’t help but laugh.

“God. You’ve been staring like a dumb puppy for two days now,” Shadowheart teases, rubbing your head with her hand “You’re going to catch flies with your jaw like that.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. Wyll smiles to himself as he pretends to read, thankful to be in earshot “I’m sorry, I’m just… It was already nice meeting another Selunite but…I could live a thousand lives and not meet you Miss Aylin.” 

“Your formality is misplaced. Aylin is just fine. We are comrades in all regards, both in our faith and in arms. I’m thankful you’ve given us a place to stay for the time being,” 

“Camp welcomes all as policy. It helps to have allies and in lands like these, seems a little cruel to leave people to the wilds. Though soon that won’t be an issue,” 

“You’ve accomplished something incredible,” Isobel praises. Wyll glances at you, a warmth settling in his chest at the surprise you seem to feel. “Lifting the curse from these lands, it was no small task.” 

“It was all of our contribution! I’m just glad we’re a little bit closer to getting rid of these pests.” You lament with a dramatic sigh “And I’m excited to be in a place where I can feel the presence of the moon again.” 

“It must be hard on you,” Isobel says sympathetically. You smile. 

“I can hardly imagine,” Aylin adds, shaking her head. “There is perhaps some small blessing in the fact you’re gifted with control, but the effects that these lands must have on your body. May She ease your burden.” 

Shadowheart gives you a look of confusion. “You know, you’ve mentioned this to me before - but I don’t actually know how it affects your conditions,” Her frown deepens. “A little hypocritical given how much you know about me at this point, I think.” 

You look surprised then flattered. “It was never worth mentioning. My body has certain cycles that are affected by the moon. Similar to the tide. After 6 tendays, I go through something like.. a fever as a result of a full moon. Though I’ve been suppressing it with medication, my body at a certain point needs to expel it.” 

“A fever?”

This catches Wyll’s attention. You’ve mentioned your condition in passing and always left the details vague (something Wyll is extra aware of given your love of being open in most everything) so this is the most he’s ever heard about it. He stops turning pages and tunes in completely. 

“Sort of. The details aren’t important, really. I’ve gone through it for years, so I’m more than used to it. Especially on the road,” You explain, waving your hand. “Silver Lady bless me, I don’t think it’ll begin until we’re in the city at least. Near civilization and all.” 

“Do you need anything from us?” Shadowheart probes with obv. Lately when it comes to you, she doesn’t bother feigning indifference. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it! I was going to mention it though soon, so I guess it’s a good thing it came up,” You lean back on your palms, legs crossed as you close your eyes. “I’ll be gone for about a tenday. I’ll leave my tent here and just pack some essentials and fuck off to the woods. Like I said, I’ve been doing it for years.” 

Shadowhearts frown deepens, as does Wylls. 

“That was then and this is now. You’re a rather wanted individual, will that be safe? A tenday of solo travel?” 

You give Shadowheart a delighted look before tackling her with a hug. She almost topples over but manages to keep herself upright as you hug and nuzzle her. She doesn’t push you off in any case. You laugh warmly, resting your chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re really worried about me? Little old me? Have you opened your heart to me after all?” You say through a giggle, earning a few laughs from Dame Aylin and Isobel. You finally pull away to look at her. “I promise I will be completely fine. My senses around that time are extremely heightened. I’m feverish but it’s very difficult to catch me off-guard enough for some kind of ambush. Worst case scenario, I shift and run away.” 

Shadowheart does not seem comforted by this. Wyll feels the same, thankful she’s being so adamant about it. 

“I don’t like those odds,” She says with her arms crossed. “Is there no one you can bring with you?” 

When she says that, you  turn to Wyll. Your eyes lock briefly. You look a little startled, but relax once you realize that it’s him. Wyll is a little startled too, embarrassed by his own staring. He can only hope you didn’t notice how obviously he was moments prior. You take a minute to consider him, your gaze raking over him. It’s a split second, barely noticeable - but afterwards you flush. It happens so quickly that Wyll wonders if he’s imagined the entire thing. 

You laugh and Wyll swears it sounds nervous. 

“I get a little…aggressive during that time.” You say dismissively. “It’s best to leave me to my own devices. I promise you I will be perfectly fine.” 

“I don’t know how much I believe that, but I’ll try to put my faith in you. Don’t make me worry while these damn parasites are still in our heads.”

You throw your head back and laugh brilliantly.

“I’ll make it back to you in one piece,” You say, holding your pinky out. Shadowheart hooks her own into yours with a blush. “I promise on the Moonmaiden herself.” 

Shadowheart sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your smile grows ten sizes. 

“You better.” 

__

The journey, of course, does not get any easier. 

You’ve barely made it to Rivington. Barely. Not only have you had to fight off a camp of hateful githyanki and earned the ire of an alien goddess - you’ve just found out the person protecting you is a mindflayer. 

After a tremendous amount of difficult information launched at the lot of you, you’ve managed to regain your bearings (some kind of miracle, Wyll thinks). You’ve made it to Rivington. Finally. 

Hells. What a troublesome situation. 

You’ve been in Rivington for a few days now, though you haven’t made it far. After being at the circus and a somewhat harrowing fight with a shapeshifting clown, you decide to put up for the night. Before nightfall, you announced to everyone at camp that you’d be disappearing for your supposed fever. You can feel it coming on, and by the time it starts - traveling will be difficult. 

Everyone has had their own way of fussing over you. Gale has given you some scrolls of his own curation. Astarion silently handed you one of his favorite daggers and a pack of expensive arrows. Lae’zel has given you some potions, testing your reflexes with you before your disappearance. Shadowheart gives you as many healing potions as she can, and her blessing with the help of Dame Aylin. Karlach has little to offer you in terms of things, instead knocking your heads together and telling you to scream as loud as you can if anything happens - and she’ll come running no matter what happens. Halsin has dried some food for you ahead of time, ever the planning kind. 

Wyll only gives you a long look of concern. Most of the conversation between you is had with eyes, a soft glance meeting a concerned one. With Wyll, you hold his hand and assure him that you’ll be fine - and to take care of them in your short absence. You hug him extra tight before you leave.Wyll is forced to let you disappear. 

It’s really not like Wyll to be so invasive on another person's business. He knows he can be a busybody when it comes to helping someone but for the most part - he’ll respect a person's wishes. If someone doesn’t want intervention, it’s not Wyll’s place to force it on them. He's learned from experience that sometimes it makes the situation worse. 

But shit, the worry has been eating Wyll alive. He could hardly sit still in the brief two hours you had disappeared. The rest of the party have regrouped in your absence. Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae’zel - while Karlach and Wyll planned to stay behind. Wyll had wanted to go but Astarion wouldn’t allow him. Said his pining would get in the way of everything. He’s off his game, and it’s best to wait till you return. 

It’s getting closer to evening, the sun beginning to set. Wyll just can’t sit still. There’s no way a tenday is going to pass like this without Wyll effectively losing his mind. 

Just as the sky begins to be painted orange, Wyll troubles Shadowheart in the middle of her meditations. 

One of her eyes opens as she breaks her concentration, an amused smile showing on her face. 

“That was quick,” She says first, looking up at Wyll from where she’s kneeled. “I thought you’d wait at least a day,” 

“Pardon?” 

Shadowheart laughs. “Oh, to chase them down I mean. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but this is a little fast even for you, Ravengard.” 

Wyll doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“My apologies for being predictable,” Wyll says with a sigh. “But since you were anticipating it, I have to ask if you know anything. Where they’d be. Anything.” 

“This is exactly why they didn’t tell you, you know? Not that I’m not worried about them too,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “But they were clear. They need a tenday alone.” 

Wyll looks at her. “I’ve never been like this before, either. I don’t understand it, but I haven’t been able to take my mind off it despite my efforts. Regardless of what you tell me, it seems like I’m going to follow them,” 

“Oh, please,” Shadowheart says, standing up and dusting herself off as she looks at him directly “You don’t know why? Don’t you think it’s time to be a little more honest with yourself, Wyll? I mean really.”

Wyll widens his eyes, a little taken aback by it. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. He scrunches his brow a bit, unsure of what to say to defend himself. 

“Well, I am aware of why, I suppose. But it’s,” He fumbles in the process of trying to say anything sensible. “It’s new.. I didn’t think I was this sort of person. Something along those lines. It’s not that I don’t have confidence in them, but this isn’t something they need to endure alone.” 

“Not when you’re there for them, I’m guessing,” 

Wyll smiles a little sheepishly. “Yes. I respect their privacy. I’ll turn back if they ask me too,” 

“Oh, don’t worry, that was easy enough to figure out.” Shadowheart teases. Wyll covers his face. Is he a schoolboy, being teased about his crush like this? How ridiculous. “At least you know.” 

He sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what you know?” 

“I’m still thinking about it.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. She makes an exaggerated gesture of contemplating the situation before shrugging. “Hm. You know, I’ve entered a totally new chapter of my life - so, out of the kindness of my heart I’ll tell you what I know.” 

“Thank you.” Wyll says truly grateful. Shadowheart gives him what Wyll thinks of as a semi-fond smile. He hopes this means she approves of whatever is going on. You two are close as ever, so it does matter to Wyll how she feels about it. 

“They were rather vague about the situation,” Shadowheart says honestly. “But they did tell me the direction they were going to travel. There’ll be marks in the trees so they can make their way back if something happens. If you can find where they started, it should be easy enough to find where they end up. That’s all I know. Good luck.” 

“Thank you, Shadowheart.” 

“Oh and, go pack some things of your own before you go. Just in case you end up staying.” 

“Right. I’ll do that now.” 

“I’ll let everyone know so leave as soon as you can.” 

“It looks like I'll be owing you quite a few favors.” Wyll offers. Shadowheart smiles. 

“Of course. Nothing in life is free. But go, shoo. You should go before it gets too dark.” 

Wyll gives her one last look of gratitude before hurrying to prepare a pack. 

__ 

Wyll barely makes it before the darkness settles in. 

There’s enough moonlight to guide him through the tricky paths of the forest. Let the record show, Wyll has no idea how you’ve navigated through here. Like Shadowheart had promised him - the trees began to be marked once Wyll found your paw prints on the ground. On each tree was a the slashing of a sharp dagger. 

Despite the clear path you laid out, the terrain is utterly unforgiving for the longest time. Had the signs of you not been in front of him, Wyll would’ve given up on the affair. This is saying something, because his time as the Blade of Frontiers was far from a life of luxury. 

It’s difficult but the promise of Wyll’s good eye laying its gaze on you is enough to push him through to the end of the journey. 

Eventually, eventually - the path clears. The trees start to become sparse and the area starts to flatten to something walkable. The dirt hardens underneath his feet and his muscles no longer drag. 

Before Wyll lays eyes on you, he hears you. 

There’s a campfire, and the shelter of a borrowed tent. You’ve laid out plenty of old rags and bedsheets - layers and layers of dusty fabric and old pillows giving you a cushion from where you’re curled up on a tree. 

Before Wyll can see you in the faint glow of fire, the only thing his mind can pay attention to is the sound of your voice. 

A pained whimper, so loud and high pitched - Wyll is shocked he didn’t hear it some distance ago. You’re practically shaking, short snarls and desperate yowls between hard pants.You sound like you’re suffering something grave. It’s nothing he’s ever heard in your time together, despite the horrific injuries you’ve endured. Even at near death, Wyll has never heard more than labored breathing and groans. 

It’s pure distress, so broken it rings in his ears. His concern grows ten sizes. 

He decides then that no matter what you tell him, he won’t be able to go back to camp to leave you alone. 

He fights the urge with his body to run towards you, remembering the state you’re in. Prone to aggression and high-alert, Wyll forces himself to approach you slowly. 

As soon as he’s within range of you, your entire body lurches forward to sit up. Your eyes open, wide and nearly feral - searching erratically. Wyll pauses, no longer in a soft crouch. He stands to full attention. When you finally look at him, your chest shakes with an exhale. You lean back against the tree behind you where you’re curled, shaking. 

“Fuck,” You cover your nose first, pressing your arm against it as you curl away from him instinctively. Wyll feels a mix of guilt and worry. “Fuck, what in the Hells are you doing here? Was it Shadowheart? Even—even though I told her,” 

He moves in just a step closer. “I asked her. But I intended to find you even if you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen,” 

“Shit, don’t get any closer. I-I’m already, shit,” You hold up a hand, though your entire body is fragile. Weak, even from this distance. “Don’t move. You,” Another labored breath “Go back.” 

Wyll stills, but doesn’t budge. His frown deepens. “You don’t have to endure this alone,” He steps closer. “I’m here for you,” 

“It’s not about—fuck,” You curl into yourself, turning your face away from him. “It’s n-not about that. Not personal. You need to get out of here, Wyll, please. Please listen to me and, and go.” 

Wyll wants to ask how he could leave you in this condition, but the desperation in your voice stops him. He feels uncertain, but his body - his mind, won’t listen to him.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Wyll pleads. He wants to run to you. He hates seeing you in this much pain. He wants to hold you, his heart is practically pounding. “Are you in pain?” 

Your expression strains, but you force your gaze towards him. Your eyes are wide. They shine with water and wetness, your tearstained expression landing on his face. 

“Fuck, Wyll, you - I’m in heat. So d-don’t come any closer. Go, go—please, I’m begging.”

Heat. Wyll knows little about the cycles of werewolves. But he knows about wolves, and other animals at least. Heat. A period of heightened sexual reception during mating season. Wyll pauses, then blinks. His stomach drops, heart quickening. 

Shit. Shit. 

“You’re in…heat.” 

“Y-yes. And it lasts for a tenday, so you need to listen to me and get out of here. Now.” 

Wyll doesn’t move. 

“Would,” Wyll swallows the thick feeling in his throat. “If someone else had come. Would you have,” 

He hardly knows what he’s asking. But it seems you do, because you open your eyes - in utter distress and shake your head. 

“No,” You shake your head and hold your breath, trying to calm yourself as you breathe. You focus on breathing only out of your mouth. “Just you.” You close your eyes again and continue to tremble. “Please. Please go, Wyll.” 

He comes closer. Your voice croaks as you try to shout at him, though the words are too faint to be called that. Nonthreatening and utterly desperate. 

“No, no, no—please,” Your words become a sob, and Wyll feels his heart start to crack a little. “You don’t understand. It h-hurts. If you get too close, if you—” 

“What is it?” He gets close enough to be within real range of you. There’s only a few feet of distance between you. Wyll kneels so he’s not looming over you, looking over you with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake and shake and shake, closing your eyes - tearing your gaze away from him. Your lower lips waver, both hands covering your face as you cry. 

“Your s-scent,” You heave, trying to push back against the tree.  “It’ll make me want to t-touch you. And I can’t. I can’t and—I want too. So badly, you’re so close, please stay away. It’s cruel, so cruel to me,” 

Wyll feels his own voice almost give out. Seeing you like this. So desperate. Needy. The guilt is outweighed by another feeling he chooses not to name.

“You can touch me,” He assures. 

You sob. 

“Not just touch. Wyll, please, go.” 

“Hells,” He comes closer towards you and you flinch. “I’m not so clueless. I know what you meant. It’s alright.” 

Your eyes flicker open in disbelief. 

“You,” You look at him through teary eyes. “I-it’s important to you to... With someone you love. Not like this.” 

“Gods, who else but you? I love you,” Wyll says with his own voice nearly shot. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Of course I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.” 

“Wyll,” You sob for a different reason this time. “I love you. I w-want you, I want you.” 

“Tell me. Can I touch you?”

“Please,” You’re so tender like this. Wyll has never seen it in his life. It’d be unimaginable, had he not witnessed. 

Strong and capable and brave and rowdy - reduced to a fragile, pleading mess. 

Wyll doesn’t know how to touch you. If he were more honest with himself in the moment - more sensible, he’d admit this to you in a quiet secret. He doesn’t have room for doubt now, so Wyll is gentle when he reaches for you. He pulls your wrists from where they’re glued to you, unfurls your form slowly and looks closely at your face. He guides your hands around his neck and brings you towards him. With slow, careful maneuvering - he sits down with you. 

Holding you in his embrace, he brings you into his lap  - sitting where you once were. Until you’re over his own, resting your full weight against his. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You look at Wyll from above, your lower lip still quivering. 

“It’s alright,” He says, hands on your waist but not moving “Take what you need,” 

With a wordless whimper, you grab the fabric of Wyll’s clothing, light armor that he changed into before leaving - tight enough he can feel the tension in fabric. You lean in, your eyes shut tightly and press your nose along the side of his neck. Wyll can feel you bump against this jaw. He tilts his head back to give you more access to him. His body is hot with your sudden proximity, your own skin completely feverish from need. You inhale, so deeply and so wantonly Wyll doesn’t know what else to do other than sit and let you. 

The thought passes. Like a mutt. Like a puppy. You breathe Wyll in like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, grinding instinctively on his lap. Something that he overlooks for the sake of being the sane one between you. 

“You,” Your voice has calmed down a fair bit, though it's just as thick as it was before. “Shit, it’s so good.”  

Your grip on his clothes tighten. Wyll rubs a soothing hand on your waist, still over your clothes. You continue it, taking deep breaths of him like a life-line until your grip starts to loosen. You’re no longer shaking at least. You pull away from him with wet pleading eyes, butting your forehead with his. Wyll winces, but bites back a smile at you once he realizes you’re a tad bit more sobered up. 

“What in the hells are you doing here?” You interrogate.

“Are you alright?” Wyll says, ignoring your first question. “Has it gone down?” 

“It comes in waves. The first wave has passed, but the second one will hit soon enough. Five minutes if I had to guess,” You say, shaking your head. You fix your gaze on him. Wyll suddenly becomes aware of your proximity (or lack thereof). “Why are you here, Wyll?” 

“Why? A better question is how could I not be here?” Wyll says carefully, examining your every expression. “An ominous sickness, traveling alone for an entire tenday when we’ve all spent our entire journey together. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I couldn’t sit back quietly while I was so worried for your safety.” 

“Like I told you and everyone else, I’m fine. I’ve been handling heats alone since I started puberty. It’s not a very pretty sight,” You pout shyly. Wyll finds it utterly adorable. “And well, it’s not like I can announce to everyone I’m in literal heat. Fever is easier.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy. If I had known,” He clears his throat, looking away from you “If I had known it was something like this, I would’ve approached it more delicately.” 

“My brain is too heat-addled to be properly embarrassed, which is lucky - because I’m definitely going to be pissed when this is over.” You say, clutching the front of his shirt again. “Everything is all out of order now.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“You’re the one going on about keeping things old school, you know.” 

“Well yes. But it’s not for any reason so rigid,” Wyll reaches his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing underneath your eyes. “These sorts of affairs are more enchanting when the love is there. That’s the part that matters.” 

“You’re not disappointed that the first time we’re touching each other is because I’m this desperate to touch you?” 

“I just like being able to hold you. For any reason at all,” Wyll says honestly, then adds. “And well, if I were to be frank, seeing you in this state is… rousing. In its own right.” 

You flush, and mumble. “Pervert.” 

He forgives the comment just as you’ve forgiven him for his intrusion. He looks at you tenderly, heart swelling so much it’s almost overflowing. 

“Will you allow me to stay by your side?” 

“This goes on for a tenday. And it doesn’t get any easier. Do you really know what you’re asking? Do you have that kind of stamina?” 

Wyll smiles at you. He wants to kiss you. 

“Around something as enticing as you, stamina should pose no issue.” He flirts. 

“Gods, Wyll - where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

He smiles cheekily. “Esoteric erotica novels from my fathers chambers, mostly. Overhearing things at Sharesses Caress helped too.” 

You giggle a little bit. This time you’re the one leaning into him. 

“The waves will get longer and more intense. They peak around the fourth day and begin to mellow out at the start of the fifth,” You give him a look before looking away, profusely embarrassed. “Uhm. The only thing that soothes it is, well, you know. I mean I get really… I cry a lot.” 

Wyll doesn’t communicate to you the fact he knows. He did just see after all, and it’s not like he particularly enjoys seeing you suffer. He’s not that sort of man, but. He likes taking care of you, in all aspects. You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long. It feels good that he’s allowed into something that you’ve kept private all this time. 

It’s fair if he’s a little cocky about it, he thinks. 

“You can show me everything about yourself and I won’t turn my gaze away from you. Nothing could make me look away,” 

You pout again. Wyll notices you do it when you’re feeling especially embarrassed. He opts not to say anything, just smiles. 

You take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s going to start again soon. Everything is fine with me, just—stay close. Close enough that I can tuck into you.”

“Something to do with my scent, I suppose? I am curious to know what.” 

“Well I like you. And it’s comforting. But it turns me on, too. Especially like this.”

“And that’s why you were pushing me away earlier?” 

You nod, taking a deep breath. Your voice regains that sweet, thick quality that Wyll is beginning to recognize as desire.

“Mm. I’m a lot stronger than you a-and my heads not very clear,” You shake your head as you explain this to him. “It would’ve..haah..been painful. Really.” 

“So it has that kind of effect on you,” Wyll concludes. Your eyes are lidded. You’re overwhelmed. It’s an interesting position. As far as Wyll’s concerned, he probably only smells like forest right now. He looks at the way you’re shaking like a leaf, then continues “I have that kind of effect on you,” 

“Yes,” You huff, leaning against him again. Your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against his skin. He’s sweating from the journey up. He can’t really wrap his mind around what it could be that you like so much about him or how he smells. “Fuck, yes - you do.” 

It’s an odd position to be in. Wyll is a righteous man but the thoughts that swarm him now are anything but. There’s nothing foreign about being wanted. His time as the Blade of Frontiers has had him propositioned for such affairs more times than he can remember. 

