#Feeling gothically romantic tonight

[queenmuzz]

Rook Ingellvar keeping the embalmed heart of Emmrich with them after he passes, only finally consenting to it being interred it when they are buried beside him.

Or Lich Emmrich keeping Ingellvar's embalmed heart with him.

[small-jar]

My teeth ache for you. Let me turn you, please. We can be together forever

[the-jellyfish-graves]

Castle

How does one become as haunted as this – so empty, abandoned, and lost to time? If bones speak, yours scream, shrieking tirelessly in the night to wake me from my sleep. Your emptiness hums apologetically for its need to exist and be heard. It draws storms to your spires in deep grays so that the light scarcely grazes your surfaces. If the light seeps in, you fear your beauty turns to rot, and it might. The drafts blow through your soul – broken stained-glass windows – causing flickering candles and howling halls, but you are devoid from all life except me.

[mins-fins]

i CAN feel .. 𝒏a jaemin

👑 ,  ❝ i want to fill my mouth with your name. i want to eat you whole . ❞ ─ pablo neruda

⠀૪    જ the prince of regnum morsu has always been the slightest bit peculiar, looking to devour, appearing to yearn for the very taste of ..

pairing, na jaemin x male!reader.

genre, alternate universe, medieval & mid–1800s combination, romance, ..fluff(?), inspired by many gothic tales, (attempted) horror, strange cryptid jaemin, royal au, arranged marriages.

warnings, violence, murder, cannibalism, romanticizing cannibalism 😕, blood & gore, implied sexual content, initial corpse details, somewhat unhealthy relationships, reader is pretty pathetic, jaemin is a strange creature (which is not specified).

word count, 7.3k.

notes, first real post of 2025 lets go!! cant get over my final work of 2024 being jaemin & my first one being jaemin again.. i love this strange mf 🫶 please do head all of the warnings given because this thing sort of goes into a few grisly details!! i obviously do not condone cannibalism i just enjoy love being expressed through wanting to consume your partner bone by bone <33 its romantic 💖 as always, user junjiie, my forever technical beta reader, i love you 🫶🫶 always so receptive to my ideas even when its THIS monstrosity 😭😭 it really killed me to write idk 🤷‍♂️ i just enjoy writing strange creature jaemin and i love daphne du maurier btw 😊.

YOU COULD BEST DESCRIBE REGNUM MORSU AS DEAD.

death awaits all souls, and maybe the landscape of the kingdom is somewhat akin to sand slowly allowing for you to sink, taking everything which equates you to a human being. tragedy permeates the earth, even the nocturnal creatures fear the weight of the land under their feet, less of crunching dirt and more of crunching bones after each step.

the liveliness of the subjects are all which save the incarnation of ruination which is this kingdom. without the tunes, the gatherings in the square, the dancing, the sheer joy of containment concerning human relations, this kingdom would be the haunting walk it so much exudes.

despite its own state, there’s beauty in the picture of death.

yet tonight can be excused, it is a much different story.

“a body has been discovered just before the palace”.

you would often assume your nightmares could not escape your mind, if you do not dwell, how could they escape its corners? well it seems you’ve mistaken the extent of this kingdom, though death is as mundane as the rising of the sun, the astonishment remains festered in the air.

the council falters for a singular moment, in spite of the clear feat of normalcy, there’s a rise to the worry. the gleam of concern causes for the widening of eyes, frantic pupils glancing back and forth as the situation attempts to be assessed.

one soul remains dormant though.

you find yourself releasing a wince at the alarming details. he was one of the knights stationed outside, the bones of his skull protruded out from where his head had been completely lacerated. there laid bite marks sunken into his skin, animals bites potentially? but what kind of animal snaps a bone in a singular bite? 

“what kind of creature..?”

“that is what we are all thinking” it is clear that nobody can help their own fear, you cannot place blame on them for that. “were trying to see if we can.. capture it”.

you stifle a scoff at such a suggestion, the trembling of their undertones alone sells that the feat at which they appear to think they can capture this thing is faulty at best, it needs reparation, there’s none of courage in each of their singular glances.

you suppose you have to hand it to them for the attempt.

“what do you think it might have been? some undiscovered wolf?”

“it’s not the time for comedy, your majesty”.

with the quirk of an eyebrow, na jaemin relays his pure amusement, no such need for words. you envy his seemingly born courage, not even the flinch of a facial muscle, it is as if the gruesome nature of the execution is just another tick on a yet rising pile.

you manage to shake out of your thoughts, assuming his degree of empathy is ridiculous, he could just cope with passing in a differing manner. your gaze falls to the ring caged around your finger, the spontaneous paleness of it causing a drop in your stomach, you didn’t realize the tightness of it.

when you cease your staring, jaemin’s eyes burn into the side of your head, a small smile tugging at his lips, chatter fading into the background as it seeps into ear bleeding noise.

but you cannot wince, focus lasered in on the pierced eyes of your fiancé. you do not fear him, yet it appears as if he has earned a ticket to your very own mind, each distinct wavelength of thought sprawling outward, not perfectly hidden in the corners you folded them into.

his lips remain upturned, an indescribable gleam shadowed by his voided pupils. “are you alright, your highness?”

they’re speaking much too high, you’re afraid of your ears popping, jaemin opts to turn in his seat, speaking no words to you. “just a little disturbed”.

the words are scarily lessened, yet you surmise those surrounding you still capture the fear of your undertone.

you cross your arms in feigned defiance, as though the air would sink its own barred fangs into you, ripping seams from your neck with the simultaneous blood pour following the crushing of your bones.

a painstaking demise, you ponder on when the fear would take form. might it possibly begin in the same manner as the ripping of your muscle, or perhaps the trepidation would descend as the life drained from your soul, skin paling, eyes rolling back, bones snapping in tandem.

you have much time to consider such a thing, you’re aware the wedding will be delayed.

you do not mind that.

“it hasn’t become a pattern yet, guards will remain stationed outside”.

a whisp of the air, hot breath behind your ear you have bright knowledge does not exist. you shiver, aware someone must have caught that.

that lonely night, you dream of death in the form of a beast. tearing at the cursed remains of your soul with the pure white gleam of its fangs, crushing the bones of your body with pure animosity. you would have no time to escape, all life coming to a nought.

you assumed the death which would grasp at the strings of your viability may appear beautifully, a face of clear artistry. perhaps you would pass in your sleep, eyes peacefully fluttered shut as life slipped away. yet you now have the mind to comprehend a newly settled fear, this creature, a monstrous varmint attempting to gnaw through the protective barrier of your skin.

your existence may now depend on the ability of this thing to stalk around the palace, the palace of a kingdom defined by its deadly curse. you offhandedly realize the danger of your arrangement, yet what can you do besides allow for it to unfold?

after allowing for several hours to pass, your eyes unwillingly flit upward, darkness shrouding visibility, ticking clock akin to the countdown of terror, an imaginary behemoth scales the walls, golden pupils staring intensively into your soul, serrated edges of teeth pulling at the confines of your heart in spite of the clear deterrence you attempt to make face with.

you fear sleep, so you do not sleep.

