cheshireaki2-blog

[taeghi]

in the flesh (kind of)

ghost hunter y/n gets called to exorcist a ghost out of a home, she expects the usual routine, but is instead met with heeseung—a mischievous ghost who’s way too charming, way too flirty, and definitely not ready to leave... not until he gets the thing he most desires.

PAIRING: psychic y/n x ghost heeseung

GENRE: smut!! i guess a bit of horror? lots of oral, spitting, biting, spanking, unprotected sex (plsplspls wear a condom), face sitting lmao, a bit of cum eating if you will

WC: 6.8k happy halloween 🎃 MDNI

the house in front of you looked as ordinary as ever. 

it didn’t look like one of those houses in scary movies. there was no sign of paranormal activity from the outside. 

you had been called to this house to investigate an alleged haunting here. they client said it was urgent too, and that you needed to get the spirit out quickly. 

you’re a psychic and you happen to be a ghost investigator, too. 

you pull out the client’s report and read through it; 

it started small, but it was always… wrong. i’d have female friends over, and they’d say they felt watched. they’d joke about it at first, until the jokes stopped. they’d leave my place unsettled, refusing to come back.

it escalated. i heard whispers in the night, a low, raspy voice calling my name. some of my friends even said they felt something cold graze their skin, like fingertips trailing along their arms and neck. it happens when they’re alone, especially in the bathroom mirror. they swear they see a face behind them, something shadowy with hollow eyes, just watching.

last week, a friend bolted out of the house, screaming that something had grabbed her arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. she won’t speak to me anymore. this thing – it doesn’t just haunt; it targets. i don’t know why it hates them, but it’s getting bolder. please… i need it gone before it decides that’s not enough.

you sigh as you finish re-reading it. the rest of your investigative team were called to a larger house with a previous client, leaving you alone with this emergency client. all alone as a woman with a spirit who allegedly targets women. 

you roll your eyes, just your luck.

you start your way up the ordinary pathway to the ordinary house, and find the spare key to the house under the mat, where the client said it would be. you slip the key into the lock and push the door open; it creaks as it widens. 

from your point on the outdoor step, you look into the house. the inside is seemingly as normal as the outside. the grand foyer in front of you is made with dark wood and you can see the sunlight peering in through the glass stained windows. 

you step inside, closing the heavy front door behind you, and a deep silence settles around you. the air feels dense, pressing close to your skin, but there’s no immediate trace of energy. you begin your usual inspection, running your fingers along the dark wood walls, pausing every so often to feel for any lingering presence. your fingertips drag across the furniture in the living room, the marble countertops in the kitchen. your senses are on high alert, but… nothing. not a single trace of energy. 

you check off the first floor on your checklist and slide it back into your bag. the basement and second floor are still left. the client mentioned there may be an attic, but he’s never been up there and doesn’t know how to get there. 

you make your way to the spiral staircase in the foyer, placing a hand on the ornate banister. instantly, a faint, buzzing vibration hums beneath your palm. it’s subtle, barely there, but unmistakable. your pulse quickens, and you grip the banister tighter as you ascend, focusing on the sudden, faint energy. 

maybe there is paranormal activity here. 

as you reach the top of the staircase, the air seems colder, biting at your skin, and it’s so silent you can hear the ringing in your ears. the hallway stretches before you, dimly lit from the afternoon sunshine, with shadows pooling in every corner. 

you turn down the hallway and find the bathroom from the client’s report, its door slightly ajar. the second you step inside, a wave of heavy energy washes over you, prickling your skin. you can feel something in the bathroom, the remnants of something. 

your fingertips graze over the sink countertop, trying to fully grasp the energy that is lurking out of sight, watching you. 

you stare into the mirror, half expecting to see someone else’s reflection staring back, but there’s only you—your eyes wide, the unease settling like lead in your stomach.

you take a step back, trying to shake the feeling, when a loud creak pierces the silence, echoing down the hall. you jump, heart pounding, and whip around to see a door at the end of the hallway slowly inching open, as if beckoning you.

you know it’s in there. 

your heartbeat thunders as you approach. halfway down the hall, a framed portrait catches your eye: a family, frozen in time, but the mother’s eyes… they look wrong. her painted gaze feels too aware, following you as you move. you look away, only to hear a faint, raspy whisper echo down the hall, saying your name. the sound slithers through the silence, almost mocking, and you spin around, 

but there’s no one there.

you almost laugh at yourself– you’ve been in worse situations than this, yet a little creak and, probably the wind, scare you. so, you continue your way to the creaked open door. 

just as you reach the open door, a sudden, sharp cold rushes past you, chilling you to the bone. your skin prickles, and you swear you feel fingers graze your shoulder. the air fills with the faint scent of something metallic, like rust or old blood. your throat tightens, but you push into the room, only to find it empty – just an old bedroom, frozen in time.

then, a loud slam rattles the door behind you, sealing you inside.

you immediately start to dig into your bag for sage and a lighter, pulling it out and trying to light it. from the corner of the room, you hear a soft, almost playful chuckle. your breath catches, the hair on the back of your neck stands up as you realize… you’re not alone.

you spin around, eyes darting to the shadowed corner where the chuckle came from, and freeze. there, half-hidden in the darkness, stands a man. his silhouette is tall and imposing, dressed in old-fashioned clothing—a loose white blouse with the top few buttons undone, revealing a sliver of skin beneath, and black pants that hang loosely around his frame. the shadows surround his face, but you can feel his gaze locked onto you.

your fingers fumble with the lighter, hands trembling as you try to spark a flame against the bundle of sage. it clicks over and over, each failed attempt magnifying the icy dread pooling in your stomach. your throat tightens, and you can barely swallow.

you keep trying to spark a flame when a deep voice cuts through the silence. “you know that won’t work, so don’t even bother with it.” his tone is smooth, calm, and almost amused.

before you can react, the sage flies out of your hand as if it’s been ripped away, slamming against the nearest wall before falling to the floor. you jolt, heart pounding, and look back to the corner—but he’s gone. the space where he stood is empty.

“over here.” the voice comes from right behind you, and you spin around, breath catching in your throat. he’s standing inches away now, close enough that you can make out every detail of his face. despite the fear tightening in your chest, you can’t help but notice he’s… handsome. dark, intense eyes watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but somehow captivating. every instinct tells you to run, but his gaze holds you frozen in place.

the man’s gaze sharpens as he studies you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “so you really can see me, huh?”

you nod, unsure of what else to do, your throat dry.

“hm,” he hums, tilting his head as he takes you in, intrigued. “i’ve never met someone like you. i mean, i’ve sensed people who can feel my energy before, but never anyone who can actually see me.”

“right,” you stammer, forcing the word out past the lump of nerves in your throat.

his smirk widens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “your name is y/n, right? after your great-grandmother?”

you feel a flicker of shock but work hard to keep your face neutral. stay calm, you tell yourself, steadying your voice as you say, “yes. what’s your name?”

the man starts to wander around the room, his fingers trailing over the dusty, ancient bookshelf, his expression thoughtful. suddenly, like a whisper in your mind, a name appears: heeseung.

“heeseung?” you murmur, testing it out loud.

he stops, looking over his shoulder with that same smirk, eyes gleaming. “wow, your powers really are a talent, y/n.”

“t-thank you,” you stammer, your voice barely steady.

heeseung stands up, moving to the window and glancing outside as the last light fades, leaving the sky dark and heavy. “let me guess,” he says, sounding amused, “the man of the house called you to exterminate me?”

you nod, trying to keep your composure. “yes, heeseung, exactly.”

he chuckles, turning to lean against the window with an easy, almost playful smirk. “he’s so pathetic. i was just trying to have a little fun.”

your mind flashes back to the client’s report. “you targeted women? left a bruise on one of them,” you remind him cautiously.

heeseung laughs, loud and sharp, his eyes glinting with amusement. “please, y/n, i didn’t leave a bruise on her… at least, not the kind of bruise i enjoy leaving.” he pushes off the window, closing the distance between you in a few strides. “i just like scaring people. and women, well, they’re the easiest to frighten.”

he stops right in front of you, his gaze boring into yours, making it hard to breathe. “can you feel me, y/n? if i touch you?”

you shrug, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds. “depends on how strong the energy is.”

heeseung quirks an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “may i try?” you hesitate, the thought of a ghost’s touch sending a shiver down your spine. heeseung senses your distaste, “i’ll be gentle, i promise.” 

before you can think better of it, you nod. “yes.”

heeseung’s smirk softens, and he reaches out, placing his index finger gently on your shoulder. the touch sends an electric jolt through you—it feels as real as any human’s, but you can feel your skin vibrating and humming under his touch. he drags his finger down slowly, tracing over your shoulder and down your side with a feather-light pressure that makes your skin ignite. his touch doesn’t stop until it rests at your waist, and he finally pulls away, leaving your skin tingling in its absence.

you’ve never felt anything like it before. 

“that felt so good,” he says, his voice laced with surprise. it’s as if he can’t believe the sensation, and for a moment, the amusement fades. “i haven’t felt such energy since i’ve been dead.” he examines his finger closely, as if he’s trying to grasp the lingering warmth it held. you wonder if it still hums for him like your skin does for you.

“how long have you been dead for, heeseung?” you blurt out, unable to stop the question before it slips past your lips. as you take in his clothes, you can’t help but think it must have been a while since he last walked among the living.

without opening his mouth, his eyes drift from the tip of his finger back to you, and you hear his voice echo in your mind: i don’t remember. you nod in understanding. 

you swallow hard before speaking again, the weight of the moment settling over you. “heeseung, you need to leave this place.”

he smirks and starts to pace around the room, giving you a breath of space that you didn’t realize you needed. “i knew that was coming,” he replies, the teasing lilt in his tone returning. 

“why do you want to stay here?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

heeseung laughs, the sound rich and dark, and looks at you from across the room. “because the man of the house brings so many women over—so many beautiful ones. and he fucks all of them!” in an instant, he’s right in front of you again, his hands gripping your shoulders. the humming and vibrations return, electrifying your skin as he leans closer, intensity radiating from him. “do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt the touch of a beautiful woman?”

it takes you a second to process his words, your heart racing as you feel the vibrations from his touch. he drops them back to his sides, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling strangely cold. “so long, y/n,” he sighs, a deep, heavy sound that echoes with despair. “at least i can watch the man of the house get some.” 

he moves away, flopping sideways onto the old bed, his feet still planted on the floor. he looks almost wistful, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for something lost. the room feels heavier now that you know what heeseung’s spirit seeks. 

your curiosity can’t stop you from asking, “i mean, can’t you have sex with like, other ghosts?” 

heeseung sits up on his elbows, looking at you like you’re an idiot, “it’s not the same, y/n. there’s no desire! no warmth!” 

“i see, but you can’t stay here, heeseung– you need to move o–.” 

“i’m not leaving!” his voice yells suddenly, you hear all the doors in the house start to rattle. your heartbeat picks up and you take steps back from the bed where the ghost layed. “i’m staying here!” 

you stop walking when your back hits the wall behind you, causing a small squeal to escape your throat. you glance back to the bed to see heeseung gone, the doors rattling stopped. you look around the room and you can’t see him anywhere. 

just great. you think to yourself, now the ghost you needed to remove is gone. 

“what’s just great?” a voice speaks in your right ear, causing you to squeak and jump to your left. you hear heeseung’s laughter fill your ears as you realize it was him. “see, i told you. it’s so easy to scare women.” 

you huff as you look at the ghost, “it’s’ not funny heeseung, you’re not welcomed here.” 

heeseung signs and rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall you were previously up against. “i know, i know. but i have a problem, y/n, and i can’t leave until i get it fixed.” 

you think about his problem and how you could get him to leave so your client would be happy. 

have sex with him. 

the intrusive thought fills your mind, and you realize that it wasn’t your thought, but heeseung’s. you glance up at him with a scowl on your face– the opposite as the smirk on his own. 

“please y/n!” heeseung whines, stepping away from the wall and walking up to you, “if you have sex with me then i’ll leave here, and the man of the house can be happy and you’ll get paid.” 

you open your mouth to disagree but heeseung starts speaking again, not wanting to hear it, “please y/n, just think about it.” he walks even closer, closer than ever, and places his hands on your hips. his thumb staying still on the exposed skin of your lower abdomen from where your shirt had ridden up. the vibrations from his touch course through you again. “just a simple touch makes it feel this good for you, imagine how’d my touch feel as i taste your pussy– as my cock stretches you out– i know you haven't been touched in a while, y/n. your poor pussy,” heeseung tuts and you can’t argue with him, it had been awhile. but to sleep with a ghost? you weren’t so sure about it. his touch does feel so good, so electrifying, you do wonder how’d it feel on other parts of your body. 

have sex with him. have sex with him. have sex with him. have sex with him. have sex with him. 

“okay! fine!” you consent loudly, “enough!” his voice echoes through your head over and over again.

“perfect.” 

then, heeseung is pushing back against the wall, your body trapped in between his and the wall. his hands fly to your body, wanting to feel all of you all at once– the touch was electrifying. his lips pressed into yours, roughly. they worked against yours quickly, his tongue licking your bottom lip, demanding for entrance. when you open your mouth to let him in, his tongue isn't shy from exploring your mouth. your tongues fight together as your lips are rough against each other. heeseung gives you no room to breathe, his lips are just attacking yours, sending vibrations all around your body. 

heeseung pulls away, his hand staying on your jaw as he looks down at you. your eyes are already dazed, your lips are swollen and wet and your chest is heaving roughly. he smirks at your lack of composure, his thumb grazes your bottom lip gently. 

“wanna see what else my mouth can do?” heeseung asks with a teasing tone. you quickly nod in response, wanting and needing more from him, more than you ever expected. heeseung presses a rough kiss onto your lips again before he kneels down on the floor, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down alongside your panties. he helps you step out of the clothing before he’s spreading your legs apart and staring right at your exposed pussy. 

“fuck your pussy looks so fucking good,” heeseung literally moans out, staring at your pussy lips that are starting to leak with your juices. 

before you could respond, heeseung dove in between your legs with you still standing against the wall. he licls you completely from the front of the back. he started sucking on your sensitive clit, swirling his tongue around your entire pussy. 

your whines quickly filled the empty house. you looked down between your legs where heeseung was knelt on the floor, his eyes staring at your face as he flicked his tongue over your clit which you could only describe as heavenly. the way he was staring at you so intently made your pussy wetter and wetter. 

heeseung’s fingers found the entrance of your drenched pussy, teasing it as his lips continued to suck on your clit. he sunk two fingers in at once, moving them in and out as he ate you out. 

“h-holy shit, heeseung,” you moaned loudly, arching your back off of the wall behind you. heeseung kept licking your now swollen clit, fingering your pussy faster and faster. the sounds coming from between your legs was so sinful. 

heeseung curls his fingers inside you, searching for your g-spot to touch. his fingers were long, being able t o reach deeper inside you than even your fingers had. your pussy walls were starting to tighten around his fingers as he found the right spot that had your knees buckling on either side of his head. 

“does that feel good, y/n? do you like having my fingers inside your desperate pussy and my tongue fucking your clit? is this what you’ve wanted for so long?” heeseung growls into your pussy, his fingers fucking harder against your g spot over nad over again. 

you gasp for air was the pleasure from his touch began to course everywhere through your body. the vibrations and humming on your skin where he was touching made it hard to breathe. you could quickly feel a knot forming in your lower stomach, quicker than you’ve ever experienced. 

“heeseung!” you screamed and suddenly you were cumming all over his fingers and face. your juices dripping all over him. you had never released this quickly or hard before, and you think it had something to do with his vibrating touch that courses through your entire being at every single touch he gave you. 

your body was shaking and spasming as the high rushes through you. his face was still buried between your legs until you stopped. he slowly pulled away, you can see his entire lower half was drenched. 

before you had even caught your breath properly, heeseung was pulling you to the bed and pushing you down on the ground before it. he sat down on it in front of you, undoing his own pants as he bit his lip and looked down at your already fucked out figure. your knees felt relief as they kneeled on the ground before you. your entire body still felt unstable as heeseung’s cock popped into sight in front of you. it was hard and veiny and it looked like it was about to explode without a singular touch from you. his size was definitely the biggest you had ever seen. 

“suck on my cock, y/n, be a good girl for me,” heeseung grinned down at you. 

you didn’t hesitate to lean down and lick a long stripe from his swollen balls to the tip of cock. you licked the base of it. heeseung groaned in pleasure and watched your actions with intense focus, like he wanted to remember every single detail of his moment. 

his cock was throbbing with the need of pleasure in your mouth. you felt yourself drool at the idea of how hot and heavy it would feel inside of your mouth. you wanted to please him so much. 

you continued licking his cock with your tongue, and you grabbed a hold of his balls with one of your hands. you squeezed and massaged his hard balls softly as you licked to the sensitive tip again. you took in the drops of pre-cum that were pooling and threatening to spill onto the floor. 

then, you took him completely into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. 

heeseung moaned loudly and smiled to himself in relief as his head fell back on his shoulders. one of his hands found its place on your hair– making your scalp erupt with vibrations that encouraged you to suck him faster. 

your tongue swirled around his cock while you bobbed up and down. you could feel him sliding deeper and deeper into your throat. 

“fuck you’re such a good girl,” heeseung moaned before he started to help you move yoru head up and down by holding the grip of your hair tighter. you hollow your cheeks more and kept sucking to give him the pleasure that he had given you. 

your tongue swirled around heeseung’s cock as you bobbed around him. your hands gripped on his balls tighter and massaged them. his moans and grunts picked up pace quickly. you could feel his cock start to twitch in your mouth. the thought of him cumming turned you on so much, you wanted to see him squirm and moan your name as his cum shot out of his sensitive tip. 

“f-fuck, ok ok,” heeseung says, pulling you off of his cock. you whine out, upset that he didn’t cum in your mouth. 

he only laughs, “i wanna finish inside of you, y/n, just wait.” 

you bite your lip at the thought of his cum filling you up, you wanted it just as bad as you wanted it in your mouth. heeseung pulls you up from your knees, you’re still wearing your tshirt, and makes you sit on the bed with him. 

“take my shirt off of me,” heeseung demands. you shakily reach out your hands and unbutton each small button on his loose fitting shirt, you see him shiver slightly as your fingers graze along his skin as you undo every button until it’s wide open and showing his chest. it’s well defined and pale and cold like the rest of him. “your touch feels as good on me as mine does on you.” heeseung explains as he reads your mind. 

heeseung shrugs his shirt off his shoulders and drops it on the ground, leaving him completely naked in front of you. he looks beautiful. 

“you look beautiful too, y/n.” heeseung says, and it doesn’t surprise you anymore that he can read your thoughts. he reaches out and puts his thumb against your lips, wanting access inside your mouth. you open and allow his thumb inside. you suck on it, wishing you could do more. “fuck, i need to taste you again.” heeseung grunts and pulls his hand away as he lays down on his back. “c’mere, sit on my face, baby.” the nickname causes a stir in you, and you hurriedly do as he says. 

you place both of your knees on either side of his head, looking down in between your thighs you see his eyes, hungry and full of lust as he switches from looking at your pussy to your face. 