No ones ever been desperate for him, though. You’ve never been desperate about anything. You’re emotional and light-hearted and wise and kind. Not desperate. Never that. 

Except right now, you’re looking up at him with your pupils blown wide and your lower lip shaking. There’s sweat dripping down the crown of your head. Your ears are perked up, your whole body tense with need. You’re practically intoxicated above him, and Wyll can’t help but feel something less than heroic about it. 

“I’m hardly half the man I claim to be,” Wyll says, a little dazed. “You make me forget myself. My virtue.” 

“What’s virtue to love, Ravengard?” You lean in closer to him, your noses brushing. It must be coming again, the next wave. “You’re just Wyll to me, remember? Not a paragon of decency.” Your face is close. Your lips are close. Tempting. “Touch me. Or make love to me, if you’d prefer to call it that.”

It feels like there’s no air in Wyll’s lungs. Not enough to take a breath. He cups the nape of your neck with his hand, and your skin is so hot it nearly burns. You’re feverish, and sweaty - when Wyll touches you, you react right away. He stares at you. Everything feels distant, far-away. How many times have the two of you been like this? How many times have you nearly crossed this threshold before retreating back into each other? 

Wyll can think of one hundred times he’s thought of kissing you. When you’re covered in blood and gore, when you smile, when the sun through the trees makes your fur look shiny and beautiful, when Astarion pets you, when you hug Karlach for the first time. He can compile every time the urge has come over him. 

It feels unreal to kiss you now, after all that. 

You open your mouth slightly, a choked moan passing through your lips as Wyll presses his own to yours. Yours are soft. The first thing he notices is the shape of your teeth, the sharp edge of your fangs - protruding and clumsy. None of it matters. Nothing matters except you and this. 

You’re huffy and eager when Wyll kisses you. A slow peck at first before he pulls away, delighted by the way you chase his mouth. Then again with your mouth open a little wider, panting hotly as you urge Wyll to give you a little more. Your hands are gripping his armor again, tight enough to rip the material. You’re too drunk on your own need, to notice anything about anything. 

It’s something about you - something about you Wyll has known since forever. You get lost in things, in fights or in books that Gale reads. Sometimes you just give up thinking entirely and let your instinct guide you. And it makes enough sense, you’re a werewolf - part hungry animal by blood. Of course your baser instinct feels more natural. 

It’s not very kind to think, but Wyll isn’t saying it to be unkind. He likes it. He likes that you think with your heart less than your head. He likes when you give into the most animal parts of you. 

Wyll is not in the same place as you. His head is meant to be clear. He’s seemingly sober for this affair. 

But his body betrays his mind so quickly it’s laughable. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. All of the blood in his body is running hot, and all of it floods south more quickly than he can control it. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are clasping around your waist and he’s kissing you deeper. He lets his tongue brush yours, lets his teeth sink into the plush of your lower lips. He sucks and bites and licks as you breathe each other in.

You kiss Wyll until your lips are swollen, chest heaving as you pull away from each other. There’s something juvenile about the affair, enough to make you laugh even in the state you’re in. And Wyll laughs too, stares at your expression only illuminated by moonlight. 

“I love you,” Wyll repeats. You’re startled by it this time. “Gods, I love you.” 

Your voice is thick. “I love you too. Touch me, please.” 

“How should I touch you my love?” 

“However you want. As long as you touch me.” 

“However I want,” Wyll says contemplatively. He’s quick to maneuver you both to the ground when he says this. A little closer to the warmth of the fire, on the sheets and pillows you’ve set up underneath you both. You look up at him wide-eyed as your back touches the ground. “You should choose your words carefully. I may take you up on making love.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to you.

“Do it before I lose my mind anymore,” 

Wyll laughs playfully against your skin.

The act of undressing each other is unceremonious. Wyll peels the padded armor off his body, leaving him in trousers. He helps you out of your own clothes. He’s seen you naked more than once, but never for this. For him. He studies the way your muscles fall, the hair on your skin. Various scars. Everything for him to gaze on. 

Your own hand reaches up to his neck, on his shoulder as your mouth falls open. “You’re so attractive. Do you know?” 

He laughs. “It doesn’t hurt to hear you tell me.” 

You seem eager to admire his body. Wyll doesn’t stop you. Your palms are much smoother than he’d think of them to be, as they plane over the expanse of his muscled chest. You let your fingers drift over raised scars on abdomen, over his nipples and down his abdomen. Wyll feels his cock twitch unhelpfully. You must notice the same because your eyes light up. Your hand reaches even further, even lower - cupping the hard outline of his length. He hisses through his teeth. 

“You’re…” You mumble, squeezing again. “For me,” 

“You’re beautiful,” Wyll says. You flush. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Your voice is almost petulant. 

“And I’ve longed for you since that very moment” 

Your pout deepens before you brush Wyll’s hand with yours. 

“You can do the same for me.”

Wyll stares at you before leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t linger at your mouth, chaste pecks that pave the path for Wyll to worship the rest of you. He wants to worship every inch. He lets his lips leave kisses all over your face. He kisses the scars along your skin, the corner of your mouth, your eyelids. 

His tongue laves down your jaw until he’s at your neck. You breathe unsteadily as he continues down to the column of your throat. Wyll is gentle. He doesn’t bite. He steadies his hands at your waist and only kisses. Presses his face to your skin and pricks you with his want. It’s slower than you want, he can tell from how your legs are wrapped helplessly around his waist. 

Your lower-half is grinding against him, against air - anything you can find. Little shameless mewls and so much squirming. Wyll knows you’re needy, and he is too - but this is your first time together. 

He couldn’t do anything but savor it no matter how much you whined. Right now you are his, hidden from the moon. From the camp. 

You are his and he will take you apart as he pleases. 

“Please,” You whine, taking a deep breath of him again. You inhale, nudging the parts of him available to him. “Please.” 

A little mercifully, he gives you a little more. He grabs your hips and positions you better over his cock. He moves his hands from your waist to squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts. He licks the salt of your skin, meeting your movements. 

“I know, I know. Endure it,” He says, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Indulge me.” 

You bite back your complaint. You’re forgiving as always.

His mouth closes around your nipples, hard under his tongue. Your spine arches, but Wyll pushes you down and steadies you. His other hand squeezes the one he isn’t servicing, thumb drawing over your nipples. He gauges your breathing as he tries different motions until settling on rolling it with his thumb. The right thing to do, if your reaction is anything to go by. 

He feels something against the seam of his pants when he goes between them, pleasuring you. A wetness where his cock meets your clothed sex.  One that soaks underneath two layers of clothes. He looks up at you, wide-eyed. 

You’re unaware of anything. Too busy in the chase of pleasure. 

He wonders if it’s a result of your heat. He doesn’t know anything about them aside from the fact it happens and it makes you like this - but what it does to your body is still foreign to him. His cock is throbbing hard enough to make him light-headed. He tries to approach this with a light hand and patience. 

But shit, the way you’re searching for it is too arousing. You’re seeking an orgasm so desperately, all little rutting twitches and uneven movements. The first of the tears start to form on your lower lashes. Your eyelashes are wet. Fat tears drip down your cheeks, falling down the side of your face. Wyll is less concerned than you would be if you hadn’t told him that you would cry - but gods. 

“You’re a mess,” He says with an absent fondness. You whine and nod in agreement. Wyll is lucky to witness this, he realizes too late. “Is it painful?” 

Your voice is scratchy from crying. “Aches. Aches so much, need more, please. Trying to be patient but it aches.” 

He hums to himself, undoes the death grip your legs have on his waist before starting to kiss a path down to your navel. It’s clear you make an attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but the words cut off when you realize he’s getting closer to where you need. 

You’re holding your breath, your hands curled at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them. You’ve never been so uncertain in front of him. You help slide your bottoms off - everything in one go. Your knees are bent in the air, covering where Wyll is most keen to see you. He kisses your calves. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?” 

You take a deep breath and lay your feet flat on the ground, spreading your legs enough to give Wyll a perfect view. He’s always tried not to look, but now he can’t stop staring. A thick layer of hair covers your cunt. His hands shake as he pulls you forward to look closer, and your own hands go to cover your face. 

“I can feel you breathe,” You whisper, and Wyll laughs. He’s still looking, examining you closely. He uses his fingers to pull you apart, awestruck by you. You’re so wet it’s dripping, pulsing helplessly without Wyll touching you at all. The sheet underneath you darkens with arousal. Your clit is throbbing with need, all fluttery. “Stop looking,” 

Wyll does what any gentleman would do. He pulls away, his hands settling on your thighs - and starts to kiss all the way up from the inside of your knee. He does it on both sides, before finally kissing your clit tucked away underneath everything. Your breath hitches, stomach tensing.

“Tell me where you feel it. Let me learn you.” 

“Hicc,” You nod soft and sweet. “Okay,” 

Wyll smiles against you. 

For as much as Wyll puts on a show, the first time he actually tastes you exceed all expectations. The loss of composure is nearly instant. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he lets the weight of his tongue drag through your folds, arousal collecting on the tip. Your reaction comes just as quick. 

“Fuck,” You cry out. Wyll feels your hands reach for him, a pleasant noise escaping him as you grip onto his horns. He’s never thought to touch them before. A feeling of electricity creeps up his back as your hands hold tight around the base of them.“Wyll, fuck - there,” 

He gets the message quick enough, laying his tongue flat on the hardened bundle of nerves. Your clit pulses for him. You taste heady and sweet, coating his entire mouth as he continues to eat. You guide him here and there - soft whispers of lower and higher until he ends up in the place you need. 

“That,” Your grip on his horns gets tighter as you grind yourself down on his tongue. Wyll feels his cock stiff against his stomach from where he lays. “Like that,”

He gives you more pressure as he licks your clit, sorting out a rhythm as he focuses his attention on one part of you. He wants to make you cum like this. You’re sensitive enough to do it. Your clit thrums as your mind goes muddy. Your body movements change as he continues to push you closer and closer to your high. He’s starting to understand what makes you tick. 

Wyll is a quick learner after all, dexterous and clever. 

Muscles clenching, your mouth falls open - eyes barely open as you moan. “Oh, oh, oh,” 

Wyll laps you up like ambrosia. He pulls away when you start to get close, ignoring your complaints. He wants to savor it now that he knows how to get you to the edge, so he does. He buries himself deeper into you, his nose bumping against your mound with every pass he makes over your slit. Your body is unbelievably sensitive. He dips his tongue into your tight hole and you nearly lurch forward with need. 

He starts a back and forth, going from licking long stripes along your slit determined not to let anything go to waste - back to focusing on where you need him most. He doesn’t mean to put you on edge so many times, no longer thinking clearly. 

You beg Wyll to make you cum by the time he’s back to reality, grabbing his horns hard enough to make him look at you. 

“Make me cum, please - can’t take it anymore, Wyll, please, fuck,” 

He hums against your sex before refocusing his attention. One last time he takes your throbbing clit into his mouth, lets it slide against his tongue and sucks on it. This time he relents to your need, and doesn't stop for any reason. He lets it build and build and build until he hears your voice break. 

Your back starts to arch, body going taut like a bowstring. Wyll hums against you, he wants to praise you but his mouth is busy. 

Then the thought occurs to him. It takes a little focus to reach your mind, and this is by all means - a terrible reason to use your shared connection. 

‘You’re doing so well, starlight,’ Wyll praises. Your eyes widen as you realize just how he’s doing it, a debauched and shocked moan tearing itself from your mouth ‘Beautiful. Sorry for teasing you. Can you cum for me? I want you to feel good,’ 

You hiccup, another loud sob as Wyll keeps steady. 

“C-cumming,” You choke on the words, on your spit. “I’m—fuck!” 

Wyll lets you ride your orgasm out as you cum for the first time in the night. Your body goes arching, gripping on his horns hard trying to pull him away as you push through to the other side. You’re pulsing in his mouth, tightening around nothing as you cum for him. It feels like it goes on forever, long waves and tremors until the feeling dies down. 

He pulls away once you’ve finally laid back down, exhausted and out of breath. You stare at him a little blankly, an arm covering your face. 

“Up here,” You say tiredly, gesturing him up. “I need to kiss you.” 

Wyll laughs good naturedly as you wrap an arm around Wyll’s neck, dragging him down towards you and kissing him hard - drunk off pleasure. You kiss him in chaste pecks,  hugging him. Nudging your nose along his neck, you whisper in his ear. 

“Take your pants off, dammit.” 

Wyll can’t help his laughter.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” 

You hook your fingers into Wyll’s trousers, helping him pull them down until his cock springs free. Your eyes go lidded as soon as you see it, hands cupping the now bare skin. Wyll hisses slightly at the sudden touch, unused to the friction. You look up at him, a hand between your bodies - closing your fist around the base of his cock. 

“Bumps and prongs, huh,” 

Wyll flushes immediately, making you laugh. 

“I hope you’re not making fun of me.” 

“How could I when I’m this turned on?” You offer sincerely. He shudders at the touch. “I like it. Can I blow you?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Your turn to laugh. “I’m good at it. And I want to. It’s a little sensitive for you to fuck me, anyway.” 

Wyll swallows thickly. “I guess I have no reason to deny you.” 

“No you don’t. Now come on and stand up,” 

He gives you a hesitant look before peeling himself off of you. He stands to his feet, his pants still rolled down just past his thighs. He slides them off so the two of you are naked, and laments a little in his mind about the fact you’re doing this deep in the outdoors. You’re quick to follow Wyll, walking on your knees towards him until you’re eye-level with his cock. 

He’s never gotten this far. He’s a romantic in all the ways it matters, so save for some grinding and kissing - it’s a new experience. You look like you know what you’re doing though. You kiss his hips, hands on his thighs and an expression that he finds remarkably innocent for what you’re about to do. All Wyll can do is watch, and feel increasingly fidgety about the sight in front of him. 

You crane your head down and place pecks from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You let his cock rest against your face, taking a sharp inhale of the skin - perverse and desperate.  Wyll groans, deep from his chest as you smile. You’re not unsettled by it at all, as reverent as you always are. 

His body has grown especially sensitive because of Mizora’s interference. He can feel the heat in his blood starting to swell as blood rushes to his cock, making him grow bigger. The way you’re looking at him isn’t helping. 

You poke your tongue out from your mouth and leave long licks along his cock - from base to tip. Like you sense he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, you guide them to hold your head. He feels a weird sense of guilt about it, but the pleasure outweighs the shame - he doesn’t force you down. Just keeps you painfully steady as you do all of the world. 

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Every little wet lick and stroke is enough to make his spine prick with need. The tip of his cock leaks pre-cum. You press it against your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft in full, your tongue dipping into the slit making Wyll hiss. 

“Shit,” He huffs, hands gripping tighter but not moving you “That feels good,” 

You give him a little smile that makes Wyll’s stomach flip. Like you know it’s going to catch him off guard, you finally open your mouth to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. It’s lighter and more sensitive than the rest of his cock. You wrap your tongue around it with expertise and Wyll finds himself nearly bedding on the knee, legs starting to feel weak.

You use one hand to steady yourself on his thigh, the other slipping between your legs. 

He can only watch on in awe, the impressive way you sink around the hot, hard length. Your tongue is soft, the cavern of your mouth wet and inviting. Wyll nearly breaks - almost fucks into your throat by bucking up. He restrains himself as you go lower and lower, eyes going increasingly wide as his cock disappears in the column of your throat. Just when he thinks you can’t get any further, you do. He can feel the tip disappear in the narrowness of your throat, awestruck as drool starts to drip from the sides of your mouth. 

You make a sound, muffled as you hit the base of Wyll’s cock like it’s nothing. You sink in further, nose pressing against his navel as you glance up at him. It’s too lewd, damn near -  seeing you deepthroat him with such ease. You inhale again, and Wyll flushes at the realization of what you’re doing exactly. 

You pull off in one go, saliva dripping down your chin and neck as you open your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks and wrapping a free hand around whatever your mouth can’t easily reach, you start to set a pace. It’s fast and slick and messy, pre-cum mixed with saliva making your face grow sticky - taking deep breaths of Wyll’s scent and musk every time you manage to swallow it all. It’s depraved seeing you suck his cock with such obvious lust and desire, eager to swallow him and show him pleasure. 

Wyll feels the pleasure. His entire body feels like it’s being wrapped in something slick and warm, little sparks of electricity traveling from his fingertips to his spine. His head feels especially light, filled with fluff and devoid of conscious consideration. 

“Your mouth feels incredible,” Wyll groans, shuddering, holding your head as you let his cock bottom out in your mouth again “Hells,”

You sound pleased, a pleasant reverb going through his body as you set a pace - bobbing your head and swallowing every inch of him without flinching. The sound of your throat constricting around him and your own hands fill the surroundings. He’s glad you’re so lost in the movements because his own voice is punched out of him each time you go down. He didn’t know he was capable of making this much noise, such deep groans and heavy breaths every time you so much as move.

You pull him out completely, letting spit and saliva rub against your mouth as you tap against your face. Wyll feels a restless embarrassment at the pit of his stomach as you make eye-contact with him. He feels his cock twitch hard, something starting to come undone in his gut as he pulls you away. 

“Stop,” He wheezes, and you do with a pleased laugh “Shit that’s dangerous. You’re…talented.” 

You pause before breaking out into more giggles, kissing his cock one last time. Wyll covers his face with his hands. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“...It’s meant to be one.” 

“Glad you’re impressed,” You say with a wicked little grin - all sharp teeth and delight. “I wanted to go longer.” 

“We have days together. Another time, my love.” 

Your smile grows a little. You are bad for his heart in more ways than one, Wyll thinks. 

“Mm. Okay. I can’t really wait much longer, anyway. Another wave is gonna hit soon and I feel antsy.” 

“Get comfortable and lay down. And, I hate to ask so late - but should I be worrying…? About protection?” 

You blink at him as you set up on the ground, moving around pillows for you to lay on. You shake your head. “Mm. Should be fine. Getting contraceptives should be easier since we’re closer to the city. Unless you don’t want to take that risk?” 

Your expression is uncharacteristically innocent. Wyll weighs his desire against reason, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the clear winner. His cock is throbbing to the extent it’s near painful.

(He doesn’t hate the thought of giving you a child, either. Though he thinks it’s much too early to say something like that, and he’d prefer to plan something so important. Still, it isn’t the worst outcome. It’d be a precious little thing, half-werewolf and beautiful. 

He brushes over the thought just as quickly as he has it, a little taken aback by his own desires. It’s like everything is being bled from him, no thought too precious to strike his mind. It’s too early to think about, no less mention.

He should marry you before that. The thought of it makes him harder.) 

“As I had suspected, I’m only half the man I consider myself to be.” 

“Are you reflecting on your failings?” You tease. Wyll lets out a breath of air. 

“On my hypocrisy, if I were to put a name to it. I didn’t realize desire could be so debilitating.” Wyll explains, joining you where you lay. You giggle lightly as Wyll positions himself between your legs, leaning in to kiss you shortly. “Seems you’ve uncovered something I wasn’t aware of.” 

“Really?” 

Wyll laughs against your lips as he kisses you again. “You often do.” 

He brushes it aside as he pulls back. You lock eyes with him. Wyll is mesmerized. Your features start to round out again, eyes becoming glassy with need in the same familiar way as before. Wyll knows it now. He reaches over to cup your face with his palm, smile breaking his composure as you instinctively rub your cheek against the rough skin. He lets his thumb press against your lips, indulging your desire for affection. 

“Are you still all there?” 

“Hf. Yes. Not for long,” You say, urging him down towards you. Once again the proximity between you disappears. This time bare skinned, chest to chest. Wyll can feel the erratic thump of your heart, the unsteady quality in your breathing. You sink back into the same heat drunk place, a slow descent. Your pupils open wide enough for him to lose his senses. “Don’t keep me waiting, please.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You fall into a synchronicity this time around. Your legs spread wide, open and wanting. Wyll feels his throat start to close. His stomach flutters restlessly as he pushes his cock through your folds once, then twice - his head thrown back at the feeling of your bare skin. He reminds himself this isn’t something to get used to, but the pleasure is easy to indulge in. 

It’s worsened by the fact you’re beautiful. 

Wyll finds you so beautiful it’s ridiculous, even to him. The plush of your lips, the way your lashes fall along as your cheek, the shape of your eyes. All of you, bathed in moonlight and blessed by the higher powers. You’re a culmination, the very pinnacle of Wyll’s every last mad desire. If everything around him faded to nothing, Wyll would have no clue. No sense, no rational, no righteousness. With nothing but himself to offer you, he’s moonstruck. Hung up on your affection and the feeling of warmth of mutual love. 

The order is all out of sorts, and everything is complicated. But Gods. Gods. You’re more beautiful than every dream he’s ever seen you in. Even the magic of his mind couldn’t form something so perfect. 

“You’re really the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Your eyes widen, blinking rapidly before breaking out into a flush. “What are you saying?” 

“When I was a boy, I often imagined getting married,” Wyll says, drawing little circles along your hip. Your mouth opens, but falls shut as you feel the head of his cock push against you. You shudder as Wyll moves so slowly, with no intent of pushing in. “I had high hopes for love. The magic of fairy tale romance always spoke to me. I was fond of beautiful sights too, to boot.” 

Your breath hitches. Wyll feels you start to stretch around the tip of his cock. He swears under his breath, slowing even more. You let out a soft mewl as Wyll breathes through the sensation. 

“But you know,” He presses deeper, just slightly. A suggestion of a thrust. Your hand shoots out to grab Wyll’s wrist where he’s gripping you at the waist. His vision strains as he moves slowly, another terrible inch. “You’ve, haah,  exceeded my every expectation. There was no need for daydreaming.” 