THERE APPEARS TO BE SOMETHING TERRIBLY WRONG WITH THE CROWN PRINCE OF REGNUM MORSU.

you have always linked the worst of your nightly thoughts to your insane extent of observance, the act of you picking up on singular traits, quirks, peculiarities that no one person would utter to another human being without a feat of embarrassment.

prior to the engagement, you had always perceived na jaemin as just a little odd. children often perceive the unknown as strange, yet na jaemin carries the eccentricities in adulthood, split smiles, voided out irises, unmoving molars which appear jagged once you allow a squint, curls of hair strands unrealistically unalloyed in a hue of white.

the titular moment you laid your eyes upon na jaemin, childish naivety surrounding your circle, you feared him. feared the conundrum of him, feared the clear darkness of his eyes which contrasted the bright shade of his hair, white you could not make sense of.

and the engagement brought out oddities you could not comprehend prior, something of a mystifying element added onto his presence. yet over the years, the formerly habitual fear has become something much more..

you assume the strange likeness is one of his most prominent qualities, though his parents often irk you, they are not as anomalous as the man they brought into the world. occasionally, you assume he may not even be of human nature.

you have known him for long enough that it all simply contains its own fit of normalcy.

of course, the thoughts shall remain entrapped in your mind.

just up until two more guards appear slain before the gates, face paled, the structures of their skeletons protuberant, skin— oh lord, you feel yourself growing disgusted.

after a consistent nightmarish battle with your inner conscious, you spare yourself the definite details, instead yearning for some degree of isolation.

the marriage shall be pushed back, knights will no longer be stationed outside, the subjects are now granted a curfew in order to ensure their own safety, the king can’t risk any more accidents before the ending of his term.

you spend days scouring the library’s romance novels, fearing that if you blink severely enough the entity would flash before your vision. you do not make time to listen during important discussions, having to catch yourself once the titular spot on the walls begin to blur your sight, not even the callings of your name enough to snap your conscious into working order.

you so desperately yearn for the solace of your home kingdom, agitation grasping at your soul, now seemingly guiding your movements. you long for the peak of sunshine, there appears to be nothing of light in this place, the air devoid of soul, life, animation. you ache for your parents, in spite of their consistent arguments, they provided you with some necessary protection.

but you are no longer a child, a simple monster should not be enough to petrify you.

in order to not sink into your fit of terror, you occupy your time with reading and painting, an illustration of the creature which plagues your nightly thoughts.

you are able to scribble through eight of those before you feel the settlement of horror.

“y/n, i feel you are taking this strangely”.

for all his own abnormalities, na jaemin’s parents appear to be as mundane in the daylight. you stare down your creations, feeling the carving of your own sockets, lethargy seizing you by the throat.

“i’m simply.. curious”.

you suppose the mechanism of your subsistence is clearly inquiring, and by the flickers of their eyes, the debate of if they should have engaged you to their son is clear.

well, their son is enough of an atypical figure, they have no place to judge.

“those look.. beautiful”.

in contrast, na jaemin appears enamored at the sight of your art pieces, splattered red paint coinciding with the widening of his eyes, the blank shade jumping out to your own, you cannot even make out a gleam, it is the slightest bit disturbing.

yet there remains a degree of devotion, a deep sense of partiality, it appears he intends to remain transfixed by your artwork, nothing of a falter in each singular movement.

you are thoroughly perturbed.

“all of them are hand painted?”

“with my very own ones” you whisper, beaming off that of the lamp, his pupils widen in manual astonishment. the engrossment outweighs any chance of reason, it appears he will not emphasize on external stimulus. a stark warmth encapsulates you, the shy appreciation does wonders to your very heart, something of a miracle. “do you.. uh— enjoy them?”

he steps closer, the curvatures of his fingertips tracing the esteemed canvas, corners seeming to stab, yet falters whisking out into the air. “you are dementedly adroit”.

“well i was just painting based on my night terrors” he spares a glance, and the speck of affection settles a fit of disquietude, for an unsure moment, you fear the presence of a man who you are bonded to by none other than a slab of golden jewelry, a man who, in a odd manner, you also cannot help but desire in the same breath. “can’t even muse on where my mind went when i crafted these..”

and spontaneously, he occurs closer, frightening you enough it manifests in a physical reaction, a wince caught in your teeth. it did not even arise that his footsteps are startlingly silent, it is as if he simply surfaced besides your own, materializing out of the air’s own particles. how does one perform such a thing?

his lips pursue, the cracking of his bones emitting a daunting sense in your very own blood, heart yearning to burst out of your skin. he unnaturally bevels his head sideways, boring through the valor you attempted to fasten in place. “there appears to be something wrong, are you bothered y/n?”

suddenly, there descends a chill across your being. lord, should this room not be hot? should his occupancy not be the catalyst of calefaction? why are you chilling?

“no, i’m simply weary”.

you do not mean to display full dishonesty, yet you cannot help it.

and then, you have your stomach twist when his guise transforms into that of concern, a latterly aspect of his face which you haven’t seen. guilt grabs at your heart, you are unsure how.

“make sure you sleep, alright?”

regard, perhaps you may blush.

“thank you for the notice, i will”.

oh, well you suppose the oddities stray far once proximity nears. you happen to enjoy observing the crescents of his features, because you can state the prospect of beauty, na jaemin conveys beauty, you could sketch that of his own concaves, already picturing a perfect painting.

yet a degree of alarm remains.

THE FOLLOWING NIGHTS, SEVERAL OTHER BONES CRUSH UNDER THE FORCE OF TEETH.

you physically regurgitate, fearing the inevitable sickness which typically seizes you in tandem with consternation. existential dread may be your downfall, the expanse of your mind, and contingent upon your very scrutiny, will completely overtake any of your credible sense, tears welling up in your eyes, all safety naught.

the palace encapsulates impending doom, your sight appears to be pulling strings of its own. you envision bite marks, engravings cursed into your skin, the fracture of your skeletal structure now plaguing your days, no longer secluded in the form of your nightmares.

the pattern of a bodily pile continues, yet you strive to venture down a contrasting path, possibly able to distract yourself by burying your nose in absorbent literature.

the palace swallows you whole, the terror rendering you unable to escape its clutches, however, you are encased by your own unrest.

the night you find the metaphorical monster behind your back a minimal issue, you find the act of treading the extensive hallways to perturb you much more.

you take a small breath as your footsteps shuffle towards the door of a titular room. your defense is meant to be the brick wall cascaded by the supposed hardness of your eyes, but you believe it might not be doing much.

na jaemin settles where you supposed he would settle, atop his bedsheets with a book in hand. your eyes nowhere, his current read being that of ‘madame bovary’, a piece of literature you could only squint at when passing through the library. you surmise from the quirk of his brow that he takes a liking to the novel. “y/n? evening”.

you muse that he appears much too tranquil.

“hello, i..”

you swallow your upcoming words, weakness stabbing at the skin of your stomach. “my apologies, could you accompany me to the cookroom?”

he blinks, eyes devoid of particular passion, yet vibrant with a capital of affection. you really do find his individual qualities strange, down to the movement of his pupils. his eyebrows then jump in a silent display of amusement, fingertips tracing the curves of his storybook. “is something astray?”

you practically tremble at how visible you are. “i’m a little frightened”.

then he spontaneously splits into a smile, allowing for the novel to remain dormant on his sheets. “that is no issue, y/n”.

in clockwork, he emerges beside you, offering his arm for you to cling to. “don’t worry honey, i’ll keep you safe”.

the use of an endearing name could be concern for perturbation, yet you instead feel an encapsulation of warmth. although na jaemin is typically numbing, there’s an air of mellowness which captures you as your arms come to intertwine, the hold providing solace you seek in moments such as this.

“what exactly do you fear?”

the inquiry results in the freezing of your facial muscles, perhaps intrigue is integral in moments such as this, or perhaps this is a trick, it is conceivable to say that he draws amusement from your fright. “well.. the unknown, i suppose”.

there appears to be a gleam across his pupils, absorption you would be an imbecile if unable to pinpoint. “ah, but it is not that bad”.

“how are you so sure?”

“i’m simply gauging the prospect” he whispers, mouth splitting into a smile, the display of his straight white molars alerting you to the uncanny ferocity of the spaces. “there is no need to fret, y/n, i’m here”.

“for protection?”

the sight of the cookroom alerts your eyes, yet you can only gaze upon the man who you surmise is the definition of valiance, you spite your very own mind. “of course”.

you blink, vulnerability overtaking your presence as he slips from your grasp. it appears the protection heightens once he remains close, you do not want for him to leave just yet. “could you.. uh— well, i would enjoy it if you remained by my side for the time being”.

amusement colors his features, humming gleefully. the stretch of his smile pleases you, his smile really is a touching sight, you could sketch out its pattern from memory. “that will not be a trouble”.

the soft sigh which escapes you completely displays your serenity.