“it’s okay, just sit.” he encourages you, sensing your brief hesitation. he yanked you down harder against his mouth, making you fully sit against him. your body fully relaxes as you feel his tongue start to dart around your pussy again, already familiar. 

“oh god! oh fuck!” you cry out, your hands grip the headboard, needing support as your upper body felt weak from pleasure. 

heeseung went from moving his entire mouth back and forth, to left to right against you. he thrusts his tongue deep inside of you, wanting to taste every inch of your hole. then he went into sucking your clit into his mouth like his life depended on it. he was doing everything he could to please you, and you couldn’t even process it all from the pleasure consuming your entire body. 

“c’mon,” heeseung coaxes from underneath you, out of breath, “aren’t you a little slut, y/n? hm? gonna ride my face, baby? grab my hair– i like it.” he grabs your wrists from the headboard and guides your hands to his hair. 

you nodded, your hands curling in his hair, holding onto him. you relax back onto his mouth, his tongue going back to licking and sucking your clit. you instantly pull at his hair, needing something to hold onto as he holds you still and tongue fucks you. 

heeseung’s hands either gripped the flesh of your thighs, holding you in place on his face, or they alternated onto your ass, where he’d massage the flesh after he spanks it. he loves the cries you made everytime his hand made contact with your ass. he loved the way you were so into pain, just like he was. 

you were turning into a whining mess above him, and he loved it. he loved it so much more than he should’ve. 

“you like it when i eat your pussy, right baby?” 

you can only nod in response, the pleasure too overwhelming for you. all you can think about is his tongue circulating your pussy, making sure to touch every single spot. you start to swivel your hips against his face, without even thinking about your actions, just thinking about how fucking close you were to cumming. you couldn’t handle it, his touch that would send vibrations throughout your body, his moans into your skin, the way he was so intently looking at you. the pleasure was building so quickly you needed to do something. 

“fuck you’re so hot,”  heeseung mumbles into your pussy, “look at me, y/n– look how much your pussy has soaked me.” you manage to look down further, his nose, cheeks, chin and even his neck are glistening in the moonlight. it only makes you cry out, the sight turning you on more. you’ve never been so desperate to cum before. 

“are you gonna cum, baby? gonna come all over my face?” heeseung questions you, sensing how close you were, reading your mind and every single movement you made so easily, “please, i want you to so bad. i need it.” 

“f-fuck! yes! heeseung yes!” you cry, pulling on his hair harder, making him smack your ass harder. you needed something to hold onto as the huge rush of pleasure started to take over your body before you could realize it. 

he pulls  your body tight and snug against himself as your orgasm hits. a loud scream of his name escapes your lips as your body spasms above the ghost. his tongue not stopping at licking and sucking your entire pussy throughout it all. 

suddenly you felt a rush of wetness leave your body, your vision going blurry, your body felt like it was on fire. 

“oh fuck, yes!” you hear heeseung mumble, his head moving in a frenzy against your pussy. your cries don’t stop until the final, long wave of pleasure ends. 

your left practically hunched over on top of him, your body red and sweating with your chest heaving as you catch your breath. you don’t even feel heeseung gently slide out from underneath you and gently lay you do. 

“that was so hot, y/n,” heeseung moans, “i didn’t expect you to squirt.” 

the word comes out of your mouth and shocks you, you hadn’t thought you had done that. your eyes fully adjust to the room again and you see that heeseung’s entire chest and face are drenched in what could literally only be your juices. 

your hand covers your mouth in shock and almost embarrassment, oh my god, what have i done? 

heeseung suddenly laughs and reaches over to pull your hand away, “don’t worry, it was so fucking hot, i wanna make you do it over and over again.” 

“oh god, maybe not right now, i don’t think i could handle it.” 

heeseung only laughs at you, a full chest laugh before he leans down and meshes his lips against yours. you moan at the taste of your juices covering his lips and mouth. his hand is gently resting on your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as you make out. both of you needed a break from the pleasure, but still wanted to touch one another. your touch was addicting to him as his was to you. neither of you could pull apart for too long, needing the other’s touch again. 

“you gonna let me feel your pussy wrapped around my cock?” heeseung asks you, his voice in a whisper. 

“please,” you beg in a whimper. 

heeseung shuffles so he’s hovering over top of you, his hand roaming your body. he lifts up your shirt so it pools around your arms and neck, revealing your breasts. he starts to grind his hard length against your pussy, making you cry out. his fingers pinch your erect nipples. your back arches into his touch, wanting more. 

“you’re so sexy, oh my god,” heeseung growls, bending down to take your rosy nipple into his mouth. his tongue teases and suckles, alternating between gentle laps and firm tugs that have you writhing against him. 

heeseung suddenly spins you around, pressing your front down against the mattress. he nips at your neck, biting and sucking on it from behind. he leaves a trail of wet kisses, making you shiver. 

heeseung positions himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging your slick folds, “fuck your pussy’s drenched, can’t wait to feel it around my cock.” 

heeseung slides just the tip inside, so slowly, making you whimper, “please, heeseung, i need your cock inside me.”  a sudden slap against your already red and irritated ass makes you jolt and squeeze around his cock. 

“tell me how you want my cock.” 

“i want it so bad! i need it heeseung! please fuck me, please.” you couldn’t recognize your voice, the way it sounded so desperate and needy for him and only him. 

with a growl, he plunges deep inside of you, filling you in one swift stroke. you cry out as he stretches you, accommodating his large cock. “so tight, so fucking perfect.” he grunts, his voice strained as he holds himself still, letting you adjust to his size. 

“move, please,” you plead, pushing back against him, wanting more.

he obliges, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you, setting a relentless pace. the slap of flesh meeting flesh fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts. he reaches around, finding your clit, and begins to rub firm circles as he pounds into you. 

he pulls back, letting the tip remain inside your warmth and spits down, landing where your bodies connect. you moan out at the degrading action, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let him continue fucking you. he’s practically using your body to get off, you’re so weak and spent and needy, all you can do is lay there. 

everything is so wet and warm, your bodies tingling from each other’s touch. the pillow your face is resting on is soaked in your drool and sweat. 

“fuck,” you moan, long and drawn out, the whole bed moving with every single thrust he makes. his free hand that's not on your clit spanks your ass again and again, his imprint clear and profound. pleasure rushes through you, and you can feel the pleasure taking over you fully again. “c-close,” you whimper out, quietly as your throat is strained from your moaning and crying. 

heeseung’s hand leaves your clit and pulls both of your arms around your body so they are interlocked on your lower back, he grips onto your arms and uses them as leverage as he begins a brutal pace of fucking into your pussy. the pace knocks all the wind out of your chest, your moans breaking and splitting. his hips smack into your ass, the sound filling the room. 

“fuck you’re taking me so well,” heeseung grunts out, “like a perfect slut.” 

you can’t even respond to him, you’re too focused on feeling everything. it all blurs together and she still needs more of it and him. 

“fuck i’m gonna cum!” you whine out, your words muffled into the pillow, your head falling to the side so you can look at him. 

“wait, baby– i’m almost there.” heeseung says. he can feel you struggling to hold back your third orgasm. your warm walls are convulsing around him, milking him, begging him to cum deep inside of you. he groans at the thought of his white cum dripping out of your soaked and swollen pussy. 

“please heeseung!” you cry out, “can’t!” 

heeseung lets go of your interlocked arms, they fall limp to your side. he grips your hips and starts fucking into you from another angle, “fuck okay okay! cum for me baby, let go!” his voice is strained as he reaches his own orgasm at the same time you reach yours. 

your walls clench around his throbbing shaft as it empties his remnants inside of you. you can hear him swearing and his hips start to stutter. both of you can feel his cum mixing with your juices. 

your shallow breaths fill the room as you try to calm down from the strong and final orgasm you have. the air in the room is thick around your two tired bodies. you can feel heeseung start to pull out of you so slowly and gently, but you still wince from the sensitivity. 

“look, y/n, watch.” heeseung says to you, his hands help you guide you onto your back, your legs spread open still so you can see his white cum leaking out of you. “fuck,” 

your moan leaves your mouth as you watch the sight in between your legs. his saliva, your juices and his cum all mixed around on your pussy and inner thighs. 

heeseung can’t help himself but grab his softening cock and swipe it along your used pussy lips. the tip of it swiping across your clit has you crying out and gripping the sheet underneath you, but your eyes don’t leave his movements. 

he gathers his fallen cum off your pussy and onto his cock and he looks at you, his eyes still lustful as ever, “taste it.” 

heeseung meets you in the middle as you use the rest of your weak energy to sit up and open your mouth, letting heeseung shove his cock back into your mouth, this time with his cum on it. you moan around him at the taste of the salty substance on your tongue. you softly sucked on his cock, wanting as much as his cum as you could get. heeseung hissed above you from sensitivity, but nonetheless let you suck his cock again. 

he just couldn’t get enough of you. 

when he finally gets himself to pull out of your mouth, heeseung helps you wash up, his hands surprisingly gentle and warm for a ghost, guiding you through each motion until you’re finally redressed correctly. he pulls back the covers and settles you into the bed, a room that’s neither his nor yours, but feels oddly safe with him beside you. he stretches out next to you.

"your psychic powers are so interesting, y/n," he says softly, eyes tracing your face. you manage a tired smile, whispering back, "i know."

heeseung’s hand brushes against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. for a moment, you can feel his thumb lingering by your jaw, and your gaze locks onto his. but his smile fades, and something shifts in his expression, like a shadow crossing over his face.

"i guess i have to leave now," he says, voice low and final. "our deal is complete."

his words hit you like a wave, bringing you back to reality, grounding you in the truth you’d momentarily forgotten. heeseung is a ghost. you’re here to finish a job—to exorcize him from this house, to set him free. but as the realization sinks in, so does a strange, aching feeling in your chest, something heavy and unfamiliar. you’ve never felt this way before, not about a spirit, not about anyone.

you reach out and grab his arm, as if holding onto him could somehow stop him from slipping away. "don't go," you whisper, desperation lacing every word.

heeseung chuckles softly, shaking his head. "i have to, y/n. it was our deal. besides," he nods toward the hallway, "you have to go, too. the man of the house will be back soon."

reluctantly, you let your hand fall to your side, a hollow ache spreading in your chest as you watch him. "where will you go, heeseung?"

he shrugs, a ghostly smile crossing his lips. "everywhere."

you turn your face away, feeling the weight of everything you can't say pressing against you. you'll never see him again, never feel the electric hum his touch sends across your skin. the realization hits you hard—you have feelings for a ghost, and it’s breaking you apart. it’s not natural. 

heeseung reaches out, his cool hand cupping your jaw and gently turning you to face him. "you have a long life ahead of you, y/n," he says, voice low and soft. "don't get stuck in this part." you nod through the tears that fill your eyes, knowing he's right, but it doesn't make the goodbye any easier. 

"i’ll see you on the other side, y/n. i won’t forget you."

“i won’t forget you either, heeseung.”

heeseung's gaze softens, and he leans in, pressing a final kiss to your lips, a gentle brush. your eyes close, savoring the feeling. but when you open them again, you’re alone in the bed. 

you sit up slowly, glancing around the room. there's an emptiness now, a quietness that tells you heeseung is really gone. there’s no lingering energy, no faint presence lurking in the shadows. it’s just an ordinary house again.

you leave the bedroom and make your way to the front door, pulling out your checklist and marking off the final task. you scribble a quick report (leaving out the part where the spirit fucked your brains out). with a sigh, you click your pen closed and tuck everything back into your bag.

as you step outside, the cool evening air hits your face. you pause on the front step, glancing back at the house one last time. it looks as plain as you thought it did when you first arrived, but now it holds memories you know you'll carry with you for a long time.

taking a deep breath, you turn and start down the street, the soft glow of a lone streetlight casting long shadows as your shoes scuff against the scattered orange and yellow autumn leaves on the pavement.

heeseung is your only thought.

you wonder when you’ll see him again; unaware of his spirit watching you from the front step of the house you’d just left, a sick evil smile on his face as he turns and walks back into the house. 

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

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[itneverendshere]

for bitchy pogue reader I'd love some actual introductions to Topper and Kelce after the golf course, they can be huge assholes but we've seen a nicer side to both of them. So Rafe trying to see if group hanging out *is* possible, and it's probably very weird but maybe it works out?

it's not working out just yet....but maybe! soon! thank you for the request💗

get your head in the game

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you think you had too many shots before leaving the house.

alright, so maybe the vodka was overkill. maybe. but you knew you’d need a little courage to pull off this top that’s basically a vague suggestion of a shirt. the whole thing's simple math—tight skirt, low-cut top, a flick of lip gloss, and, boom, everyone else is irrelevant.

if you wanted, you could have any guy here eating out of the palm of your hand. so why the fuck did you dress thinking about rafe when you’re supposed to distance yourself from that asshole? no idea.

the bonfire’s huge tonight, lighting up all the faces you couldn’t care less about.

you can feel him, hovering somewhere nearby. he’s in that faded sweatshirt he always wears when it’s colder out, the one that smells like salt and smoke and way too many of your bad nights. mister pouty face himself, sulking around the fire, watching you with this look that says he knows he messed up but doesn’t even know where to start patching things over.

you turn your back on him for the millionth time that night, let your hips sway just a little extra, knowing he’s watching. yeah, you’re putting on a show, all right—flicking your hair, laughing louder than you need to. 

you’re just reaching for a beer when you feel hands slide around your waist, and you almost jump out of your skin, but then you catch that familiar, maddening scent of his and your body goes all traitorous, leaning back against him before you snap out of it.

"jesus,” you’re already twisting out of his clasp, turning around, and there he is, standing like he didn’t just sneak up on you with those stupid blue eyes and that stupid, lopsided grin. 

you want to shove him away, but he’s got that look, like he’s begging for a chance without saying a word, and you hate how much it gets to you.

your head had been a mess since that day at the golf course.

“what do you want?” you ask, arms crossed, brows up, giving him that full-on don’t mess with me look.

“to talk,” he’s close, way too close, looking down at you like he’s trying to read every little twitch of your face as if he can just stand there and make things better by breathing the same air.

his hands are still hovering around your waist, like he’s waiting for permission to touch you again. part of you wants to let him, but you just narrow your eyes, tilting your chin.

“aren’t you afraid your little friends are gonna see you?” you edge him on, “talking to a pogue?”

“don’t start,” he says, you can see the pleading in his eyes as he reaches for your waist again, fingertips brushing your hip, like he can’t stand not touching you for another second.

“why not?”

he winces, dropping his hand back to his side, and it’s almost pathetic, how he’s just standing there, not even pretending to defend himself. “i—c’mon, i already apologized—”

you roll your eyes, not trying to hide the smirk pulling at your lips. 

“apologized?” you let out a bitter laugh, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “oh, yeah, that makes up for all the times you acted like i didn’t exist.”

his face crumples, and you can see him struggling, his hand drifting toward your hip again, but he hesitates like he’s afraid he’s about to get slapped away.

it’s almost sad, mr. big shot practically pussy-whipped.

“c’mon, don’t do this,” he murmurs, stepping closer until you can feel the warmth of him. his fingertips ghost along your bare arm, like he’s desperate just to feel you. 

you scoff, leaning back against the cooler, crossing your arms in front of you as his hand slides to your waist, bold and pleading all at once. his touch is warm, and you hate how your body responds like it’s a prayer, like you've been waiting all night for him to finally show up.

“there’s some people i want you to meet.”

his thumb brushes the skin just above your waistband, and he’s so close you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“what?” you huff in annoyance, lifting your chin up as he inches closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck.

you feel his thumb grazing your skin back and forth, his lips so close you can taste the desperation in his breath.

perhaps it’s the vodka, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you but you feel yourself softening, just a little, against your will.

“my friends.”

you didn’t hear him right. 

his friends? the same friends who wouldn’t even look at you if you walked past them in town? the same friends he’d all but hid you from for months?

“what?” you ask, slower this time, more disbelief than anything, and you tilt your head up to get a better look at him. 

he’s got that kicked puppy look in his eyes, and you’re not even sure what to make of it.

this is rafe cameron, the guy who wouldn’t be caught dead with you outside the bedroom, now practically begging to introduce you to his kook buddies?

“i want them to know,” his voice trails off, “i want them to know ‘m with you.”

“with me?” you repeat, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your voice. “since when?”

this can’t be real—this can’t be the same rafe who couldn’t even look you in the eye outside his house three months ago.

“i told you, the other day at the golf course.”

you stare at him like he’s stupid, “you mean, when you went alpha on those little frat boys?”

“i saved you from them, okay.” 

you’re seconds away from outright laughter when he just keeps looking at you with those fucking pleading eyes, that hand grazing your cheek in a way that should be soft but instead feels like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.

why the fuck is this so endearing to you.

he sounds almost earnest—almost. but you’re not giving him an inch, not after months of him acting like he didn’t know your name outside of his bedroom. 

“what do you mean, ‘saved me’?” you raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. “saved me from what? a little attention?”

rafe lets out a rough exhale, glancing down with a frustrated shake of his head.

“they were hitting on you,” he mutters, his hand tightening on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you aware of every single inch of his hold on you. “and ‘m not gonna stand around and watch some asshole get his hands all over what’s mine.”

mine?  he’s really lost it. 

“country club, i don’t know if you hit your head golfing and this is some post-head trauma hallucination, but ‘mine’ implies you want something more than whatever the fuck this is.” you motion between the two of you, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

“why don’t you ever call me by my name?” he grumbles, just like he did the other day on the golf course. he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “except when—”

your mouth drops open. is he serious? this shit again?

“except when what?” you glare at him as you swat his chest. 

he’s got that smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“you only call me rafe when,” his voice drops deliciously, and he leans in close, eyes half-lidded and fixed on your lips. “…when ’m inside you.”

“shut up,” you hiss, smacking his chest again, but he doesn’t move. instead, his smirk grows as he catches your wrist and holds it, letting his fingers trace over your knuckles.

before you can retort, there’s a loud cackle from behind you.

you turn, and there they are: topper and kelce, both looking like they’ve stumbled into a parallel universe.

“whoa, what’s this?” topper’s smirk is almost as wide as rafe’s. “didn’t know our boy here had himself a—” he raises his eyebrows, letting the word hang with a smug twist of his mouth. kelce snickers, crossing his arms, eyes darting between you and rafe.

you’re already huffing, half-prepared to watch rafe put on his usual bad boy with daddy issues mask, toss out some stupid excuse, or worse—let them think you’re just a fucking hole to him.

rafe gives your waist an extra squeeze, fingers pressing into your side as if he’s staking a claim.

“this,” he says, clearing his throat like he’s about to announce something official, “is my girlfriend.”

you blink, utterly thrown, and from the look on their faces, topper and kelce are right there with you, both staring at rafe like he’s just grown an extra head.

“your what?” kelce sputters out, eyes widening, clearly expecting the punchline.

you open your mouth to say something snarky, make some joke out of this whole ridiculous scene, but rafe’s fingers are tracing slow, warm circles against your hip and you can’t think straight to save your life.

god, old you would’ve ridiculed yourself for being putty in the hands of a kook of all people. 