You make a choked sound as Wyll goes even deeper. Your hands grip tight, that same drunken look returning to you. The parts of you that are still there are teary eyed, sniffling. Your cunt pulses around him, sucking him deeper. You feel good, but Wyll is more focused on you. Imprinting you into his memory, like tonight is the last time he’d ever get to see you. 

“If I could go back, to any time - I think I’d go back to being seventeen,” Wyll says with a smile, dropping himself closer to you. He leans up on his arm, noses brushing tenderly as you hiccup “I would tell Wyll from then to be strong. Become a Blade that can defend for the one who will become your shield.” 

You look up at him teary and frustrated. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cry, and Wyll laughs a little. Everything is so warm. He loves you. 

“If you’re any kinder to me, I don’t know what’ll become of me. Ugh, my eyes sting.” 

Wyll can’t help his smile. “We’ll have to see it through, then.” 

“Stop being so romantic and fuck me.” 

He kisses your hairline. “As you wish.” 

Wyll puts his hands up under your knees, folding you underneath him as he finally bottoms out. You both moan as you feel Wyll fill you up. You kiss him in that position, all desperation - tongue and teeth. Wyll is startled but indulges, a grinding thrust making you mewl into his mouth. He swallows the noise. 

“Fuck me,” You huff, your eyes bleary. “I can—can feel you in my stomach,” 

Wyll groans. 

You feel incredible. Wyll has to stop moving to steady his mind. He wants to last a little longer than a few seconds if he can help it. Your cunt wraps around his cock like silk. Sticky walls clinging to him like a vice, pulsing with need at the slightest movement. Wyll is connected to you in such an intimate way, it makes him feel visceral. Almost possessive. You hold on like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

He takes another long breath, steadying himself as he pulls out and slams himself back in. You cry out in response to the first thrust, but you don’t ask him to slow down. Wyll focuses on keeping his thrusts weighted and steady, something constant enough that your focus doesn’t break. He wants to make you cum again, and he knows better what you need now. He keeps you pinned underneath the weight of him as he finds a pace to move to. 

Once he finds it, Wyll fucks you without abandon. You hold onto him tight, nose nudged against his neck as you let out the tiniest whimpers he’s ever heard you make. The pleasure debases you completely, makes you all wild. Wyll likes seeing you fall apart with each movement. Every time he pistons the right spot your eyes go wide and flutter back closed as if it’s too much. 

The two of you make a mess. Wyll can hear his cock pull and push the arousal out of you - each thrust wet. It’s messy enough to make your skin stick together. 

“Wyll,” You say his name like it’s a prayer of your goddess. Something to save you. Some kind of sacrilege that Wyll feels no guilt for. “I love you, I love you. Fuck—fuck me,” 

“You’re my whole life,” Wyll grunts. “I’ll give you everything. Everything, my love.” 

“I’m close,” Your voice is hoarse as you say it. “I’m so close, just a little—” 

Wyll knows what you’re asking for. His hand sneaks between your bodies, palm resting on your tummy as his thumb messy circles on your puffy clit. You choke on your words, a broken thank you among the mess as Wyll keeps fucking you. Determined to make you cum one more time, he goes and goes and goes. 

Wyll can feel you cum before you can tell him. You try to announce it, but the words don’t come out. He can feel your hesitance, feeling something in you as your teeth graze his necks. 

“You can bite me. I can withstand it, love”  

A pained whine is followed by the sharp feeling of your teeth in Wyll’s shoulder, as your voice breaks out into a howl. When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than before like you’re trying to latch onto him, your whole body going rigid before the tension breaks. Your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp as Wyll fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you through it until he feels you’ve calmed down. 

“Cum, Wyll. For me, please.” 

It’s enough to drive Wyll to the very edge. His desire reaches an impressive high. His thrusts become shallow, sloppy - the wet sound of him fucking you open finally reaching his ears as he gives into his own needs.  Wyll cums hard. He bottoms out as he does, thick white ropes painting your insides as the two of you lay with each other. 

When Wyll finally catches his breath and starts to go soft, he pulls away to look at you. You’re frowning at him. 

“Is something—” 

“Being sweet to me like that in the middle of that is unfair. I’m going to hold it against you.” 

Wyll pauses before breaking out into a giggle. 

“I was worried for a minute.” 

“I love you.” You add, a little softer time. “Thank you for coming to find me.” 

“Always.” Wyll replies, hugging you to him. “I adore you, you know.” 

__ 

EPILOGUE: 

You return to camp together at the end of your tenday. 

Wyll is covered in all sorts of marks by the time you’ve arrived, and so are you. There’s not really anything to do to hide that. Or to hide the fact he’s utterly exhausted by the whole thing. He’s drained, though he thinks he could do it again if he timed it better. 

It was nice to spend an entire tenday together, though. In between having sex or Wyll meeting your needs - you ate and slept and bathed together. Despite your circumstances the entire situation was domestic - and Wyll enjoyed being with you. 

You are absolutely chipper and uncaring about the situation. Wyll wishes he could be a little more like you in this case. 

The first person to see you at camp is Karlach. 

“Well, look who it is!” Karlach chirps, absolutely delighted. “The lovebirds are back,” 

The whole camp stirs at the announcement. It’s early enough that everyone is still at camp. Wyll feels his skin prick with heat as you leave his side, prancing over to Karlach to chat with her. Back to your usual self, Wyll feels a specific fondness about having seen a new side of you and remaining so unchanged. 

“Oh, you’ve returned?” Astarion says. Wyll looks up, surprised. 

“Ah, uhm, yes.” 

Astarion stands next to Wyll with his arms crossed. 

“Have you finally done it or do I have to endure more of your incessant pining?” 

Wyll chokes on his spit. 

“You’re losing your touch Astarion,” Shadowheart says, shuffling into camp from behind Wyll with a towel that needs to be dried. “That one over there is chipper and this one can barely look at them. Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know?” 

“Tsk. You’re right. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or some celebration. At least I won’t have to see you two eye-fucking each other every day. It was getting dire..” 

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Shadowheart says. “He’s doing it right now even after they spent a tenday wrapped in each other's arms.” 

Astarion sighs. “Gods. Can’t have anything these days.” 

Wyll opts not to say anything, handling them with usual grace. 

“Thanks for the congratulations,” Wyll says, staring at you idly. “Hope it wasn’t too difficult without us.” 

“Hardly.” 

Wyll smiles at that. He watches you as you talk to Karlach animatedly, smiling a little harder. He can take as much teasing as they dish out. 

He could endure it ten times over, as long as he gets to be with you. 

☾ a/n ; whew… we've made it to the end. i wrote this fic in a whopping 12 days. it was a crazy experience especially since i havent written anything i'd personally consider substantial since like.. idk april 2023. i also mostly write for anime so its a little nervewracking specifically writing for bg3. THAT BEING SAID. i love wyll. i started playing the game for him and he has bewitched me mind body and soul. it is rather disheartening to see how much larian dgaf about him so i guess part of me writing this is also trying to convince people to see what i see in wyll. something something that joan didion quote about writing as a form of violence bc of imposing views something something.

wyll is a really moving character to me. i like characters who are categorically so righteous it drives them to the destruction of themselves.

but the specific dichotomy of wyll - a man who has lost every ounce of agency time and time again with this tav was especially consuming. tav too is considered a monster, but they embrace and love this part of themselves. i think witnessing that, and the reframing monstrosity in wylls case is really helpful for him. tav doesnt know what losing their agency is like, but they're able to restructure wylls belief of what this new body of his is worth. that he is worthy all the same, and that he exists outside of being the blade. these sorts of things haunted me during this. but also… i just wanted to see wyll bang a desperate heat addled werewolf shorty. lol.

ANYWAYS. sorry for this MASSIVE wall of text. i just really love wyll so much and i hope this iteration of him felt in line with who he is. and if you're not a wyll fan and just a fic consume well… i hope i was able to compel you towards him a bit. in any case, thanks for reading! and please do leave a comment if you liked it! all feedback appreciated.

also i dont normally ask but if you could rb this fic if you liked it'd be appreciated </3 im trying to find wyll likers ehdjksjf

[bangtanintotheroom]

Fill the Void (M)

I don't wanna decide things for myself, on my own

Finally, for the first time, I'm alone

You call me, havin' good times with a bad boy

Seems I've got a choice to make

Be my voice and I choose you to fill the void

• Pairing: Professional Dom!Hyunjin x Client!(F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Sex Worker!AU, Smut

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 7.1k

• Summary: He’s always there to help you forget your troubles, even if it’s just for a few hours.

• Warnings/themes: explicit sexual content, sex work, swearing, drinking, discussion of safe words and consent, dom!Hyunjin, sub!Y/N, sensory deprivation (blindfold), usage of sl*t, degradation, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, praise, use of sex toys, fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, light choking, protected sex, spanking, multiple orgasms, aftercare

• Playlist: 🎧

• Song Inspo: Fill the Void - The Weeknd, Lily-Rose Depp (Spotify | Soundcloud)

• Notes: Wow, look who finished this, eons later! I am so sorry for everyone who’s been looking forward to this, between the holiday and con rush and focus issues, it was hard getting this complete 🥲 but it’s here now and I hope it was somewhat worth the wait! Shoutout to my lovely Sunclair @minisugakoobies for beta reading! 💖

• Taglist: @minttangerines @aznstoner @horanghater @addictedtohobi @swga-ficrecs @firesighgirl @hyunjinsjeans

It didn’t matter how many times you frequented this place; your reaction would always be the same.

Heart picking up in speed as you opened the heavy wooden door between a nail salon and a cat cafe.

Eyes darting around at the picture frames of scantily clad people hanging on the burgundy walls.

Lips curling as you approached the androgynous young man sitting behind the singular desk in the lobby.

He was quick to notice you, glittered eyes crinkling in recognition.

“Y/N, so good to see you again!”

“Same to you, Felix. Is he here tonight?”

What did it say about you that a specific name didn’t have to be announced for him to know who you were talking about?

“Of course, he just got in a few minutes ago. I’ll give him a call.”

Nodding in understanding, you waited as the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed. It didn’t take long for him to start speaking to who was on the other end.

“Hey man, what’s up? I’ve got a surprise for you here.”

A pause while you fiddled with your purse strap.

“One of your regulars is back.”

Felix chose to shoot you a wink from the side, making you grin bashfully.

“Yup, that’s the one. How long will it be?”

More silence before he nodded.

“Sounds good, she’ll be waiting for you. See ya.”

Hanging up the phone, Felix shot you a smile that contrasted with the dark and sensual decor.

“It’ll be a few minutes, he’s just freshening up and he’ll be out for you.”

His words only made your pulse quicken further, but you played it cool on the surface as you replied, “Wonderful. Thank you.”

“Just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

His suggestion was paired with an arm outstretched towards a waiting area to the right, occupied with a few patrons sitting on black velvet couches. With a nod at the blond, you headed into the room, only receiving a glance or two from the other occupants. You took a seat on one of the armchairs in the corner, crossing your legs and leaning back into the cushion as you waited.

To soothe the nerves that always plagued you in this establishment, your eyes took in the people nearby. There were only five of them, taking up little space in the sizable room.

Two of them were huddled together on one of the sofas, most likely a couple judging by the way they held hands and touched knees. Not an ounce of anxiety was on their faces; if anything, they looked eager for whatever was in store for them tonight.

As for the others…

Your eyes shifted subtly to the opposite side.

Three young men who seemed to be good friends, but were currently on different wavelengths. The one in the middle was sandwiched between the other two as they whispered excitedly. He seemed to be less enthusiastic than them, leg bouncing while he kept shaking his head or retorting to the others. A pat on the back helped ease his nerves, body leaning back into the seat as he took deep breaths.

Poor sap was probably a newbie.

You remembered when you were in his position. It felt like so long ago.

Or maybe you had just been here so often that it felt like a long time.

Either way, you were in and knew what you needed tonight.

“Y/N?”

A familiar voice brought you to attention, straightening up in your seat at the tall and lean figure now standing in front of you as your stomach flipped in on itself.

“Hyunjin.”

The man smiled down at you, the red lights illuminating and shadowing the right places on his handsome face.

“Welcome back.”

You returned the expression, cheeks heating up despite your best efforts. He always seemed to have this effect on you.

“It’s good to be back.”

Hyunjin’s magnetic smile only widened, holding a hand out towards you. Without exchanging any more words, you took it, marveling at the warmth and delicacy of it. The opposite of what it could really do behind closed doors.

He helped you up and led you out of the waiting room and back into the hall. You saw the other patrons staring at the two of you out of the corners of your eyes, expressions ranging from encouragement to curiosity. Probably wondering what the enticing worker and the client in her wrinkled pantsuit were going to get up to.

Nothing was said as you and him walked past closed doors, the occasional sounds soaking through them. A moan. A groan or two. Some laughter. Once in a while a scream of pleasure. Or pain.

The first couple of visits, you’d jump and blink owlishly at the rooms, your gaping broken by the gentle tug Hyunjin would give your hand. You were used to these noises by now; it was nothing but background music to you.

Finally, a familiar door ended up in your vision. The dark wood with the red chain wrapped around the handle had your stomach knotting in titillation. Just like always.

Hyunjin opened it and motioned you to enter first, waiting until you stepped halfway in to shut it behind him.

His designated room fit the aesthetic of the establishment, yet it had its own style that catered to its owner. Black made up most of the decor, with the occasional blocks of white and garnished by gold. With the large bed in the middle, decorated with multiple throw pillows, any passerby would assume this was a normal person’s bedroom.

But the oddly-shaped chair looming in the corner hinted at what occurred here other than sleeping and relaxing.

“Need a drink?”

The query made you inhale and let out a heavy breath.

“Please.”

You made yourself comfortable on the end of the king-sized bed, unbuttoning your blazer before tossing it behind you. The urge to lay back and sink into the cozy mattress crept up, but you fought it in favor of watching Hyunjin work his magic at the mini bar.

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while, thought something might’ve happened.”

You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.

“No, just a deadline that’s been sucking the soul out of me.”

The worker hummed in understanding, turning around to reveal a glass in his hand, halfway full with white wine. As soon as he was within reach, you took a hold of the drink, wasting no time in taking a sip. The room temperature liquid slid down your throat like it was gold, pulling a sigh out when you pulled the glass away.

“Fuck, I needed that. Thank you, Hyunjin.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

Hyunjin sat next to you, the distance enough to be respectable yet hint to the familiarity the two of you had.

“How have you been?”

One more sip and you turned your head to answer.

“On the verge of jumping out a window.”

The chuckle he gave was minor, though his expression exuded sympathy.

“Has work been that difficult?”

“Difficult doesn’t even come close to it.”

“Oh?”

Just that one little word was enough to have you prepping to express just what had been plaguing you in your career to even bring you here tonight.

“Well, where do I start?”

You moved your free arm back to lean on it, head tilting back to face the ceiling.

“Rumor has it that one of my managers is going to be laid off soon, despite our team being in the middle of a large project.”

You lifted the half-empty glass in the air.

“We have a new intern. Nice kid, but the amount of times he’s forgotten the basic details because he’s too focused on the big picture is irritating.”

The grip on the crystal stem tightened.

“I just found out that the sales coordinator who has been hitting on me is married. But if you ask him, he’ll say he’s in an open relationship.”

You sighed and shook your head.

“I actually liked that asshole.”

Hyunjin gave a scoff before remarking, “Men aren’t shit.”

“Seriously. Oh, and—” The lip of the glass hovered just centimeters away from your lips now. “—I got a parking ticket this morning.”

The tiniest of snorts left Hyunjin while you downed the rest of your drink, letting out a sigh of relief once it finished sliding down your throat.

“You’ve really been going through it, haven’t you?”

“To say the least.”

Your head turned, looking over the other’s appearance with interest. He always had the most interesting outfits on whenever you came, emphasizing his tall and lean figure. This time was no exception.

A short-sleeved sweater vest with a crisp white collar and a black tie wrapped around his neck and simple black slacks. A few bracelets and a watch on his wrists to brighten up the dark look. His hair was tied up this time, showing off an undercut you remembered him mentioning during your last visit. But while you were studying his face, you noticed something that wasn’t there before.

“This is new.”

You pointed to the metal sitting underneath Hyunjin’s right brow, his expression brightening.

“Ah, you noticed. I got it a few weeks ago.”

A hum vibrated through your lips as you admired the piercing.

“It suits you.”

He was quick to express his gratitude, clearly pleased that you brought it up. The two of you conversed on whatever came up for a while, acting like old friends and not a worker and client about to get down to business. But you started growing restless after a certain point, ready to receive what you came here for.

“Hyunjin?”

“Hm?”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear while looking into his eyes.

“I think I’m ready now.”

Your words made Hyunjin’s eyes steel, starting to enter into professional mode.

“Are you sure?”

No hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Okay—” He placed a hand on the small of your back, rubbing with comfort. “—how do you want it, Y/N?”

You knew. You knew since you began planning to come here earlier in the week. But it was a little further than what you were used to doing with him.

So you had to swallow the spit gathering in your mouth before responding, “Rough. Rougher than usual.”

The shift in Hyunjin’s dark eyes resembled the one you would see in your coworkers as they prepared to counter suggestions in meetings. His hand also stopped rubbing your lower back.

“How rough?”

His question forced you to take a moment and remember how the system he had set up worked. When you mulled over just how far you wanted him to go, you held up four fingers. He counted each digit and raised a brow at your answer.

“Are you sure? We’ve never gone that far before.”

“Yes, Hyunjin. I really need this, believe me.”

Your tone was verging on desperate, dying to give complete control over to this man and forget about anything irrelevant. It was just the professional in him making sure that his client knew what they were signing up for. You appreciated it, really.

But you needed Hyunjin to start making you forget your own name.

Thankfully, he nodded after a pause or two, his hand continuing to move again.

“Okay, love. That means we’ll have to do a refresher on safe words.”

Ah. Now you really had to dig in your brain this time.

You had never been pushed far enough that you had to use them, but now you were testing your boundaries. Hyunjin was good at his job, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong.

With intense focus, you attempted to recall the words. It took a while yet they returned in full clarity.

“Soft.”

“To keep going.”

You nodded.

“Hard.”

His mouth quirked.

“To bring up the intensity.”

The next one.

“Pause.”

“To stop completely.”

“And…”

This one took longer, but you managed.

“Swap.”

“To switch it up.”

You hummed in approval, his answers matching up correctly with your words.

“I’m surprised you remember.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders lifted in nonchalance.

“It’s my job, darling.”

A chuckle came from you; he did have a point.

“Fair. So—” You set your empty glass on the floor before standing up, cocking your head as you looked down at him. “—should I undress myself or would you like to do the honors?”

Hyunjin gave you the sauciest of smirks, letting you know that play time was over.

“It’s all up to you, love.”

Yes.

This was just what you needed.

To think about nothing except the toy sliding in and out of you and the one controlling it.

It took little effort on Hyunjin’s part to clear your mind of the troubles plaguing you outside of this building. As soon as you were stripped down to nothing but your skin, he was quick to switch to his other persona, instructing you to get comfortable on the piece of furniture in the corner before strapping you in with ease. The way his lips quirked when he looked over your bound form never failed to raise goosebumps. It was the last glimpse you got of him before satin covered your eyes and left you to view nothing but darkness.

And true to his promise, he began pushing you to your limits.

“A-Ah—”

You could hear him huff below you, taunting, “You’re making a mess on my furniture, darling.”

You were pretty sure he wasn’t exaggerating; every time the vibrator sunk in or pulled back, you could feel your wetness dripping out and collecting into a puddle underneath your ass. This was how you got whenever Hyunjin teased you. The ability he had to build you up and make you walk to the mountaintop, only to force you to turn around and head back down was astonishing.

And addicting.

“Mnh—”

It was pointless to tug at the bands around your wrists. You didn’t even budge an inch.

“So needy for a piece of plastic. It’s adorable.”

You tried to stop what came out of your mouth next automatically, but failed, retorting, “That piece of plastic is making me feel good— Ah!”

A sharp impact on your thigh brought a cry out of you, swiftly followed by his stern voice.

“Manners, Y/N.”

Oops. One of the rules established was to not talk back and you almost ruined the mood.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Hyunjin clicked his tongue at your meek apology, clearly not too pleased with the interruption.

“I thought I was doing my job, but I guess not since your mouth just ran off.”

You couldn’t avoid the way your walls squeezed when you heard him say in a velvety tone, “Guess we’ll have to fix that, hm?”

Within a second, you could feel the toy pulling out, a whine escaping your lips as you felt so empty all of a sudden.

“Sir—”

He didn’t allow you to utter another syllable as you felt something wet and hot gliding against your swollen folds out of nowhere. The sensation made you jerk in your restraints and yelp sharply, legs bound tight to prevent you from closing them. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing at the moment.

Hyunjin’s tongue took its sweet time traveling, the tip dipping into crevices and swirling around your hard clit with precision. In any other situation, the attention would be welcome, especially from someone as skilled as him. But this was not helping with the golden rule of the night.

Don’t come unless he says so.

“Hyu— Sir, please!”

You trembled at the hum washing over your center. “Hm?”

“Sir…more.” A pause. “Please?”

Almost forgot your manners.

“I don’t know, love, can you handle more?”

Could you? Probably not, but tonight was about pushing your boundaries…

“Yes.”

Nothing but your labored breathing was heard for some time. Which was why you flinched at the feel of something much smaller and warmer than the vibrator poking at your entrance.

“Is this good enough for you, greedy thing?”

“Y-Yes sir!”