THOUGH HE APPEARS TO BE THE PINNACLE OF BEAUTY, you have yourself a fear of the.. humanity regarding the man you are set to marry once the dust settles on these morbid “animal” attacks. when the thought initially crossed the threshold of your mind, you surmised that the demented man some whispered you to be was finally making himself known.

it really does appear ridiculous, na jaemin, for all the abnormal actions of himself, is human. a fairly odd human with fairly oddly sharpened molars, voided out eyes, and the untypical appearance of his limbs, but a human nonetheless.

at least.. you yearn.

there appears to no longer contain order, regnum morsu seizes you by the throat, a knife against your heart and air swallowing you whole.

you suppose one day you might waste away in this kingdom, death coming to fasten your end, there appears to not exist an endless struggle, the tug will not end up in failure, and perhaps you’re a weakling, a pathetic excuse for a man whose right mind has been hindered from the flurry of stories you have been fed in the passing weeks.

it is completely feasible, you are going to perish here, despair scrawled across the stone which will house your corpse.

and na jaemin, he happens to strike the balance of elevated paranoia in tandem with simply.. adherence. you crave a degree of intimacy which appears to have manifested itself out from thoughts you had mislead yourself into believing did not exist, it is not as if the marriage disappointed you, the prospect was aptly plain, a paradox which did not trouble you enough for such thoughts to arise,

you desire the brushing of his curvatures against yours, the astounding delicacy of his fingertips as they make contact with your skin. grown nails cultivating individual marks on the vain, restrained complexion of his simply striking epidermis, teeth barred in the manner of an animal as you unabashedly ground them into the side of his neck, masticating each piece in a singular bite, the bitter lingering of copper remaining on your tongue.

but no sane individual divulges such feelings, you envisage the horror that shall paint the features of your parents, and you’re aware of the petulance of jaemin’s own, they would chop off your head.. astoundingly, that would be a terrific case for you.

you really do despise how far your mind strays, intrusively worming into your conscience, staining every plain thought you could ever have.

na jaemin makes it no better.

and it occurs to you that he is completely aware of that fact, your clear lack of contentment aside, there’s a sense of delight he derives from your plight, lips splitting upward in that terror inducing grin he possesses.

“do you still have night terrors?”

he inquires it to you the following week, accounts of attacks have lessened, yet you remain entrapped by surrounding dread. your nails sink into the conjunction of your shoulder blade, but you neglect to mention such an aspect. “yes but.. i can take care of it myself”.

“aw, don’t you desire my company?” he begins breaching through your safety guard, a specific chord striking in tandem with his candidly alluring smile. “i heard lying along with someone helps do away with them”.

heat coils over your previously unadorned skin, a shade of red evocative of the blood which warms even in the wintry tenor this room holds. you remain frozen, he somehow manages closer. “ah, really? and who states that?”

“that will have to remain a secret”.

you intertwine your fingers before even concluding your contemplation process, basking in the mellow delicacy brought by the contact. your eyes flutter closed, as if completely against your own being, but you do not fret.

you do not exactly recall agreeing with his term, but you suppose your memory does often deviate occasionally, that does not happen to grasp your attention.

what does grasp your attention is the sheer mellowness emanating from such an embrace, you once surmised na jaemin would be cold, you reckon he can be once focus is truly applied, but you have never begun to slip so easily. your breathing steadily plummets to a silent state, chest rising and falling in consistent motions, fatigue rendering your limbs weak.

you question what otherworldly abilities he must hold, head tipping over as your conscious slips. his hand remains on your back, jaemin hums, you cannot see him, yet you envision a beam marking his features. “see, what did i tell you?”

a thumb swipes across the skin of your cheek, a touch so pliable you could fall asleep from just it alone. “..soft” you mutter, lips pressed on the blade of his own shoulder. “i’m exhausted”.

the brush of lips on your forehead just barely breezes by, but by such a point, you’re about halfway gone. “sleep fine, i’ll wake you up tomorrow”.

and you cannot halt such movements, you slip almost insistently.

MEETINGS TACK THE FIGURATIVE SCHEDULE YOU MUSE PROBABLY BURNS INTO your brain, though you typically assumed as a child marriage would be much simpler, you retained little of the knowledge needed for such extensive features riddled in the complexities which scorch the arranged union. your mind is misplaced over the course of a few slipping weeks, and if you had little known knowledge of your surroundings, you would be oblivious to how jaemin breaches through your soul with his stare.

his suddenly spiked intrigue in you is displayed by the several thousand gazes you truly wish you could avoid. he has the prettiest of irises, the softest hands though his palms run frigid, a few sharpened molars yet a strikingly enticing smile.

of course you had been riveted first, a flooding, intense fascination marked once you two were children, you suppose you aren’t exactly superior to him in that regard,

but it begins striking that chord again, a pit burying itself further in the crux of your gut, it takes its own childish turn, your skin tone burning bright red as if it is some playground coquetry, he simply holds so much skill, lording all of it above you in a fashion he is aware you could never avoid.

though that cannot shadow over the impending dismay he can always seize one with.

“you’ve been captured by a bundle of nerves haven’t you?”

your constant grazing of your fingertips against the very ring binding you two is enough indication, you wish to envy such observance but you had been much too keen on displaying such anxiety.

he appears knowing of it all.

his riposting grin earns a physical recoil.

yet there’s a shadow of beauty your gaze is sure he possesses, snow white hair and all.

“this is a bit imbecilic”.

“won’t you brighten?”

the corresponding locutions sprout a small smile, regardless of several other feelings present in the air, he somehow boasts the ability to blossom a beam.

“see? you have a beautiful smile”.

and you attempt to grasp at words which have suddenly whisked away, skin possibly an atypical shade of red.

there is an irretrievable skill, you admit.

“won’t you let me help you?”

you blink, baffled, poking a short nail into the visible skin of your chest. “with— with my shirt? i can do it mysel..”

“what kind of fiancé would i be?” and when he advances you remain in your spot, your core organ threatens to beat out of the confines created by your bones. when he takes ahold of your very hands you gaze, in an almost obtrusive manner, his are astoundingly beautiful, the ends of his fingers curve perfectly into your own, despite a clear unconventionality concerning the civil partnership of you two, he simply.. fits. “you deserve to be spoiled”.

“well not.. spoiled, odd word”.

“not even by me? i have no qualms with it”.

“i..” then his hands cross the figurative barriers you had yourself fasten upward in regards to strangers, it all crumbles speedily, the brick wall fragmented by his plainly frozen hands, prompt points of his fingertips coming to aid you in pinning the buttons of your shirt together. “it’s a little convoluted”.

whispering appears to be his forte, his reply arrives swiftly; “i’m good at decoding people”.

you have diminutive assertions against that one.

the silence is an irreparable exertion you somehow fear though the expectancy rules over the now chilling air.

you peek with the upward flit of your eyes, an encapsulating fear tugging onto the seams of your conscience. jaemin’s gaze retains hunger, faultlessly dimmed over by affinity mysteriously wrought.

a flinch, his thumb dances over your knuckles and the brisk touch withdraws a wince. “ah, you have a problem, do you always bite them?”

you timorously heave yourself away from such a convenience, leer averting as you attempt to disconcentrate. jaemin chuckles, it has a peculiar, harmonious ring, a sweet rhythm you loathe enjoying as much as you do. “i’m simply.. uh—“

well you’re a bit pathetic aren’t you? so entrenched in the confines of your very mind that the prospect concerning a simple tête-à-tête had you just about yearning to perish at his presumptuous peering. “i get overwhelmed easily, it has a better effect than scratching”.

you misread his upcoming expression, the reticent nature of his eyebrow raise unsettling you. “could you not?”

you are slightly baffled. “what?”

“it’s destructive”.

nail biting is a years aged tendency sparked in your juvenescence, simply ridding of it has proven arduous. he appears to miscalculate you in the same breath his confidence overtakes him,

but you cannot say that.

his grip tightens yet you cease the painful sound crawling up your throat, hands threatening to burn a shade of red. “okay”.

he seemingly senses the urging perturbation, movements faltering as he relaxes his tensed limbs. “sorry, i care for you, you know?”

you remain quiet, he hums.