“girlfriend,” he repeats, like he’s spelling it out just for them. “want you both to meet her.”

you swear kelce’s jaw drops, while topper lets out a low, incredulous laugh. tweedledum and tweedledee at their best.

“you’re serious,” topper mutters, giving you a once-over and shaking his head in disbelief. “i thought she was just a—”

“yeah, ’m serious,” rafe cuts in, his tone brooking no argument.

you must’ve missed the part where you two talked about this thing like adults and he proceeded to ask you. 

“your what?” you bite out, as you try to wrench his arm away, but his grip only tightens, he’s prepared for a full-on wrestle if it keeps you there.

“hey—will you just stay here?” he murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just for you. 

you’d throw something at him if you could. you yank his hand away anyway, tearing yourself free from his grip. “stay? are you kidding?”

you’re already storming off into the crowd, but you still hear kelce behind you, their voices , “that went well.”

rafe curses under his breath, but you just keep walking, not looking back, even as you can feel him running after you, those long legs of his making it easy to catch up.

“wait! seriously, wait!”

 like hell you’re going to let him off the hook so easily.

“not happening!” you shout over your shoulder. 

you could turn around and give him one last piece of your mind, but a part of you knows it’ll only lead to more hurt feelings—yours or his. you push through a group of people huddled around the bonfire, and it’s only when you reach the edge of the beach that you finally stop, trying to catch your breath.

“why do you always do this?” rafe’s voice comes from behind you. you don’t turn around, knowing that if you see that look on his face, you might just give in.

“do what?” you shoot back, crossing your arms defensively.

“run away,” he almost whines, taking a step closer, and you can hear the frustration in the way his throat tightens up, “you never give me a chance to explain.”

“explain what? that you want me to be your girlfriend when two weeks ago, you couldn’t even look at me in front of your friends?” you spin to face him, “this is ridiculous.”

rafe opens his mouth, probably to defend himself, but the look on your face shuts any attempt down.

“i asked you to stay.”

you groan, itching to pull your hair out, “what are you talkin’ about?”

“that night, i asked you to stay.”

“and proceeded to ignore me the next day, yes, i’m well fuckin’ aware.”

you want him to feel a sliver of what he’s put you through, but he just steps closer, almost like he’s trying to coax you back.

“i was trying to figure things out,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to you. “it’s not easy, alright?”

“were you incredibly tortured by the thought of letting your friends know you were slumming it with a ‘pogue’? please.”

“what, you really think i don’t care about you?” he’s pleading now, his face just inches from yours. “because if you don’t know that by now, then i don’t know what else i can do.”

you laugh bitterly. Is he actually serious?

“you can grow a fucking pair. where was this brave, ‘caring’ version of you last week? or the week before that?” you throw a hand up, trying to make him see how obvious this all is. “when you could’ve just acted like a man and told your friends instead of pretending i was some embarrassing secret.”

“’m trying to fix that,” he says, his desperate, “right here, right now.”

“and ’m supposed to just forget the way you treated me all those times?”

“can you just let me try to be better?”

you swallow, biting your lip. he’s closer now, and you can smell that familiar cologne and saltwater.

“it’s gonna take more than a few pretty words.”

“i know,” he says, nodding like he’s promising you something. “that’s why i want you to meet my friends, why i want them to know ’m with you.” his fingers finally, lace with yours, and he looks down at your hands, “i want to do this right.”

you stare down at his hand in yours, and for a second, yeah, your heart stutters, betraying every ounce of pride you’ve tried to keep intact through this whole mess.

this is rafe we’re talking about. kook royalty, king of mixed signals, the guy who’s too proud to admit when he’s wrong, especially when his boys are watching. the guy smells good, he looks like sin, and he’s saying all the things you’ve wanted to hear since day one.

a few weeks ago, you’d have laughed at the idea of ever feeling anything real for him. you, a pogue with a mouth on you, and him, a kook with daddy issues and an ego bigger than his bank account. but here you are, letting him pull this romantic shit on you.

is he actually worth all this? you could do better; you know that.

you could have someone who doesn’t make you feel like an option, someone who’s not constantly forcing you to guess what the hell he wants.

the real question is, do you actually believe he’s gonna change? or is this just another moment of him saying whatever he has to so he doesn’t lose the convenience of you?

you huff, half-scoffing, half-sighing, because honestly, maybe he does sound genuine for once, and maybe a part of you wants to believe him so badly you could actually throw your whole life away. 

“prove it then,” you say it like you’re daring him. “day by day. if you’re serious, you’ll show me. and you’ll handle your idiot friends in the process.”

“deal.”

you raise a brown, “you’re not gonna think about it?”

he shrugs, “nothin’ to think about.”

you roll your eyes, because that line should be cheesy, but it lands. he really has no right to be this good at disarming you with a few well-placed words. and the worst part? he knows it. 

“can i kiss you?”

of course he'd say something like that. of course, after all the back-and-forth, the pushing and pulling, he’d just stand there and ask to kiss you like everything’s solved.

you sigh, tilting your head like you’re seriously considering it. "you think a kiss is gonna make me forget every dumb shit you did?"

he smirks, all cocky confidence, but he knows he’s on thin ice. “nah, but i figured it’d be a start.”

you almost hate him for making it sound so tempting, you wish it didn't feel this good to be wanted.

you shake your head, resisting the impulse to let him off easy, but how he’s looking at you… ugh. you can’t help it, you’re thinking with your pussy at this point.

"fine," you say, trying to sound annoyed even as your heart's practically pounding out of your chest. "one kiss, no tongue.”

his mouth actually drops open, and he's staring at you like you’ve just told him he can only have one fry out of the whole basket.

"no tongue?" he repeats, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline. he's doing this thing where his mouth opens and closes like he’s a fucking fish, "wait, please—what do you mean, no tongue?"

you only just manage to keep a straight face, because fuck, this is killing him, and it’s almost cute.

"exactly what i said," you nodd, crossing your arms with this wicked little smirk. "you wanted a kiss. you get one.”

he’s looking at you like you insulted his entire lineage, "c’mon, just a little tongue. you know you wann—"

“absolutely not,” you wrinkle your nose, laughing as you cut him off. maybe you do, but this is way more fun, watching him squirm.

“fine,” he groans, moving in close, the glint in his eye tells you he’s about to break all the rules the second he’s got you there. he leans in, almost sulking, and you feel him press a single, very tame, very tongue-free kiss to your lips, “so... no tongue later either? when ’m between your legs? 'cause i’d hate to break your rules.”

son of a bitch.

it’s useless to act unaffected when he’s looking at you like that.

“pull that shit again, rafe, and you’re getting blue balls for the next month.”

he looks scandalized, that smirk dropping as he watches you with wide, pleading eyes. “you wouldn’t.”

“play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

his jaw drops a little like he can’t decide whether to laugh or fall to his knees and beg for mercy. “you’re seriously cruel, y’know that?”

“course i do.”

[trashland-llamas]

Red Marks

x GN! Reader

Jason would be the type to lean against the door frame with his arms crossed against his broad chest, watching as Reader gets ready for bed. The clothes they had been wearing the entire day were rather tight and revealing, especially their pants.

Reader doesn't really take notice of Jason. Like they're aware he's there but they've done this dance many times before, so they're used to his presence. It's when they remove their pants that Jason raises an eyebrow, noticing some angry red marks on their stomach.

A bit above their belly button where the waistband had previously been. He knew they had trouble finding clothes but he didn't think it was that bad.

'Are your clothes too small, hun?' Jason asked, trying to find an inconspicuous way to bring it up. They had had many talks during the time of their relationship about the different ways being plus sized affected the both of them. 'What?' Reader's confused until they look into the mirror and find Jason's eyes.

Using it as a means to find what he's looking at. 'Oh, no, they fit. At least these pair do,' they end up looking at the tag to double check. 'It's just...I'm not proportioned how the fashion companies want me to be.'

Jason gives them a look that says he needs a bit of elaboration. 'Like my hips are a good chunk bigger than my waist. So even when they are the needed size, there's a chance they still won't fit. On the other end of things, they could fit like a gem but then the pant legs end up being too long.'

'Is that why you took up sewing?' Jason had noticed their interest in learning how to mend their clothes recently. They had patched up some of Jason's old stuff that still fit and that he didn't want to discard yet. There had also been a few attempts at making their own pants. 'Yea, still figuring out the construction.'

They wiggle their way into some pajama pants as the weather was starting to get colder. Moving to the sink to brush their teeth. Jason stays behind, rummaging through the drawers as Reader settles under the duvet of their shared bed. But he eventually finds what he was looking for.

Sitting on the edge of the bed near them, Jason asks 'Can I see the marks again, please? Will just take a second.' Confused, Reader nods and maneuvers their clothing to reveal their stomach. Opening the cylinder container, Jason digs out a small amount of the salve.

Rubbing a thin layer of it over the red marks. 'You always do this for me, finally get to return the favor.' He gruffs out as an explanation, not wanting the skin to become further irritated or get infected if that's possible. 'Such a dork, but thanks, Jay.'

[leaderwon]

HATE THAT...

chapter 55 — comforting unknown

Synopsis :- In a world where lovers are destined and written by fate, You hated the idea of a soulmate, or maybe you just hated him. Jake wanted a soulmate, a lover to be with for the rest of eternity. Just not you. Not wanting eachother, the both of you occupy yourself with someone else. But the universe had other plans.

luna's diary : my struggle to write this was actually real.

wc : 1.4k

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The morning sun filters weakly through your curtains, casting pale streaks across your room. You sit up slowly, the weight in your chest settling in as reality seeps back in. Today is the day. The parent-teacher meeting where everything about Iseul’s harassment will be laid bare. You’ve waited for this moment, for the truth to come out—but it doesn’t stop the nerves twisting in your stomach.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. A part of you is scared, anxious. The thought of everyone’s eyes on you, watching as you share those screenshots and messages, is enough to make you second-guess everything. But you remind yourself that this is necessary. After all the hurt, the lies, and the silence, the truth has to come out. You’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long.

You pull on your clothes, trying to shake off the lingering dread, and head out, bracing yourself as you make your way across campus. When you reach the meeting hall, a small group is already gathered: professors, administrators, and some students. The tension in the air is thick, and every glance in your direction feels loaded with curiosity and judgment. You glance over at your friends—Yunjin, Ningning, Huening Kai, Shotaro, and Jake—all of whom had sided with Iseul at first. They stand together, casting hesitant glances your way. You can’t ignore the sting of betrayal, even if they’re here now.

As the room quiets, you step forward, clearing your throat to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for being here,” you start, surprised at how steady your voice sounds. “I’ve stayed silent for a long time about what’s been happening. I kept thinking if I just ignored it, it would stop. But I was wrong. It only got worse.” You pause, glancing at the floor, gathering the courage to go on. “Iseul has been harassing me for months. I didn’t tell anyone because I was afraid no one would believe me. And when I finally tried to speak up, I was… shut down.” Your eyes drift to your friends, the words hanging between you.

The professors exchange glances, visibly surprised, but they don’t interrupt. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “Iseul spread rumors, twisted my words, and turned people against me. But today, I want to show everyone the truth.” With a shaky hand, you pull the pendrive from your pocket and pass it to the professor.

The lights dim as the video begins, displaying messages that no one can deny. Line by line, the reality of Iseul’s cruelty unfolds, each message colder than the last. The accusations, the threats, the venomous lies—it’s all there, undeniable and raw.

It’s undeniable. Every line is clear, every timestamp visible. A few gasps echo through the room as people realize the extent of what’s been said, the cruelty laced into every sentence. You watch Iseul’s parents stiffen, shock and embarrassment written across their faces as they look at their daughter, who now sits slouched in her chair, her face a mask of horror and shame. She’s no longer the untouchable, invincible presence she used to be—now, she looks small, exposed.

You glance over at Jake. He’s not looking at the screen; instead, he’s staring down at his hands, fingers fidgeting nervously. He hadn’t known the full extent of Iseul’s messages either, and you can see the regret etched across his face. His loyalty to Iseul had faltered once he learned the truth, but that realization had come too late. You’re grateful he’s no longer blinded by her lies, but the damage had been done. You’d faced the brunt of her words alone, while the people you thought would stand by you chose to believe the worst.

Iseul’s parents sit in stunned silence, their expressions shifting from disbelief to anger. Her father rises first, his voice low but sharp. “How could you do this?” he demands, while her mother’s face twists with disappointment. A harsh slap rings out as her mother’s hand meets Iseul’s cheek, leaving her momentarily stunned, a flicker of panic crossing her face.

Scrambling to regain control, Iseul’s eyes dart to Jake. She steps closer to him, her voice barely a whisper. “Jake, you know me,” she pleads, her hands reaching out in desperation. “You know I’d never do something like this, right?” But Jake’s gaze is cold, his jaw clenched. He takes a step back, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you could…but I guess I was wrong,” he says, his voice laced with regret.

Before she can argue further, the principal steps forward, breaking the tension with a formal announcement. “Iseul, effective immediately, you are suspended pending further disciplinary action,” he declares, the words final and unyielding. Iseul’s shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her as her parents usher her out of the room.

As the last of the crowd disperses, a weight lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar sense of relief. You breathe deeply, letting the air fill your lungs fully for the first time in months. It’s over. The lies, the manipulation, the endless, gnawing dread—they’re all over.

A burst of laughter and cheers interrupts your thoughts as Yunjin, Ningning, Huening Kai, and Shotaro approach, their faces lit with excitement. Ningning reaches for your hand, squeezing it with a warm smile. "You did it, Y/N. Finally." There’s genuine happiness in their voices, but beneath it, a tension lingers—an unspoken weight that reminds you of everything that’s happened between you.

You manage a small smile, feeling the tightness in your chest ease, but before long, you turn to leave. Just as you reach the door, Yunjin steps in front of you, blocking your path. “Hey, don’t go yet,” she says softly. “Let’s stay together, hang out for a while.”

For a moment, you’re tempted. It would be easy to go back, to slip into that comfort again. But then you remember all the times they doubted you, the way they chose Iseul’s words over yours without question. The sting of betrayal returns, sharp and undeniable. You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “I can’t, Yunjin. I know you’re sorry, but it doesn’t change what happened. All of this…it damaged our friendship. I don’t think we can go back to how it was before.”

Yunjin’s face falls, and a quiet disappointment shadows her eyes, but she steps aside, allowing you to leave. As you step out, the quiet hallway stretches before you, offering a fragile sense of peace—until you hear footsteps behind you. Turning, you find Jake, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze filled with regret.

“Y/N, please,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can we just…try again? I made a mistake. I should have listened to you, I know that now.” You swallow, your heart aching as you meet his gaze. “Jake, I don’t think I can. Not after everything. This isn’t the first time. You hurt me when you believed Iseul over me—and that’s not something I can just forget.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come. Instead, he looks at you with a desperate, pleading expression. “I know I’ve hurt you. I was wrong, I admit it. But I want to make it up to you. Please, give me a chance.”

You sigh, feeling the sadness settle over you. His apology doesn’t change the scars he left. “I’m sorry, Jake,” you say softly. “But I don’t think anything can fix this.”

With that, you turn away, leaving him standing there in the hallway as you walk forward, finally free from the weight of Iseul’s lies—and from the ties that once held you back.

As you step outside, the cool breeze hits your face, carrying away the remnants of the day’s tension. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel light—unburdened by secrets, unchained from betrayal. There’s an ache in your chest where the closeness with your friends used to be, but somehow, that emptiness feels freeing. The road ahead is uncertain, but it’s yours alone, and right now, that’s all you need. With a final glance back, you let go of everything holding you down and walk forward into the quiet, comforting unknown.

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© @leaderwon 2024. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[ramblingautisticman]

Hey, what do you think about Logan having

chronic pain, from his metal bones?

That would be hard on the joints

So, I LOVE this headcannon. Like- alot.

It would make complete sense that Logan would have aches and pains due to the metal encasing his bones, and the claws in between his knuckles.

His hands would ache a lot. I know that he was born with his mutations- so I'll assume his body at least partly is built to accommodate his claws- but that doesn't mean he doesn't get pains.

The skin being constantly opened and healing again and again and again has got to hurt. Even if just a little. The skin is already slightly thinner there, so the fact the claws are constantly breaking it and his body is constantly healing it? That leaves the skin between his knuckles sore and sensitive to the touch.

The claws probably scrap against the muscle and other bones in his hand too- especially after the metal is added. The metal means his bones are alittle thicker- obviously- so the claws are gonna be slightly wider than they used to be. There will be less space for them in between his knuckles, less space for his muscles to sit comfortably- and he can feel that dull ache in his muscles constantly.

It's more painful when it's warmer in the summer or when it's colder in the winter.

His whole body aches then. The metal in his bone shrinks in the cold- and it leaves his bones sore everytime. There isn't much he can do for it either, it's hard to heat his whole body up, and it hurts. It leaves him layed up in bed for a few days at a time, and no matter what he does, it seems like nothing helps.

In the summer- especially during heat waves- the metal expands. It leaves him hot, sweaty, and miserable. It makes his skin itch and his muscles ache. The feeling of burning from the inside out isn't fun, and neither is the feeling of his muscles and organs being squeezed by the metal now touching them.

He has good days- days where the healing seems to catch up with it- and bad days where he can't move.

Luckily, Wade gets it. Wade has the same kind of issues, and when Logan can't move, he is spoiled with warm drinks, his favourite snacks, and a lot of cuddling.

(Did I do any scientific research for this? No. Do I care? No.)

[cuppajj]

Thoughts about BY 5 and 6

So I finished the episode at an unhealthy morning hour, and now after getting my full sleep, I can fully share my thoughts!

And of course, spoilers for the newest episode!

First things first, I want to talk about Burning Spice himself. A while back, I made a post about my hopes for him and how I didn’t want him to be a temperamental meathead, but instead a smart and calculating person who took from his extensive knowledge of history to psychologically destroy as much as physically. Did we get that?

Kinda, kinda not. Spice isn’t another Purple Yam like I’d hoped, he has more character than being just angry, but the hotheadedness does remain most of the way through. He reminds me of a strongman anime villain, the kind whose braun speaks more than brain, but still capable of strategy. Most of that strategy comes from Nutmeg Tiger though, as Spice is mostly interested in fighting Cheese from beginning to end. There’s no moment where he messes with her mind directly and picks apart her vulnerabilities beyond surface level “you hold things dear to you that I will destroy”. Which, implication is that he was more focused on just fighting, which in the context of how/why he is the way he is, kinda makes sense.

And about that, I’ll address it briefly: So we learn that Spice’s corruption, at least the straw that broke the camel’s back, was that he got bored watching history unfold. I think it’s very cool! While I was interested in a little more nuance behind his boredom, sometimes villains don’t need a complex reason for why they do what they do. It does make Spice less sympathetic than Mystic Flour though, so it seems like not all Beasts may be equal in cause and backstory. However, stuff about him may be explored later, since he’s going to be back.