Your pitch increased when you felt his finger slide into you with little resistance, burying up to the knuckle. Hips raising at the sensation, they began following the rhythm of Hyunjin’s thrusting, enjoying the bundle of pleasure that began building up again.

“Fuck, you’re so needy.”

A pinch of your hip interrupted your movements, teeth catching onto your bottom lip.

“Fucking yourself onto my finger like a slut. Never imagined that this would be what I dealt with tonight.”

There was no hiding the shiver that wracked your body at his words. And if there was a chance, it was wiped off the map when Hyunjin tapped onto your G-spot, ripping a shriek out of you.

“Shit!”

The chuckle you heard was dripping with nearly sadistic amusement at your predicament.

“There you go, making a mess again.”

Your face burned with unbearable heat as he pointed out the obvious, feeling your arousal dribbling out every time he stroked the soft area or thrusted into it. It was difficult to get like this with any of your previous partners, but the man between your legs had you in such a state without even breaking a sweat.

To make matters worse, Hyunjin went back to stimulating your clit with his mouth. You could hear the clinking of the chains as you pulled your wrists forward, barely making any distance. He had made it so you couldn’t move as he ruined you to bits; all you could do was squirm on the chair and express yourself through expletives and moans.

It didn’t take long for your body to sink into the rhythm he was creating, fighting less and less against the pleasure. You had even bucked your hips a few times, receiving chuckling and teasing from the other.

But then you realized at a certain point that you were getting too relaxed.

For a string deep in your belly began forming into a knot and pulling tight.

Fuck. Not good.

“Y/N.”

The rigidity surrounding your name made you freeze before Hyunjin continued, “You better not be doing what I think you’re about to do.”

“I-I’m not, sir—”

The way your voice shook and you tugged at your bindings betrayed your words. Denying the sensation only seemed to exacerbate it, the mass growing further and further the more his fingers slid in and out of your pussy.

“Doesn’t feel like it. Remember what I said?”

“Y-Yes.”

A sharp pinch to your inner thigh made you whimper.

“Say it.”

“Don’t c-come unless you say so. I promise I won’t, sir.”

A rub on that same spot was followed by, “Good.”

But he didn’t ease up. Instead, he continued his motions and challenged your resistance to breaking one of his rules. You were trying to give the facade that you were under control, but your body kept twisting and whimpers poured from your agape mouth.

It was so tempting to just give up and say your safe word, but fuck that.

You were on a mission tonight and you weren’t raised to be a quitter.

The sting of nails digging into your palms felt minor compared to the ache between your legs.

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it.

The sensation remained stagnant before finally beginning to fade into slight discomfort. Although your body protested, your mind was satiated by the praise you heard next.

“Good girl. I love when you listen to me.”

You hummed in appreciation at Hyunjin’s words and the hand gently rubbing your hip now.

“Th-Thank you, sir.”

The welcoming warmth of his palm lulled you into somewhat of a relaxed state that made you aware of the current position you were in. The hardness of the chair was starting to make your bottom sore and your hands and feet were starting to get a bit tingly now. Your lips turned downwards as you tried but failed to regain your discomfort.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Easy.”

His touch paused, the heat stagnant on your skin.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“A little.”

You heard Hyunjin hum before responding, “Should we move this to the bed, darling?”

Just the thought of laying on the soft duvet had your tone brightening as you gave your approval. The hand left your hip before landing above your head to work on loosening you from the furniture.

Feeling the leather unwrap from your wrists and ankles was a mild relief, flexing your toes and fingers for a moment before you felt your hips being grabbed and pulled downwards. Your legs came together quick enough to help you stand, although they had little strength once your feet touched the ground. Your sense of balance was affected from the prolonged position and you stumbled forward.

If it wasn’t for the hands that swiftly supported your waist, you would have ended up face first with the carpet.

“Be careful.”

Anyone unfamiliar with Hyunjin would have missed the minor softening of his tone, the immersion breaking for a moment to make sure you were able to continue. You took this opportunity to rest your forehead against what felt like his shoulder and regain your bearings. The sensation of fabric against your skin and the scent of his cologne entering your nostrils contributed to being aware of your surroundings once again.

After taking a few deep breaths, you straightened up, hoping that you were looking somewhere at Hyunjin’s face.

“Y/N, how are you feeling?”

A loaded question, really.

You were feeling like a mess in the best way possible, yet the sharp pang between your thighs was torturous. Every throb reminded you of what he had been putting you through for the last…

How long had it even been since you stepped in this room?

“I’m…soft.”

Hyunjin clued in on the word, a hum leaving him in response.

“I see. Do you think we should move this somewhere a little more comfortable?”

The invitation was more than welcoming to you. As much fun as you were having in the chair, nothing could beat the plushness of a bed. Especially his bed.

“I’d like that, sir.”

A rub of your waist made a thrill run down your spine, followed by his hands coming up behind your head.

“Should we take this off or leave it on?”

You didn’t want to risk nearly taking a spill again, so you chose the former, remaining still as Hyunjin undid the knot of your blindfold. As soon as the fabric was lifted off, you made the mistake of quickly opening your eyes, wincing as the dim light attacked them. The man in front of you chuckled in amusement, appearing as a blurry shape to you.

“I turned the lights down for a reason, darling.”

“Thank you…”

It took a minute to adjust, but you were able to finally see the other in full form, taking in his appearance.

Aside from a bead of sweat at his hairline, he looked nonplussed. Like he hadn’t been working you up with his own two hands.

Someone who was impeccable at his job.

“Come on.”

Hyunjin’s expression cooled, a hand sliding down to grip the back of your neck.

“Break time is over.”

The pang between your thighs returned in full force at the tone of his voice and touch, your head bobbing in agreement. He took a hold of your shoulders before turning you around, the king-sized bed in your view as he guided you to walk forward. Just as your legs were about to hit the foot of it, Hyunjin stopped you, leaning down to croon into your ear, “How do you want it?”

It wasn’t easy to answer immediately. The cautious part of you said to get in a position that wouldn’t break you down further, but the adventurous side wanted to go all out. You pondered for as long as you could, not feeling any sort of impatience from the man behind you.

But finally—

“Can I show you?”

Your question was answered with a hum, feeling his hands remove themselves. Once you were free, you stepped forward to climb onto the bed, stopping in the middle on your hands and knees. You lowered the side of your head to rest on the plush comforter, bringing your arms behind you to cross your wrists on the small of your back.

“Like this, sir.”

You heard Hyunjin make a sound of interest before footsteps echoed, stopping once his body was in your sight.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Your gaze connected with his. “And bind me again, please.”

Hyunjin quirked a brow, somewhat intrigued by your request. Studying your expression to find any hesitation, he gave his own approval once it was clear that there was none.

“Alright. Lift your head up for a second.”

You were a bit confused, but obliged, watching his arm go out of view to grab something above your head. It was clear what he went for when he slid the object under your temple before motioning you to lower it, the coolness and comfort of the silk pillowcase providing some relief.

“So you don’t walk out of here with a sore neck.”

A smile couldn’t help but form, looking up at him as you gave your thanks. The tiniest lift of his mouth occurred but disappeared swiftly, leaving your sight as he walked off to grab whatever was needed for this next phase.

You were hopeful that whatever would enter you next wasn’t his fingers or another toy. At this point, you needed something more substantial. And knowing how thorough Hyunjin could be with what he hid in his slacks had your veins thrumming with electricity.

But alas. You blanked out for a moment and forgot that it wasn’t going to be the usual song and dance tonight, per your request.

For after you felt him locking the familiar leather cuffs around your wrists, his fingertips trailed down your body until they stroked against your dripping folds.

“Have you gotten even wetter, darling?”

You swallowed down a whimper when he tapped your throbbing clit, replying, “Maybe…”

A short laugh and a pinch to your bottom was what you got in return.

“Why am I not surprised? I bet you’re hoping that I’ll fuck you now, hm?”

Even if your body remained still as a board, surely he saw the way you reacted between your legs.

“Yes sir.”

A light swat on your ass had your breath hitching.

“Yes sir, what?”

Oh. Here we go.

You had to wet your dry lips before speaking lowly, “Yes sir, I’m hoping you’ll fuck me.”

Hyunjin didn’t seem to be entirely convinced as he delivered another smack, earning a short but sharp sound from you.

“It doesn’t sound like it, Y/N. You seemed more desperate when I had that piece of plastic inside you.”

Now you could feel his fingertip parting your folds before it slowly opened your entrance, sinking in ever so slightly, not even close to stroking that sweet spot.

“Even when my finger was in, you sounded needy. I think you were satisfied with just those, no?”

He probably wanted you to convince him. Really convince him.

Time to reach into your depths and pull out the performance of your life.

“No, sir. They’re not enough.”

You dared to push your hips back, forcing the digit in deeper.

“I need your cock instead. Need it to fuck me dumb.”

A noise of intrigue came from behind you, but you continued before he could say anything.

“I really need this, sir. Want you to stretch my pussy out some more—”

You moved back further, breath hitching when your spot was nearly touched.

“Please fuck me now.”

Nothing but your own heartbeat was heard, hoping that your little show was enough to prove yourself. After a moment, you felt the finger inside you take its sweet time sliding out, hips following in vain. A hard slap was given on your ass, followed by a deep chuckle.

“That was impressive, darling. I’ve never heard you sound so needy before.”

As much as you wanted to bury your heated face into the bed, you remained steady. “I’ll do what I have to to convince you, sir.”

“I see—”

The noise of his belt coming undone made your ears perk up.

“Then I should give the little slut what she’s been asking for, right?”

It was so hard to hide your triumphant grin, but you managed to dim it down into the tiniest of smiles.

“Thank you, sir.”

A pat to your bottom was Hyunjin’s appreciation of your manners. It felt like ages before you felt him get on the bed to kneel behind your bent form. But when something thicker than a finger and warmer than a vibrator rested between your ass cheeks, elation began blossoming in your chest. It was hard to resist when you decided to wiggle, biting back a giggle at the slightest intake of breath from him.

It was a temporary victory as Hyunjin’s hands took a firm hold of your hips, keeping you in place now.

“Cheeky.”

You weren’t surprised at the pinch you received, taking it in stride. This was what you were waiting for all night. Hell, all day. You didn’t have to hope that he would, to put it simply, fuck the ever-loving shit out of you.

The man knew how to do his job thoroughly.

“Ready?”

You nodded, shifting your body a bit to prepare for what was to come.

“Yes, sir.”

With those two words, you could feel Hyunjin grab himself, readjusting to have his tip pressing lower down now. Your toes curled instinctively when you felt the blunt head of his cock parting your folds before he began penetrating. You forgot how to breathe for a moment at the intrusion, nails digging into your palms. But he was giving you what you asked for and that’s all you could want.

Until—

Oh fuck.

You were more sensitive than you realized, feeling the familiar tingle in your fingers and toes start as he sunk further in. You tried to stave off the sensations, but with each inch, you felt your self control withering away and collecting into a ball of tension in your lower stomach. Your walls began trembling before starting to clench around him in preparation for—

“Y/N.”

The sharpness of your name forced you to pay attention, especially when Hyunjin followed with, “Don’t.”

Damn. Your body was a rebel, trying to fight against his command, pussy still throbbing incessantly. You had to get it under control now. Who knew what he’d have in store if you disobeyed?

“I-I’m trying, sir…”

You were forced to shut your eyes as you tried your damnedest to regain control, from counting backwards to picturing a calm ocean. After a few countdowns, you managed to refocus, avoiding the inevitable orgasm. Even though your cunt was screaming at you to give in to the sweet release, you felt a sense of satisfaction at being able to hold back.

Hyunjin seemed to be impressed also, giving a gentle rub to your sore ass cheek before cooing, “Such a good girl.”

You exhaled sharply, only to suck in a breath when you felt him begin to move. The thrusts were slow and long, forcing you to soak in every bit of his dick. He had a way of rolling his hips that not many men had in them, rendering you weak within a couple of minutes. Now was not an exception, soft moans starting to leave your parted lips with increasing frequency.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

“Mnh— Yes, sir. Feels good—”

Funny how nonplussed Hyunjin sounded compared to you, already getting lost in the pleasure.

“Good. I better keep hearing you sound like this.”

“Of course— Ah!”

A deeper than expected thrust ripped a cry from your throat. Your fingers curled and dug into your palms as you tried to keep it together. As badly as you wanted to release, you were determined to stick to your challenge tonight.

Even though the man behind you was making it insanely difficult.

He wouldn’t stick with the same, old rhythm. If Hyunjin wasn’t switching his strokes up, he was grunting or husking out words that made heat spread throughout every part of your body.

Good.

You wanted to forget about whatever happened prior to you stepping in this building and he was doing his absolute best to see your wish through.

Time was a foreign concept while you were being fucked. Especially when you were doing your best to not come before you were given the go ahead. But like a splash of cold water, you suddenly felt Hyunjin completely bury himself, skin flush against yours.

A yelp left you at the change, ready to call out his name until you heard something gruff and velvety ring out behind you.

“Come.”

Was it the way his word was delivered with pure authority? Was it because he was buried deep inside your cunt, flush with your bottom? Or was it how tight he gripped your hips, fingers digging hard enough to feel the dullness of his nails?

Either way, it hit you like a freight train.

If anyone had been walking close in the hallway, surely they heard the way you screamed out.

Spots filled your vision, every bit of your body shaking at the long-awaited release. The only thing keeping you from completely sinking into the bed were Hyunjin’s hands.

“Yes, that’s it, darling.”

How you managed to hear his praise during your prolonged orgasm was a miracle. Eventually, the sensations faded and you were of sound mind again.

The dom must have noticed as you could feel him beginning to thrust into you again, bringing a feeling of strong overstimulation to you. You bit back a whimper, your pussy trembling in a mix of pleasure and discomfort. You tried to subtly shift away from him, but to no avail.

A pressure on the chain linking your bound hands was quickly followed by a commanding, “Don’t fucking run—“

A sudden jerk of your cuffs forced your body to straighten, your bound hands now trapped between your back and Hyunjin’s torso.

“You wanted to come so badly, I’m giving it to you.”

There was little space for you to protest at all, a hand coming up to wrap around your neck and an arm wrapping around your waist to keep you in place. As soon as a light pressure made your breathing hitch, Hyunjin began pounding into you, harder than ever.

If it wasn’t for his fingers, you would have shrieked.

The sensitivity from before still lingered, bringing a mix of pain and bliss that was unlike what you had experienced with him before. But you never spoke any of your safe words.

You just let the other keep pushing you over the edge repeatedly, to the point where you practically forgot your own name. Your entire body and brain were entering into a fog that could only focus on the cock driving in and out of you and the debauchery being rasped into your ear.

“Fuck, that’s it! Coming endlessly like a needy slut.”

“This pussy of yours just keeps squeezing me over and over—”

“Such a good girl for me, mnh—!”

Just when you were on the verge of asking him to slow down, you felt Hyunjin completely bury himself before remaining still behind you. The gritted swearing and strong twitching of his cock against your hypersensitive walls clued you in to what was happening, a mix of relief tinted with satisfaction washing over you.

As the two of you caught your breath, exhaustion started sinking its claws into you. Your eyelids became heavy, threatening to close when he released your neck and waist to gently lay you on your front. Landing on the duvet only made the sensation worse, leaving you limp as a noodle.

If you had been by yourself in this room, there would’ve been no way to get out. Thank God for Hyunjin being here to look out for you.

You could feel him undoing your cuffs before he carefully rolled you onto your side, guiding you into a fetal position that was much needed.

“How are you feeling?”

Spent. Satisfied. Ready for a nap.

But all you could muster was a weak grunt.

Hearing Hyunjin hum, you felt a warm hand lay between your shoulder blades and begin to rub.

“Would you like something to eat and drink? It’ll help get your energy back.”

At least you could manage a nod, lids fluttering.

The hand was removed as he went to grab whatever he had stored away for moments like this, leaving you to try your best to not fall asleep right there. Luckily, Hyunjin returned swiftly, soft voice sounding again. “Darling, I’m going to sit you up, okay?”

You managed to croak a feeble response, allowing him to guide you to sit up against the pillows. You saw spots for a moment, leaning your head back to try and blink them away.

“Here.”

You looked down to see the lip of a water bottle in front of your face. With Hyunjin’s help, you managed to latch on and drink. Once you got a satisfying amount down, he handed you a small pack of saltines, already opened.

“Is this fine or would you like something else?”

The tiniest of smiles came over as you took the package.

“This is perfect. Thank you.”

Hyunjin reflected your expression, waiting until you ate one of the crackers before reaching for your free arm. As soon as his lithe fingers began working into your stiff muscles, you sighed in contentment.

“Your arms must be killing you right now.”

“Mm, I’ve had worse being in the gym.”

The dom chuckled at your light quip, glad to see that you were coming back down easily.

“I’ll still give you an Aleve before you head out, your tune might change in the morning.”

Even though your eyes rolled, you were appreciative of his thinking ahead. One of the reasons you always came back.

“Thank you.”

While you were snacking away, Hyunjin continued massaging all of your limbs, chasing away the aches and tingles with little effort. As soon as you finished eating and chugged your last bit of water, he was quick to offer you more, but you declined.

If you filled your stomach any more, you definitely would have curled up in your spot and taken a nap. You didn’t want to go over your time limit and interfere with his next client.

Once you had your bearings about you, you let Hyunjin know that you were ready to leave. He looked you over once more to make sure you were able to head home safely before helping you into the adjoining bathroom to freshen up. You cleaned up as best as you could and redressed, not caring that the wrinkles in your pantsuit worsened by now.

Your companion for the night took your hand and led you out and back down the hallway, your mood a 180 from a couple of hours ago. Stress didn’t run through your veins anymore, replaced with a lightness that could only come from a place like this.

“So how long will it be until I see your face again?”

A shrug greeted Hyunjin’s question.

“Hopefully not as long. I’ve still got some PTO left that I can use, so who knows?”

“Hm, we shall see.”

The two of you reached the entrance to the waiting room, the other stopping to turn and face you head-on.

“So this is goodbye, for now.”

You nodded and replied, “It is. Thank you again, Hyunjin. You don’t know how much I needed this tonight—” your teeth flashed, “—it’s like an entire weight off my shoulders.”

Hyunjin smiled politely, taking your free hand as well to give both of them a careful squeeze.

“As always, it’s my pleasure. You did great, Y/N.”

The praise brought a flutter to your chest and a warmth to your face. He was never shy with compliments. Although you had to wonder if his clients ever returned the favor on the regular…

Time to take a chance.

“So did you, Hyunjin.”

The way his eyes scrunched and teeth flashed, paired with his cheeks turning pink, let you know that you made the right decision.

“Thank you, darling.”

With a kiss to your hands and a good night, he sent you off on your way. You had a bounce in your step as you headed past the receptionist desk, Felix in the middle of a conversation with a young woman.

“I can guarantee you’ll have a good time with him, he’s one of our best here. Oh, Y/N!”

The call of your name made you pause, acknowledging the blond.

“How was it?”

Your grin expressed everything and more as you answered, “More than I needed and wanted.”

Felix beamed, pleased with your feedback. “Excellent! I actually have this wonderful young lady here asking about Hyunjin—” he jerked his head towards her, “—maybe you can give her your two cents?”

Said woman looked at you now, her lips curving with kindness and modesty.

“Hello. You’re familiar with Hyunjin?”

“Very. He’s my go-to guy whenever I visit. I’ve never had the urge to choose anyone else.”

Her eyes widened, curiosity covering her face now.

“Wow, really? That’s quite the preference.”

Watching the way she reacted reminded you of your first time here; on edge and unsure what exactly you wanted from one of the doms. If it wasn’t for the extensive patience Hyunjin showed you that first night, you never would have stepped foot in here again, let alone multiple times.

She had nothing to worry about.

“Mhm. Honestly, from one woman to another, I say go with him. Trust me—” you gave her as much of a reassuring smile as you could muster, “—you’ll be in good hands.”

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

[ghostsandmermaids]

Fandom Manifesto: Hello From The Hallowoods

(Originally written for the Fandomanifesto community on Pillowfort.)

Here's a (mostly spoiler-free) fandom manifesto for my favorite podcast, Hello From The Hallowoods. (Please try to keep the comments on this post spoiler-free as well.)

What is a fandom manifesto?

Inspired by ship manifestos, a fandom manifesto is an essay meant to introduce people to a fandom and promote it by explaining its appeal. It's a really fun tradition that I would love to keep going.

What is Hello From The Hallowoods?

Darker than your dreams, and farther North than you remember, there is a forest where life and death meet…

Hello From The Hallowoods is a queer horror podcast written and produced by William A. Wellman (they/them). This is the official description (taken from Spotify):

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, a cosmic narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

It's set in a forest in northern Canada (the Hallowoods) in a post-apocalyptic world plagued by the black rains. The story follows the inhabitants of the Hallowoods—only some of whom are alive and human—as their lives become increasingly interconnected. 

The podcast is narrated by Nikignik (he/they), also known as One Hundred Eyes in the Dark, an eldritch god who speaks directly to the listener via their nightmares. He begins to tell these stories because he's grieving his partner, another god called Marolmar (he/him), and humans were the last thing Marolmar created. Over time, Nikignik changes from a more passive narrator to an active character in the story.

There are a lot of characters, including but not limited to:

a nonbinary Frankenstein's creature piercing together their identity

a trans ghost dealing with his occultist father

an invisible man finding love at first sight

a genderfluid storm witch trying to prove themself

a retired rockstar and her punk butch lesbian daughter

a floral-suit-wearing demon on a celestial audit of earth

a starwolf on a mission to kill said demon

a killer robot skull and his pet dead seagull

an unkindness of ravens (yes, they are one character)

… and many, many more.