“i won’t ever do anything to harm you” oh his tone is so docile, pupils shaded over with intimacy. “trust me”.

you swallowed down your extent of fear, despite it all, there was a certain degree of benevolence you cherished.

WHEN NA JAEMIN DOES KISS YOU, FOR THE initial moment you’re stagnant, motionless, astonished yet not all averse to such actions. darkness shrouds over the horizon as brisk months reign in, candles blazing in tandem across the halls, effortlessly brightening the atmosphere despite a clear weariness. your limbs had acted upon practice and a step back was taken, expression remaining stalled.

“sorry” his laughter always produces a harmonious rhythm, a sound so pleasurable you constantly wonder the circumstances of such actions. “did you not..?”

“no, no! i—“ well you could merely blink, a stark glance retaining all of the apprehension you could communicate, though silent. “i was put aback, that is all”.

a sullied frown tugs at his lips, his appearance remorseful even in the face of your clear craving, soulful desire you could barely contain in the crevices of your pupils and the continuous exhibition which concerned your very inclination. “is kissing restricted?”

“i..” he is indeed adept at rendering you aghast, tongue tied as your stare lingers. “no, i was unaware our relationship extended far enough”.

the visible light bouncing off his eyes falters a bit, as if planned by those pulling the strings of the universe, an indurate pool of dullness coating it all. he then chuckles, the hysterics a chorus in itself, you are unsure of what to expect from him, courtesy to several peculiarities.

“we have to practice for the wedding”.

a short snicker itself escapes you, amusement as clear as the bright red displaying itself across your cheeks. “you’re charming”.

“ah, really?”

“strange.. but charming”.

he may as well eat you whole, a shadowing creature which reminds you of the word devoro; consume, devour, taken from the roots of devorare; devoravi, devoratus. teeth all illicit, conniving in that evil manner you cannot comprehend, tearing first at your flesh, then muscle, then bone, licking it all clean simply, gore painting the seams of his lips.

yet you are irresolute to just how freakish you would find the sight, in the worst of shades he could possibly behold the world’s beauty.

such a shameless notion is pathetic.

and perhaps you are too, a stout man built off concerning queries.

“how about we just anchor in on the charming point?”

you chuckle again, delight somehow trailing behind you once in his presence, perverse eccentricities and all.

“well it’s..” the mismatched terms lodge themselves in your throat as he purely approaches you, once more, inaudibly, lashes fluttering in their typical fashion. his fingers trail across the fabrics of your shirt, it acting as a barricade towards his veracious desires. you waver, fumbling through terms which should be compatible. “is seduction formidable?”

“what were you speaking of before?”

“i— jaemin..”

“hm?”

a sharp clutch at your collar, his lips hook upward into a grin which entices you greatly, ready serenity faltering.

your sanity shatters in definite fragments.

he latches onto it, some solemn creature, dimmed gaze boring through the enclosure you once prided upon the existence of, yet you are simply so..

frail.

you may well have madness scrawled over your features, permeating the insolent corners of your very mind.

so he does advance again, and you do not stagger astern, in the moment, you solely submerge yourself into the juncture.

kissing is.. odd, on his part anyway. it is as if his proclivity does entail the prospect of drinking your lungs, unhinging his jaw from its point of origin to swallow you whole, scant bones behind in your wake.

the honesty which persists colors your cheeks a baby pink, his drive is uncoordinated, mismatched yet boyishly endearing. its endlessly puerile, a complete disparity to what you might have assumed in specific late night dreams.

he nips at the breaching barrier of your top lip, teeth all perfect as he groans into the seams of your mouth. it’s all foolish, asinine in the fashion concerning a child, uninterrupted clashing with pulling and gnawing, like you supply a ready source for his hunger.

his teeth take a grinding motion in the sector of your neck, you sigh.

“still wedding practice?”

his tongue slides over his teeth, your breath hitches.

he breaches in and takes you apart with easy pulls, his nimble hands embed themselves into the crevices of your sides, barrages of red and purple blossoming in the stitching joints which align your hip bones, overly interfering with the digging of his nails.

it’s all a dizzying prospect, his fingertips figurative markers in the canvas which smudges your epidermis.

he is intensively torrid, blistering despite the frigid stabbing the ends of his digits offer.

the starry stricken actions remind you of scribbled literature, poetry echoing in reference to intimacy, boundless scriptures throughout history concerning love, amor, roaming hands clasping several individual emblems into your typically pallid dermis.

you can muse on several instances where you reflected over love making, isolation leads to those sprawling out perplexing ideations of how their fate may play. the curvatures painted into the ceiling jump out in your vision, figures reaching to entwine fingers despite their inevitable distance.

jaemin lifts a finger, the touch emitting some otherworldly pinch on your temple, cushioned up across your ecru comforter, his features appear all docile in spite of the intimate point shared, laid out bare before you. “your eyes keep brightening in that manner..”

“hm?”

“you are all disconnected, is ceiling architecture truly so riveting?”

you tut, habitually seeking out your unguis to pick at, yet na jaemin instead interlocks your hands, soundless in his scowling. “i’m unsure”.

somehow, he nears, your frames practically woven as the fragmented vaulting artwork resembles something of a dream, dormant pastel shades weaving into each other, an image you can equate to a quite familiar sight.

“do such paintings come with the palace?”

“do i possess all the world’s knowledge?”

you stare. “is that the start of a spurn?”

“is all you do inquire endlessly?”

you fall inaudible, interlaced hands falling atop the door of your heart. jaemin hums.

“your heart beats rapidly, you’re all skittish”.

such a circumstance is unfortunate, you could not illustrate a much fitting word.

MAN OFTEN ESCALATES STRIFE, IT IS OFTTIMES WHY you speculate violence transpires in the manner of an outdated experiment, rapidly evolving upward, surfacing until it all delves into inevitable failure, the gurgling of one’s own blood or the protruding fragments their bones offer. the landscape crunches under your scōns, figurative screams of souls suffocating in the mountains encapsulating nature’s parcels haunting your very ears.

yet you have not been in the face of death for a few yearning months, nightfall extends over the horizon and the numbing atmosphere seizes your nimble heart, rendering you a mere useless vessel.

what pleases your mind is the presence of flora, all slight graces and bated breaths heeds it. there is trivial discrimination on your part, floret all bear beauty; daffodils, irises, daisies, roses in spite of the rudimentary thorns and peonies all alike. they harbor no true judgment, the luminescent moon beams several petals containing grace, across the curves outlining your features which then correspond to the solace easily provided.

the most unsaid of thoughts do not bear a name in the crevices which begat your mind, yet you are aware the inclined hymns of nightly creatures bring out the worst notions any one mortal being could manifest, such an upheaval a stoic plight.

jagged, uncanny corollas about splinter the core of your middle finger when you are alerted by a sound. your eyes flit upward, encompassing ambience encapsulated within the twilight area, veiled in tenebrosity.

nothing, you have a mad mind, y/n.

chastisement does you no aid.

a twig snaps, the racket nearly shaking the encircled environment.

you shut your eyes, avoiding any semblance of antipathy is intelligent, your parents clobber in the like statement ad nauseam, lacking juvenile violence a marker for the clear upshot.

you shake your head, naught imperilment yet a stark disquietude.

you retain a minuscule feat of valor, all which compasses you equates to one fainthearted caitiff, one who could not withstand peril,

yet you take the two steps.

stalking around the overarching woodland bordering the garden is possibly an imbecile’s action. thorny vines form shards in the cross of your epidermis, weaving before your path as if shading you against the inevitable hazard.

but you haphazardly breach through the incorrigible protection offered by mother nature herself, all impetuous, unhandled negligently.

on the outset, you surmise the continuous snapping is of your soles pressed against the ground, a poignant snap resounding in every step.