So I would say that Spice isn’t as one note as I’d hoped, but he is a simple villain. A simple and very very fun and scary villain, but there could’ve been a lot more to his character in this story that made it lacking for me. I know BY chapters are usually short, but there could’ve possibly been more time showing the parallels between him and Cheese beyond a dialogue or so. It would’ve been really cool if Spice addressed those directly, using it against Cheese. Making her rethink/relive the trauma of losing everyone and mentally destroying her… like what if there was an exchange in the prison cell when she was at her lowest? What if Smoked Cheese had either been incapacitated and unable to speak, or in a separate cell so Cheese could be entirely at the Beast’s mercy? (We DID get a bit of that when Cheese realized how apathetic he was and what he saw in her soul jam, but that was more of a disgusted shock than a mental breakdown.) Smoked could help her out of her turmoil later (an exchange between him and Spice could’ve also been awesome), but Spice leaving mental damage on Cheese would’ve further spread the idea that he also values breaking things internally.

But, I guess Spice is just destroy destroy destroy to the point where he doesn’t really care about anything else, which is… fine. Admittedly not my cup of tea because it’s so basic, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy his motivation. I hope we get a little more nuance next time we see him.

Anyway love these sprites!! I wished we got more related to the first two, it shows a mellower and/or ironically colder side of him that I think would’ve really helped amplify his fear factor. Spice is all fun and destruction but the oh shit comes from him showing more of the calculated side he used to have.

But speaking of Golden Cheese, I’ll talk about her next.

Overall I really liked her story here! I love seeing her in action and on her own, and her interactions with Smoked Cheese were fun to see! Smoked Cheese was extra fun, I loved how he had sass while still caring for people beyond his kingdom’s entourage (his voice and mannerisms remind me of tfp knockout it’s crazy). I was also happy to learn how the soul cheese worked, since that was a question I had from last episode. It appears Smoked isn’t in his body, but his soul is projecting a physical form given mass that relies on Golden Cheese’s power. Very interesting, and I wonder if he’s just going to stay out now, or if he’ll return? And what of the others too…

Now, something I will say about Cheese is that while her character arc made sense for her in a bubble, I feel a similar thing like I did with Spice that it could’ve been much better. Personally, while Cheese staying true to her greediness and immense care for her treasures is a good thing to power her up, I don’t think it made her as bigger a person than Spice than she could’ve. What would’ve been cooler and more thematic for her character would’ve actually been accepting that destruction and the loss of things she cares about is a natural part of life.

What I mean by this is that while Spice embodies destruction, Cheese essentially embodies creation, which are two polar opposites that have their place in the universe. Antagonizing one or the other should come with a deeper approach to the message, and frankly, antagonizing destruction in its entirety is a very black and white angle. Destruction can be inherently bad and tragic, yes, but it can also pave the way for new life and new things to be created. Plantlife grows back after a forest fire. You can build something better upon the ruins of what was before. For Cheese, her kingdom could’ve been lost/destroyed, but she could’ve accepted it and strove for a newer and better kingdom. Which, in some parts she did, but my philosophy also applies to people lost too.

Death and destruction was a prominent theme in Cheese’s backstory, and much of her Golden City arc was confronting that. I suppose this is a separate talk for another time, but to put it simply, she didn’t have an arc about accepting those who were lost, moreso about striving to bring those who were lost back. The story ended with her promising to bring her friends back, instead of accepting that she lost them and focusing her strength on protecting those she still has with her. That last part could’ve actually been what the Spice story led to, with her first wanting to find a way to bring everyone back, but deciding by the end of it that she can protect the memory of her kingdom along with the living friends she still has. Smoked Cheese could’ve even helped her with that, showing that he cares for her over himself, leading to a heartfelt goodbye between the two. This is just a wishful image, but it would’ve been a really good way for CRK to tackle a deep theme and touch a lot of people’s feelings. But what we got was a lot simpler, with both Spice and Cheese’s characters and themes, which I guess makes sense. Some stories (or the game itself) don’t really want to be anything super deep in narrative, and that’s fine as long as they’re still fun, which this was.

Lastly I will say, I fear the awakening thing will get a little predictable and repetitive from here on out. Beast is a threat for the first chapter, continues to be a threat up until Ancient does a power of love and friendship introspection and transforms into a stronger version of themself. I hope one of them will be a little subversive in this—I don’t know how, I just hope these great stories aren’t bogged down by predictability!

But anyway, those are my thoughts about BY 5 and 6. Overall a great story, I’m so happy to get Spice and Cheese action because they’re two of my favorites, Smoked Cheese was fun, and I’m looking forward to the new Shmilk stuff we will be getting around the anniversary. After that I really hope Eternal Sugar is next, I have a bunch of thoughts/hopes for them too!!

Anyway thanks for reading!

[moonselune]

I don't know of you have done something like this, but if not, could you do scenarios for the dark au where tav gets hurt by someone who wants to take their place? Maybe they think they are unworthy? Adore your writing 😊

Ahhh thank you so much !! This was super fun to write !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Replacement

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader only noticeable in Wyll's though

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The dark silence of the Underdark gardens wrapped around you like a shroud, broken only by the echo of your own hurried footsteps. The recent fight with Minthara had left you frustrated, her possessive nature grating at you until you’d finally stormed off. You knew it would unsettle her; Minthara wasn’t one to let anyone, least of all you, slip from her grasp so easily. Still, you had hoped she’d give you a moment to breathe. As you heard footsteps approaching, you rolled your eyes, assuming she had come after you, too possessive to let even a single disagreement take you from her.

But something felt wrong.

The figure moving toward you was silent, controlled—lacking Minthara’s usual predatory grace. You barely had time to react before you saw a glint of steel, and a sharp pain seared across your side. You stumbled backward, clutching the wound, blood slipping through your fingers. As you looked up, your gaze met with the cold, disdainful eyes of Minthara’s second in command, the drow who had always regarded you with thinly veiled contempt. Her smile was a twisted thing, cold and malicious.

“Surprised?” she sneered, moving closer, her weapon dripping with your blood. “You really thought Minthara would care about some pet who has no place here? I’m going to end this—make it look like you couldn’t handle the Underdark after all. That you tried to escape. Minthara will believe it. She’ll have no choice but to move on.”

A chill ran through you as you realized the depth of her envy. This wasn’t just hatred; it was the envy of someone who despised what you had with Minthara, resenting that Minthara would choose you over anyone else. She stepped forward again, preparing to strike. But before she could make contact, you shoved her back with all the strength you could muster, sending her stumbling.

She staggered, then stopped short as her back hit something solid.

No… someone.

The second-in-command whirled around, eyes widening in horror as she came face-to-face with Minthara herself, who stood in the shadowed path with a deadly calm. Minthara’s gaze was dark, her face set into an expression of quiet, simmering rage that made the air feel even colder. Her eyes flicked from her subordinate’s trembling form to the blood dripping from your wound, taking in the entire scene in an instant.

“It’s not what—” the second-in-command stammered, scrambling for words, but Minthara cut her off with a look that could freeze fire.

“Silence.” Her voice was low, yet filled with an icy fury that sent a shiver down your spine. She reached out with a quick, brutal motion, grabbing her second-in-command by the throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off any attempt at explanation. The drow gasped for air, her eyes wide with terror as Minthara’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the delicate skin of her neck.

Minthara leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper.

“You thought you could lay a hand on what belongs to me? You dared to assume you had any right to touch them?” With a powerful surge, Minthara threw her to the ground, her movements sharp and precise, her eyes blazing with an almost unhinged rage. “You’ll wish for death before I’m done with you.”

The second-in-command lay incapacitated, her body twitching as Minthara’s magic left her unable to move, trapped in a state of suspended agony. Only then did Minthara turn her attention to you, her expression softening slightly as she moved toward you with an almost predatory care. She knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to steady you as she examined the wound on your side.

“You were hurt,” she murmured, a faint trace of anger still lacing her tone, but there was something else, too—a flicker of concern beneath the dark fury. She ran a gentle hand over your wound, applying enough pressure to stem the bleeding, her touch unexpectedly tender.

Despite the pain, you found yourself laughing, a soft chuckle that echoed through the silence.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me out of your sight,” you managed, your voice laced with irony. “Couldn’t lose control over me for even a moment, could you?”

Minthara’s eyes met yours, a dangerous glint in them, but there was something close to satisfaction there too.

“And a good thing it was,” she replied, her lips curving into a dark smile. “Or perhaps I would’ve had to hunt down the fool who thought they could steal you from me.”

Her hand moved from your wound to cradle your face, her thumb tracing your cheek in a gesture that was both possessive and strangely affectionate.

“You belong to me,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “No one else. Don’t ever forget that.”

She helped you to your feet, her arm around your waist, her grip both a support and a reminder of her control. You leaned into her touch, feeling the strength in her hold, the unyielding protection that came with her possessive love.

Behind you, her second-in-command lay helpless, bound by Minthara’s spell, and you knew without a doubt that her fate would be brutal. You didn’t need to watch to know that Minthara’s punishment would be swift and merciless. She would make an example out of her former subordinate, a warning to anyone who dared threaten what was hers.

As Minthara led you back through the garden, her hand firm around you, you felt a mixture of relief and resignation. She had saved your life, yes, but the possessiveness that drove her had been there all along, the dark and consuming love that wouldn’t allow you even a moment of freedom. She had saved you, but it was all to preserve what she saw as hers.

The pain in your side pulsed, but Minthara’s hand remained steady on your waist, her grip almost comforting in its possessiveness. In her twisted mind, her actions were justified. She had protected you, saved you from harm—she would do anything to keep you, even if that meant wrapping you tighter in her control.

As you walked together, you glanced up at her, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of something soft in her gaze. But then her expression shifted, her smile dark and triumphant. In her mind, she had won; she had kept you safe, defeated any threat to her claim on you.

And as she led you deeper into her realm, into the shadows where you would remain by her side, you knew that you would always be hers.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The courtyard of the cloister was cloaked in the muted gray light of early morning, shadows creeping along the stone walls as you squared off against your opponent. You took in the young Sharran before you, an ambitious acolyte whose eyes gleamed with a familiar hunger—a dangerous mix of ambition and jealousy.

You’d noticed their glances toward Shadowheart, the way they lingered when she walked past, barely concealing the devotion in their gaze. It was almost amusing to you, for no one in this cloister could threaten the place you held at her side. The memory gaps may have left holes in your mind, but your body moved with sharp, instinctual precision, honed through countless battles. You didn’t need memory to remind you that you were one of the best.

You circled each other, fists raised, and the acolyte’s stance was confident, too confident. You could feel the arrogance radiating from them, and it made you chuckle under your breath. They thought they were someone to be feared, someone with the skill to challenge you. And yet, as the fight began, it was clear they had underestimated your reflexes, your raw power.

Blow after blow, you dodged, struck, and blocked with a near-effortless grace that left them seething. It was obvious now they were outmatched, but there was no sign of retreat in their eyes. Instead, their lips curled into a sneer, and they muttered something under their breath—something too low for you to hear, but the bitterness was evident. And then, with a swift, practiced motion, they reached inside their cloak and pulled out a dagger, its blade glinting sharply in the dim light.

You felt a flicker of surprise. This was supposed to be a sparring match, nothing more, and yet they’d brought a knife into the fight. You tensed, muscles coiling as your eyes narrowed on the blade in their hand.

“So,” they taunted, their voice laced with venom, “the Mother Superior’s pet isn’t as sharp as she used to be. Gaps in memory, isn’t it? She doesn’t tell you everything, does she? How does it feel to be kept like a mindless tool, only good for taking orders?” They circled closer, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “You don’t belong by her side. You’re just… convenient. Nothing more.”

The words stung, gnawing at the back of your mind. It was true that there were holes in your memories, pieces that didn’t quite fit, details that you couldn’t fully recall. But you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to let them take root. Whatever was missing, whatever had been forgotten, it didn’t matter. You were here, and you were hers. That was all that mattered.

But the Sharran sensed your hesitation, a flash of doubt, and they pressed their advantage, lunging forward with the dagger. You dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air, but their relentless attacks began to push you back. You caught glimpses of their smirk, their taunting gaze, as if they were relishing every missed block, every moment of weakness.

And then, in a swift, brutal move, they managed to slip through your guard, the dagger cutting across your arm. You hissed in pain, blood dripping from the fresh wound, and you staggered back, feeling the weight of the fight suddenly shift. They saw the opening, and their eyes lit up with a triumphant gleam. They lunged forward again, the dagger poised for the killing blow.

But just as the blade was about to strike, they stopped—frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. Their limbs were rigid, locked in a stance of helpless fury, and a faint, dark aura shimmered around them. You looked up, following the line of their terrified gaze, and saw her.

Shadowheart stood at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes blazing with fury, her hand raised in a silent spell. With a flick of her wrist, the Sharran acolyte’s head twisted sharply, an audible snap echoing through the air as their body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

For a moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing as Shadowheart strode forward, her expression a cold mask of wrath. She didn’t even glance at the fallen acolyte, her focus entirely on you. She knelt beside you, her hands gentle as they traced over the wound on your arm, her fingers glowing with a faint healing light.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft, a sharp contrast to the deadly fury she had just displayed.

You nodded, your gaze flicking between her and the lifeless body nearby.

“They… they mentioned something about gaps in my memory,” you said cautiously, searching her eyes. “They said I don’t belong here. That I don’t know the whole truth.”

A shadow passed over her face, and for a moment, her grip on your arm tightened slightly. But then she softened, her fingers brushing over your skin as if to soothe the hurt beyond the physical wound.

“They were just trying to weaken you, to plant seeds of doubt in your mind,” she replied, her voice steady and calm. “Your place is here, with me. By my side. You belong nowhere else.”

She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “The gaps in your memory… they’re a consequence of the life you had before. A life that no longer matters. I saved you from that. I brought you here, to the cloister, where you can be who you’re meant to be. With me.”

The warmth of her magic seeped into your wound, and you felt the pain ebb away, replaced by a comforting numbness. The lingering doubt in your mind was overshadowed by the strength of her conviction, her unwavering belief in the path she had set for you. Shadowheart was your anchor, your guiding star, and you could feel the weight of her possessive devotion wrapping around you, a reminder that whatever had come before no longer held any power over you.

You managed a small smile, nodding as you reached up to brush a hand over her cheek, feeling the coolness of her skin.

“I trust you,” you murmured. “And I’m grateful to be by your side.”

She returned your smile, her gaze softening as she covered your hand with her own.

“Good. Because that’s exactly where you belong.” She cast one last, dismissive glance at the body of the acolyte, her lips curling in distaste. “No one else will threaten you. They don’t deserve to stand in your shadow.”

As she helped you to your feet, her arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you back to the cloister, the doubt faded away entirely. Whatever shadows lingered in your past, whatever memories had been lost, it didn’t matter. You were hers, and she was yours, and no one would ever take that from you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

The dim candlelight of the summoning chamber cast flickering shadows over the cold stone walls, and the air was thick with incense and chanting. You shifted slightly, testing the limits of the runic circle that bound you in place, but every movement was met with an oppressive, invisible force, pressing down on you with unyielding weight.

As the realization settled in, your initial smirk of amusement at this mortal’s audacity faded, replaced by a gnawing unease. It was almost laughable how easily they had managed to capture you; Gale’s control over your divine power left you vulnerable, deliberately kept weak to prevent you from ever fully escaping his grasp. And now, as you felt your strength ebbing, you understood the gravity of your situation.

The follower knelt before you, a zealous glint in their eyes as they recited incantations, their voice laced with fervor. Dressed in elaborate robes, they wore talismans devoted to Gale, symbols of their fanatical devotion etched into every surface of the summoning chamber. The entire place was a shrine to ambition itself, each detail meticulously designed to honor your god—and your captor.

The follower finally lifted their gaze to you, a manic smile stretching across their face.

"You don’t deserve him," they hissed, their tone a poisonous mix of reverence and disdain. "You’re a weak god, nothing more than a hollow vessel given power by him. But me…" They leaned forward, their voice trembling with adoration. "I could worship him in ways you never could. Gale deserves undivided devotion, unbroken ambition. Not… someone as faint and powerless as you."

You opened your mouth to respond, to laugh off their words, but the runes pulsed, and with each pulse, you felt a new wave of your strength drain, seeping out of you and into the lines of the ritual. Your heart sank. This wasn’t just a simple binding. It was a siphoning—a slow, deliberate draw on your power, meant to weaken you enough to fuel the summoning of Gale himself.

They took a step closer, their eyes wide with triumph as they watched the light fading in your eyes.

"How does it feel, I wonder, knowing your own god keeps you shackled like a plaything? To be so close to greatness, yet to never truly be allowed to touch it?" They tilted their head, enjoying your silence, interpreting it as surrender.

And for a moment, there was fear in you. Not for yourself but for the terrible emptiness left behind as your power faded—a hollow reminder of Gale’s relentless control. You knew he saw you as his own, a piece of his ambition that could never exist independently, even as a god. This mortal, in their arrogance, had taken advantage of that very control, and now you were helpless in a way that gnawed at you.

The ritual circle blazed with renewed energy, and the room shook as a presence took form in the air—a dark, powerful force pressing down on everything within the chamber. The candle flames flickered and bowed as if in reverence, and a sudden silence swallowed the chanting, the air itself holding its breath as Gale stepped into the room, his very presence swallowing up all light and sound.

The follower fell to their knees, eyes wide with reverence and ecstasy.

"My lord!" they whispered, their voice filled with adoration as they reached out toward him. "I have shown you my devotion, captured this… pretender, to prove my worth. I am yours, my lord. Take me in place of—"

Gale’s gaze shifted from you to his devotee, a glint of curiosity sparking in his dark eyes as he studied them. His expression was unreadable, his face set into that unsettlingly calm mask he wore whenever he assessed someone who had piqued his interest. For a moment, the acolyte seemed to believe they had earned his favor, their face glowing with hope as they knelt before him.

But then Gale’s eyes narrowed, and a chill swept over the room as his expression darkened.

“You misunderstand your place,” he said, his voice soft, the calm tone belying the fury simmering beneath it. "You, a mere follower, believed yourself capable of taking what is mine?" He took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving the trembling form before him. "Did you think that capturing a god under my domain would earn my favor? Or did you simply seek to undermine me, thinking yourself worthy of such… ambition?"

The follower’s eyes widened in terror as they tried to back away, words of apology tumbling from their lips, but Gale’s power was already wrapping around them, a dark, suffocating force that held them immobile.

“It seems you lack an understanding of devotion," Gale continued, his voice chilling in its softness. "Let me show you what happens to those who overstep their bounds."

With a flick of his wrist, the follower’s body seized up, their breath catching in their throat as they gasped, unable to move. Gale’s magic seemed to compress around them, their bones creaking as his power slowly crushed the life from them, his face a mask of calm detachment. Their eyes rolled back in agony, their limbs contorting as Gale made his judgment swift and final, using them as an example of ambition misguided.

And then, in a flash, it was over. The follower’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, leaving a chilling silence in the air.

Gale finally turned his attention to you, his expression softening as he regarded you, though the possessiveness in his gaze was as strong as ever. He stepped into the circle, effortlessly dispersing the runes with a wave of his hand, releasing you from the binding that had held you so helplessly in place. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek with a strange tenderness, his touch a reminder of both his power and his control over you.

“Fear not, my muse,” he murmured, his voice rich with dark affection. “No one else will touch what belongs to me. Not even those who worship me.”