How scary is it?

It's a horror podcast, so there are some scary moments, but for me, the story feels very comforting and bittersweet as it explores horror tropes in a really unique way. According to the website:

It's been described as a show that helps you sleep easier, rather than one that keeps you up at night.

The story also explores themes like religious trauma, isolation, death, grief, and queerphobia, so please check the content warnings at the end of each episode description or at the start of each episode transcript. Transcripts are available on the website.

Why should I listen to it?

If the description above didn't convince you, here are some more reasons why you should listen to Hello From The Hallowoods. 

There is so much content! I often complain about books being almost always standalones or duologies lately and TV seasons only being 8-10 episodes. If I really like something, I want to spend as much time with it as possible!

With HFTH, I don't have that problem because there is so much to listen to! There are currently (almost) 150 episodes available (plus a few live shows and bonus episodes), and new episodes come out every Wednesday. There are also weekly 100-word bonus stories on Patreon, and a tie-in novel called One Hundred Eyes In The Dark is currently in the works, so if you're looking for a story you can get really invested in (or if you're angry that all your favorite shows have been canceled), HFTH is perfect for you!

There are so many queer characters, disabled characters, and characters of color! If you're looking for a really diverse show, you will love HFTH. (I cried when I heard a character describe herself as aromantic.) But even aside from the diversity, the characters are just amazing. I mean, "What if Frankenstein's creature got love and support and was an absolute cinnamon roll?" is the perfect character concept. The villains are also really compelling and well-written. 

It's a great introduction to podcasts, especially for book lovers, because it often feels like a very immersive audiobook! The voice acting and music are incredible, and even though there are a lot of characters, you can tell them apart very easily by their voices. If you like fantasy and horror books, this could be your introduction to the world of audio dramas. 

That being said, if you have listened to other horror podcasts before, you will still love this one! It sometimes reminds me of Welcome To Night Vale, but the setting and characters are very unique, and the writing is so, so beautiful. 

It's also a great introduction to horror! I used to avoid horror media because I get scared very easily, but horror podcasts (and especially Hello From The Hallowoods) made me discover how much I actually enjoy horror. HFTH explores horror tropes in such a kind, unique, and hopeful way, and as sappy as that sounds, listening to it makes the horrors of everyday life a little easier to deal with. 

If you like Malevolent (another really great horror podcast), Harlan Guthrie has a guest role in HFTH! You might also recognize Mx. Wellman's voice from other podcasts like WOE.BEGONE, The Silt Verses or Old Gods of Appalachia. 

The fandom is amazing! Everyone is so kind and talented, and we always have a lot of fun theorizing about what will happen next. There's even a fan-run Discord server!

We also have a fan wiki, and in addition to the official information, we also have a "fun gender" for each character. Here are some of my favorites:

Tumblr Sexyman (Official)

Eye-Affiliated Podcast Host

Deer that will fuck you up

Whatever the hell was going on with the guy from Shape Of Water

Nightmare Personality

Hot Topic Goth

Dilf Automobile

How do I listen to it?

You can listen to Hello From The Hallowoods on the podcatcher of your choice. Here are some suggestions from the Hallowoods website:

Spotify

Apple Podcasts

Podbean

YouTube

Google Podcasts

It's not an anthology, so please listen to it from the beginning to see how the different characters and plot threads come together. 

The show is entirely ad-free and sponsor-free, so if you like it and want to financially support it, please consider joining the show’s Patreon.

And that's it! There are many things I didn't include for spoiler reasons, but this should give you a basic idea of what HFTH is about and why I love it so much. 

I hope I convinced you to listen to Hello From The Hallowoods, and maybe you will love it as much as I do!

[asimplearchivist]

𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓮

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ marc doesn't like it when you get hurt, even by accident. pairing(s) ☽ marc spector/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 1.4k a/n ☽ ⤏ my third entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter iii. ⤏ reminding myself that it's okay to keep things short and sweet sometimes. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

You didn’t notice it until Marc’s thumb compressed the unexpectedly tender flesh just above the joint of your elbow, drawing a sharp yelp from your throat more from surprise than from pain. “Where did you pick that up?”

It was commonplace for you to shower with the boys after getting home from work for the evening, a habit started during one of Steven’s clingier stints months prior when you’d first begun to stay over at their apartment.

You shared that trait, occasionally wanting as much physical closeness with your significant other(s) as reasonably possible to disperse the nasty thoughts or melancholic feelings that would crop up in the back of your mind despite your best efforts. It helped significantly—to that you could attest. On the plus side, washing each other with gentle touches, indulging yourselves in amorous affections (those of which oftentimes got carried away to both of your benefit), and just having someone you fully trusted in such close proximity at your most vulnerable satisfied that once nagging loneliness that used to daily plague your greater consciousness into something far more manageable and docile. You had found your person (...people?), and you could rest assured that they would be there for you always—even at the times when you could scarcely summon the strength to raise your hands to wash your hair.

Marc had started to replicate that tendency soon after Steven’s initial timid request, claiming that conserving water saved money spent on utilities, but you knew better than that—you knew him better than that. You knew that he struggled to verbalize his needs and found it easier to disguise his self-determined ‘weaknesses’ under sensuality laced with practicality. He would often wait until you got ready to shower to join you. You figured that he suspected you knew his ‘accidental’ brushes and bumps and noticeably slow reach-arounds weren’t exactly accidental, but you decided not to comment upon it. You certainly didn’t want to dissuade one of the sole outlets of casual physicality he allowed himself outside of the bedroom.

So when you’d trudged into the apartment with takeout in hand that night, sleeves soaked in coffee because you’d bumped into one of the newbies while going to dump out the pot in the sink, Marc had immediately stood up from the couch to take the sacks. He’d tucked them into the microwave so he could reheat them later before escorting you straight to the bathroom. He’d lavished you the entire time, sensing without words that you were exhausted and didn’t have much energy to move.

“Oh,” you said, looking down as he released your arm and eyeing the tender place he’d spotted despite the poor lighting in the bathroom. You pressed it lightly with your fingertips, raising a brow—you hadn’t even noticed the faintest discoloration in your own skin, as it was barely visible. Your wondering at how he even saw it didn’t last long when you realized that he’d likely been decorated with hemorrhaging most of the time since he’d joined the military and could identify them easily. “I didn’t even…huh. I must’ve hit the countertop harder than I thought.”

Marc frowned, his furrowed brow lowered over his dark eyes as he scrutinized your expression. “You fell?”

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head as you slipped under the shower’s stream to rinse off the suds he’d lathered over your back. “New guy wasn’t watching where he was going coming out of the kitchen and I bumped into him. I was trying not to spill the coffee and stumbled. Bang, funny bone tickled, and I still got it all over myself. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t think I hit it that hard.”

Marc hummed, eyes dropping to your elbow as he reached for your shampoo. “Tilt your head back, baby.”

It wasn’t until later, after you’d both gotten dressed and eaten and settled into bed, that he brought it back up. “...He didn’t push you, did he?”

You cracked your eyes open despite the apartment being just short of pitch black. You rolled over to face him, twisting in his arms, and eased back enough to squint at him in the dark. The faintest illumination of street lights peeking through the windows highlighted the edges of his face, but his expression was cloaked in shadow. His tone, however—low and stern as though afraid to break the hushed, relative silence drenching the apartment—was indication enough of his dour mood.

“No,” you said carefully. “It was an accident. He’s super tall and lanky so he doesn’t always remember to check if someone’s in front of him.”

Marc’s hand spread over the small of your back, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of the t-shirt you wore, its hem having ridden up from your movements. “If he does it again, or if he tries anything…”

“He’s just an oblivious, sleep-deprived college kid, honey. He’s not out to get me.”

He grunted, wedging his other arm beneath you to leverage you against his torso. He tucked his chin over the crown of your head, his heavy sigh tickling the nape of your neck. “Can never be too careful. I never know if…you know. Someone’s hunting for old vendettas.”

You slipped your hand over his side so you could stroking soothing circles between his shoulder blades. “I’ll let you know if he gives me any trouble. I promise.” You pressed a kiss to the skin available to you while constricted within his borderline smothering embrace, which just so happened to be his clavicle. “I appreciate the concern, I really do, but you can’t worry yourself to death about me all the time. I can handle myself well enough—I think you know that better than most.”

“...I do,” he conceded reluctantly. “But it’s my job to worry.”

“And it’s also your job to trust my judgment. Trapping yourself in an endless loop of worst case scenarios doesn’t give you any more control of our lives than you already have, Marc.”

“Are you really quoting our therapist right now?”

“If that’s what it takes to get through that thick ol’ noggin of yours, then yeah.” You tapped his temple gently with the knuckle of your free hand. “All three of you make me feel the safest I ever have in my life. I know I can depend on each of you for anything I could ever ask. I’ll never forget that you’ve got my back.” You tilted your head to kiss his neck, feeling his pulse jump against your lips. “And, just for the record, you have me, too.”

“We know.” He squeezed you closer, almost crushing the air from your lungs. “I just never want to see you hurt. Again.”

You would never forget the look on his face when he fronted following the fallout of Jake cleaning up the rest of Ammit’s cult. The newly-introduced alter had patched you up already before relinquishing the body to his host, but you may as well have been bedridden in the ICU with how fervently he checked every last inch of you to make sure you were still alive. You hadn’t addressed the tears welling in his distressed eyes, and you’d only managed to calm him down by asking him to hold you so you could sleep some more. The adrenaline rush had fatigued you for a solid week afterwards and he and Steven both had hovered like mother hens.

He’d cradled you so carefully, like porcelain, mirroring the position you were in now.

“We’re careful about things,” you reminded him, “and you’ve got the god of the moon on speed dial. You can relax, Marc. I’m not going anywhere.”

He did, just so. You felt some of the tension drain from his frame the longer you touched him. At some point, he cupped a hand around the back of your head and began to thumb little circles behind your ear. The motion, combined with his rhythmic breathing, lulled you into drowsiness more effectively than melatonin ever could.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you mumbled, fighting the cusp of sleep long enough to voice your thought, “you can give me some fun bruises.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Marc chuckled, a raspy rumble low in his chest. “Go to sleep, baby.”

You were never one to argue with a good idea like that.

[akunoniwa]

Reconciliation

AN: i really like the priest trope y'all and dottore continues to plague my being.

Synopsis: In which you confess to your earnest, local priest about your most wretched sins...

Pairing: Priest!Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, he's a priest all of the sudden... for some reason..., dirty (blabbing) talk, mutual masturbation ig, you two just drive each other mad

WC: ~2.7k

Also, if anyone is interested, for the last couple years I have been curating a playlist of Evil, Macabre, Scheming classical that I usually write to. You can find it here! (Spotify :/)

Dottore himself may possess a universe-worth of deranged secrets, but his malevolence was the most obvious truth of all.

He’d be a resourceful and dutiful liar, a rehearsed cosmopolitan who knows what to say to get not just underneath your frail blouse, but your skin. He’d often get hyperboles thrown his way, how he must be able to read minds… Surely… That is impossible, right?

How Dottore managed to slip in through the ancient cracks of the Church of Favonius, one could not trace with their finger alone, as he found a special way to bypass the seminary. Growing morbidly bored in his lab as his segments took care of the more ‘menial’ things, he had a thought, twisted and contorted as usual: Where could he get a true, mouth-watering taste of humanity, bare and earnest before him? Naturally, a church is a place where sin may be denounced, but in a sense is romanticized and encouraged in its fashionable banishment. How he’d not considered this his first time around was… Perhaps a symptom of his inability to have all of himself in one place, both cognitively and literally speaking.

Dottore couldn’t merely walk into the cathedral in search of employment, however. The fame he’d acquired was not for his victories, but rather his shortcomings, though the public wouldn’t discern them beyond atrocities, successful or not. While the Fatui had strange footholds in every part of Teyvat, his presence would not be shrugged off, especially should Seamus get word of his meanderings.

His plan, then, was simple– dispose of a working, familiar priest, and he could replicate him as he’s done before in Inazuma, promptly and quietly taking his place. The edges of his ears tingle with anticipation as he imagines all of the degeneracy and blasphemy he’d bear witness to in confession, perhaps he could absorb some inspiration for other projects… Or so he initially thought before you started coming to him for ‘advice’, blotting his mind with a different genre of filth.

In the confessional, he’s able to indulge in hearing various grim sins and tales, his tarnished soul getting off on the compiled suffering in one way or another. His coos of nurturing advice would aptly dilute any evidence of that, though, as he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear your most vile fantasies should he somehow get removed.

You came in routinely, your voice shrouded in its faux shame, so close to his ear as it was only separated by a mere wooden screen. He could damn near feel your tongue as it pushed your impure thoughts to him on its crests and troughs. He was well aware of your intentions, convinced you’d not step foot on church grounds were it not to hand-feed him samples of your depravities. The image of you kneeling, in such a decadent position while you granted him whispers of obscenities, made it hard to restrain a grin of utter, vulgar satisfaction.

Knowing who was approaching next, he allowed himself to loosen his grip on his character only slightly, “My… I never would’ve expected your prompt return…”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Your voice crept beautifully through the holes of the screen like a miasmic mist. He allowed his still-unfamiliar title slipping past your lips prick chills all over his body, the blatant implications of hierarchy stoning him.

This was all between you two anyhow, so he decided to play with you to his content, “I can only imagine.” His true voice, too, lingered like smoke through to your ears, dense yet airy, “Perhaps the Lord will find it within His grace to admonish you of your consistently licentious behavior… Tell me, dear, what ails you?”

“I just can't seem to stop thinking about you, Father…” You always had a hard time dropping the guise immediately, as if you haven’t shared these thoughts with him numerous times before.

You heard him shift, his robes moving slowly about his tensed, upright form, your voice drowning him when it was shaped in such a needy tone, “Ah… Quite the predicament, indeed. You know this is a safe place for you to air your sins out into the open, you must proclaim them clearly to Him.”

Your light giggle sent wakes of delirium through him, “I could never conceal my true self from you, Father… Although, I find myself wondering if you’re really an envoy of God or a spawn from Hell.”

“You wound me, darling, deeply so, though that will not divert my faith and divine purpose to ensure your merciful forgiveness.” He improvised artlessly, your implications alone rustling his guts, a friction he was growing addicted to. His entire being salivated at the thought of what mangled ideas you’d bring right to his feet. How you returned to him, beckoning for attention like a crow as you’d gift him with gleaming desire.

“A true messenger of God’s word would surely not get giddy at the thought of fucking one of their devotees… Wouldn’t you agree?” Your words were somewhat daring on your part, as you couldn’t entirely surmise just who was inches from you, but he has more than revealed his insatiable lechery.

You swore you could feel his breath through the screen as he pushed out an arrogant chuckle through his nose, as if there were no other place for you but the palm of his hand, “It’s that very thing, your passionate devotion, that compels Him. Though it seems you’re trying to parry attention away from your misdeeds…”

You noted, much to your pleasure, how he didn’t deny your accusation, “It’s just… Often when I go to pray before bed, I get distracted…”

“It’s entirely normal to get distracted,” He briefly paused, you could almost feel the breath that was perched in his throat in your own, “Perhaps you’re neglecting a piece of your conscience, an inherent part of yourself that you’ve yet to reconcile with.”

An inherent slut, that’s what he thought. How you come in here weekly only to tempt him, your mind is devoted to nothing nearly akin to a god. Truly exquisite.

You continued a bit more blatantly, toying with him, “That could be… It’s so hard to not lose my train of thought when I’m on my knees and can’t think of anything but your voice in place of His.”

His body was bleeding soot, he felt a build-up of carnal animosity trickle into his veins as you spoke, “Is that so… Was I not conveying His word as I usually do, darling?”

Your knees were quickly growing sore from kneeling, but the pain was blunted by the dull buzzing in your abdomen, “If His words are usually detailing what terrible things he’d like to do to me, but I can’t be so sure…”

His legs inadvertently parted, weakening upon your implications, a heat radiating between them that he wished was due to your body being between them. He was trying with every atom that built him to keep his hands in a neutral position on his thighs, but so desperately wanted to alleviate the growing strain in his slacks, “Terrible, indeed… I think you’re not truly allowing Him to touch you, darling, letting Him resonate deep inside you…” His veiled smirk ought to run laps around his entire face as he shuffled through his deck of delirious innuendos. He just enjoyed the theater of it all as his hands clawed at polyester.

While his acting was laughable from a more rational perspective, you were too intoxicated with want to mind and his prods were becoming too potent, “You may be right, Father,” You hoped to any higher power that calling him that was fucking with him. Not being able to see him was making you spiral, the need to merely touch him was stacking as you were beyond yourself before even making it to the church. Being that his voice was all you knew, you were sure that should he actually graze your skin, you’d be all the more susceptible to his antics.

As much as he likes to indulge in teasing you, he so badly wanted to drop the act that you’ve both rehearsed so many times before and insist that you meet him on this side of the screen. Your honeyed voice is always shredding him to dust, his mind disintegrating at the thought of how reprehensible it’d be to take you right here in the confines of the confessional box. Look him in the eyes from your precious, kneeled perspective and tell him how far from God you’ve fallen, how your repentance can only be properly demonstrated on his cock. Your delectable moans would drip right into his ear as he takes you, making your sex the only sacrament you’ll ever require.

“Father?” You called to him through his mental escapade delicately, his silence unsettling in several ways, though it seems you’d successfully wedged your way into his head.

“Yes, darling.” His ability to respire becomes all the more taxing, the facade threatening to shatter as he almost forgets his role for a moment.

“Could you… Do me a favor?” Curling, winding, your vague presence was constricting around him so deliciously.

“What is it…?” You already had him at the heel of each consonant. You debated in your fantasies what you’d lose yourself over more: Being told what to do, or telling him what to do… Did you have to choose?

You bared your fanged will, “I know you want to touch yourself desperately, if you’re not already…” You began, confident in your assumptions as you heard an eroded breath tumble from his lips, “Could you do that for me…?”

His brows collided in a furrow, dumbfounded with how forward you were finally being, “Of course, darling…” He easily committed, “Anything to bestow God’s love, even to the undeserving…”

He didn’t care to hold back his heady exhale upon finally kneading a palm into his already well-hardened cock, cuffing it now and then to outline the silhouette through his pants. You, too, let him in on your movements, ensuring he heard your sweet, lofty mewls as your fingers padded your clit ever so slowly.

“How do you feel, Father… Tell me…” You sang to him, oh how he wished he could see your flushed face, how you urged him to pleasure himself.

“I know it wouldn’t compare to your vile little mouth.” He groaned through another wavered exhale, “I would go as far as to guess you were wet before you got down on your knees, before you got to this Church, thinking about how badly you want to be fucked in such a sacred place…” Saying this knowing damn well how his body faltered at the sight of your name being rightfully branded on his list for another confession.

“Maybe that’s just how I show my devotion, Father…” You bit your lip as your clit gradually stiffened with need, cycling just the right spot, hardly able to resist rutting into your hand.

“Fuck, and you keep calling me that,” His grip tightened, though he’d not let himself free from his constraints yet.

“Is that not what you are? Or are you, God forbid, hiding something?” You pressed him in unison with your hand.

Him revealing his true identity would benefit no one, including you, but something about being able to fuck you as his true self set him ablaze. His expression tightened into one of brief apprehension, he could feel the knocking of his heart in his throat– There’s no feasible way you’d know who he is…

“Of course,” He assured himself more than anyone else, “But when you say it the way you do, in that sickening little whine of yours… It’s too good, darling, too much.” You reeled as you could hear the grin that tugged at his lips, though the struggle to maintain composure between you is what spoiled you.

“Are you moving… Fast or slow?” You forced him to elaborate, though your voice only continued to dwindle.

“Painfully slow…” His hips instinctually rose and fell in his vice grip, “I wish it were any part of you, darling… Your hand, your pretty mouth… Maybe you’d be sitting in my lap…” He mused wickedly.

You hummed in a whisper, “I wish I could touch you…” You decided to admit, “What would you want me to do to you, Father…?” You dug your interrogation into him as you wandered to your cunt, overflowing with slick need as two fingers dove inside in a curl. How you could have his cock pushing through you right in this moment but you both opted for this pitiful demonstration instead…

He adored how you were tearing yourself apart for him, desperation infecting your words, “Perhaps I’d want you to start with your hand in place of mine so you could realize how utterly insane you make me feel… How hard I am for you with just your voice alone, darling.” The rhythm of his breaths was becoming more hasty, the timbre of his voice growing more tangy as his lust snuck through the confines of his weakening dignity.

“Fuck, I really just wanna feel your hot lips wrapped around me, that filthy mouth of yours… Your flattened tongue running against the underside…”

You egged him on with a moan of approval, his mental painting distracting your movements from exceeding a slow massage inside you, “That sounds so good, I want to be the one making you feel good…”

On that note, he found himself needing to corrupt you. Requiring it. It was a perfect setting to do so, beheld in the eyes of sanctity at its most intense. It made him want to rip his own heart out, how this feeling ravaged his entire being. He wanted to be the only one who could make you feel like you served a purpose, symbiotic destruction as he’d fuck you until you could recall nothing else but the sensation of his cock filling you to the most dizzying brim. As much as he wanted you to worship him, he found the prospect of making you ascend with pleasure more gratifying.

“I bet you’d be the kind to get off on me fucking your mouth, neglecting your aching little cunt…” He loved denying himself the raw contact with his cock, but it was becoming quite the task to uphold as he moved to fumble with his belt buckle.