you are terribly mistaken.

the former uptake of clouds has now dispersed, though you are completely overtaken by whelmed dread.

there stands a.. creature, wolf-like features all nowt, a nauseating crack echoes throughout the environ, magnetic pulsars reverberating off the walls. its jaw extends, splintering, inhumane, hanging onto the point at which it begins. enlarged claws drawn from the seams of its fingertips, it towers over the surface its feet begin at.

you, insoluble in all sane mind, are starstruck.

throughout the several pages of scorned literature which permeate your mind, you have never once envisioned the skeletal structure regarding such a behemoth, but this is no veridical varmint.

frankly, the sight is obscene, though such a statuette has not once beliked the eyes of one human being, yet you gaze upon it, alive, fragmentary..

the thing is much akin to leviathans, swines you had sworn to fiction in the safety of your shy story books, its protuberant skeletal frame distended from the very corium which relays the sliver of humanity a beast could retain.

then it descends upon its victim and.. oh lord how you do not purge up every single internal vapor at the grotesque sight. he is hapless, seraphic phenomena nowt as it takes one ceremonious bite, resounding in a abhorrent crunch to destroy formerly order bones in the seams of his chest cavity.

your breaths remain intact, a dutiful action which could possibly save you a couple years.

it is ruthless in its execution, the overgrown claws obtruding from inhumane limbs sinking into the core of the human senses; the heart. ribs snaps in tandem with trenchant talons euchring the man’s existing cutis, blood beginning a violent stream as his continuing beating heart seemingly withstands the barbarous strafe.

you are aware of how it may transpire, you are an imbecile! you ought to evade such a discerning affair and hasten.

yet you gaze on, enigmatic, the inscrutable urging to merely perceive such gnarled events, perhaps inciting your very demise, a death which you had narrowly circumvented with impromptu prosperity.

ichor almost poetically stains the lamented land you and all others associate the air of regnum morsu with, coloring it with vibrancy one would surmise could only be caused by celebrations of human life.

you suppose it is much forthright.

clear thought is steered clear once the hankering creature, abundantly immersed in feasting on the heart of one innocent man, pauses in their maneuvering, as if sensing your very presence, you muse on how far you would make it to ready safety, aptly falling into the arms of your parents in the manner of a skittish child, sobbing into the night.

yet you are once again frozen in your locus, the purging pool in your stomach relinquishing.

its..

“jaemin?”

indeed, it is the scrawled face of your imminent husband, golden marriage token binding you to him. a spate of several conversations hastily meeting the points which intersect your mind with your common sensibility.

the sight is sickening, a ravishing grin overtaking his distinct facets, gore staining the formerly vain white of his teeth, softening pupils akin to the unlit ether relegated by the existing sky. he does not allow a kindred terror to grip his heart, unlike the one he had been mauling.

you despise your very fortitude, you cannot help.. well,

he is beautiful, almost ethereal, otherworldly in his denominative modus. your blink produces teardrops you had little cognizance of, though you conserve the inevitable sniveling.

“y/n” and oh, may the lord forgive you for your actions, peering in the direction of this monster, yet you reside, circumstances enigmatic to your very sanity, how does one oppose a prospect?

the back of his hand comes smeared over with blood as he seemingly polishes himself, a sheer amount tinting definite strands of white.. red. a sight paralleling the printed words regarding the queen of hearts painting her white roses red. “ah, i wished for this to hap another way”.

you grapple with deduced terms, inhaling a long breath.

“you want to sob”.

your riposting head shake displays lucid dishonesty. “well.. i—“

foreseeable words perish in your throat, his stupor dissolves, and he again inclines back into the jaemin you know, startlingly peculiar, yet not an entire monster.

you whimper, his stained hands come to cradle your cheeks. the slight caress jostles a sob upward from the crux of your chest, blood painting your very own skin despite the nearby ferocity. “pardon me, it’s simply.. difficult”.

your sleeve acts as a cushion, drying up your tears. a swiping finger, your teeth sink into the side of your cheek. “you— a bath, you’re filthy”.

it’s a pragmatic approach, a man’s heart lay bare over the grassy landscape, yet you have apprehension concerning the portrayal of your fiancé.

he chuckles, the first of many pink tints accompanying his rejoinder.

you two interlock hands, solicitously, uncanny callousness meeting your very fingertips.

in sickness and in health, they muse, till death do us part.

AMANS SEMPER, QUOD TIMET, ESSE PUTAT; a lover believes it to be as he fears. your several durational stints are pervaded by absorbent literature, tempura airbrushing permeating the air fumes, and an anomalous expanse of displayed macabre, distempered varnishes staining several of your very canvases, clashing hued red only deciphered with the slightest narrows.

the marriage shall go forward, the reflection of your aureate trinket reminding you each moment. per capita, jaemin insights hindrance, prodding at the seams of your very mind which clearly does not detest, you surmise that something has to be wrong with him.

yet you suppose uncanny cheshire grins and flagrant embraces he feigns all innocence to are little of an indicative hassle, you covertly enjoy such disturbances.

he heedlessly carves over the arches of your shoulders, thumbs compressing the sheer few knots, all tempering the strain which weighs upon you.

you affably bat no eyes when jaemin infiltrates your chambers during the off fashioned twilight hours, habitually whilst you fasten your focus onto a particular novel, his lips stained a peculiar red, the prospect now its own distinct color painting your very canvas.

jaemin is exotically benign considering his.. attributes, as if you are all fragile, a lone share of glass, one where despite the sting, is all volatile at the merest of graces. his fingers weave extensively into yours, digits often tapering off into callous territory, natheless evading their typical docile manner.

there is a clear lack of the imminent monstrosity you expected prior, or perhaps you have simply been driven deranged.

you presume the derangement pervades it all. feasibly, he could consume you one day, once the figurative cattle go to waste, you remain. he commences at a hushed beginning, allowing you to gaze on at his teeth as he carved out the thoracic cavity, the core of your thorax decimated to fragments in a singular bite alone. dawning at your lungs, then mangling your thymus, esophagus, trachea, you muse he would save your vascular organ as an apparent finish, savoring each singular sinking of teeth.

jaemin is an indicatively amorous, pure white smiles planting kisses upon your skin.

“you are all.. hysterical”.

“not quite”.

his fingernails require some trimming, it is a stark reminder to you what he truly entails, uncannily splintered claws abrading over your nightly cooling dermis. “i reiterated i would never”.

“what if i’m the only one left for you to?”

his thumb snares at the corner of your lips, his caress so placid you about pitch into a slumber. his grin is narcotic, every single tooth, including those which occupy much brimmed space is displayed.

“is that where intimacy lies for you?”

“is it truly that intimate?”

you reckon the answer is about crystalline.

it may appear intimate to him, desire as imminent as the ichor which would smear over his hands at the grasp of your beating heart. “intimacy varies..”

“a sincere romantic you are”.

the flat of his palm feels your heart once more, he may devour it one by one, chewing immersive.

you infer perishing is inevitable, but if you do, you crave for his hands to be those to ruin you.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 3: … that we may seek him with thee.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Withers’ party is in full swing. Ban finally learns the truth about her nature, and finds a chance at freedom.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Ban was all dressed up, her doublet a match to Astarion’s. He’d insisted on it.

“I had it especially tailored for you, pet,” he had said, helping her button it up, “so they could see who you’re paired with. Who you belong to.”

She hadn’t fought it. In fact, she hadn’t fought him on much since that night she’d seen into his mind. It had given her a new fear to contend with: since he could show her his thoughts, push them into her brain, then was he able to do the reverse? Were her thoughts being read? She’d always feared being compelled, but the idea of him reading her mind at will was somehow more invasive. As frightened as she was, however, she believed it to be unlikely. When their minds had touched, the feel of his presence had been alien, most certainly not something that would go unnoticed. It had felt rather like the tadpole - a weight in her brain.