You nodded, your head dipping in a gesture of submission, knowing that he would take no other answer. Gale smiled, his thumb tracing your jawline with possessive satisfaction, and he pulled you close, his hand settling at the back of your neck.

“You are bound to me,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with command. “Your power is mine to grant or withhold, and none shall touch it, or you, without my will.”

And with that, he led you from the chamber, the empty remains of his follower a silent warning to any who dared question the place he had carved out for you in his unyielding ambition. Gale was your god, your captor, and your guardian all in one—and no one would come between you and his dark, consuming love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The sunlight was unforgiving, searing down on your skin the instant you were thrown into it. Agony flared as the delicate warding spell that had protected you disintegrated, leaving you exposed to the relentless rays of the sun. Pain consumed you, blinding and unbearable as your flesh burned, blistering and cracking in mere seconds.

You stumbled, gasping as the raw heat seared through muscle and bone. You tried to scream, but your voice died in your throat, choked out by the fire consuming you. The world was blurring in and out, and through the haze of agony, you could make out the blurred silhouette of your attacker, smirking from the safety of the shadows just inside the door, watching with satisfaction as you writhed.

The spawn had been relentless in their ambition, and it was only in that agonizing moment that you finally understood just how deeply their envy ran. They thought themselves worthy of Astarion’s favor, the one destined to be his dark consort, and they had waited for the right opportunity, the chance to strip you of your place by his side.

Your vision dimmed as the fire ate away at you, the edges of consciousness fading. You barely registered the door bursting open again or the cold shadow that swept over you as hands—cold, firm hands—gripped you and pulled you away from the merciless light. The next thing you felt was the cool press of stone beneath you, the oppressive heat gone, and then… nothing. There was nothing but pain and darkness.

Through the haze, you felt something pressed to your lips—warm and metallic, filling your senses with the rich, familiar scent of blood. Instinctively, you drank, the sensation grounding you, soothing the burning wounds with each pull. Slowly, the pain dulled, replaced by a distant, comforting hum. Your senses began to return, the blurry edges of the room coming into focus as you felt the charred skin mending, painfully knitting back together as life returned to your broken form.

As you finally blinked the haze from your eyes, you found yourself staring up at Astarion’s face, his crimson eyes softened with an uncharacteristic tenderness, though his mouth was drawn into a taut line. His hand cupped your cheek as if you were something fragile, his thumb brushing over the fresh, healed skin where burns had marred it only moments ago. He was murmuring softly, words flowing over you in a tone both soothing and possessive, though you could hardly process them in your dazed state.

“It’s all right, my sweet,” he cooed, his voice low and warm as he leaned over you, his face barely inches from yours. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone harm you, not like that.”

You blinked, slowly looking past him, only to freeze as the full scene came into focus. Scattered around you were bloodied remains—the spawn, or rather, what was left of them, was strewn across the room. Their limbs had been torn from their body, reduced to a gruesome pile of parts on the cold stone floor. The once-confident smirk you had seen on their face was gone, replaced now by a horrified stillness in their lifeless eyes.

Astarion’s grip on you tightened as he followed your gaze, his expression darkening.

“Oh, don’t waste your energy on them,” he murmured, his tone smooth but edged with a chilling coldness. He tilted your face back to him, forcing your gaze to meet his. “They thought they could take what’s mine, dared to strip you of the protection I gave you, to hurt you. But they forgot one simple thing.”

His hand traced down from your cheek to your throat, where his fingers rested possessively, feeling the steady pulse of your blood.

“You’re mine. Body, soul, and everything in between,” he whispered, his voice a velvet command. “No one else could ever take your place.”

The fear, the agony, the helplessness of moments ago seemed to fade as he held you, his arms wrapped around you with a fierce protectiveness. His fingers stroked through your hair as he continued to murmur assurances, the words as binding as a spell, each one a reaffirmation of your place at his side. There was no room for doubt; in his arms, you were shielded from the pain, shielded from everything but his absolute, consuming devotion.

“They all think they’re special, my dear,” he said, casting a disdainful glance at the remains. “But they’re not like you, none of them. You, my sweet, are the only one worthy of my power, my attention. You belong to me—and I to you.” He smiled, a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he brushed a lock of hair back from your face. "And I won’t let anyone interfere with that."

You managed a weak nod, leaning into his touch as he continued to hold you close. The last vestiges of the agony you had endured melted away, leaving only the soft, possessive murmur of his voice, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing over your skin, as he soothed and calmed you back from the brink. He was your anchor, your constant, and in this moment, his power was a shield around you.

As he held you, the remnants of his wrath still lingering in his gaze, you knew that no one else would ever challenge your place beside him. Astarion had made his stance clear in the most brutal way possible, a warning to any who would dare cross him—and a reminder to you that, no matter what, he would always keep you close, bound to him in his dark, all-encompassing love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The grove was quiet, the leaves whispering softly as a gentle breeze passed through, but that night, something felt amiss. Halsin lay beside you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, and assumed you were simply exhausted from the long day spent in the forest. He smiled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and closed his own eyes, content to rest with you beside him. But when he stirred from sleep later in the night, something had changed. A low, strangled sound pulled him from his slumber, and in the faint moonlight, he saw your body trembling, the tremors rolling through you like a shiver from the deepest cold.

You weren’t asleep; you were convulsing, and a dark glisten of sweat clung to your brow. Alarm shot through Halsin, who immediately recognized the signs of poison—a potent, slow-working concoction he’d seen used in rare cases within the grove.

His mind raced as he searched for the antidote, pulling it from his stores and carefully administering it, tilting your head back to help you drink, whispering words of encouragement as he steadied your shaking hands.

After a few agonizing moments, the worst of your spasms subsided, and your breathing leveled out. Weak and shaken, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, trying to focus. Halsin kept his gaze soft, filled with concern but tinged with a growing anger simmering beneath. He held you close as you regained your strength, his hand a steady presence on your back.

Once you could stand, Halsin supported you, guiding you from your resting place out into the heart of the grove. Under the canopy of starlit leaves, he called upon the druids, summoning them with a low, commanding tone. His voice reverberated through the grove, uncharacteristically severe, and one by one, the druids gathered in the clearing, forming a loose circle around you both.

Halsin’s protective arm around your shoulders lent you strength as you looked at each of their faces, searching for the one who had betrayed you.

Though your hands still trembled, your gaze hardened as you focused on a single figure at the edge of the circle, a druid whose stance was too stiff, whose eyes averted yours. The poisoner looked back at you, a faint glint of resentment flashing in their eyes before they began to back away, inching toward the cover of the trees. Without hesitation, you raised a shaky hand, pointing directly at them.

"It’s… it’s them," you whispered, your voice weak but sure.

The druid’s face twisted with fear and defiance, and in one swift motion, they turned, making a desperate break toward the edge of the grove, hoping to escape into the shadows.

But Halsin would not allow them to flee. His jaw tightened, his fury coming to the surface in an uncharacteristic, brutal wave. With a single gesture, he summoned thick, thorned vines from the earth.

They erupted from the soil with a life of their own, coiling like serpents as they slithered after the fleeing druid. The vines caught up quickly, wrapping around the traitor’s legs and yanking them down to the ground, winding up over their body with fierce intent.

The thorned vines tightened, digging into flesh, piercing through clothing and skin alike. Blood began to pool, dark and stark against the earthy ground, as the vines tore through, showing no mercy. The grove seemed to hold its breath, watching as the very nature that the traitor had twisted for their own purposes now turned on them. Halsin’s gaze was unyielding as he watched, his expression set, the compassion he usually reserved for his people absent.

The druid let out a strangled cry as the thorns pressed deeper, breaking skin and severing tendons, each tightening coil met with a gory result. Their blood soaked into the earth, nourishing it, just as Halsin had intended, a grotesque reminder of what happened to those who threatened his own. For him, this act was justice—a stark, undeniable message to any who might dare undermine the safety of his grove or his kin.

Finally, as the druid’s life slipped away, Halsin released his hold, the vines loosening and receding back into the ground, leaving only silence and the faint scent of blood on the forest floor.

When it was over, he turned to you, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"You are safe now," he said, his voice a blend of calm and the fierce protectiveness that had driven him to act so ruthlessly. “No one will harm you here again.”

Though you were shaken, you found strength in his touch, nodding as he pulled you close, his embrace as unyielding as the very nature he had summoned to protect you. The grove was a place of sanctuary, of balance—and Halsin had shown that he would stop at nothing to keep it that way, even if it meant spilling blood into the very soil he had sworn to protect.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

The opulence of the ballroom shimmered around you, chandeliers casting warm light over the swirling dancers, the ornate fabrics, and glittering jewels. You held your head high beside the Grand Duke, finding solace in the joy of the night despite the whispers that trailed in your wake. Nobles murmured, their words carrying faintly over the music. Most of it you had learned to ignore, but tonight, the gossip felt sharp and unrelenting. Snippets of conversation floated past, just loud enough to reach your ears.

“Can you believe they let her into the ballroom at his side?” one of them whispered with a haughty laugh. “She looks more suited to a servant’s position,” sneered another, their words laced with contempt. You clenched your hands at your sides, taking steady breaths to brush off their malice. But then, their murmurs grew darker.

“I heard the Grand Duke only keeps her around for amusement. How long, I wonder, until he tires of her?” someone murmured, laughing softly. “It would be such a scandal if she were to just… disappear, wouldn’t it?”

Their venomous words stung in a way that you hadn’t anticipated, pressing upon a wound that you had tried to bury. You excused yourself, weaving through the crowd until you found the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars twinkled overhead, their beauty a quiet comfort against the bitterness of the nobles’ words. You leaned against the balustrade, the city lights below calming you, giving you a moment’s peace. But that peace was short-lived.

Behind you, the same group of nobles had followed, lingering just by the doorway. One of them tittered, their tone thick with false innocence.

“Out here on the balcony, alone?” another mocked, their tone feigning concern. “Careful, dear. You wouldn’t want to lose your balance.”

You turned to leave, but they circled around, blocking your path with thinly veiled malice. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intent as they crowded closer, nudging you further out toward the edge of the balcony. Your pulse quickened as your back met the cold stone of the balustrade, the space behind you yawning into open air.

“Oh, no need to look so frightened. We’re simply having a little chat,” one of them cooed, their smirk betraying their intent. They pressed closer, each small movement edging you nearer to the ledge.

Then, a voice rang out, slicing through the tension like a knife:

“Enough.” Wyll’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable, sharp edge beneath it that cut the air like steel. The nobles immediately straightened, stepping back from you, their sneers evaporating as they turned to face the Grand Duke himself.

“We were only talking to her, Your Grace,” one of them stammered, their tone suddenly meek. “No harm intended.”

Wyll’s gaze was dark, his eyes smoldering as he took in the scene, his jaw set and expression unreadable. He looked at you, his expression softening for a moment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentler, the protective undercurrent unmistakable. You swallowed, brushing off the fear that had crept in.

“Yes, Wyll. I’m fine,” you replied, trying to steady your voice.

But he didn’t release his hard gaze from the group of nobles before him. His mouth curved slightly, a hint of a chilling smile playing at his lips as he issued his next command: “Jump. Off. The. Balcony.”

The nobles’ eyes widened, shock rippling through their features. One of them dared a weak laugh, disbelief clear in their tone. “Your Grace, we were only—”

Wyll’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of cold steel. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low and final, his gaze unwavering as he pointed toward the balcony’s edge. “If you think it’s amusing to dangle someone on the edge, let’s see how you enjoy it.”

You placed a hand on his arm, trying to dissuade him. “Wyll, it’s not necessary,” you murmured softly. “They were… they were just being cruel.”

He turned to you, his eyes softening as he spoke, but the resolve remained.

“No one threatens what is mine,” he replied, his words more promise than explanation. “No one.”

He looked back at the nobles, who now trembled under his gaze, each one of them calculating their next move. They understood the Grand Duke’s reputation well—his ruthlessness and sadistic side were spoken of in hushed tones among court circles, and none of them were willing to test his patience further.

With shared glances of terror, one by one, they stepped up to the edge, each steeling themselves before casting nervous glances back at Wyll. They preferred to take their chances with the fall than face his wrath.

With a reluctant step backward, the first noble swung a leg over the edge, preparing to lower themselves down rather than leap, followed by the others, each descending with as much dignity as they could muster. Their terrified breaths and grunts of effort echoed faintly as they made their way down to the ground below. Each fall was punctuated with a sickening thud that made your stomach lurch each time.

When the last of them was gone, Wyll turned back to you, his expression softening again. He reached out, brushing a gentle hand against your cheek, his voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “No one will ever make you feel less than what you are, not while I am here. Do you understand?”

You nodded, his touch grounding you, the earlier fear beginning to fade. Wyll wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close, his gaze lingering protectively as he looked back over the balcony, ensuring that no one was there to help any unfortunate survivors, he wanted to let them rot, let the world see what happens to those who threaten what is his.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Okay so no cambions in this, I'm going to add them when I finish their catch ups because I kind of follow a narrative with these and I have not fully fleshed out their narritives yet. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[syndrossi]

Resonant Trick or Treat Fill #12: Jon tells scary stories by candlelight

This was one of the prompts I saved, since we were lacking many Halloween-themed ones and I wanted at least one or two for Halloween itself!

There will be a couple of these coming out today, so stayed tuned for more fills!

x~x~x

“He closed the door behind him and barred it from within, gripping his ax as he waited for the wailing from outside to end,” Jon said, leaning closer to the candle, so that it lit his face ghoulishly from below.

Jace and Luke stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking. Beside them, Rhaegar was sitting straighter than Jon had ever seen him, hands clutched in his lap.

“It grew quieter. And quieter. Until he couldn’t tell whether the noises outside were merely the groans of the wind. Finally he dragged himself to the hearth. A fire had been lit before, but it was nearly dead, only the embers glowing orange. He stirred them with his ax, then held his hands close to warm them.”

Jon mimicked the motion with his hands over the candle, then pretended to shiver.

“But the room grew colder with each passing moment, until his breath turned to mist. He heard a creak then.” Jon cocked his head and paused as though listening, barely able to hold back a smile as Jace and Luke mimicked him. “He peered into the shadows in the far corner of the room, where they were blackest, and saw the outline of a man. ‘Who goes there?’ he asked, but the shadow did not respond.”

Both young cousins looked toward the corner of Jon and Rhaegar’s bedchamber, which was nearly impossible to see—except for the shape of the tunic Jon had draped over the chair he’d dragged there before. They gasped, Luke grabbing for Rhaegar’s hand.

“The shape did not move,” Jon continued, “but the shadows seemed to grow, swallowing the dim light of the hearth, until he could see nothing but the deepest, darkest black around him.”

While their attention was occupied, Jon pinched the tip of the candle, snuffing its light and plunging the room into darkness. Two high-pitched shrieks pierced the sudden quiet, along with a muffled squeak from Rhaegar’s direction.

The sound of footsteps followed, and then the door swung open, light spilling into the room from the main chamber of the apartments. Daemon stood in the doorway, Laenor and Rhaenyra just behind him. Luke released Rhaegar to beeline for Rhaenyra instead, wrapping burying his face into her skirt while she combed fingers through his short hair.

“These are bedtime stories you are telling, are they not?” she asked.

“The very ones that were told to me,” Jon said innocently, before amending, “to us.”

Rhaegar gave a weak nod. “Jon—always enjoyed them more.”

Jace tugged at Jon’s sleeve, voice small as he asked, “Did he get eaten?”

“The shadows dragged him into the dark, and he was never seen again,” Jon said, then kissed him on the cheek.

Jace’s lower lip wobbled, but he gave a brave little nod before fleeing for the comfort of his parents. Laenor lifted him into his arms, casting Jon a baleful look that then he transferred to Daemon. “If they have nightmares, I am summoning you to sing them to sleep.”

“Are your Velaryon shanties not soothing enough?”

“They are as soothing as your son’s notion of bedtime stories, I would venture.”

The tunic propped up on the chair in the corner slid off, the ripple of movement in the back of the room causing Jace to throw his arms around Laenor’s neck, accidentally striking Daemon’s cheek in his wild flailing.

“I don’t want to go to bed!” Jace said with a hint of panic.

Rhaenyra raised a hand to his cheek. “We will keep the candles burning, dearest.” And when he shook his head, unconvinced, she kissed his temple. “Brave Caraxes and Syrax guard us from the yard. They will allow no harm to come to you.”

Jon felt a twinge of guilt now. He remembered enjoying Old Nan’s stories when he had been their age, him and Robb tensing beneath the covers at strange noises in the night afterward. But he supposed it was different when you had grown up hearing them. The stories Rhaegar told when it was his turn were usually of brave knights vanquishing evil, or legends of magic and dragons.

Tales of unruly children who disobeyed their parents and suffered a cruel fate for it abounded amongst Old Nan’s rotation of stories. Such lessons were perhaps deemed unfit for a prince.

“I did not mean to frighten them so badly,” Jon said, meeting Princess Rhaenyra’s gaze with a fluttering apprehension, but he found no condemnation there.

“I am not afraid,” Jace protested.

Jon stooped to pick up the carved wooden dragons the boys had brought with them, handing Jace his two favorites, Vhagar and Syrax. “The woodcutter did not have dragons to protect him, like we do.”

Dragons for Jace, and Kingsguard for Rhaegar, when he had been a child. Jon supposed there was no need to instill a fear of danger in a young prince, when he would be guarded his entire life by knights sworn to die for him.

Rhaenyra smiled at him. “Just so.”

“And—” Jon glanced over at Rhaegar. “We can sleep in your chamber tonight and protect you too.”

Jace blinked, surprise overtaking his upset, and Luke wriggled in his mother’s arms, all vestiges of fear replaced with excitement.

“You will stay with us?” Jace asked. Then his expression turned crafty. “We would be safer with Qelebrys and Shadow too.”

Rhaegar looked amused by the less-than-subtle attempt at manipulation. “Who better to safeguard against shadow than Shadow himself?”

Luke turned pleading eyes upon Rhaenyra. “Can they sleep with us, mama?”

“That is up to their father,” she said, angling so that he could turn the power of his begging upon Daemon instead.

Jon had expected their father to readily agree, but he frowned, looking almost reluctant. This will be the first time we are away from him for the night, Jon realized. They spent hours at a time apart during the day, of course, but it was not only in stories that the night was different.

Dark and full of terrors.

There were far more chilling tales he could have told, drawn from his own life. But Old Nan’s stories were safe, their horrors rooted in fiction.

“Of course,” Daemon said thinly, as though the very words strained him. “For the night.”

“I can return at dawn, if you like,” Jon teased, hoping to lighten his mood, but their father seemed to take the offer in earnest, snagging him for a hug and kiss atop his hair.

“I should like that.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Rhaegar said haughtily, his own attempt at levity, and Daemon caught him with his other arm.

“You will if I drag you with me,” Jon singsonged back.

The scary story seemed entirely forgotten as their young cousins jabbered excitedly about their bedchamber, and where the hatchlings could sleep, and whether visitors meant they could call for a treat from the kitchens.

“No,” Laenor said firmly, immune to his sons’ chorus of pitiful whines.