Your face managed to insulate itself with a blush that, should he have seen it, he would’ve taken you upon first notice, “I’d want you to grip my hair, forcing me to keep eye contact…”

“Good, darling, now you’re imagining… How I’d make you gag looking right into your eyes, as that’s only what you deserve for punishment’s sake.” He managed to free himself from his slacks, with no patience to adjust himself beyond his length protruding through the opening of his fly. Your shallow pants were so close to his ear, through the fine holes of the screen he hallucinated a face to imagine. He watched the apparition of you sway and twitch as you were barely able to remain upright while your fingers pumped inside you.

“Do you often touch yourself in prayer, darling?” He ventured.

“Only if it’s to you… Your voice truly haunts me, especially when you tell me all of this worthless shit, I just… Can’t help myself, Father.”

“I think of you all the time, how close we are right now, how I could fucking destroy you but we continue like this anyway.”

“Why don’t you come out of your little box and fuck me then?”

His damned laugh that drove you up the vaulted cathedral walls sounded once more, wondering how long he could be stowed away like this. It is Sunday after all, but perhaps this schedule 10 minutes before mass was intentional. Dottore was adeptly full of himself as he’d not mind if your screams were heard over the choir, in fact, that’d be ideal. While the confessional wasn’t in the main hall, it wasn’t secluded enough to dampen how his hips would assault the skin of your behind as he took you…

Your offer was too divine to refuse.

[seat-safety-switch]

Now that it’s the future, things are more confusing than ever. Our ancestors only had to understand a few different kinds of rocks, how to cook a bird they caught, and what sorts of plants they should not try to eat. Like I said, things are different now. Everything has become more advanced, and with it, more complex.

You might not think that things are all that different. After all, those forerunners to our glorious civilization also had to deal with plague, illiteracy, and the horrors of serfdom. Now, we only have that last one left to deal with. I think that you’ve just become used to the polynomial complexity of the modern age. Try going back to 1993 and asking your fellow Hypercolor-shirt-wearing dweebs about why your email isn’t syncing to your smartphone, but works okay on your iPad. You’ll be burned at the stake, even in moderately liberal states like Maine.

I’m all in favour of going back to simpler stuff. Stick axles. Right-angle bodywork. Carburetors. Door handles that burn your fingers because the car’s been sitting in the sun all day while you were working a double at the Kay Bee Toys. Crank windows. Heavy-weight oils that aren’t filtered very well. Bias-ply tires with no grip whatsoever, to the extent that walking on banana peels slathered with mayonnaise will make you feel like an F1 driver by comparison.

Thing is, nobody wants to make that stuff anymore. The new stuff is too good, too efficient, too safe that the automakers and the aftermarket folks have decided that no one on this Earth is stupid enough to want it. Even Chinese factories can’t be convinced to do otherwise; their electric mini-pickup-trucks may cost $2000, but they still have modern metallurgy and plastic headlights. Meanwhile, we’re crushing all this great old stuff and sending it to foreign lands in order to be turned into more boron-infused, tiny-mufflered cough drops that sometimes decide not to let me use Spotify until I break out half an undergraduate computer science degree and/or the Revenge Dremel.

That’s why I’ve decided to start re-learning everything from first principles. I just spent last week checking every book out of the library that I could find on metallurgy. While he was out (in prison,) I was going to turn my neighbour’s new chain-link fence into part of a 4x4 chassis. I had pulled a bunch of it out of the ground and started to build a crucible in which to melt the precious ill-gotten aluminum into ingots. That’s when I realized that the barbecue lighter I was using had a child-safe trigger. I had to go back and dig through the dumpster I found it in, just so I could figure out how to make flame shoot out of it. Friends: this shit has got to stop.

[s3lfinvolvedh3athen]

I Wanna Be Yours

A/N: Bro this shit literally deleted the first time i wrote it. I'm actually sick omfg.

Anyways, it's an armin "fic", reader is black, a skater and a bad bitch.

The Spotify/ yt link is lowkey bugging so idk if it's visible

Lmk what y'all think and if you want me to do more parts

Reader:

Armin:

College!boy Armin who's majoring in forensic science and always gets gassed whenever he has labs cause it makes him feel like he's on CSI we love a woman in STEM😍

College!boy Armin who likes to keep a tight knit friend group.

College!boy Armin who isn't as shy or reserved as he was when he was younger "who is'nt as shy and reserved" my left ass cheek. This man avoids social interaction like it's covid.

College!boy Armin who's one studious motherfucker. Home boy isn't playing about his grades.

College!boy Armin who's parents are LOADED. You already know he doesn't work but has major respect for anyone who can balance a job and school.

College!boy Armin who's never been on a skateboard a day in his life yet somehow finds himself at the local skatepark with connie, ony & eren. (Let's be real, these homies are only there to meet their plug. Mfs can't skate for shit)

College!boy Armin who put one foot on the board, lost balance, travelled like 3 metres and fell HARD.

Armin was spread out on the concrete. Bleary vision, profanities slithering around his tongue and past his lips.

Ripping his friends a new one. Or at least who he thought was his dumb fuck friends.

"Is it crack that you smoke? Cause I know damn well you ain't speaking to ME like that."

Armin couldn't tell if he was delirious from the fall or from you...

And you... you had no idea what the fuck this white boy's problem was. Mf gonna eat the concrete then start cussing at you while you check if he's straight? L O S E R R R R R.

Honestly over the whole interaction, you hop on your board and start cruising to a different section of the park. Kissing your teeth and muttering something about the crack epidemic plaguing this country.

College!boy Armin who's never seen anyone as beautiful and radiant as you.

College!boy Armin who's vexed he fumbled before he even got the chance. Scanning the area for the board that got him here in the first place and skulking back to his friends smoking on a bench completely oblivious to what just went down.

College!boy Armin who joins the guys on the bench while taking a drag from the j and scanning the area looking for you.

"Fam? It's puff, puff, pass not puff, puff, puff. Pass the spliff, the fuck?"

Dazed and buzzed Armin who hands the j to connie while still scanning the area looking for you.

"My bad bro, just a little distracted"

College!boy Armin who's never been interested in skating finds himself eager to learn.

Lmfao, the ending is kinda dead but lowkeyyyy, I'm kinda vibing w this idk. I might post other parts and shit if this gets traction.

[satansapostle6]

The Man Who Sold The World | Luke Castellan

Spotify Playlist Link

Katherine. She was the one who started it all for Luke Castellan, the reason he did what he did.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen: Sorry

“If it’s a girl, I think I wanna name her ‘Adrienne’. If it’s a boy, I wanna name him ‘Luke’,” Katherine grinned as she sat in front of a small campfire, with Luke’s arms wrapped safely around her.

“Aw, you mean we’re gonna make him a junior?” he complained.

“What, what’s wrong with being a junior?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I know I’m gonna get lazy, and I’m gonna start calling him ‘Junior’, like every other lazy dad, and start morphing into Homer Simpson.”

“Hey, at least you’ll be one of the dads that’s there,” Katherine reasoned, “And doesn’t traumatize their kid. Not to mention… You’ll be the only dad who still has a ‘V’.”

“Fair enough,” Luke sighed in surrender. “You know… I never could’ve imagined myself having a kid. Especially not before twenty, but… Katherine, I’m glad I get to do it with you.”

She smiled, knowing she shared the exact same feelings.

“You know, I, uh… I can’t speak for the Katherine with a soul, but I really feel good about keeping this baby,” she admitted, changing the tone of the conversation.

Luke nodded slowly, recognizing the poignant fact that normally, in their specific situation, keepingw the baby would have been more of a choice as opposed to an obvious next step the way it would be for slightly older couples.

“Honestly, Katherine…” Luke trailed off for a moment, shuddering internally at the idea of having to abandon the idea of having a child with her, shaking his head, “I don’t know if I would’ve been able to get through it. If we decided not to keep it.”

His eyes held a deep sadness, even as he just imagined the hypothetical.

“I know,” she murmured, understanding his attitude towards children.

“I just… I want the chance to be better. Better than my father, and the gods, and better than I’ve been. I really do. I’m scared, shitless, but I know that’s what I want,” he thought.

She just nodded as she listened.

“Do you really think we’re doing the right thing?” he said after taking a beat. “Bringing a child into this world?”

“Hey. Look at me,” she held his face in her hands.

He looked at her almost pathetically as he felt her fingers clutching his jaw, saving his pouty puppy eyes only for her.

“You know what not to do to a child, because of your own father. We both do; you know not to abandon your kid, and I know not to groom my kid,” she laughed as she made her point. “But… we also know what to do with a kid. I’ve seen you care for these kids at the camp; the kids in our cabin, Annabeth? You wanna love them like your own,” she reasoned.

Luke smiled as he listened to her, accepting her praise. “You see the good things in me I don’t wanna see,” he said softly.

“I love you, Luke Castellan,” she reminded him in a cool whisper.

“I love you, Katherine Montalvo. More than anyone in the world,” he teased her back, kissing her lips as he held her in a silly sort of bear hug. “Hey, what if we have twins?”

“Oh, don’t even say that!” she warned.

The two of them laughed as they were actually able to enjoy themselves together for the first time in months. They both had expected the pregnancy to have a negative impact on their lives, especially with Kronos and the nightmares that plagued them both, but oddly enough, everything was fine.

Neither of them had even dreamt of him or heard his voice in weeks, so they assumed that they’d been doing everything right. Katherine had decided that as long as Luke kept up their work in the last several months of her pregnancy, everything would be fine for the both of them. Of course, they still hadn’t broken the news to Chiron or Mr. D, or really anyone else, but that, they figured, was a more minor obstacle.

“Oh, I forgot, I haven’t even told you about my plan!” Luke realized as they sat cozily in front of the fire.

“Ooh, what plan?” Katherine asked eagerly. “Wanna keep getting me knocked up? Make Kronos a whole baby army?”

“Can you be serious?” Luke shook his head, laughing at her.

“I am being serious! You know how much fun we’d have making that whole army?”

“Okay, listen. Chiron told the Head Counselors he’s planning a camp field trip to Olympus, in August,” he explained.

“Okay, I’m intrigued,” Katherine nodded along, realizing they’d be visiting the home of the Gods themselbes.

“You know what’s in the throne room of Olympus?” he asked her.

“What?” she asked expectantly, allowing him to answer the rhetorical question.

“The Big Three’s symbols of power,” he murmured, referring to the brothers Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.

Katherine looked at him in awe, the warm light from the fire along with the darkness of the night making him look psychotic.

“Wait, if we get our hands on those…” she realized.

“The gods will wanna kill each other,” Luke completed, a victorious grin on his face. “We’ll start a war, and Kronos will reward us.”

“It’s perfect,” Katherine realized.

“We can steal two of them; pit two brothers against the other one,” he pointed out. “They’ll start destroying each other before Kronos is even back.”

“Oh, baby, it’s perfect!” Katherine exclaimed, crashing into Luke as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

They pulled apart after a long, passionate kiss, reveling in their own evil plan.

“We can do this,” Luke promised her. “Just you and me.”

“You and me,” Katherine murmured, lost in his baby blue eyes as she leaned in for another kiss.

*****

Everything was still perfect. It had been a few days since Katherine had first discovered she was pregnant, and still nothing had gone wrong. She and Luke were still waiting to tell everyone the news, enjoying their happiness together before it would ultimately be ruined by Chiron or Mr. D’s wrath. Today was the first time he wasn’t insanely busy with Head Counselor duties during the day, so they had decided to take advantage.

The two of them decided to spend their afternoon sitting on the beach looking out at the Long Island Sound, the waves gently crashing on the shore in front of them as they talked, about anything and everything.

“Okay, so we’ve come to a compromise,” Luke announced. “Megan if it’s a girl, per my request, and Luke if it’s a boy, per your stupid request,” he teased.

Katherine wasn’t completely sure, but she’d felt Luke had responded positively to the name ‘Megan’ because it had reminded him of his own mother’s name, May.

“Are you that opposed to me wanting to name our hypothetical son after you?” she exclaimed in amusement.

“It sounds so egotistical!” he cried. “‘Oh, I’m a big, strong man, and my firstborn son, my only heir, needs to carry on my bloodline and my legacy’!”

“You are a big, strong man,” Katherine teased, looking up at him in a way that made him crumble. “And kind, and warm, and funny. I want our potential son to turn out like you.”

“Okay, fine,” Luke pretended to complain, knowing the way she spoke about him made his heart skip a beat. “We can name him Luke Jr.”

“Yes!”

Luke laughed as he threw his arm around her, looking out at the calm waters.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby,” he said quietly. “What do you think happens, when two demigods have a baby? Is there even a word for that?”

“You’re gonna have a baby?!”

Luke and Katherine both whipped around with a start, realizing that someone had been standing right behind them. Luke then realized why he hadn’t noticed when he saw Annabeth standing there, dark blue Yankees cap in hand.

“Annabeth!” he exclaimed, horrified.

His reaction shifted from anger to fear as he realized no one else knew, and Chiron would have to be told eventually. Katherine looked up at her boyfriend in shock, silently pleading with him to resolve the situation.

“Annabeth, I can explain…!” he tried to calm her down.

“You can’t have a baby!” she cried.

“Hey,” Luke began, trying to reason with her, “We’re nineteen…”

“And still at camp!” the daughter of Athena argued. “Chiron’s gonna kill you!”

“Look, we’re both adults,” Luke reminded her, “I’m sure we’ll just have to work it out…”

“You have to tell him! Now.”

“I’m not telling him right this second,” he scoffed.

“Well, either you are, or I am!” she crossed her arms angrily. “There’s no way I’m risking him finding out I knew about this—”

“He’s not gonna find out,” Luke assured her.

“Famous last words!” the blonde girl argued.

“Look. Just give us a few days, and we’ll figure it all out,” Luke offered, “Okay?”

“Alright. Fine!” Annabeth exclaimed angrily. “But if you don’t tell him in three days…”

“I’ll tell him,” Luke assured her, trying to diffuse the situation. “Wait. What are you even doing over here?” he asked her.

“Well, it seems stupid now!” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Lee told me to find you and tell you Mikey keeps picking his nose, and it’s disturbing people.”

“Seriously?” Luke sighed, realizing he was only in this predicament because one of his ten year-old campers had a nose picking problem.

Annabeth Chase stormed off in silence, leaving Luke and Katherine alone on the beach.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally meeting her gaze, “I fucked everything up…”

“It’s not your fault,” she promised him, taking his hand. “We’ll just tell Chiron soon. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” he repeated the mantra, holding her close as he looked out at the water.

The next day, things took a turn for the worst. Luke had come back in the middle of the day after a patrol around the camp’s perimeter. He had left early that morning and hadn’t gotten to see Katherine all day, and he was looking forward to spending more time with her once he got back. And he found he did get to spend time with her, only not in the way he’d hoped to.

“Luke!” Annabeth came and found him as he headed toward the showers, exhausted and covered in sweat. “Chiron—”

“Annabeth, we’re gonna tell him soon,” Luke told her with a sigh. “But please, just let me take a shower first, I’m so tired—”

“Chiron said you need to get to the infirmary! Now.” Annabeth yelled over him, her grey eyes full of worry. “It’s Katherine!”

Luke’s face fell as he put the words together in his head, immediately panicking. He started sprinting off in the direction of the infirmary, as Annabeth followed.

“What the fuck happened?!” he demanded breathlessly.

“We were eating lunch… I sat next to Katherine, and she seemed fine. But then her stomach started to hurt, bad. I brought her to the infirmary, and she started seizing.”

“Seizing?!” Luke exclaimed.

“Yeah. It was bad,” Annabeth told him.

She began to regret saying that as she realized it only made his panicking even worse. He all but knocked into everyone in his path like bowling pins, scanning the room for his girlfriend.

“Katherine?!” he yelled, panicking as his heart started to beat too fast for him to keep track of.

“Over here!” one of the Apollo kids called to him.

Luke ran to one of the cots in the corner surrounded by people, trying to shove his way through the crowd.

“What’s going on?!”

He finally made his way through, looking like he’d seen a ghost once he saw all the blood. Katherine was almost unconscious, lying there passively as everyone just watched. It seemed the healers were all just cleaning her up, cloths full of blood around the bed. She was lying beneath a sheet on her lap for her own privacy.

“What happened?!” Luke yelled.

“Luke, I’m gonna need you to be quiet,” one of the daughters of Apollo said as she tried to tend to Katherine. “Don’t freak her out. We just gave her some herbs to numb the pain and help her sleep, but she’s still scared.”

But Katherine seemed pretty subdued, almost unconscious at this point. Luke looked up to see Chiron, who had a very grim expression on his face.

“Luke, I need to speak to you in private,” the centaur announced, his jaw clenched.

Luke went along with him, too afraid of what was happening with Katherine to be nervous about Chiron. As Chiron pulled him away from the crowd of people, Luke was the first one to speak.

“Did she—”

“Lose the baby? Yes,” Chiron said, the fact coming out more angrily than he intended.

Luke’s jaw dropped as he looked back at the crowd standing around her cot, at a loss for words.

“And while I do have much sympathy for you, Luke, unfortunately there is another issue at hand,” Chiron said as patiently as he could. “I need to know what happened to this girl’s soul.”

“What?” Luke looked at him in confusion, starting to panic and cry.

“Luke, why does Katherine not have a detectable soul in her body?” Chiron demanded.

“I… She almost died,” Luke breathed, trying to avoid sobbing as he quickly came up with a lie. “I prayed to my father, anyone to save her. And then she was pretty much fine. I don’t know how it happened—”

“She must’ve died momentarily, and left her soul behind in the Underworld when she returned,” Chiron realized quickly. “It happens to mortals, and to demigods even more often.”

Luke stared at him blankly, not connecting the dots as his mind wandered back to Katherine and the baby.

“When mortals die, and come back with out a soul, they sometimes change, and their loved ones just attribute it to a near-death experience.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Luke asked impatiently.

Chiron looked at him gravely, delivering the news to him as kindly as he could. “Entities without souls rarely survive childbirth, Luke,” he told him. “Not only was the life of Katherine’s child at stake in carrying it, but her own as well. She could have died.”

Luke’s entire world seemed to melt away as he stood there, slowly realizing the grave mistake he’d made.

“I, uh…”

He didn’t know what to say to Chiron. He stood there, frozen, trying to come up with some sort of apology, until the older man realized that it wasn’t him who really needed the apology.

“Just go,” Chiron nodded sadly, permitting him to leave. “Be with her. We’ll sort out the rest later.”

Luke Castellan didn’t need to be told twice. He was back at Katherine’s side in an instant, as the healers all did their best to clear the area to give them space. Annabeth was the only one who remained. She just watched sadly as Luke took Katherine’s hand in his, breaking down as he tried to talk to her despite the fact that she was in and out of sleep.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, struggling to get the words out as he hung his head. “I wasn’t there… You needed me, and I wasn’t there!”

Annabeth’s face twisted into a pained expression of grief as she watched her friend’s entire world fall apart.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to forgive myself,” Luke confessed, watching over her as she slept. “I was nervous about telling people, and you could’ve died,” he sobbed.

“Luke,” Annabeth tried to comfort him, “It’s not your fault—”

But Luke just shook his head, refusing to listen to any justification of what had almost happened to the one person he cared about.

“I almost killed her,” he reasoned, “Because of my own selfishness. I didn’t listen to you, and I killed our baby, and I almost killed her. I knew I shouldn’t have been having a baby! What the fuck was I thinking?! I’m not fit to be a parent, I shouldn’t be anybody’s parent!”

Annabeth tried to find the right words to comfort him, but even as smart as she was, there still weren’t any words that could’ve made up for what he’d lost. She wanted to find the right words, to soothe her friend after he’d lost what could’ve been a child, but even as smart as she was, she was still twelve years old.

“You know…” she began, trying to think of a fact that spun this in any positive direction. “They don’t really call it a fetus until it’s about eleven weeks old,” Annabeth provided awkwardly, quickly realize that definitely wasn’t the right choice of words.

“It was a baby,” Luke insisted, still too angry with himself to even consider being angry at anyone else. “It was our baby, and now it’s just gone. All because of my selfishness. What the fuck was I thinking, like I was gonna be a father?! I’m a piece of shit!”

Annabeth’s heart broke for him in that moment, and although she’d always hated when people said ‘I’m sorry’ to her, because she thought it was pointless, and stupid, she found in that moment it was all she had left.

“You’re not a piece of shit, Luke,” the younger girl promised him. “You’re far from it.”

“I wanna believe that too, but it’s hard to say that to a dead baby,” he muttered, resentful of himself.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she said quietly. “I really am.”

They both knew that ‘sorry’ comforted no one. She turned to leave him, as he watched Katherine sleeping, the whole thing weighing on his chest. He sat by her bed the entire time, waiting for her to wake up, but she never did. He must’ve been up for another ten hours or so, but it didn’t matter for him. He needed to be there for, because he wasn’t when she really needed him to be there.

Luke didn’t sleep at all that night. He was up all the way until early the next morning, when Katherine woke up from her long sleep, eyes lowly adjusting as she sat up.

“Hey,” Luke said immediately, eyes heavy and bloodshot from exhaustion.

He was antsy with heavy bags under his eyes, and Katherine knew something was wrong. It took her a moment after the herbs she’d been given the day before, but she remembered what had happened to her in its entirety.

“The baby,” she said slowly, the reality setting in for the second time. “It’s gone?!”

Luke grimaced, fighting back tears as he gave her a quick nod, reaching for her hand. But Katherine handled the news much differently than he did, and probably much different than she herself would have under different circumstances.

He just looked at her, waiting for some horrible, traumatized reaction as she processed the information she was given. But no reaction ever came. Katherine just sat there, leaning up against the wall as she tried to come up with something, anything at all, to feel.