So she’d tested it; she’d waited for an opportune moment, finding it in a meeting over the planning for the expansion to the gardens Astarion planned to build. While he’d been deep in conversation about the intended theme of the garden, Ban had stared at her clasped hands and imagined something that if seen, would make him react strongly but not enrage him. She’d shut her eyes, bringing to mind a vivid image of him on his knees, naked and bruised, begging for her touch. She’d focused on Astarion’s voice and posture, ready to pick up any change in his tone or demeanor.

“I’m not sure I’m going for gothic,” Astarion had drawled. “I would highly prefer a more romantic... ambience to it.”

“But, my lord, the rest of the house-“

“I don’t care if it matches!” he’d hissed, making the others flinch.

Nothing. He hadn’t missed a beat, hadn’t seemed to notice anything at all. Ban had exhaled and let the image go, relief flooding her. Her mind was still her sanctuary.

Her plan may yet work.

Seeing everyone together again was wonderful; Ban stared at each and every person, drinking everything in. It had been months since she’d left the confines of the Crimson Palace, and this was a much needed change of scenery.

Behind her, the Ascendant fell back, a goblet of wine in his hand. He’d told her to mingle while he satisfied himself sampling the wines Withers had on tonight’s selection.

She scoffed. He was as likely to be preening as sampling the wines - possibly both at the same time. Either way, he was distracted.

Ban spotted Gale and made a beeline for him, tapping Karlach on the shoulder and beckoning her to join them on the way. They exchanged pleasantries and loudly regaled each other with shallow stories, while slowly moving out of the Ascendant’s earshot.

Eventually, the three of them huddled in a distant corner, hidden behind a boulder.

“What did you find out?” Ban asked Gale, all pretense discarded.

Gale clasped Ban’s hands. “Ban. You have an option to leave. I implore you. Take it.”

He squeezed, bracing himself. “You said he has never compelled you to do anything. Even if you argue. Does that remain true?” As she nodded, he couldn't help the smile that broke across his face.

“Then I must be correct.” He leaned in. “You’re not a spawn, Ban. It’s not that he won’t compel you. He can’t.”

“Oh, goody!” Karlach clapped her hands. “This is perfect!”

Ban stared at them both in silence. He had turned her, had he not? She felt a massive pull towards him and his will, so much so that even as she planned to leave, part of her assumed she’d return to the palace tonight. She opened her mouth to say this, but Gale interrupted before she could.

“He will still hold sway over you. He is still your creator, your... lover," he hesitated. "But that influence is not magical at all. You’re a bride, Ban. If everything you’ve told me is correct - he made you his bride.”

Ban took a moment. A vampire bride… or a spawn he hadn’t compelled yet? She realized, belatedly, that Gale’s theory was likely true. Astarion had fed her his own blood when he’d turned her, encouraged her to drink from him when making love. He had considerable influence over her, but it was never hard to refuse, never hard to be spiteful to him, even in the heights of his rage.

She had never even considered the possibility. She’d always assumed that she’d either escape and have to try to fight his compulsion while hiding from him - Cazador had been able to compel his spawn from a distance; presumably the Ascendant could as well - or that she’d have to let the chance at freedom go by.

But a chance at a future without him, free of the fear of compulsion, that also had some prospect of happiness? It was more than she’d ever expected.

Oh, he’d hunt her down, but if she couldn’t be compelled… there was a chance. He'd definitely retract his extension of Mephistopheles' gifts from her, making her sensitive to sunlight and significantly weaker, but what of it? Better that than to always be living in fear of hearing his voice in her head, of an immutable command to come back to him. To be little more than a slave, forevermore.

Ban braced herself. “Let me try to talk to him one more time.”

“Ban!” Karlach squeezed Ban’s shoulders, as if desperately wanting to shake her. “You have been trying. For months! What makes you think-”

Gale raised a hand to hush the tiefling; he understood. “One more chance, Ban. And then we will have to intervene if you can’t do what must be done.”

Ban nodded, and steeled herself. One last chance, then. For her, for the man he'd been. For their love.

She headed off, marching towards the Ascendant. Astarion’s ears pricked up, his head tilting towards her in his usual, elegant manner as he heard her familiar footsteps.

“And? How have our good friends been without us to guide and protect them?”

He seems to be in a good mood, probably a little buzzed, Ban thought.

“They’re great - everyone seems so happy,” she said, trying to go for the simplest response possible. She shifted uncomfortably, preparing to delve into what she really wished to talk to him about.

Her words seemed to surprise him. He looked away for a moment, considering this information. “Really? Are you sure? I was certain they’d be half dead and begging us to take them back.” He let out a small scoff.

"Well. Miracles never cease." He leaned back, shifting his weight.

“Still, it is good to see them. And good for them to see us, side by side, flourishing.”

She almost choked out a laugh at that. Seriously? He considered what they’d become flourishing?

She tried to stop herself, tried to keep her composure, but utterly failed at the sight of his smug, inebriated smirk.

“Is that what we’re doing? 'Flourishing'?” I want to leave you, you fucking prick, she thought.

He laughed, a false trill of mirth that belied the threat underneath.

“Of course, my darling. Look at us! We share a palace, share power, live lives eternal in each other’s arms. What more could anyone want?” The smile was now more a sneer, daring her to disagree.

She almost yielded out of habit, almost agreed with him as she’d usually done of late. But she remembered Gale’s words and what she’d promised. One last time, and if Astarion refused to listen, he’d have decided for them both.

“Freedom?” she ventured.

That word that he loathed so much now; it was all he’d wanted before. Freedom had led him to become this, a shell of his former self. Ban despised it for what it had driven him to be, but she needed it for herself, too.

“Gods, not this again. I give you wealth, power, pleasure - every decadence that can be afforded to a person? But you’d rather - what - sleep in the dirt again?”

His voice dropped almost to a growl; they were both acutely aware that wasn’t the point. But he’d never, ever, acknowledge exactly what it was she wanted, or why he was so adamantly against giving it.

Give her any scrap of freedom and she would be gone. She would leave him, he’d be alone again, because he could no longer make her happy. And gods, he was trying. Was it really his fault the one thing she wished for was the one thing he could not provide?

He dropped the pretense of civility, the venom creeping into his voice with each word.

“You are my consort, and I will see you living the very best life. Even if you don’t appreciate it.”

He chuckled sardonically. “Why don’t you go and mingle? Have fun with your so-called friends. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He may not be completely sober but the fury simmering behind those crimson eyes was not dulled by the drink.

Ban sighed, watching him with a soft, melancholic expression. This was it, then. He had sealed their fates. She nodded. “Of course. I’ll be back later.”

She turned away, heading back to Gale and the others, trying not to let tears stream down her face. She could feel Astarion’s eyes boring into her back.

They formulated a plan, involving the rest of the companions in attendance. One by one, they each found a chance to wander over to where the Ascendant lounged lazily, offered him a drink, engaged him in light conversation. None of them had talked to him much after he’d ascended, but they all made sure to ask him about his ambitions, or how he liked Wither’s wine, or how life with Ban had been. Each of them offered a toast to his newfound life, to his power and prestige, and each toast was pompously accepted.

Astarion drank and drank, making the most of his ability to enjoy alcohol. Withers’ wine is sanguine, he noted to himself. He imbibed until he slurred and swayed, leaning on a rock to keep himself up. He was basking in his former companions’ hollow words of praise - of course, he knew they were lies, but what of it? He could still enjoy the pretty falsehoods for what they were: attempts at currying favor with the most powerful vampire to ever walk the land.

I should take a tour. Just to see what the rest are up to. He looked over at his former companions with a haughty, self-satisfied grin. With a thought, he shifted into his bat form, flying low over the other guests, trying to overhear snippets of conversation.

From afar, Ban saw him flying and immediately changed the course of her conversation with Wyll and Halsin, switching to talking about Ulder and steering away from talk of the Ascendant’s parties and which patriars had been invited. The two men noticed Ban’s change in topic and followed her lead.

Astarion flew by, the bat’s wingbeats erratic and his path not very straight.