The disappointment lasted for no more than a few seconds, their attention turning next to what Jon and Rhaegar should bring other than their hatchlings. Jon’s wooden ships, they agreed, deeming the rest of their possessions too boring.

When they were finally ready to leave, Jace paused at the door, glee dawning upon him. “Aemond is going to be so jealous.”

[helpbutton95]

The Tortured Poets Department

Read on A03. Also this is entirely @lucyllawless 's fault.

The road was winding out in front of them. The dark leaves sticking to the soles of her feet. Agatha hated it here. She hated the darkness, the way it warped around everything, clinging to it like tar. She could hear Billy behind her, following closely as if he was about to miss something. He wasn't. They had lost half the coven. Alice was her fault and Lilia. Lilia had sacrificed herself for them. It made her skin crawl. She could remember the one constant who had saved her. Over and over again. Unconsciously, she brushed her thumb over the underside of her ring. She sighed, pushing her hands into her pockets. She could remember every time Rio had come to her rescue. Every time she had given her that smirk and by the Gods, what was she doing on this stupid road again. 

Jens sniffle made her pause. Turning, she could see the tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Crying isn't going to bring her back,” wow, way to be sympathetic. 

“She wouldn't be dead if this wasn't for you,” Jens anger came through harder than Agatha expected but really Agatha should expect it. Jen was a formidable witch. She always had been. They had once been friends. Kind of. Well, more acquaintances. They had only really crossed paths before once. When Agatha was nine months pregnant and in labour. Typically, Rio, who had gotten her into that situation, was not there to get her out. But now, watching Jens face contort in anguish, it made something stir in Agatha. 

“I know,” Agatha admitted. “I know the seven were my fault and I'm sorry that they took Lilia but we can't dwell on it. We need to get to the next trial so we can get out of this forsaken place.”

Jen had paused in front of her. “You're scared too.”

“Of course I'm scared, Jen.” Agatha revealed. “Alice is dead, Lilia is gone and Rio-”

Agatha bit back her emotions. She wouldn't show the fear of her wife on her face. 

“What about Rio?” Billy asked. 

“Rio's vanished,” Agatha lied. She knew exactly where Rio was. Rio was ferrying bodies to her realm. 

Agatha turned, she wasn't interested in listening to them mourn the losses. 

“Would she come for Lilia?” Billy's innocence made her feel nauseous and she spared a glance as they walked at Jen. 

Agatha couldn't help the words that escaped her lips. “Death comes for us all.”

No one answered. No one made eye contact. Instead they continued walking. One foot in front of another. That was all she could do. All any of them could do until the night grew darker. The air grew colder. Agatha found herself looking around as they came to a large meadow the road widening. 

“We should stop,” her suggestion was met by stern looks as she turned. 

“Why?” Billy's spite spat around her and Agatha pushed away the hurt.

“Because it's late,” Jen answered for her. “And I'd like a break from this road making my calves into tree trunks.”

Billy's scowl back at her made her lift her hand in a half shrug but then they were moving, collecting wood and lighting a fire. Just like they had with the rest of their coven. 

The crackle of the fire was the only sound that filled around them. It made her stomach twist in pain. Agatha wanted to say something, anything to make it better. Instead, she looks down at her hand and twists the dark rock on her hand. Nostalgia itched at her. Memories began to creep into the corners of her mind. A crunch of leaves made her look up at Jen. Jen who stood in front of her. Uncertainty on her face. Dark eyes looked between her and the space beside her. 

With a sigh, Agatha waved her hand and Jen quickly sat. The taller woman watched Billy collect firewood and then begin making a makeshift shelter.

“So,” Agatha shifted uncomfortably. “Do we get smores or-”

“Did you mean it?” Jen snapped. Agatha reeled. Her lip curled ready to attack but then Jens question came softer. “Did you mean to take Alice's power?”

Agatha stuttered before clamping her jaw shut. “No,” her genuine words felt odd on her tongue. Just like when she had told the Teen about the Sigil. She had known deep down. Jen waited and Agatha hated that the priestess was determined for more information. But she gave it. “It was an accident. I-I can't control it. For so long it was second nature and then not having it. I think my powers just reacted.”

“Agatha-”

“I know a 350 year old witch who still doesn't have her shit together,” Agatha’s humourless laugh echoed in her chest. 

“So you didn't mean it?”

“No, Jen, I didn't mean it,” Agatha swallowed the emotion that threatened to clog her throat. “I didn't even know I was doing it until it was too late.”

“And your coven?” Jen prodded deeper. “Rio said your mother wanted you executed?” 

“She wasn't exactly mother of the year material.” Agatha deflected. She looked down at her hands, she didn’t like this. It felt damaging like if she opened up, Jen would see every little imperfection that came with her. Imperfections that she had smothered and hidden over the centuries. 

“I’m sorry,” Jen muttered, her face contorting as the words tasted sour. “About leaving you in that trial. I didn’t know-” 

Agatha shrugged. “All you know is that I killed my coven. Why would you care that they were the ones who started it.” 

“Is that what happened?” Jen prodded and it made Agatha’s skin crawl, she had to get to the end of this godforsaken road and get away from the Spanish Inquisition. 

“I wanted to learn,” Agatha pursed her lips. It was Jen. Jen who she hated but also Jen who had handed her her son in the middle of the worst snowstorm in New England history. “But it was above me to know that.”

Jens brow drew tight but it was Billy who asked, “They were going to kill you for trying to learn the craft?”

Agatha’s tight smile made her look away. “It was above my station,” Agatha repeated her mothers words that fateful night. 

“Covens are protective of their craft,” Jen explained to the boy. “Especially old ones. There's a hierarchy that they respect.”

Jens pointed look makes Agatha lift a shoulder. Honestly, why was it so bad to learn? 

But Billy wasn't stupid, his gaze narrowed on her as she tried to school the memories of her mother finding her with the grimoire. Trying to find out why her magic presented differently. Purple, not blue. 

“You were trying to learn about your power.” 

“And we all know how that worked out,” Agatha drawled, looking back down at her hands. She had been scared after it first happened, to understand why she had murdered her kin but then she wasn't sure it was such a bad thing. They had never understood her, looked down on her. Her own mother had kept her at arms length for most of her life. Rio had been the one to save her. To pick up the pieces and tell her it was all ok, that she had a unique gift, one that could build empires and burn worlds. 

She stared at her palms, now devoid of that power. She turned them over and examined the ring that had sat on her finger for nearly 250 years. The first century with Rio had been fun. They had spent a lot of time enjoying the revolution across the north east. Particularly causing issues with Governors daughters. Agatha had been close a few times, close to getting caught, to being revealed as a witch. But every time Rio popped up just in time. Saving her, being charming to those around them and whisking her away to spend days in each other's company. For the first fifty years, it had been in throws of passion, seeking physical touches to remind each other of what they had found the first time they had met in the forest near Salem. But, like everything, the season changed, things aged and matured like the trees that surrounded her small coven. Her relationship with Rio had changed, it aged, it became something comforting. That’s not to say the passion faded. If anything it got worse. But them, together, it was something Agatha couldn’t put into words. For centuries, she gallivanted around the globe, gaining power like a drug and Rio was there by her side, collecting the dead and then returning to Agatha for their time together. 

Agatha turned her hands back and stared at the dark rock nestled between two silver branches. Agatha remembered the day she got it. 

“You're ring,” Billy's annoying inquisitive voice broke her thoughts. “Was it your mothers?”

Agatha tried not to snort at the look Rio would have given him had she been here. 

“No,” Agatha stated simply and she glanced at Jen who looked down at her own ring. 

“What-what do they do?” Teens brow was drawn tight and Agatha's eye caught Jens. Jen who blushed and looked away. Jen knew exactly what they meant. 

“What does your textbook say?” Agatha nodded to the leather bound book. 

His frown drew deeper and she watched him dig through the little grimoire. 

“Will it even be in there?” Jen asked under her breath. Agatha shrugged, it was worth a shot. The fire crackled as he dug through page after page. As he did, Agatha revelled in the warmth of the fire. The temperature had dropped from autumn in New Jersey to winter. The cloud of their breath spilled around them and she could see Billy tightening his jumper around him. 

Rio was close. 

Only death was this cold. 

“Life ties?” Billy's voice broke her thoughts and she saw Jen smirk. “Wait, this can't be right, it says here that life ties bind your soul to that person so that when you perish. They perish too.”

Agatha waited and watched the way his little brain caught up. 

“You managed to get a soul tie to Death?” Jens judgy voice beat the kid. 

“What can I say I'm irresistible?” Agatha teased. 

“It says that you can't harm each other,” Billy voiced. “but she cut you when she was in your house.”

“Harm as in kill,” Agatha explained. “At least not directly.”

“So if she threw you off a cliff?” Jen proposed. 

“It'd be allowed,” Agatha relented. “On the technicality it was natural.”

“But she threw you off the cliff?” Billy's frown reminded her eerily of Nickys when faced with a difficult quandary. The similar draw of his brows into a deep frown, the way his lips tilted downwards. “She's the cause.”

With a roll of her eyes, she repeated the same response Rio had given her nearly 315 years ago. “The Living Tribunal doesn't tend to look at it that way.” 

Jen opened her mouth with widened eyes clearly ready to go full steam ahead down the track but Billy's questions stopped her. “But stabbing you. Not allowed?”

“Look at you keeping up,” Agatha huffed. She wasn't sure she enjoyed this curiosity but it was better than them asking about her mother. Or Nicky. 

Billy's head dipped back down to his little book and then his head snapped back up. “But it says that your lives are bound to one another. That it's sacred.”

Jens voice broke through next, “Keep up Teen, it's basically a witches marriage.”

His jaw dropped as a blush rose in his cheeks. 

Agatha looked over at Jen, “Spoil sport.”

“He wasn't going to get that we are all on the rainbow scale.” Jen drawled with a huff, smoothing out the dirty wrinkles of her dress. Billy's brows rose impossibly higher into his hairline. 

“You too-”

“Please, you don't live for 150 years and not try something new. No one is that straight,” Jen snapped impatiently. Honestly, she was a terrible teacher. 

“I forgot how good your bedside manner was,” Agatha smirked, looking back down at her ring. 

“You were a bit busy bringing life into the world,” Jen shot back. Agatha’s smirk dropped. Her hand unconsciously went to the locket. Jen watched her, her eyes widening only a fraction as Agatha tore her gaze away. The taller witch didn’t apologise, she never did for her barbs but Agatha could see the regret in her stance. 

“Wait,” Billy asked, oblivious to the tension between the elder witches. “It says that the protection on it is linked as well, that they can always feel where one another is. Is this like some weird soulmate thing?” 

Agatha didn’t respond. She knew the stone was something that only Rio had made. An original stone of the universe. 

“Does Death even have a soul?” Billy whispered, looking between the two. 

“She did,” Agatha muttered. “Once upon a time.” 

“What happened?” God, he was nosy. 

Agatha glanced around at both of her companions and she saw no malice. This is what covens did, they shared with one another and hell, at this rate none of them were making it out alive so what was the point in keeping it all tucked in. It wasn’t going to hurt her. 

“She gave it to me,” Agatha recalled. Her thumb brushed the stone unconsciously, bumping over the sigil within the stone. “You’d be surprised at how many enemies she has.” 

“I mean, she literally ferries the dead,” Jen pondered. “So it’s not really surprising.” 

“No, you don’t get it,” Agatha muttered, her defences rising. “Even she isn’t invulnerable.” 

“But surely she can’t die?” Jen asked. “She’s already dead.” 

Agatha shook her head. “It’s complicated.” 

“So uncomplicate it,” Jen pushed but Agatha was pushing to her feet. She turned to both of them and thought about it for only a moment. 

“No.” Instead, Agatha turned, and walked into the darkness. Her arms curling around herself to keep the heat in. She didn’t want to reveal Rio’s secrets, they were hers to keep. That was the oath they had sworn to one another in the depths of New England, in the home they promised to build together. The home they did build together. The home they destroyed together. 

Agatha looked down at the black stone on her finger, the sigil glimmering in the moonlight. “You really outdid yourself this time.”

“I'd say I learnt from the best but we all know it was the other way around.” 

Agatha didn't turn at the sound of her voice. At the taunting to get a rise out of her. 

“What are you here for?” Agatha asked, looking forward into the darkness. “Me?”

“No,” she could practically hear the pout. “You'll meet your end the natural way.”

“The boy then?” 

“He broke the rules.” 

“He didn't know.” 

Rio's exasperation was clear. “He's not-”

“I know who he is,” Agatha snapped, turning to the dark eyes that watched her closely. She was in her full dark clothing, ready to collect. 

“You're protective of him,” Rio observed, stepping closer. “Why? He turned on you the moment you showed him who you really were?”

“He's just a kid,” Agatha wasn't giving Rio more ammunition. 

“No,” Rio pouted. “That's not it.” She moved purposefully around Agatha each step crunching the frozen leaves beneath them. “He tugs on those human heart strings of yours. The ones you try to pretend aren't there.” Agatha glowered. “You always were soft when it came to children.”

“You know how I feel about that?” She shouldn't have snapped. She should have kept that card closer to her chest. 

Rio smirked. “It’s life, Agatha. The road of life isn't an easy one.”

“You don't get to tell me about that,” Agatha’s emotions reared as her mind went to her son. 

Rio had the decency to look wounded for a second before her face became void. “I'm sorry. I've always been sorry. You know that.”

“It doesn't excuse you taking him,” Agatha tried to swallow back the emotion but the softness crept into Rio's gaze. 

“You know as well as I do that we couldn't control what happened to Nicky.” 

Agatha flinched. It had been so long since his name had been spoken aloud by either of them. Especially in one another's presence.  She had to protect herself to stop this line of questioning. 

“Yes, well, it's the past.” Agatha huffed, pulling her arms tighter around herself. “So what now? You just go kill the boy?” 

“You know that's not how it works,” Rio drawled. “I would have been out of your hair sooner but you're pleading warmed the heart.”

“You don't have a heart.”

Rio smirked, her eyes landing on Agatha’s ring. “Yes, I do. It's yours.”

Agatha curled her hand involuntarily. She shifted her feet on the freezing ground. It was growing colder by the second, she could see her own breath. 

“You’re cold,” Rio’s head tilted. 

“Well you aren’t exactly a ray of sunshine,” Agatha huffed and Rio stepped closer, her hand sliding up her back. It was automatic. The reaction of her body relaxing into the warm touch. 

“I can be exactly how you wanted me to be,” Rio’s breath ghosted across her ear, as scalding arms encircled her. 

But Agatha knew the game the witch played. She had played it so many times before. “So I give in and give you Billy?” 

Rio stiffened. “Honestly,” she pouted. “He’s just one life that broke the rules.” 

“He made a mistake.” 

“Like you did?” 

It was like a slap. 

Rio didn’t flinch, didn’t move as Agatha turned slowly to look at her. Her brow quirked in that perfect arch. 

“Goodbye Rio.” 

Agatha turned, stalking past Death as she made her way back to their small camp. Rio didn’t move. Didn’t utter a word. As soon as she made it back to camp, she curled in front of the warmth of the fire. Jen and Billy both curled up, eyes closed. Agatha subtly checked they were breathing before settling. She didn’t close her eyes, instead she watched the road around them. Knowing that Death clung to the darkness. They would wake and continue on the trial and meet Death at the end. 

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 2.5

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: mentions of killing, logan’s pov, this isn’t a full chapter it’s more like an interlude

series masterlist │my masterlist

logan doesn’t like the room you put him in. the scent of you lingers but only faintly, and he grows restless without it to calm him. he misses you, the pretty girl who washed him and fed him. you were nice to him and you smelled safe, like home.

he hasn’t had a home in a long time. he knows that, the way he knows so little else, the way he knows how to breathe and how to walk, the way he knows his name is logan. you had spoken his name and he’d felt it, like a physical thing, a pounding emptiness in his head paired with a relief that punched him so hard he thought he might fall over.

he whimpers, shifting his position as though he’ll be able to better pick up your scent somehow, but no matter how much he squirms, the comfort of your scent still doesn’t appear.

he growls and leaps out of bed, onto his bare feet. this is ridiculous and he won’t deal with it any longer. he’s going to find you.

he sniffs his way towards your bedroom, where your scent is the strongest, though it lingers around the whole house, soothing and perfect in a way that makes him want to stay here forever. he opens the door, copying how he’d seen you do it earlier, and he’s pleased with himself for making note of it, since it’s coming in handy now.

you’re asleep, eyes shut and mouth parted just slightly. your body is covered with layers of fluffy fabric that he wishes weren’t there so he could see all of you better, but he knows you’re not like him, can smell it on you, and that means you run colder. but right now you’re warm under the covers and peaceful as you dream. good.

logan settles down on the floor, somewhere he can watch both you and the door, make sure no one comes in to hurt you. you took care of him, so now he’s going to protect you. it’s what he’s made for, strong and ruthless. 

he’s killed before, though he can’t remember doing it, can’t remember the faces of those he killed or the way they stared at him in fear or anger as they died. it’s instinctual, a violent craving for blood, and he’s ready to do it again, to do it now, for you.

she would be a good mate, logan thinks.

you can do all the things he can’t. you’re soft and sweet and manage to calm his restless mind through only your presence. you’re clearly a homemaker, would be a good mom to raise his pups. 

but this means he needs to prove himself to you too, means he needs to show you that he can be a good mate. so he vows to protect you. it’s something he can offer you that you don’t already have.

he doesn’t need to sleep, not as much as you do. it’s in your scent, all the parts of him that don’t apply to you, things that you need that he doesn’t. and he can make sure you get everything you need, he can make sure you’re always healthy and happy and don’t need to worry about a thing. 

you will sleep, rest so your body is refreshed for tomorrow, and he will stay up and keep watch.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog

if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[validfemale]

it girl cozy fall rituals, 🍂*·˚ ༘

i’m in love with every inch of fall this year, and you should be too. this season isn’t just a vibe—it’s a whole lifestyle shift. we’re talking plush, warm, everything that wraps you in a cloud of coziness. let’s get into the rituals that are going to make this fall unforgettable.

` FALL MORNING ROUTINE,

start your day with something that feels indulgent and grounding. morning is the perfect time to set the tone for your day with a few cozy, self-loving rituals that make you feel like that girl.

♡ hot drinks wrapped in luxury we don’t do basic coffee—make it a honey latte, a pumpkin chai, or some warm milk with a hint of cinnamon. it’s all about taking that first sip and feeling like you’re the main character wrapped in your plushiest blanket.

♡ skin hydration on 100 with the weather getting colder, don’t you dare let your skin go dry. we’re talking hand creams, body butters, and a moisturizing face routine that keeps you glowing. get a hand cream that smells like vanilla or marshmallow for that sweet touch.

♡ set intentions & journal take a moment to vibe with yourself. jot down what’s on your mind, set a small intention, or just let it flow. mornings are all about tapping into that inner power before the day starts, so set the tone like the baddie you are.

` FALL EVENINGS ARE FOR,

as the sun goes down, it’s time to embrace those cozy fall evenings. these little routines are designed to bring you back to yourself, unwind, and savor the simple pleasures.