He saw the pain in her eyes, the way she so blankly stared off into nothingness, silently begging to feel anything.

“I, uh…” she tried to think as the reality of the situation hit her.

Like watched sadly as her hand instinctively went to her stomach, feeling for something that just simply wasn’t there. It was like a ghost limb to her, the feeling of still having something that had been lost.

“I don’t know what to say,” Katherine reached a conclusion, staring off at nothing as she tried to get a grip on reality.

Luke watched helplessly as she slowly began shaking, like a puppy left out in the rain, panicking as her hands cradled her stomach, looking for the baby as she still tried to understand that it simply didn’t exist anymore.

“I lost my baby, and I don’t know what to say!” she howled, devastated.

“I know, hon, I know,” Luke said, feeling useless as he squeezed her hand.

He didn’t know in that moment what would comfort her, but something in him knew it didn’t matter. Nothing could’ve eased this pain.

“My baby…!”

Katherine was reduced to tears as she buried her face in her hands, crying so many tears that even her hair began to wet. In need of comfort himself, Luke got up off of the chair, wrapping his arms all the way around her as she collapsed onto his shoulder. They both wept together, but even Luke knew that the pain she must’ve felt was entirely different from his own.

Overridden with guilt, he held onto her as tightly as he could, his body desperately seeking out comfort in hers. He felt helpless in his predicament, unable to fight or kill or persuade anything to get his child back, or ease his girlfriend’s pain.

-

Chapter Seventeen

[danielfuckingricciardo]

All I Want For Christmas Is You - Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Pairing - Daniel Ricciardo x Reader (University AU)

Word Count - probably around 3k ish?

Content Warnings - swearing, smutty references, but just fluff

Synopsis - You and Daniel had been dancing around one another all year, and so at the Christmas party hosted by your lecturers, he finally decides to make a move via your favourite obscure Christmas song.

Author’s Note - I don’t write a lot of AU fics, except for the massive one that will be coming your way in the new year!! Keep your eyes peeled for that!! But this goes out to all my fellow former emo kids. Congrats, you made it, though like me you probably still have some MCR in your Spotify playlists. Anyways, enjoy this one, and I’m sorry it wasn’t actually posted on the day I said I would post it! I am battling against the seasonal plague (I have a sore throat) and so I got an early night last night instead of staying awake to write till 2am lol 😂

Inspired by the My Chemical Romance cover of Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You

You had only begrudgingly agreed to attend the Christmas party your lecturers had arranged to celebrate the festive season. All of your favourite outfits were stashed away in your laundry bag ready to take home, allowing you to take advantage of your parents’ washing and drying facilities. After all, the laundry room was always full, and it never really left your clothes smelling right, and you had to pay £7.50 for the privilege.

But your friend Yasmine had dragged you out shopping as she searched for an outfit for the party, and so when you spotted that one outfit in the window, you thought ‘fuck it’ and drained your bank account to almost empty. It wouldn’t be until January when your next student loan dropped, but you wouldn’t exactly be spending much while stuck back at home.

Besides, the party would be your last chance to see Daniel before you all left, travelling across the country, and in his case, across the world to spend Christmas with your families.

It was your second year of university, and the small group of students who hadn’t dropped out during first year were all eager to celebrate and say goodbye, especially to your lecturers who were all pretty chill and had become like friends themselves throughout the past semester.

The group chat had been filled with people sharing their eager anticipation for tonight, letting you know who would be bringing what drinks, who would be hosting pre’s and afters at their flat, and all manner of other things.

George had been the one to organise most things, after all, he was the most eager to say goodbye, having to return home to his stuffy home in the country where the only company would be cows and the odd sheep for the Christmas season. He wanted the first half of the year to go out with a bang, and so, you found yourself pressing the buzzer to the gate to be allowed into the boys’ flat to get a little drunk, before going out to get even more drunk, and then returning again to get progressively drunker and to inevitably end up passing out on the sofa again.

“Who goes there?” The voice on the intercom says, and you roll your eyes.

“George, for fucks sake, do we have to answer three riddles before you’ll let us in? It’s fucking freezing out here.” Yasmine says, and you chuckle, pulling your jacket tighter around your body to protect yourself from the cold winter air.

“Not this time, I’ve had too many to think of a riddle, never mind three. I’ll buzz you in, Daniel’ll be down to let you in.” George says, and the gate beeps, slowly swinging open.

You walk over to block B, your heels clicking on the ground as you walk past a group of students sharing a spliff.

“Alright?” Daniel says, his head peeking around the door.

“I’m fucking freezing and these shoes are hurting already.” Yasmine says, pushing past Daniel into the warm corridor of their building.

“I’d lend you mine, but I think they’d be too big for you. But hey, you know what they say about men with big feet?” Daniel says, a cocky smile on his lips as you enter the building.

“Big socks?” You respond quickly, as he guides you down the corridor towards their flat.

“You betcha.” He says, and he opens the door, which was already leaking sounds of voices and some pop song you didn’t recognise.

The boys all cheer as you enter the kitchen, setting down the bottle of vodka you had been carrying onto the counter.

“Ah, you legend!” George exclaims, “you want a drink?”

“Sure!” You respond, and George pours a large measure of cheap vodka into a plastic cup, topping it off with some coke.

“I’m taking my shoes off, they hurt like a bitch, no one look at my feet!” Yasmine yells, steadying herself on your shoulder as she pops off both shoes.

“Be careful, Lando has a foot fetish.” Daniel says, and the boys erupt into laughter.

“I do not! Besides, I’ve seen your feet enough to put me off them even if I did.” Lando says, poking Daniel in the chest.

“So you admit, you did have a foot fetish.” Daniel says, his head tilted slightly as Lando turns a dark shade of red.

“No matter what I say, I’m not gonna look good after this, am I?” Lando says, turning to you with a chuckle.

“No, he’s backed you into a corner there, Lan.” You say, rolling your eyes at Daniel as you pat Lando on the shoulder to put him at ease.

You throw yourself down on the sofa next to Charles, whose head was buried in some textbook you vaguely recognise.

“The grind never stops, eh Charles?” You ask him, and he looks over at you.

“It’s interesting! I was just getting to the end of this chapter before I joined in with whatever those idiots are doing.” Charles says, his eyes returning to the page and scanning quickly downwards.

“I’ll go and pour you a drink, you’re going to need it if the music playing in here gets any worse.” You say, standing up and wandering over to the counter.

The rest of the guys were already several drinks in, and George was trying to convince Alex to try the local IPA he was drinking by describing the taste in excessive detail. Alex was smiling and nodding along, but clearly checked out of the conversation. George had simply had too many drinks already to notice.

The boys flat consisted of George, Daniel, Lando, Alex, Charles and Max. The six of them had decided to live together following the first year after all hating their original housemates. They had asked you and Yasmine to join too, but you decided against it, instead opting for a small two bedroom flat a few streets away, ‘the boring flat’ the boys had dubbed it. You were sure they would have driven you crazy, just spending time with them during lectures was enough, and you didn’t fancy having to put up with their antics 24/7.

You had however ended up sleeping on their sofa more than once as the club you often frequented was right next door, and the boys were always far too drunk to walk you home. But you found that Daniel was always sober enough to pass you a blanket each and every time. The blanket that smelled just like him, and your drunk self would often wrap up within it and pretend he was right beside you.

It was so embarrassing, but you had a big crush on Daniel. You had from the first day you met him, when he showed up in his ripped black skinny jeans and Bring Me The Horizon t-shirt, with chipped black polish on his habitually-chewed fingernails. He liked all the same bands as you, he played guitar, and he had a wicked sense of humour. To you, he ticked all the boxes, he was perfect. You just wished that he felt the same way about you.

Daniel wasn’t one to shy away from flirtation, and received a lot of attention from the other people on your course, and he always managed to pull someone whenever you went out. You minded, of course you did, but what could you say? You’d only make a fool of yourself. So you would just glance at him every so often, his tongue lodged down some other person’s throat in the club, and wish he’d see you that way. You wished he wanted to kiss you like that too.

What you didn’t see, was that whenever you turned away, he would look at you too. Knowing that whoever he may or may not go home with that night wouldn’t be you. But you weren’t interested in him, right? You were just a friend, a friend with their life together who was so much better than he was in every respect. You’d never waste your time with someone like him.

“Lando’s playlists are shit, aren’t they?” Daniel says as he slides in next to you at the counter.

“You know I prefer something a little heavier, but you know how it was when we dragged everyone to emo night… They did nothing but complain and then went for a kebab at 2am.” You say as you empty the remainder of the cheap vodka into Charles’ cup.

“True, I started playing Slipknot earlier and they threatened to go on cleaning strike unless I turned it off. And no song is worth being forced to clean Max’s jizz off the shower screen without moral support.” Daniel says, and you burst into laughter.

“And you wonder why I didn’t want to live with you guys.” You say, rolling your eyes as you top up Charles’ cup with sprite.

“Did someone say my name?” Max says as he enters the kitchen, a vodka red bull in hand.

“No, no, must have been the song.” Daniel says, firing a quick wink in your direction before taking a sip of his own drink.

“Yo, Charles, time to get drinking, you’re lagging behind!” You say, leaning over the back of the sofa to pass Charles the cup.

Charles sets his book down beside him and takes a sip, his mouth twisting as the drink which was mostly vodka hits his palette.

“Did you actually put any mixer in there? Fuck.” Charles says, his face still slightly twisted.

“It’s the (y/n) special, 3 parts vodka to one part sprite. You need to catch up with the rest of us.” You say, and Daniel laughs beside you.

“We are going to a Christmas party with our lecturers in ten minutes, you know? I don’t think we want to be pissed before we get there, might not be the best impression, eh?” Charles says.

“I think it might be too late for that.” Daniel says, gesturing over and Alex and George who were already considerably drunk.

“Well, we’d better get going anyway. Yasmine, get your shoes back on. Alex, Lando, scrape up what’s left of George from the sofa. Charles, down that drink. Max and Daniel, let’s go!” You say, grabbing your bag from the counter and holding the kitchen door open.

“Yes, ma’am.” Daniel says, saluting you mockingly as he squeezes by, his hand brushing yours for a split second as he does.

You managed to herd the boys into the university building and to the large room your lecturers had booked to host the Christmas party.

You were all offered a glass of Prosecco on arrival, which you took graciously and nursed as you talked to your lecturers about the previous semester.

“Next semester we’ll be doing the pairs presentation. We wanted to make it interesting, so we’re assigning the pairings.” Sebastian, the leader of the course says, and you nod your head.

“Any hints on who I’m partnered with? I’m not all that keen on surprises.” You say, tilting your head inquisitively.

“I’m not allowed to say names at this point, but if you list off some names I may nod if you say the correct one.” He says, and you rack your brain to try and guess who you might be paired with.

“Yasmine?” You say, and Sebastian remains still.

“Charles?” He doesn’t move.

“Max?” Sebastian takes a sip from his glass of red wine.

“Alex?” Yet again, no movement.

“Daniel?” You finally say, and Sebastian tilts his head up and down ever so slightly.

“Really? Why him?” You say, and Sebastian places his finger to his lips, shaking his head at you slightly.

“I thought you’d be stoked to be paired with someone of my level of genius.” Daniel says, appearing from behind you with two glasses in his hands.

“Eavesdropping, are we?” You say, waggling your finger at Daniel as you would a naughty child.

“Nope. I just have keen ears.” He says, a cheeky grin on his face.

“I’ll leave you two be. You’ll have a lot of work to be doing together after Christmas.” Sebastian says, before walking away to talk to some of the other students.

“Okay, so, you, me, a weed brownie, a PowerPoint presentation, and a perfectly curated playlist made by yours truly. Doesn’t that sound like the all-night library session from heaven?” Daniel says, and you roll your eyes at him.

“You see, this is why I’d rather be paired with Yasmine or Charles. They’d take the assignment seriously!” You say, downing the rest of the sparkling wine in your glass.

“Hey, doing things the Daniel way hasn’t failed me yet.” He says, gesturing openly with his hands.

“Yet being the operative word.” You fire back.

“Oh, you know you love me really, you big nerd.” He says, and how desperately you want to exclaim ‘yes! Yes I do love you! I want to kiss you and do lots of kinky sex things with you!’ But instead you roll your eyes again.

“Here, I have a spare, you want?” Daniel says, gesturing to you with the full glass of Prosecco in his left hand.

“Sure. God knows next semester I’m gonna need it.” You say as you take the glass and swallow half of the alcoholic beverage.

“Look, DJ Lando has taken control of the playlists here too. I think he’s actually playing his own stuff now.” Daniel says, pointing to where Lando and George are stood beside the speaker in the corner of the room.

“If he keeps up with this DJ shit then Yasmine might actually jump his bones later.” You say in Daniel’s ear and he looks at you with a shocked expression.

“Lando? Really?” He says rather too loudly, and you shush him.

“She loves a DJ. Now, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but apparently she had a lot of fun with a DJ when she was out in Thailand on her gap year. He still replies to every one of her Instagram stories.” You say, and Daniel laughs.

“Really? I didn’t have her down as the gap-year-romance type.”

“Well, she wasn’t, she just loves a guy with a big deck.” You say, lifting your glass to cover your laughter at your own stupid joke.

“What about you? I’m sure Charles would be down if you just asked him, y’know?” Daniel says, and you look at him, perplexed.

“Me and Charles? Please! What the fuck gave you that idea?” You say, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know, I suppose the way you always gravitate towards him whenever you visit.” Daniel says, suddenly seeming rather awkward.

“Usually it’s to ask him about what I missed when I snooze my alarm too many times before a 9am lecture.” You laugh, “no, but Charles is nice, he’s just not my type.”

“Oh really? So what is your type?” Daniel asks, and you tilt your head to appear deep in thought.

“Hmm.. I like a guy with a good sense of humour. Aesthetically, I like the tall, dark and handsome types, y’know? Also goth guys, goth guys are really hot. And they’re extra hot if they play guitar.” You say, and Daniel raises his eyebrow.

You feel your cheeks begin to heat up as Daniel leans in to say something in your ear, but he’s interrupted as Lando begins to play a Christmas song, and Alex and George steal him away to dance.

You take a seat on the edge of a table and watch on as everyone dances on the makeshift dance floor, swaying and singing along to the lyrics of that Ariana Grande Christmas song you couldn’t remember the title of.

Daniel pushes his way through the crowd as the song comes to the end and stands in front of you, blocking your view to the rest of the room.

“I put in a request with DJ Lando, this one’s for you. Dance with me?” Daniel says, offering you his hand for you to take.

“You know I don’t really do Christmas songs.” You say, shaking your head at him.

“Oh, I know you like this one.” He says, and you hear that familiar voice begin to play over the speaker system, and gasp. He remembered? But how would he remember such a trivial thing as that from last year?

“Okay, I’ll dance with you.” You say, taking his hand and walking to the dance floor, where many of your friends were confused at the song that was playing. It was familiar, sure, but they hadn’t heard this version before.

You hear the drum beat kick in and immediately start to jump as the guitar plays. Daniel takes your hands in his and spins you around, and the confused people that surrounded you give in to the beat. Eventually, the two of you had formed a mosh pit on the dance floor, and even Lando was pumping his fist aggressively beside the speaker as he stared at his phone.

“How did you remember I liked this version?” You shout over the music at Daniel.

“You told me you liked it, last year, when I asked what song you were listening to.” Daniel says.

“Yeah, I remember, but how do you?” You say.

“I guess I wanted to. I remember everything about you, (y/n).” He says, and you feel yourself blushing as he takes a step closer to you.

“That’s really sweet Daniel.” You say.

“I can be sweet, sometimes, when I want to be, especially for someone I-“ Daniel stops talking as the song transitions into a slow 80s song. You recognise the melody as True by Spandau Ballet, a song more commonly played at a wedding disco than a college party.

Lando looks over at Daniel, giving him a thumbs up with a smug grin on his face.

“Oh I’m going to kill him.” Daniel says, shaking his head.

“Go on, finish your sentence.” You say, looking up at Daniel as you sway your body to the music.

“I can be sweet, for someone I love.” Daniel says, and without thinking, you pull him in closer, crashing your lips to his.

“And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I am the greatest DJ who ever lived.” Lando says, and both you and Daniel stick out your middle fingers at him almost simultaneously.

By midnight, you were all kicked out of your university building, with plans to return to the boys’ flat to continue the party with a few more drinks and more of Lando’s DJing talents.

“What even was that version of the song? I’ve literally never heard it before.” Alex says.

“It’s a cover, from a while back now. All I Want For Christmas is You by My Chemical Romance. It’s more to my taste than the original.” You say as you walk briskly beside him, trying to keep warm in the cold night air.

“Oh, it’s very you. But how did Daniel know to play it?” Charles interjects.

“Because he’s embarrassingly in love with her, and remembered she liked it after she told him last year. Get with it, Charles.” George yells, his verbal filter completely gone as a result of his drunken state, and Daniel blushes.

“He’s not the only one embarrassingly in love, (y/n) has wanted to lick whipped cream off of his surprisingly toned body since day one.” A very drunk Yasmine chuckles as she wobbles into Lando on the pavement.

“It was a dream I had one night, don’t read too much into that.” You say, and Daniel looks at you with his eyebrow raised.

“We don’t have any cream, but you’re welcome to the caramel sauce and sprinkles in my cupboard.” Max says, and you jab him in the back.

“I feel like I’m being ganged up on here. Just wait till you guys hear about Yasmine’s thing she has about DJs.” You say, and it’s Yasmine’s turn to blush.

“(Y/n)!” She exclaims, running up to you in her heels to slap you on the shoulder playfully.

“Hey, you might be in there Lando, unless she only likes good DJs.” Alex says, and you chuckle as Lando shouts an ‘oi!’ from the back of your walking party.

You reach the gate of the boys’ building and stop as Daniel pulls out his keycard.

“Oh, we’re going to go to the club next door, do you wanna join? Or are you two going to be occupied with Max’s caramel sauce?” George asks, and you scoff.

“Do you wanna go out? I don’t feel much like clubbing right now, my ears are ringing after George’s rendition of Sweet Caroline.” Daniel asks.

“I’ll stay here with Daniel, you guys have fun though!” You shout as they begin to walk away, sending a herd of whoops, cheers and wolf whistles in your direction.

You shake your head at them as your enter the courtyard and Daniel opens the door to his flat for you to step into.

It was surprisingly quiet without the other guys in it, and the situation you found yourself in suddenly felt all too real.

“Would you like to join me in my room?” Daniel asks, and your eyes go wide, “I’m not trying to sleep with you, I’m not that sleazy, it’s just, the radiator in the lounge is broken so it’s warmer in my room.”

“Sounds good. I don’t think I’ve seen your room before, and I like being nosy.” You chuckle as you follow him to the door marked with a number 3.

He pushes the door open and you follow him inside, noticing the guitar resting against the desk, a half-dead succulent beside his laptop, and an arrangement of photos stuck on the wall.

“Did you take all these?” You ask, studying the photos one by one.

“Yeah, it’s a little hobby of mine. I’m not very good, but I like to capture important moments so I can look back on ‘em later.” He says, standing beside you, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“It looks nice. Australia, I mean. I’d love to visit some day.” You say, turning to him.

“You could come and visit me in the summer, I’m sure my mum wouldn’t mind making up the spare room, or you could share mine?” He says, letting out an awkward chuckle.

“You know, for someone who I regularly see making out with strangers in the club, you’re quite shy.”

“You’re not just a stranger in a club, (y/n).” Daniel says, reaching out to caress your cheek gently with his fingers.

“All this time I thought you’d never give me a second glance, and yet, here we are.” You say, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of Daniel’s bed.

“Are you kidding me? You’re gorgeous, (y/n), you’re kind, you make me laugh, and you have a killer taste in music. And, as it turns out, excellent taste in guys too.” Daniel says, sitting down beside you.

“So you really do like me? You’re not just having a laugh?” You ask, and Daniel offers you a small smile.

“Why would I be joking? I really like you (y/n), and I’d like it if you stayed with me tonight.” Daniel says, and you place your hand gently on his thigh.

“I’d love to, Daniel.” You say, and he presses a small kiss on your temple.

“This is going to make that presentation much easier to organise next semester.” Daniel says, and you laugh.

The truth is, all you really wanted for Christmas was Daniel, and this year, your Christmas wish had been very much fulfilled.

[sewer-freak]

[This is a roleplay blog for a DOL character created by @macabrecravings.]

General Degrees of Lewdity Warnings apply (Under 18 DNI, rape/noncon/dubcon) As well as heavy warnings for psuedo-incest fuckery (Morgan), bullying, medical malpractice, delusions/derealization, TBA… (Ask to tag more!!)

Reminder: Evangeline is intentionally transgressive & I do not hold the same values, views, or kinks that she does. ^_^

#oc: evangeline || pinterest board || spotify playlist

General Info:

• Unsocial Moth.

• Generally makes people uneasy. She’s visibly disturbed & clearly unstable which makes people uncomfortable.

• It doesn’t help that she’s an avid thief & people don’t like having their things stolen.

• Has poor hygiene due to her mental state, which is only made worse considering the places she hangs out (She… reeks. </3)

• Her teachers aren’t too fond of her. She’s not a delinquent by any means, but she spends more time daydreaming than anything.

• She also… stares. at them. Has a thing for older men / authority figures and it’s. obvious.

• Meek & submissive as fuck </3

• Works at the office building as a temp, but occasionally does housekeeping jobs around town

• Spends her free time in the forest, moor, smuggler’s cave, the sewers. When it comes to the orphanage, it’s all or nothing. She’s either locked herself in her room or avoids it like the plague.