He flitted around a little more, then landed by his goblet. Hooking his wings around the rim, he drank with little licks. He was too drunk to transform back, so he satisfied himself with more wine; he’d definitely need to ask Withers where this particular vintage came from.

Not too long after that, the goblet fell over and Astarion’s furred body went along with it. He’d toppled over, cuddling the cup, his fur stained with wine, as the drink finally took him. He was out cold.

Gale noticed. So did Ban. Silently, everyone moved.

Astarion slept through it all.

Astarion woke up in a haze of morning light, blinking away the sleep. His vision was blurry, quite unlike the instant focus he usually had. He attempted to sit up, failed, and realized he was looking at wings and claws, not hands. It took another moment to fully grasp he'd passed out as a bat.

He changed back, stretching to his full height as he did. The world snapped into focus; the bright rays of the sun bathed everything in warm light. He saw the camp, heard the sound of birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. The first word out of his mouth was her name.

“Ban? Ban!” He called out, taking another scan of his surroundings, looking for her. Nothing. Odd. She ought to have picked him up and held him whilst he slept; he was a little miffed to have found himself on the table with the remnants of last night’s drink instead.

He opened his mouth to voice his dissatisfaction when he noticed the utter lack of noise other than the ambient sounds of nature. There was no rustling of shoes on the ground, no voices, not even Ban’s slow breathing, a sound he could pick out anywhere, as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

In fact, no one was here at all, the camp as empty as when they’d left it during their travels. It slowly dawned on him that she’d left, and that the others had probably given her aid. They’d likely slipped away in the night as he slept, left him in the dirt, exposed and vulnerable. Alone.

He gaped dumbly at the empty clearing, his mind simply refusing to wrap itself around this development. The first feeling that bled through the shock was disbelief. Did she not love him, not need him? Was what he provided not enough? Was he not enough? He’d given her every possible luxury - clothes, jewelry, coin, blood, all of it was hers. He’d allowed her free rein of the palace; she’d been free to decorate and remake it as she saw fit. He’d given her the keys to his kingdom, allowed her to run it and rule it in all but name. Most importantly he’d given her himself - he’d satisfied her every night, hadn’t he? He knew of that absence in her, of course, but weren’t his efforts enough?

That incredulity slowly gave way to anger and he screamed in frustration. How dare she leave, after everything he’d done for her! Everything had been for her, had been done with her benefit in mind, her happiness the goal by which he oriented the compass of his life.

After all, hadn’t eternity together been their goal? They’d discussed forever, back in their days in the wild. Admittedly never seriously and largely in jest, but still. Days, nights, every moment in between spent in her arms, finally loved and chosen. Finally accepted for who he was, loved for himself and not what he could provide. He’d finally been seen. He had thought that would be it, an infinite span of years in which to love her and be loved by her.

The pain surged again, but he quickly fought it back with a deep, seething rage. How dare she defy her creator, defy the man who had given her eternity and snatched her away from the jaws of death?

A small voice in the back of his head, painfully smug and tinged with pride in Ban, reminded him that he had defied his own master for freedom. He refused to acknowledge the voice’s point, shoving it and its pathetic speaker deep deep down once again. It wasn’t the same. He was not Cazador. All he wanted, all he worked for, everything - all of it was for her happiness. She simply couldn’t see past her issues, refused to look at the bigger picture - what did it matter if he couldn’t be what he was, when he could give her everything else? Was that a sacrifice too great for their love to bear?

He took several deep breaths, willing himself not to dwell on that thought. Throughout the barrage of emotions, however, one reigned supreme, try as he might to ignore it. Pain.

Yet again, he’d lost everything that mattered. Ascendant or spawn, happiness had always eluded him. The fear of falling under Cazador’s yoke had disappeared with the rite, but now he felt like he'd lost something far more vital than freedom had ever been.

He found that his new, living heart was beating so fast it felt as though it might burst out of his chest. He placed a hand over the frantic pounding, feeling his breaths becoming quick and shallow. Am I dying? He tried to breathe deeply but the air felt too thin. Even though he knew he didn’t really need it, it felt like he was suffocating.

You were never enough, were you, Astarion? Too much baggage. Too much pride. Too much. Too willful, so master loved hearing your screams best. Too beautiful, and so you were his favorite toy to loan out. Too untrustworthy, so you had to seduce the leader of your group. Too weak, so you had to ascend. Too cold, and so she has abandoned you.

Too much of the bad, too little of the good. No one ever liked you - not your master, not your siblings, not your companions.

She did, that small voice he’d spent months trying to ignore tried to argue, but the other, more cruel voice laughed at him.

She loved you when you were weak, when you hid away the parts of yourself you knew she would not like. How does she like you now, when you no longer hide all your hard edges? Does she gasp your name like she did back then, as if it was a prayer? Does she crave your presence? Do her eyes shine when they watch you? Does her heart still soar when you approach?

She discarded you the moment you displeased her. She never loved you.

You have nothing of worth to offer, other than your body, and even that wasn’t enough. You could’ve offered your heart, but even that is a shriveled, rotten thing, despised by its intended owner, thrown back at your feet.

Nothing, Astarion. You were nothing, are nothing, and will always be nothing.

Left to die buried in the dirt, and now left in it again. Don’t be surprised, Astarion. You’ve never deserved any better.

She was gone. All it had taken was six months and a drunken night of false frivolity, and she'd gone from his life. He screamed again, this time in agony.

A thought crossed his mind. What if he took Mephistopheles’ gifts away from her? She’d come back then, surely? She’d be vulnerable right now, traveling in the daytime - she’d suffer as he does. He began to reach for that power, then stopped. The image of her burning in the sun, of her beauty marred by her skin charring, kept his retribution at bay. He wondered - had he made her his spawn, would he have compelled her back into his arms? The idea appealed to him for a fraction of a heartbeat, feeling the briefest pang of regret for not having done it, before he was swamped with nausea, that reviled voice rising up from the depths with a vehement no! The voice met no resistance for the first time since the ritual; if he couldn’t even bear the idea of her burning in the sun, how could he bear breaking her will, just as his had been?

She could break his heart every day, could keep tormenting him forever, but he couldn’t imagine ever inflicting the pain of the sun on her.

Her smile, her laughter, her adoration…he knew these were things he would never, ever see again. Yet he wouldn’t be able to bear knowing these things no longer existed in the world out there, somewhere. Somewhere, she’d still smile, if not for him, then for something else. She’d laugh, and someday she’d give that blinding, wonderful adoration to someone else - they’d bask in its glow as he once had.

He knew he’d lost her but he still longed for her. He saw and heard her in his mind’s eye as she’d been, happy, beautiful, his - the anguish was deep and torturous and it grew, filling all of him, excruciating vines of misery wrapping around his withered heart, thorns sinking in with stabbing pain, restricting its beating as it fought and failed to keep its rhythm-

With the last of his composure fading, he reached for her mind before the panic could drown him entirely, desperation overruling all sense of pride.

Ban.

He felt it. His consort’s mind opened to him, her guard down.

She snapped awake. That alien presence was there. Within it, she could sense his rage, but she also felt the shortness of breath, the racing heartbeat - that immense, all-encompassing panic. It was almost enough to make her want to tell him she’d come back. But what good would that do?

She waited, eyes closed. If Gale was right, she was truly free; if he was not, then the Ascendant would most likely break her will here and now. Or, barring that, he would at least rescind his gifts. She contemplated what an immortal life in the darkness would be like, wondered how long it would take for her to yearn for its warmth the way she knew he had. Ban realized she’d have to brush up on her combat skills once more - without his gifts she’d be weaker, more susceptible to monster hunters; without the constant supply of blood she’d have to hunt as well. But none of these thoughts were conveyed through the link; to him she sent only her silence.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. For a moment, the touch of her mind soothed him. She was still there, and his miserable, pathetic heart calmed itself at the contact. A wave of self-loathing rose on the heels of that calm. He ought to be better. Stronger. But his heart had remained the same, try as he might to deny it, and it ached to be parted from her.