♡ nature walks, but make it luxe take a walk in the evening air, wrapped up in your cutest scarf and a cozy jacket. listen to your hottie fall playlist and breathe in that crisp air. it’s the perfect way to stay grounded while looking fly.

♡ candles & moody lighting we’re bringing ambiance to another level. grab candles that smell like warm cinnamon cupcakes or a caramel latte, and fill the room with that golden glow. set the vibe because your space deserves to feel as rich and layered as you.

♡ baking, because you’re THAT girl it’s not just baking—it’s a whole experience. whip up some brownies or an apple crumble. the smell alone is worth it, but also…there’s something about baking from scratch that just makes you feel so put together.

` FALL ROOM SETUP THAT SLAYS,

your room should be your sanctuary, especially during fall. here’s how to make it a dreamy escape where you can fully enjoy all those cozy vibes.

♡ soft lighting & fairy lights for days no harsh lights allowed. stick with fairy lights or a soft bedside lamp for that warm, glowy aesthetic. make it feel like your own little sanctuary because you deserve that kind of energy.

♡ fuzzy blankets & extra pillows your bed should look like a scene from a cozy movie. layer those blankets in different textures and colors, add extra pillows, and make sure everything is extra soft—like, could-sleep-in-it-all-day soft.

♡ fall decor, but make it chic add some cute pumpkins, dried flowers, or vintage trinkets. keep it subtle but classy—think soft pinks, muted browns, and hints of gold for that boujee fall vibe.

` COZY FALL ACTIVITIES,

every fall day is a chance to do something that makes you feel like the main character. these activities will keep you grounded, cozy, and feeling absolutely fab.

♡ sip & read like a mysterious icon pair your fave fall drink with a good book. go for mystery, romance, or a historical drama that pulls you in. nothing says fall like being wrapped up in a story while the world goes on outside.

♡ evening skincare & unwinding rituals end your day with a luxe skincare routine. make sure everything smells heavenly, like honey or cocoa butter, and give yourself a mini massage. it’s a whole self-love moment you deserve.

♡ intentional reflection & relaxation take a few minutes to journal, meditate, or just lie back and let your mind wander. fall is all about introspection, so give yourself that space to feel grounded and badass.

[archaiceuphoriah]

Alright, little one! I think we've gotten all the pumpkins! Tomorrow, we'll need to come back out and...little one? Where did you go? There you are! What are you doing by the waterspout? Yes, I see all the mud. Are you having fun playing in the squishy mud? Such a silly baby. Soon enough, there'll be lots of mud and rain puddles for you to splash in. Did you find something? Oh, there are some earthworms in the mud. I know, they're very slippery! But they're very good for our garden. With the weather getting colder though there won't be as many bugs around. Well, because bugs don't like the cold. They go back to their own cottages and cuddle up in a warm blanket all winter long. Yes, I am sure the buggies have a nice mama at home to take care of them. How about you help me with the pumpkins and then, once we're inside, I give you a nice bath and we cuddle under a blanket?

(To the person who requested this, I hope you enjoyed!)

[azulock]

this is a different one, no dialogue and no names mentioned. so despite it being written with Oliver in mind, you could read it thinking of whatever bulky dark haired fave you have. also it has a plot, but the plot is mostly smut. and seesh despite all that has been happening to me, I deliver 5k words for Halloween, that's a lot. show your appreciation in the tags, or in a reply, it really helps keep the writing fire alive. either way, happy halloween my ghosties

summary. a stupid bet sees you visiting a haunted cave to prove to your friends that ghosts aren't real, but when you go back home, something goes back with you, and it always finds you in your dreams

pairing.Oliver Aiku x F!Reader

wordcount. 5k

warnings.nsfw, kinda noncon but mostly dubcon, ghost fucking I guess, a cameo of tentacle like appendages

unwanted hitchhiker

Ghosts didn’t exist. That was an inarguable fact of life. Ghosts did not exist. The only thing going bump in the night is the wind. The strange noises in old houses are just the weakening structure slowly coming apart. And the strange shadows people saw are most likely a gas leak. Ghosts simply did not exist.

Then why were you sweating cold from just entering a stuffy old cave?

It was a stupid bet. A stupid stupid bet one of your dumbass friends proposed when you - correctly - informed them that ghosts didn’t exist. You were all at a bar after work talking about the beach trip you’d all be going in a few days, when someone commented that there was a forest near the lodge you’d be staying that was supposed to be haunted.

A couple of your friends seemed spooked by the notion and you laughed it off. Ghosts don’t exist, that is what you said. When you die, you die, and that’s the end of it. But they insisted, they argued, until they proposed a dare. It was stupid, and since the burden of proof fell into those claiming the existence of something, you really had no reason to accept it. But being a one too many beers in, you accepted.

The dare was stupidly obvious. At nightfall, you were to follow the marked trail into the haunted forest, and on the first fork you’d turn left and head into cave that was said to be the center of the haunting. Inside, you’d have to walk to the collapsed remains of an entrance to an old shrine that now laid buried under the rocks. Once there, you just had to take a picture of your hand touching the rocks and you were free to go.

Simple and straight forward. There were no dangerous animals in the forest, the trail was well marked and lit up, and not even bats lived in the cave. Get in, get out, then profit. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.

Then, why did your spine tingle the moment you stepped off the trail and into the rock that made up the cave?

Maybe it was just how noticeably cold it was in this dark, damp cave. Or maybe, you were actually afraid, it wouldn’t be weird to feel fear when entering alone an ancient gaping hole in the mountain range. Where the trail before now had been well lit and clean - unsurprisingly, this beach was a tourist hotspot - the short path to the cave quickly lost it’s well kept appeal. With a quick glance back you told yourself you had to get on with it.

Stepping further into the near pitch black cave you felt that same shiver run up your spine again. You wouldn’t dare to blame it fully on fear though, not with how this place seemed to suck up all the heat around. The air inside the cave was noticeably a few degrees colder than the outside, chill seeping into your fingertips as you lifted up your phone to use as a flashlight.

When light hit this place you finally caught an idea of what it looked like. The cave seemed to suck up even the cold light from your phone, but it was still enough to see something. The space around you was vast, stretching large and long, the solid floor glistening wet, with water pooling here and there. Looking up, you found yourself surrounded by rock as ancient as the mountain itself, cracks littering the ceiling, and water dripping from some of them.

Suddenly you could find sense in your fear. This place had been carved into an old mountain, and the shrine at the very bottom had already been buried under rumble from an earthquake long ago. You were probably feeling the rock shift, vibrations that resound so low the human ear can’t pick it, but the body can still sense them. The infamous ghost frequency, where the brain, without a way to find the sound, can only translate the vibrations as a this strange foreboding danger.

Knowing this gave you no peace, however. Where logic often served to quell your fear of the unknown, this time it failed. Maybe it was all the humidity in the cave turning the air heavy and dense, making breathing a difficult task. So difficult that it felt like a hand grasped around your throat, or that you had a whole body lying on your back. Creepy shit.

Shaking your head you forced yourself to move forward, with the flashlight you could see the outline of a rope on the far side wall, that was your destination. Gathering all your courage you pressed on, wet sounds ringing through the cave as you stepped on a large puddle. Out of instinct, you pointed the phone down, catching sight of a slither of green - lichen, growing on the rock floor. Curiosity made you wave your phone, illuminating more tendrils of green, the lichen seeming to grow in the direction you were going.

Step after step the air felt heavier, your heart beating faster and faster the closer you got to the rock wall, the smell of water, moss and musk intoxicating to your nose. The tendrils of lichen growing thicker and thicker until they fused with each other, gathering at the collapsed entrance, slipping inside the old shire through cracks in the rumble. Or maybe, were they spreading out of it?

Here, water seemed to drip from the rocks more abundantly. Perhaps this was the reason why the lichen seemed drawn to this place. And yet, despite the overbearing humidity and unstopping movement of time, before you stood a long stretch of thick hemp rope. It seemed old - old enough to be actual hemp. Much, much older than you, but it still seemed solid, as if held together by a force beyond nature.

You shook your head again, you were letting yourself get caught by the situation. The long stretch of rope adorned with folded white paper surrounded what once had been the entrance to the old shrine, now closed off by fallen rubble. Scattered over the rock were paper talismans, you couldn’t really tell what was written on them, or what they were supposed to mean, but this wasn’t your main question. Indeed, you just couldn’t help but wonder how the glue hadn’t worn out after so long.

No time to think, this was the place, only one thing left now.

Taking a deep breath you tried to calm yourself, this was it, it was already over, only the last step and you were free to go. The air you inhaled helped in nothing though, it crashed heavy and warm in your lungs, like something was breathing in your face. Best not to dwell on it. Fuck this place, just take the picture and go.

With a hesitant step, you came face to face with the rock, the imposing rope standing eye level with you. Yet again, a shiver runs down your spine, so you just decide to get it over with. Hastily, you lift your left hand and place it over the rock without thinking where. It lands under the thick rope, fingers brushing over one of the talismans, the paper feeling strangely dry to your skin.

You pull up your phone, select the camera, frame your hand, and snap! Your flashlight flickers for a second before coming back on again. With the same haste you pull back your hand, but when you do, the talisman under your finger follows. Shit, you probably just desecrated a historical place. Stupid ass bet.

However, just as the realization of your mistake sinks in, a gush of cold wind blows through the cave. It brushes against your skin, making the chill burrow into your flesh and creep through your veins. For a second, you feel as if something long frozen slipped into your body. But just as it came, it was gone again. The wind died out and you were back to normal.

Fuck this place, you were getting out of here.

When you got back to the lodge you shoved the picture in their faces. There were no ghosts, you told them, mystery solved. Someone said you were brave, another that you were no fun, and someone else snickered, laughing as they said you should be careful, maybe a ghost could follow you home. Sure, as if.

Your trip to the beach with your friends took three days, and you did the dare on the last one. As you’d told your friends before, you weren’t willing to catch some weird cave disease and spend your whole trip in bed sick for a stupid fucking dare. No goddamn way.

The last night you spent on your trip went well enough. You drank, you had fun, you went back to your room to get ready for the return trip the next day. All going on like normal, no shivers through the night, no shadows on the edge of your view. All quiet on your front. Except, when you laid down to sleep, you had strange dreams.

You would not dare call them nightmares, but they sure weren’t your usual. You were more of a dreamless void type of sleeper. But this time you dreamed vividly, maybe not in sight but in feeling. It all felt real, weirdly real. Maybe more real than reality in itself.

The way your skin tingled, the warmth of someone’s breath on your neck, the feeling of hands all over your body. You couldn’t see anything but somehow you knew you were back into the cave. The water feeling cold to your touch, the lichen pricking your naked skin, the rock hard under you. And yet, there was a warm body pressed against your back, hands rough and hot all over your body. They kept the cold at bay as they moved closer and closer to your core.

You struggled, or at least you tried to, fighting back to for control over your surroundings. But quickly you found yourself overpowered, arms and legs being bound in a strange, warm and wet embrace - like the lichen was binding you to the rocky floor. The large hands on your body traveled further towards their destination, one landing on your exposed breast and the other finding your pussy. You were naked, body and soul, and ready for the taking. And whatever force held you down, it felt hungry.

The hand on your breast squeezed hard, fingers sinking painfully into your flesh. The one on your pussy found your clit and carelessly worked the little nub to it’s pleasure. There was so much heat seeping into you and the air felt so heavy, bearing down on your lungs. The same smell you felt before filled your nostrils again, moss, water and musk.

You tried to scream, but it was to no avail. If anything, it seemed to spur the hands to work faster. The one on your chest moved away, fingers slipping into your mouth to shut you up. The one on your pussy positioned its thumb over your clit, three other fingers sliding inside your wet hole. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. Still, you tried to struggle, fighting your hardest for as long as you could.

But this was a losing battle, and it didn’t take long for the fight to be fully lost. You were growing tired, and the pleasure was growing higher and higher until it overpowered your will. A shock ran through your body, coiling every muscle and shaking your convulsing core. You wanted to scream again, and this time the hand on your mouth slipped away, letting your voice be heard. Whatever was holding your limbs let go, and the last thing you felt before waking up was one of the hands softly caressing your face. You woke up in the morning to the wind softly blowing past your window and into your bedroom.

That had been four nights ago. For four nights you’d been having the same dream, and every night you woke up wet with sweat, and something else. You brushed it off as a weird hick of the mind. It could be like that. You spent most nights in a dreamless sleep, but sometimes, if something weird happened, you’d spend nearly a week having strange dreams. It would pass - and yet, it felt different.

The dream was always the very same, the place was always the cave, and whatever touched you always felt like the same thing. Always the same dream, except for how it escalated every night, getting more and more intense. You never saw the face - or anything for that matter - of whatever plagued your sleep, but you felt it, you felt it so clearly. And on the last night, the fourth night, you were sure you felt the outline of its dick rubbing against your pussy.

This was the fifth day, well, had been, now that dusk had settled, it was the fifth night. And by god, you were starting to get antsy just from the need to fall asleep. This was insane, it made no sense at all. It was just a bad dream - then, why wouldn't it just stop? You refused to believe there could be anything more to it, and the fact that it happened after your visit to the cave was just coincidence. It was nothing, it had to be.

Truth be told you’d started fearing dreaming itself. You’d started fearing falling back into dreamland. Back into the hands of whatever inhabited your subconscious mind. Back into a state where your will was so easily toppled by this sickly pleasure. You’d started fearing falling asleep - even though a part of you felt strangely anxious for it, and you’d started fearing that part of yourself too.

Stupid, you told yourself. It was nothing, you reminded yourself. It was all in your mind, you insisted, trying to convince your own self as you laid in bed. You’d fall asleep today, and by tomorrow this would all be gone. It would be over. You were sure of it.

And with this certainty you closed your eyes, ready to plunge into Morpheus’ embrace, tomorrow this would be no longer.

The smell of moss, musk and water invades your nostrils again. You are back to breathing that heavy, dense air. Back to feeling the wet, hard rock under your legs. This time there is a hum that runs through the cave, reverberating through the rocky walls, until it lands back on your ears and makes you shiver.

It’s not a human sound, more like the wind whispering in an language long lost, but it sounds pleasured, somehow. You cannot understand what it says yet it sends a jolt through your body that tenses your muscles. But in the depths of fear you find a sliver of pleasure.

As the sound travels through your flesh, the vibrations reverberate in the body behind yours. This time it feels more physical than it ever did. The sound waves lacing with a strange warmth as they travel from that unknown body back to you. It makes you oddly aware of the sensation of hard muscle wrapped in cloth that embraces you from behind. The feeling of soft and thick linen rubbing against your skin. The steady movement of rise and fall against your back. The fanning of a hot breath touching your neck.

It is almost human. Almost. Eerily real in a way that dreams aren’t meant to be. It’s entrancing, the sensation of rough hands traveling over your skin. The slight bite of the nails as thick fingers sink into your flesh, trying to burrow their way in. You try to fight again, to break free, but the strong arms around you only pull you closer. When did you start noticing how large those arms were?

Your struggles seem pointless to the thing holding you down. Thick arms bring you deeper into this strange embrace, and the more you try to fight, the deeper you seem to sink. There is a deep hum echoing from behind you again, and the entire cave seems to rumble. Hot breath fans over your skin, so close now that you can feel it’s wetness, and at the same time, wind blows through the stone walls. That’s when you realize, the cave is breathing with him.

Him?

No time to think as one of the hands finds its way down to your core again. Two thick fingers encase your clit, sending electricity up your spine, lighting up every nerve in its wake. The other hand has found your breast, pinching your nipple between the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger. He is careless, aggressive even, and it has you squirming. Whining in a way that has him responding with an amused hum that travels in the wind and echoes through the walls.

You try to muster a no, try to bargain with whatever has you on such a strong hold, but the words stick to your throat, choking the wind from your lungs. The cave rumbles together with the shaking of his chest, his breath touching your skin in short, staggered huffs. His face is so close you can smell the air he exhales, feel the shape of his jaw and the stubble running against your neck, sense his whole torso rumble. He is laughing.

His fingers squeeze your clit again and you gasp, trying to move your legs wildly to get out. It’s no use, you feel something slither up and wrap your thighs once more, this time drawing your shaking legs further apart. You try to resist but he moves the fingers on your clit in a way that has pleasure shaking your body, making your pussy twitch in need. Pleasure starts to mount in your body and eat away at reason. And that’s when you feel it.

The skin that pushes against your wet folds is warm and soft, but its touch feels hard as rock. You don’t even need to look down to know what’s pressing against your pussy. The shape and feeling of a hard cock is unmistakable. And even if you tried, something in you refused to look down - if in fear or excitement, you couldn’t really tell.

The more he presses his hardened length against you, the more you realize its sheer size. He is huge, long, and thick, overwhelmingly so, and you aren’t so sure that this is going to work. Though, you don’t really think the thought has crossed his mind.

He starts to push himself harder into your pussy, shoving his massive length into you. You try to struggle, trying to tell him it won’t fit. But your voice is nothing more than a murmur, and the cave only rumbles in response as he once more flicks your clit in a way that has you shaking in pleasure.

The creature behind you takes this chance and with a swift movement, he shoves his cock into your pussy. You gasp at the painful stretch, your walls trembling against the intrusion. Then he starts moving again, and you realize, he isn’t fully in yet.

He gives you no time to resist as he pushes himself the rest of the way in, forcing his cock balls deep, pushing you to the extreme. You cry out when he fully buries himself, a pained sound but there is pleasure mixed in it. And then he starts moving, deep and hard, and you cry out again but this time the sound is silenced by a thunderous surge of wind.

That’s when you wake up.

Violent winds blow through your windows and your eyes open in shock. You find yourself sitting in bed as thunder crashes outside, but that isn’t something you can worry about when you feel your body rock with a moan. The sensation of a cock ramming into your pussy continues, you try to move your legs but they still seem tied down, and the feeling of a body around you isn’t gone.

Awakening doesn’t seem to have ended the dream.

Your whole body shakes again and again as he shoves his cock deep into your. The pain from the stretch and violation starts to mix with the pleasure from his thick fingers on your clit. You dart your eyes around the room rapidly, not able to move your body, unsure of what is happening, of what you are supposed to be feeling. It’s strange, scary, and weirdly exciting all at once.

A moan fills your ears and it takes you a long moment to recognize it as your own, your voice echoing strange through the walls of your bedroom. They are the walls of your bedroom, that much you can recognize the moment your eyes focus. It’s hard to form any thought with the way his cock has pleasure shaking your body and fogging your mind but you try.

With what little consciousness you can muster you try to look around. You can feel his hand on your breast, pulling you flush against his body. Feel the fingers on your clit and the cock fucking your fast and hard, but you look down and you can’t see anything. Not until your eyes catch the mirror in front of your bed.

You gasp in both shock and pleasure as you take in the sight reflected before you. Where you could see nothing before now the image is clear. Sitting behind you is a large man, wearing what seems like old shinto robes, your body propped onto his lap. Coming from behind him are the green thick tendrils that hold your legs open. He has one hand under your oversized sleep shirt, the other is on your clit. And now you can clearly see his massive cock moving in and out of your pussy.