• Has substance abuse issues. Cigarettes, alcohol, stimulants, aphrodisiacs…… <- Big fan. You can find her stealing stimulants & aphrodisiacs all over town, (even if the punishment she gets for doing so isn’t often worth the high).

• Very Much a Recluse. Doesn’t go out of her way to interact with people. Still, heres how she feels about certain NPCS:

• MORGAN — Met Morgan while artifact hunting for Winter, and it. fucked her up. She originally went along with him out of fear, but took to him quickly. He’s the father figure she’s never had. The only one who “understands her”.

Her name rhymes with Charlene, and she bares a resemblance to him (gingers. that’s it.), but it’s enough for her to delude herself into thinking that she hypothetically could be Charlene. (She’s not. & In a more lucid state she would accept that, but. Alas.)

• HARPER — Used to avoid their therapy appts at any cost. Morgan got in her head about him, so she was resilient & slow to warm up. But, deep into treatment at her first asylum visit, she became enthusiastic.

**Looked forward to bathing every day** (because it meant he would touch her and get her off). Liked the way his medicine made her feel, and loved his attention even more.

• KYLAR — A genuine friend. One of the only people she likes being around. Prefers when he’s silent and not overbearing. Keeps him at an arms distance because he’s a little… too into her.

He’s made it very clear that he wants to be more than friends/friends with benefits, but she ignores his feelings. She doesn’t want to date him. She doesn’t want him to “fix her” or “keep her safe”.

• WHITNEY — Evangeline is easy to throw around & take advantage of. She does what Whitney asks of her, little to no resistance.

Not close enough to him to drink at the pub with him & his buddies, but would if he allowed her to. Same with smoking with him. Hypothetically, they could get along. But they don’t.

• MICKEY — Fond of from a distance (They help cover up her tracks and are mysterious. It’s..: appealing :))

• ROBIN & SYDNEY — Not close. Doesn’t interact with them other than what’s necessary.

• WINTER — She helps out with the museum & also wants him carnally. Who cares if he’s a “fossil” or “as old as those antiques he collects”? Not her.

• SIRRIS — Another object of her lust. A seemingly perfect father to Sydney, not to mention hot. She’d do anything to be a demonstration on his home videos, if you catch my drift!

• LEIGHTON — To be determined

[ls-daydreams]

~Writeblr Intro~

Photo © Cate Brodersen on Unsplash

Hello, everyone! I'm a tumblr ancient who's been lurking around writeblr for a while now, but never actually made an intro post or interacted with peeps within the community, so here I am!

☆ ABOUT ME ☆

name: Laura  |  birthday: 26.09.1997  |  pronouns: she/her

languages: Romanian (native), English (fluent), Korean (conversational; been casually learning on and off for about 6 years), can somewhat understand Spanish and Italian

studies: BA in Scriptwriting, MA in Film Production Management

interests & hobbies: sudoku, crosswords, cooking & baking, tennis, collecting things, losing myself in canva edits & spotify playlists

what i’m doing now: working as a newbie librarian, trying to write my first novel, losing my mind over my characters

☆ ABOUT MY WRITING ☆

what i like: everything. i love me some nice variety in my genres, themes, and mediums. being absorbed into new worlds and learning from my peers is why i enjoy reading and why i’m a writer

what i write: in two words, murder gays. in more words, i usually write psychological thrillers intertwined with romance and mystery. after i’m done with my massive old-ass WIP (Metanoia, my beloved), i’ll dabble into taking the idiots-in-love into other genres (i already have some ideas for dark fantasy, sci fi & dystopian stories)

recurring things: characters who are demisexual/on the ace spectrum, deep connections between two people who can truly understand only each other, obsession, the concept of beauty in ugliness, death (as rebirth, as a companion to life, as a cause for grief), generational trauma, nature vs. nurture, loneliness vs. solitude

mediums: my current WIP is a novel, but i also write film and TV scripts and like to come up with transmedia experiences too - check out Forget-Me-Not for glimpses of those.

Below the cut are more details about some of my works~ I hope to make loads of friends, read all of your wonderful stories, and meet all of your OCs, so please interact with this post and I’ll check you out! I follow from my main, @sarcasticjuiceboxes ​! Bless you for reading this~

METANOIA - novel & eventual TV series

themes - nature vs. nurture, familial relationships, the illusion of choice

summary: Set in the tiny fictional town of Plain River, the story follows 25-year-old Malachi Azevedo as he tries to regain his memories after an "accident" erases the first 18 years of his life. Stuck caring for his ever-ailing mother, plagued by intrusive thoughts of self-harm, and constantly feeling like an impostor living in the wrong skin, Malachi latches onto The Void - a familiar voice in his head - to cope. He’s convinced The Void was someone important to his former self and tries to find him despite everyone around him denying such a person ever existed. It's this desperate search, along with his fight for independence, which lead Mal down a rabbit hole of love, violence, and hidden truths and force him to finally reconcile with the person he used to be.

warnings - blood, gore, depression, amnesia, abuse, kidnapping, gaslighting, attempted suicide, murder, death

word count - x

status - currently writing

FORGET-ME-NOT - feature film

summary: Haunted by never-ending tragedies, reporter Seo Joon decides to end his life in an almost derelict bath house. It's there he runs into a pair of odd strangers who force him to pick a side when they get into a violent fight, Seo Joon accidentally ending up killing one to save the other. A connection immediately forms between Seo Joon and the rescued stranger, Yul, who convinces the former to put off his initial plans.

It's only the next morning that Seo Joon learns two things: Yul is a photographer working for the police, and the man they killed was completely certain Yul was a serial killer trying to claim him as the next victim.

themes - grief, peculiar love, beauty in ugliness

warnings - murder, suicide, death, blood, panic attacks

word count - ~26k words

status - complete

story & more details (character profiles, inspo, etc) here | mobile friendly here

FLAT 27 - short film

summary: Detached from society and impaired by his deteriorating mental state, writer Ryan latches onto one of the last things that can still keep him going - his novel. He fixates on trying to finally finish it, but the incessant noises in his head prevent him from concentrating as he hasn't slept for days on end.

His inspiration is finally awakened when he overhears a tormented cello playing from the neighbouring apartment. Ryan grows dependent on the music to write, believing his neighbour, Damien, is playing specifically for him, and they're bonded through their art despite never exchanging a single word. When Damien starts to show a disconnect by refusing to play as usual and inviting a third person into their "bubble", Ryan is tempted into a depraved act that finally brings him face to face with his delusions.

themes - obsession, solitute vs. loneliness, real vs. manufactured self

warnings - insomnia, stalking, unreality, death

word count - ~3k words

status - completed (script), in production (film)

story & more details (character profiles, inspo, etc) here | mobile friendly here

More works available to check out - web here | mobile here

Thanks so much for reading! Hit me up and let’s get a-friending ♥

[darkened-writer]

Suspirium Into Stupor─| 02

summary || ❝He had felt as if he had known her before, from another distant past, another life before being an endless.❞

pairing || Morpheus x Fem!Reader

word count || 2,425

warnings || SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 4???

notes || We are steadily entering into the “infatuation” part of Dream’s “love”, yet he won’t say anything about it quite yet. Please enjoy!

P.S. I made a Pinterest board and Spotify Playlist for this fic, just for the visuals and overall vibe of the series! Enjoy that as well!

“That was… nice, what you did up there.”

“Don’t ever spy on me again.”

“I wasn’t spying. If I were spying on you, you’d never know it. So what’s our next move? ”

“I’m going in search of my helm. And you are going to to the Dreaming.”

“Or, hear me out, you could take me with you, and we’ll never have to have this conversation ever again.”

“That does sound tempting. In fact, where I am going, I may have need of you.”

“Yeah? Where are we going?”

“Hell.”

“Hell. As in Hell-Hell, or were you being metaphorical? Because either way, we should probably check in with Lucienne first, right? See how she’s feeling about it. I’m gonna go out on a limb, which is something birds actually do, and say she will not be in favor of Hell-going. But I don’t get the sense you’re listening, so, fuck it, let’s go to Hell!”

There was an overwhelming sense of peace, a calmness that raked your body head to toe. Across your sight, you could only see the purple-ish pink hues of the sunset, the flowers around you tickling the exposed skin of your arms, legs, and neck. You were surrounded by nature, being cradled in its bosom.

“Interesting… how I can appear in your dreams and yet, you’ve only met me once.”

The airless voice of the man who has been plaguing your thoughts suddenly rings in your ears, the accent, and the tone. Morpheus, The Dream Lord, Oneiros, Lord Shaper. 

“Nothing to say…?”

“If it were really you, I’d be speaking plenty. But you are an image in my mind conjured up because I simply cannot stop thinking of you.”

He chuckled.

“I’m as real as you want me to be. You can feel this, correct?” 

The touch of the flowers could never be as overwhelming as feeling his cold hand gently caressing up your arm, feeling every single pore and atom with his airy brush. He was hovering to the side of you, still clad in his dark robes with the same messy and sparse black hair that framed his face. And his eyes trailed your figure, the same stars that you saw in his eyes seemingly sparkled more when he was peering at you; picking you apart.

His hand eventually found its way to your cheek, turning your head towards him so you could both look at eachother. 

“I may not be the real Morpheus, but I am the version you wish you could have.”

You cradled his hand in yours, pursing your lips at his statement. It almost felt wrong to be this close to a man you met once. He wasn’t just a man though, he was an Endless. 

“Morpheus is aware of all of the dreams he creates, isn’t he? So did he create you? Or are you a nightmare to plague my nights just as I am plagued in my waking hours?”

“The dream was already in your head, you put me here yourself…”

The sound of distant thunder rolled over the plains of the land that surrounded you both, wind speeds picking up making the flowers around you shift to the right, then the left. His robes began to shift up and he leaned his head down, resting it upon your head. He felt so real, the temperature of his head upon yours, the follicles of his eyelashes, the rough looking texture of his lips, and the chalky paleness of his skin.

“Until next time, Y/N…”

Then, the ground swallowed you whole.

Nada. 

Nada was still in her cell within Hell, and seeing her again, it… it brought up emotions he had kept locked away for millennia. The vulnerability, the passion, the yearning, he still loved her, yes, but he could never forgive her. Eventually, however, he made it to Lucifer’s castle and proposed to get his helm back, but with complications, he found the demon who possessed it. The demon wanted a duel for the helm which led him to his current situation. He would have to duel Lucifer Morningstar for his helm, HIS tool.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Today for your entertainment and delectation, a formal challenge. The challenger is Dream.”

There were numerous waves of demons of all kinds, cheering for his downfall, his end. Flames lit up Hell and gave energy to its inhabitants, all thanks to Lucifer’s clever creation of the realm. 

“Once the Master of the Realm of Sleep.”

A Ravens caw sounded near him, and he turned his gaze to Matthew, who was antsy visibly.

“As the challenged, I’ve selected my champion, Ruler of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar… to represent me in a contest of skill, confidence, and transformation. The oldest game.”

The cheering was distant as Morpheus pulled away from the attention to speak to Matthew without others listening in, “Matthew, I need you to return to The Dreaming.”

“What? No!”

“It’s the only reason I’ve allowed you to come here.”

“So I could leave you?”

“If I should not be able to leave this place, I would not have Lucienne left alone with no word for my fate. Not again. The sand will take you back…”

“I’m not going back…-”

“Morpheus, am I interrupting a preliminary bout of some kind?”

Lucifer walked casually up to the two, eyes curious yet deceitful.

“Just a ringside pep-talk, Your Majesty.We came here for the helm and we’re not leaving here without it.”

Matthew’s determined tone stroked a bit of ego within Morpheus, but, none-the-less it was likely he’d perish.

“We shall see…” 

The sound of wings thronging brought Morpheus’s gaze to Matthew, who flew up onto a pillar to keep a watchful eye on the challenge that was about to commence. One might think that Dream was focused on the fight, but no, his mind had drifted to the human he had met, Y/N, the friend of Constantine. 

Thank you, Morpheus.

Thank you, Y/N… Safe travels.

He had felt as if he had known her before, from another distant past, another life before being an endless. Perhaps a life where he was human and had no rules to abide by. But of course that could not be possible, for when the universe was born and creatures were given consciousness, he was brought to life. He had a duty to fulfill, an endless lifetime of purpose to uphold. To shape dreams and nightmares, and keep control of of his own realm. No matter the price at his expense.

They stood parallel to eachother, both dressed in attire for battle and yet it was no ordinary battle. It was a battle of wits and of words. And, Morpheus was sure that he’d either perish or live to hold his helm once again.

“As the challenged, I set the meter and take the first move.”

“Very well. Make your move.”

“I am… a dire wolf. Prey-stalking, lethal prowler.” A smirk was painted upon Lucifer’s face, it was Morpheus’s turn.

“I am a hunter. Horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing.”

A shriek of pain as if an arrow pierced their abdomen, Lucifer peered at the blood in their hands and seemingly smiled.

“I am… a serpent. Horse-biting… poison-toothed.”

Air sucked seemingly out of his lungs, veins up the collar, and the feeling of being slammed into the ground by a ton of bricks. He was poisoned and he’d have to act quickly.

“I am a bird of prey. Snake-devouring, talons ripping.”

A slash and a gasp, They touched the new scars on their face and knew, Lucifer was bleeding.

“I am a butcher bacterium. Warm-life destroying.”

This brought Dream to his knees, pained groans as his skin wilted like an old rose without water, eyes bloodshot, and Matthew cawed in worry.

“I am a world. Space-floating, life-nurturing.”

Lucifer’s leather textured wings unfureled in anger, “I am a nova. All-exploding, planet-cremating.”

From knees to laying down, Morpheus was ‘defeated’, and the satisfaction was plain as day on Lucifer’s beautiful face. But Morpheus kept going, weakly leatting out his rebuttal even while injured.

“I am a Universe. All things encompassing, all life embracing.”

The same stars and galaxies you had seen within his gaze came to life with his words.

“I am anti-life.”

The darkness, it was swallowing the life, the brightness, the stars.

“The Beast of Judgement. The dark at the end of everything.”

Pale, paler than his own skin tone; he looked like any regular human corpse. The linolium flooring was swallowing him up just like the ground of your dream, it brought him odd comfort in what seemed to be his last moments of life before death. 

“What will you be then, Dreamlord?”

Lucifer's tone was condescending, confident and so sure of themself. How could anyone of great power be so cruel?

“I…I…I…”

No words could leave him, let alone a groan of pain, of agony. It felt hopeless, he fought for his helm the best he could but in the end his tool was going to be his downfall. A piece of him hoped that his next life would be more peaceful and less demanding than being an Endless. 

“Boss?”

Matthew

“Hey, Boss!”

“Still with us, Dream?”

“He is and it’s his move, Your Majesty.”

“There are no more moves. What can survive the anti-life?”

“Hey, boss. Listen to me. You know what can survive the anti-life? You. Dreams don’t fucking die. Not if you believe in them, and I believe Dream of the Endless would never leave his raven here alone, in Hell with Lucifer.”

They towered over Dream, hands clasped in front of them with a curious gaze, a curious and dangerous gaze.

“I… am… hope.”

The once weight that had washed over Morpheus was now thrown off of him, his skin still it’s natural paleness but his stature oozed power. 

“Hope.”

“Well, Lightbringer? It’s your move. What is it that kills hope?”

A beat of silence before Lucifer turned to Choronzon.

“Choronzon, give him his helm.”

“No. I won’t. It’s mine. Please.”

He was fearful, a demon fearful.

Mazikeen retrieved the helm, killing Choronzon in the process as brutally as any dweller of Hell may do. Handing it to Morpheus with a small bow of the head.

“Thank you, Mazikeen. Thank you, Lightbringer. The Ruler of Hell is honorable, indeed. I will not forget this.”

The helm was tucked comfortably under his arm, but Lucifer’s gaze was burning into his head, Lucifer likely thinking of the many ways they could kill Morpheus in one fell swoop, but opted for words instead.

“Honorable? You joke, surely. Look out there, Morpheus. The billion Lords of Hell stand arrayed about you. Tell us. Why should we let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here. After all… what power have dreams in Hell?”

Morpheus’s lips twitched up a bit, was it amusement in Lucifer's statement or cockiness? Even he himself could not tell you.

“You say I have no power here. Perhaps you speak truely. But to say dreams have no power in Hell… Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar, what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream… of Heaven?”

Lucifer was visibly enraged, face quivering and eyes watering in displeasure, “One day, Morpheus… we shall destroy you.”

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

-

“You think Lucifer will come after you?”

“Why?”

“Because you just publicly humiliated the Ruler of Hell. Can you even see in that thing?”

“I can. I can see the ruby. But, first, I must check in on someone.”

-

The dream of Morpheus had sturred you inside and out, the remembrance of his cold touch kept you awake for hours, and yet you yearned to return to your sleep just so you could feel it again. So, like any normal individual, you chose to go get coffee. Specifically at Little Nina’s shop on ninth street, which was a quaint little cafe with pastries of all kinds and music from any decade you could think of.

You had actually met Johanna there, as she was sat in a corner of the place with a laptop and stacks of books on demonology, you were allured by her odd aura. Little did you know, she would have you be a apart of many of her hellish activities. Thus, you never quite care about the demon talk anymore, and took the liberties of researching many entities, demons, and the Endless. Who would’ve thought that demons could be a pipeline to anthropomorphic, immortal beings.

“One latte with two sugar cubes and a splash of caramel, please, with a sausage roll also?”

“That’ll be nine quid…”

You paid in cash and took a seat next to a window which displayed the street almost perfectly, many sizes and colors of cars passing by without a care in the world. Plenty of pedestrians stood in their own little bubbles of their lives, so caught up with the small things. A kid dropping an ice-cream, or losing a pound down the street somewhere, or even stepping on gum. It was all small, and yet it becomes big within the mind. 

A man dressed in black caught your eye almost immediately as you were people watching, and felt the familiar tremor sensation travel through you. It was all too familiar, the same from your dream. The same eyes filled with stars that made you curious.

“Morpheus.”

A trolley rolled by and the image of the man haunting your dreams was gone like a wisp of sand in the wind, just as the cafe worker set down your latte and sausage roll in front of you.

“Here you are, ma’am.”

“Thank you…”

Stubborn mind, eventually it’d have to give up trying to shove the thought of Morpheus down your throat. Though, at the moment, you were not opposed to thinking of him.

A whirl-wind of sand brought Morpheus and Matthew to the storage container that had the ruby tucked away within a box which Matthew began to pick at with his beak.

“Why’d you visit the human girl?”

“Just felt a need to.”

“Mhm, sure.”

He opened the box with his pale, nimble hands, and gripped the ruby with immense care, a small and simple smile on his face until he noticed something was off; and the smile fell off of his face in an instant.

“Something's wrong. Someone’s altered it.”

It began to glow brighter and brighter, until a surge of power burst, sending Dream backwards into a pile of boxes. Into a slumber that not even Matthew could wake him from.

[wordycheeseblob]

Calamity

Warnings: This might not be for everyone, discretion is advised. Death of important characters, worst case scenario, overly dramatic, not a writer so my bad writing, and all that war entrails.

Fandom: Ikemen prince

Word Count: about 500

About: Everything is in place and Gilbert made a final decision; it's time for Rhodelite to fall.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Prince or any of its characters. The characters and all that, except the plot of this fic are the property of Cybird. Please do not repost.

Author's Note: Text apart, if you'd like to imagine the fall of Rhodelite, i'd pair it with Der Prinz Von Ägypten [Soundtrack German]- Die Plagen. Unfortunately the German version was not on Spotify.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was only a matter of time, peace was a fleeting dream shattered in the wake of violence.

With Blood Stained Rose day commemorative ceremony around the corner disquieting whispers began to spread. The winds of fate were changing, anyone who sensed it knew that this slight disturbance preluded imminent disaster but very few could tell just how severe it would become. At first, many were conflicted, national opinion split in two; those who supported the monarchy and those who were against it. The friction didn't burn, it simmered. In silent resentment It crept and spread until at last, it ignited. The fires of revolution. It's catalysts were many; an enemy prince staying at the palace, the discontent with the current system, grief of the past, fear of another possible war...

Everything was all too sudden when the ground shook, inaugurated by a deafening sound, the smell of smoke, the banging at the iron gates of the palace followed by cries and protests. Too inflamed to stop and too violent to reason with. only when Rhodelite began falling from within did it feel the full brunt of Obsidianite invasion.

Both factions dispatched troops to stop the advancement of the enemy empire while also trying to suppress their own uprising but no matter their fierce resolve, the fight back and all the courage in the world could not stand against facts. And the the facts were that Rhodelite was overwhelmed. All the series of wrong events and worst case scenarios unchained at the best possible moment. For him that is. The World's Calamity, first prince of Obsidian.

Faith is said to be the last thing to be lost, and lost it was, that damned day when Gilbert strode about nonchalantly to thank you personally for the push, for helping him make the decision to conquer and override Rhodelite, the final judgement.

The rest is history. The day judgement was imparted, more than ever people needed to be united. Jin had tried to calm the people in the city and de-escalate the situation, withstanding several grave injuries. Luke nearly defected and disappeared. On the front lines, Clavis, god he tried, presumably passed from a bullet wound and with him died Chevalier's humanity. Gilbert hounded and captured Yves, Nokto and Licht. Although instead of executing them himself, he graciously handed the princes to bloodthirsty revolutionaries, the people of Rhodelite, to decide their fate for themselves. Leon was the only one who could fetch help from their benitotian allies at the time. With no chance to grieve or look back while his homeland crumbled and shook withstanding the weight of the world.

By then it was already a point of no return. War invited famine and plague. Heartwretching pain and destruction, chaos and finally

silence.