He gives one especially hard thrust and your whole body rocks, his fingers unrelenting on your poor clit. You moan out, hands finding purchase on his thick legs, feeling the rough fabric under your palm. Your mind is slipping, slowly drawing blank with pleasure, but your eyes still don’t dare leave the mirror.

Once more he gives the same hard thrust making you cry out, pussy walls coiling around his thick, veiny cock. His torso rumbles in satisfaction again, but this time there is no wind, no response from the environment, only the shaking of his body. You finally manage to fix your eyes to his face buried against your neck and you get why there is no sound.

His black hair falls messy in front of his face, but it doesn’t hide the talismans over his eyes, nor the one covering his mouth. Now that you notice it, it looks like he has those things all over his body, scattered on his old linen robe. It seems odd, curious - but you don’t get a chance to wonder when he speeds up his thrusts.

The intense, overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim and then more washes over your body and mind. It has you whimpering and begging - if it’s for more or for him to stop you yourself don’t know. You are sure he wouldn’t stop either way. He thrusts hard and deep, faster and faster, his cock throbbing within your gummy walls. You feel it, every inch, much more than you logically should, but your mind is too foggy from the relentless fucking to focus on those details right now.

Your hands grip onto the linen of his pants, a fabric you can feel, but only see in the reflection on the mirror. The same reflection that shows you fucked out, mouth agape, tears welling in your eyes - but you didn’t even feel them there. You look mindless, completely vulnerable and small against the hulking figure fucking you from behind. And for a moment he looks back at you.

For just a second you catch a glimpse of green shining from behind the talisman placed over his left eye. A flash of color and suddenly its gone, but a shadow of a smile crosses his features, despite the old paper covering his mouth. Then a hum resonates into your flesh, vibrations coming from deep within his body until they reach your core.

Somehow they enhance your pleasure, having you shaking, eyes rolling back as you moan from the combination of sensations. The hand squeezing your breast, the fingers teasing your nipple and that monstrous cock impaling your soft insides. The pain from his size now being overtaken by the pleasure, your body betraying your mind as it lets the invasion of this stranger win.

There isn’t much to be done at this point as he rocks you up and down on his lap, your brain focusing on nothing but the feeling of him inside you. The feeling of his cock forcing your walls apart with every violent thrust. The way your whole pussy throbs in time with the movements of his fingers on your clit.

Your core is spasming against him, your breaths growing shorter and shorter. You’re sweating, his skin feels hot where it touches yours, and it's like he is warming the entire room. Your whole body is lighting up, every nerve on fire, every muscle coiling, drawing so tight they could snap. The world around you dissolves, the fog on your mind growing thicker until there are only the rhythmic thrusts of his cock and the warmth of his body around yours.

It’s too much, too much. You babble something unintelligible, you can feel your mind slipping from you. When you try to cry out, the words choke on your throat, your breath draws short, the muscles in your chest coiling so tight, crushing your lungs. You are choking, drawing in this mix of pleasure and pain, fear and excitement. It’s too much, too strong, too good and then you snap. That pained cry finally slips from your lips until there is bliss.

To you, your orgasm feels like it lasted an eternity. Your senses dulled to the world, engulfing you in a timeless void where there is only the feeling of pleasure coursing through your body. Then your senses start returning, first picking up static before letting the world back in.

The first thing you notice is that he isn’t done, his thrusts going faster and harder. Something you wouldn’t think humanly possible. But this thing wasn’t human after all, was he? You are too fucked out and tired for this question.

All you know is the feeling of him - whatever he is - ramming into you again and again. And the way your oversensitive pussy tells you this speed must be a sign he is nearing his end. What with how his cock is throbbing violently within you, pulsating more and more intensely with every push.

The hand under your shirt pulls you snug against his body, fingers trying to burrow into the flesh of your tit. The one that was on your clit is on your hip, helping to move you up and down with so much ease that it makes you seem weightless. You curl your hands around his large arms to hold on, feeling thick muscle tense under his clothes. If he notices the gesture, he doesn’t show, keeping up the speed as you fight to stabilize yourself.

His thrusts are so intense, so fast and it feels like he is going to tear you apart. You’ve already gone past your brink but he still hasn’t reached his, and it’s way too much for your abused pussy, way too much for your still fuzzy mind. Before you notice it, tears are rolling down your eyes from the exhaustion of all these overwhelming sensations.

You feel the stubble tickling the skin of your face again, and looking at the mirror you see him move his head against yours. He pushes his face into your own, rubbing his nose over where your tears rolled. Another melodic hum resounds from deep within him. It feels somehow soothing - but he still speeds up his thrusts even more.

A whimper escapes your mouth as he fucks himself into you, fast and deep. He pulls your body impossibly closer, not letting you move a single inch away. Within you, his hard length twitches and throbs with fervor. He is going faster and harder and deeper, until suddenly he pulls you down forcefully.

His arms hold you in place, his cock buried as deep as it can go, and then you feel it, thick hot cum pouring inside your sensitive pussy. It coats your insides, filling you to the brim, warming up your body in a way that’s not natural. You feel it drip down your thigh, and when you look at your core, you see nothing, it’s strange. But your eyes finally find the mirror and there it is, clear as day, his cum spilling from your pussy to your legs, his cock still buried inside you.

Your tired gaze lingers there for a long moment, before taking in the whole picture. The arms wrapped around your body. The tendrils still holding onto your legs. The hulking figure behind you. You look exhausted, but he looks somewhat tired too, if the heavy rise and fall of his torso tells you anything, since the talismans on his face hide any expression.

But still, you notice he doesn’t let go of you. And strange as it is, you find an odd comfort in that. Part of you says you shouldn’t, but another part doesn’t care. As if sensing your gaze, he looks up from your neck to the mirror, and despite the talismans covering his eyes, you can tell he is looking directly at you.

That’s when you feel a pull, calling your hand to his face, and a thought crosses your mind. What if you removed one of those things?

azulock halloween 2024 - reblogs and replies keep authors alive! banner art from: human sacrifice!! bitch-chan by rorogi mogera

[tragedybunny]

Caught Out

༺Summary༻

Astarion and Serafina get caught out in a storm and come up with a plan to get warm again.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Non-explicit sex, a hint of suicidal ideation, otherwise just mostly fluff

༺Word Count༻ 2554

༺A/N༻

This a gift for my dear friend @icybluepenguin as part of our server exchange. Sorry I had to keep secrets for so long on this. 😅 I hope you love it.

Thank to @leomonae for betaing and assuring me it worked, and for the great addition at the end.

Read on AO3

Darkness was coming earlier with each day; while on the one hand that meant more time Astarion was able to travel freely, it also meant that the nights were becoming colder and the weather less pleasant. Serafina had watched the sun sink down past the horizon through a gathering tide of dark clouds that held the promise of a storm.

She and Astarion had left Baldur’s Gate some weeks back; their first lead on a way for Astarion to walk in the sun had proved fruitless, and now they were on their way to Waterdeep to consult with Gale on some research he had done.

Though at the moment, Sera wished they could just take shelter for the night. Astarion would likely want to press on: not only was he eager to find a way back into the light, he was eager to explore the world he’d been kept from for two hundred years. His impatience in that regard was understandable and forgivable, and so she would relent to continuing on, hoping the rain wouldn’t catch them.

As if sensing her thoughts - and she wasn’t sure that was out of the realm of possibility, with his new talents that had emerged once the tadpole was gone and he started being fed properly - Astarion emerged from their tent, immaculately dressed and perfectly coiffed. He flashed her a brilliant smile, fangs on full display; reveling in himself, with nothing to hide from her any longer.

“Good evening, my love.” He came over to wrap his arms around her and face the direction she was keeping watch, as she smothered the last of the cookfire. A sudden wind shook the leaves of the surrounding trees, drawing her gaze back to gathering clouds she had been observing earlier.

“Maybe not so good judging by those clouds.” Leaning her head back, Sera’s lips softly brushed the edge of his jaw, innocent and sensual at once. “Perhaps we should just stay at camp tonight?”

“Don’t tell me the hero of Baldur’s Gate is scared of a little rain!” Astarion’s teasing was followed by a playful nip to the point of her ear.

Swallowing down her growing misgivings about continuing their journey with the threatening skies, she turned in his arms and playfully tugged at one of his curls. “Oh, I'm not, but we'll see how you feel as soon as these get wet.”

“Cheeky.” Cool lips brushed over hers. “Let’s just see who surrenders to a little inconvenience first.”

With the camp packed, the two of them set out for the night along the road north to Waterdeep, emerging from the edge of the trees that marked the boundary of the Misty Forest. Astarion had been hesitant to fully enter the woods initially, knowing that the elves within saw it as their sovereign kingdom and might not feel kindly towards a half-blood and a vampire intruding. Sera had agreed with that assessment; what she hadn’t agreed with was not taking a room at the well-known traveler’s refuge, the Way Inn.

But Astarion had argued it was too crowded; too many would-be heroes. In the end, she couldn’t blame him for being cautious about being discovered; not after they’d accidentally discovered another vampiric ability of his near the start of their journey when he’d walked right up a wall in front of the inn’s patrons they were trying to defend. Luckily they had been playing heroes that night, and so the owners of the inn had been willing to overlook the obvious vampire who’d spent the following day hidden away in one of their rooms.

A distant peal of thunder broke the silence of the night; Sera glanced back towards where the stars were disappearing into a looming blackness. “If this storm catches up to us, we are staying in a real building tonight – one with a proper bath.”

It had been weeks on the road, bathing in rivers and ponds a good portion of the time; with the temperatures falling, a hot bath was most definitely in order. Maybe she should apologize to Astarion for teasing him when he’d previously complained about his creature comforts, Sera thought.

“Of course we can’t have a delicate lady such as yourself exposed to such elements,” Astarion said, then laughed merrily, darting just out of reach of her attempted playful smack to his shoulder.

“Impero te.” A clap of thunder came, right beside Astarion; he froze in his impish dance, looking worriedly up towards the clouds despite having heard her vocalize the spell. A simple Prestidigitation cantrip; now it was Sera’s turn to laugh. “I thought you were unworried about the elements.”

“That was cheating, madam,” Astarion groused.

The banter and chatting continued as they walked, before finally they fell into a companionable silence. While Sera certainly didn’t mind Astarion’s usual more talkative moods, his jokes and gossip about their friends gleaned from letters, the silence was lovely. The silence meant he was comfortable: not feeling driven to be entertaining and witty, every second of his existence, in order to earn his place. Not feeling like he had to earn his place with her.

Slowly, the light of the stars vanished, and then the moon as well, taking the ambient color of the world with them, until she and Astarion were left to rely upon their inherent darkvision as they continued along.

Another boom of genuine thunder sounded, closer than the first; the wind answered it with a fierce gust.

“I believe your storm ha-” Astarion cut himself off at the first drops of rain pattering down, looking up at the sky. “- has found us.”

Sera shivered in her armor, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head and trying not to be cross with her love over his earlier stubbornness, but finding herself longing for the warm bath she could be enjoying right now instead of standing in the frigid rain. “Shall we pick up the pace? Bowshot shouldn’t be far.”

Lightning danced across the sky, briefly returning color to their surroundings. Astarion stared at the falling water with disdain, but seemed determined not to admit defeat by agreeing with her outright. “If that is what my beloved wishes, we’ll make haste to town.”

With a gallant bow, he set off at a brisk jog; a pace designed for her to keep up with. He was faster now too, these days; it wouldn’t sustain over long distances, but in a short trek, he was near-impossible to catch.

Not to be found wanting, Sera hurried to follow, slipping the strap of her staff over her shoulder to keep it out of the way.

The patter of rain soon became a downpour, the water soaking into the padded cloth of her armor and weighing her down. Astarion had slowed, his own leather armor sodden as well. The relentless wind made her blood feel like ice water in her veins. Shaking, she pulled her now useless cloak tighter around herself. 

Astarion further slowed his pace to let Sera catch up, then put an arm around her.

“I'm sorry, my love; I should have listened. You're freezing.” His voice sounded so genuinely pained that Sera couldn't help but let go of any lingering irritation.

“Let's just find some place to stop.” Gods above, how far could Bowshot be?

“Perhaps that will suffice?” Astarion pointed to what looked like a rather worn down building some distance off the road.

It would at least be dry. But… 

“There could be other things taking shelter there,” Sera mused, though the steady flood from the sky was making her care less and less about that with every passing moment.

“What's the worst there could be? Goblins? Kobolds?”

“You know, I think you secretly like eating kobolds,” Sera teased; Astarion scoffed at the remark. “But you're right, it has to be better than this.”

The two of them scurried from the road and down along the overgrown, muddy track that looked to have once served as a cart path.

The structure loomed before them, two stories of worn wood, grime-covered windows, and a door barely clinging to its hinges. It couldn’t be any worse than camping in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, though, Sera thought, hanging back to keep an eye on the road behind them while Astarion, as the more silent of the two of them, entered first to scout the place.

It wasn’t long before he reappeared, a pale face and faintly glowing red eyes looming out of the darkness; it would have been frightening, if Sera didn’t know it so well.

“It’s not a well-kept inn, but there are no kobolds.”

“That will do.” Sera followed up into the house as Astarion led the way, down an entry hall into a parlor with a large hearth and the broken remains of furniture scattered around. Various doors led to the rest of the house, and a stairway vanished up into darkness.

At least the roof above this area seemed to be holding fast against the continued torrent of rain, even as the storm banged and boomed in even fiercer fashion.

“Nothing for it but to sit it out, I suppose,” Sera said, after taking in their surroundings.

“We need to get you dry first,” Astarion said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. “You’re cold as death. And I should know.”

Astarion set to work without waiting for a reply, removing his armor and breaking apart a few of the chairs; in the meanwhile, Sera stripped off her cloak and padded armor before tugging off her boots as well, leaving both her and Astarion similarly garbed in loose shirts and breeches. From inside their Bag of Holding, she pulled out a couple of bedrolls and extra blankets - they might as well make themselves comfortable.

“Ignis,” Astarion spoke; a fire blazed to life in the hearth, adding at least some warmth to their bleak shelter.

When he turned back toward her, Sera had the bedrolls spread out on the floor and had already made herself comfortable; she patted the spot next to herself invitingly. The grin Astarion gave her in return was both mischievous and lascivious.

He wasted no time in settling next to her, pulling her into his arms. “Why, my sweet Serafina, this won’t do at all.  Your clothes are still far too damp; best to remove them.”

“How will I keep warm at all without them?” Sera looked up at him through her lashes, eyes wide in a pantomime of feigned naivety.

“I’m sure I can think of a way to get you warm.” Astarion’s hands gripped her shirt, beginning to tug on it as though to pull it over her head. Feeling a sudden flush, she yielded, growing passion starting to push away lingering trepidation about the storm. 

Brilliant lightning brightened the room, flashing just as thunder rattled the house’s rickety bones, followed by a strange thump from up the stairs.

They both froze.

“I thought you cleared the house?” Sera asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I did!” Astarion shot back, defensively, before recovering his composure. “Perhaps it’s a ghost. Do you need me to protect you from the other creatures of the night?”

His hands went back to attempting to remove her shirt.

“We fought a ghost and won,” Sera muttered as one of his icy hands suddenly palmed her breast, leaving her sighing and leaning into his touch. A metallic sort of whine came from upstairs; it had to just be the house having been shaken by the storm, the wind still battering it, but they seemed safe enough for the moment. Why not indulge in a bit of fun?

“Oh no, a ghost. Maybe we should hide under all these blankets.”

“Excellent idea, love. I can keep you nice and safe under there.” With a quick tug, Astarion pulled her shirt off and pushed her down to the bedroll. “Oh, but these breeches are…”

Astarion trailed off, clearly unable to decide whether to keep going with the ghost pretence or the “too wet” notion. “Well, either way, they just have to go.”

Soon Sera was left naked and shivering, eager for both the blankets and Astarion, even if his body temperature wouldn’t help with warming her up. But there were other ways he could help her with that, as he’d promised. 

“No fair, you’re still dressed. We should be equally vulnerable to the ghosts,” Sera teased, sliding her foot up his leg to run along the obvious bulge at his groin.

“Of course, I’ll make myself a similarly tempting target to lure the ghosts away from you.”

Astarion quickly dispensed with his own clothes until he was left bare, shining like marble in the soft glow of the fire; a truly ethereal beauty. Sometimes, Sera thought that if he accidentally killed her during one of his feedings, she’d be happy to die that way: in his arms, lost in passion, offering him the sustenance to sustain his life.

There was another thud somewhere in the house, quickly blotted out by yet more thunder as the storm’s fury began to build to a crescendo.

“Oh no, protect me, my brave love!”

Sera held her arms out, lost in the building warmth in her core, unable to muster any care for the fact that this particular thud seemed closer. Gathering the blankets, Astarion lowered himself down to her, lips pressed against hers, covering them both. The chill of the rain-soaked walk was instantly forgotten. He was right: he was very good at getting her warm - with teeth and tongue and hands and cock stiff with wanting her.

The blankets surrounding them trapped the heat of their coupling while the fire burned itself down. A sheen of sweat covered them, by the time Astarion collapsed into her arms, face nuzzling into her neck.

Sera hummed, running her fingers up and down the lean muscles of his body, less sharply defined now that he was no longer being starved. “Is it my turn to warm you up, love?”

“You're too good to me,” Astarion breathed, just before his fangs sank into her neck.

The storm slowed as he fed, leaving behind only the sound of a gentle patter of rain and the crackle of dying embers.

Safe, warm, loved - there was nothing more Sera could want. Except for the goal they sought: Astarion returned to the sun. And they were well on their way to that one.

Once Astarion finished feeding and had licked her wounds clean, Sera sat up. Waterdeep was still a long ways to go.

“The rain’s stopped. Our armor is still soaked, but we could get on the road without -”

Sera was cut off by Astarion wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close, kissing along her shoulder. “A little longer, Sera, love; no need to pay for my impatience twice in a night.”

Sera wavered, then gave in, her eyes closing as she sighed contentedly. As they shut, for a moment she almost thought she’d glimpsed a silvery figure from the corner of her vision.

A trick of the shadows and the ghost talk from earlier, surely, Sera thought, dismissing the imagined apparition as she leaned back against Astarion. Besides. She had a vampire.

Tag list: @writingmysanity @snowfolly @sunfire-ancunin @vixstarria

@just-a-refrigerator @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @tallymonster @azu21

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @spacebarbarianweird @cilil @bg3obsessedsideblog

@talented-bitch @claryvoyantfray

[boggy-frogariel]

This is a PSA to take care of yourselves because the reason it actually took me so long to finish watching Sophomore year is that I got injured and if I had just rested and drank water and not tried to stand up when the world was going spotty and black then I wouldn’t have a scar on my face and be traumatized looking at my kitchen floor :)

[sketchy-tour]

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE IT!!! Otherwise, have an ABSOLUTELY lovely Thursday and I hope its still a warm day of family and love for you!

I'm grabbing each and every one of you and squeezing you very tight! I know I can't physically hug you but I'm hugging your hearts!!! Have a lovely lovely day! I'm thankful for all of you, thankful for this silly blog, thankful we can be silly together!!!!

🌻Take care of yourselves!!!!!🌻