I may have power, but it would be nothing without you. You complete me.

He had said those words to her at some point as they’d made love. He hadn’t really meant them at the time; they’d been platitudes he’d known she wanted to hear. Now he fully appreciated the sickening reality of it: that it was true, that it had always been true. His denial of his own feelings had blinded him to it. In rejecting his former self he had also rejected her love, a love he could no longer pretend he didn’t need. In fact, he needed it more than anything else - no luxury, no amount of strength, no amount of lovers, not even power - nothing came close. It was a realization that came too late.

He felt her eyes open, saw her rise from the unfamiliar bed to hold her hand out to the sunlight streaming through the window. She was testing him, and he was elated to feel the wave of relief that flooded her when she realized he hadn't taken away his gifts. He hoped that even given how much she must loathe him, she knew he wouldn’t inflict that hurt on her. Her eyes then focused on the city sprawled below her window, and he realized where he must go.

Waterdeep.

[dearfraumilena]

bone of my bone. flesh of my flesh.

welcome, I'm THEA (or THEODORA if you are feeling fancy) they/she ✮ sixteen ✮ lesbian mess ✮ infp ✮ professional symbolism freak ✮ ��︎ sun ♉︎ moon ♋︎ rising ✮ doesn't the moon look beautiful tonight?

find me? spotify ✮ stats.fm ✮ pinterest ✮ DM for discord/instagram

know me?

music ------> mitski, boygenius (phoebe bridgers, julien baker, lucy dacus), fiona apple, dazey + the scouts, mazzy star, big thief, the sundays, elliot smith, tori amos, sufjan stevens, hozier, adrianne lenker, chappell roan, the smiths, clairo, ethel cain, david bowie, joni mitchell, leonard cohen, cocteau twins, florence + the machine, nick drake, jeff buckley, the last dinner party, kate bush , muna, lana del rey, the cure, the cranberries, and so much more

literature ------> anything by jeannette winterson (oranges are not the only fruit my beloved), absurdism, magic realism, anything gothic, tragedy of all kinds and variations, horror, litfic, kafka, anything queer, classical drama and poetry, virginia woolf, german expressionism, sappho (obviously), the history of love !! if anyone wants my goodreads DM me <3

film/tv loves ------> portrait of a lady on fire, I am not okay with this, nbc hannibal, killing eve, doctor who, everything sucks!, but I'm a cheerleader, fleabag, call me by your name, derry girls, orange is the new black, the half of it, gentleman jack, as you can see I need recommendations desperately other interests ------> philosophy and theology, making bad origami flowers, drinking too much green tea, glowing pink in the night in my room, spiral staircases, spiralling, staring out to sea, writing love letters, causing fire hazards, frolicking, mulled wine, long romantic strolls through the antique market, my darling bearded dragon frodo, silence, beautiful women, connecting the dots

talk to me? DNI if you are going to be bigoted or creepy in any way, but other than that my asks and DMs are open (just respect that i am a minor)

I WAS SCARED INDIGO BUT I WANTED TO! I WAS SCARED INDIGO BUT I WANTED TO!

[epicrainbowsheep]

A Gothic Cowboy

Agent Whiskey X Reader

Happy Valentine's Day @perotovar , I'm your secret Tumblr Valentine I tried my best to follow your prompts, please enjoy our Cowboy with a hint of Darkness <3

(Reader in my mind is in her early to mid 30s in this)

A dark castle looms over you, the violent wind of the storm swirling around you as you walk up the dark pathway, with each step you took the gravel crunch under your feet. The cool wind brushed passed your face, clinging onto the massive bouquet of red roses. “Okay this is the last delivery then book it back to the car” You mumble to yourself, walking up the cobblestone steps you looked around, the 16th century gothic style mansion was absolutely breath taking, finally reaching the door you see a massive rope, gathering its the door bell you pull it, a mass of bells ring out, you hear the noise echo throughout the entire house.

You stood there for about 10 minutes, before the door finally opened to a gorgeous man, his hair neatly combed back. “Hello I’m from the Silverbough Florist, I’m here to deliver the roses you ordered, you’re Mr Daniels?” Holding out the massive bouquet for him, he sighs as he opens the door wider to reveal him wearing a well fitted suit with several buttons undone, showing his chest with his tie undone.

“Shit I forgot I ordered those” He collected the roses from you, “You alright Mr Daniels? You seem unsettled” he looked into your eyes with a saddened smile, “Just found out my date decided to cancel on me” The dissapointment very evident in his voice, you were just about to speak back when a loud crack of lightning spread throughout the sky, the rain started to come down now practically partially drenching you, Jack pulls you by the arm and closed the door.

“Shit the storm hit pretty quickly, you alright Mi-” Jack turns to face you, your top half partially wet with droplets of water making its way dow your neck beneath your white shirt embroided work shirt clearly wet enough to see the colour of your bra, his eyes follow it down stopping him mid sentence “Mr Daniels eyes up here” his eyes snapped up from where they were staring from.

“Apologies Miss?”

“(Y/N)”

You smirk as his face turning lightly red, coughing while looking to the side to avoid your gaze. “Let me show you to the bathroom, so you can clean yourself off” Jack turns to lead you down the hall, looking at your legs he sees that they are also dirty due to the weather and you move your arms to rub your shoulders, just realising how cold you are. 

You hum in agreement, "Yes please that would be lovely" you follow him down the hall until you reach a door. "This is the bathroom, please feel free to use anything in the shower" Opening the door he leads you in, shows you how to use the shower and where the towels are located. "I'll leave you to it Darlin' " He smiles kindly at you as he leaves closing the door behind him, he leans on the door and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Fuck what have I gotten myself into" He walks down the hallway again towards the sitting room, going towards the alcohol shelf, pouring himself a glass of statesmen whiskey. His hand is shaking while holding the glass as he takes a sip, hoping the drink would calm his nerves of having a lady in the house. Sitting down he let's out a shaky sigh, rubbing his hands over his face "Why the fuck did I go on tinder, your 40 years old and get bloody roses for a one night stand" talking to himself as he's gotten used too over the years of being alone.

He finishes his whiskey, his knees cracking as he gets up from the leather chair. Walking into the grand dining room he sighs again at the site in front of him, he had gone all out tonight; gorgeous silver dinner set on the table, with multiple sets of cutlery on both sides of the plates surrounded by candles and rose petals scattered round. 

"She must be a special lady for this romantic set up" Jack is startled by your sudden voice, he turns around to see you dressed in his massive fluffy robe, bare feet and damp hair, holding your even damper clothes bundled together.

"Sorry did I scare you" Your eyebrow raises slightly, his reaction being unexpected.

"No no not at all, its nice to see someone appreciate the dinner I put together" Jack walks towards you and holds his hands out to take your clothes, "Let me put these in the dryer for you, and please feel free to help yourself to the food set out on the table, it will go to waste otherwise" He shakes his head at his helplessness of needing company, wanting to please people.

"Oh don't worry it defiantly won't to to waste now" You grinned walking over to the table , sitting down you lift the silver dome from the plate to reveal the most deliciously appetising steak, drizzled with mushroom sauce with a side of glistening vegetables, which were sprinkled with herbs. Your mouth salivating at the sight, you spot the wine bottle and pour yourself a glass, "Ooooh red wine goes lovely with steak" you grin to yourself and dig in.

As soon as the steak hits your mouth, you moan out as the flavour bursts onto your tongue. "Shit this is so good" Jack walks in to see you devouring the steak, he grins at the simpleness of you eating, hearing you moan at the flavour breaks him a little, he clears his throat he looks towards you.

"What?" You ask chewing the last piece of steak.

"Nothing" He quickly says as you laugh softly, seeing him like this makes you feel warm somehow, "So what's the story" He sits down next to you, picking up his cutlery to start eating. 

"This" he gestures to the dinner, "Is my attempt to get back into the dating game, my friend's made me a tinder and set me up" He starts cutting into his steak while you pour him a glass of red.

"Thank you" He smiles, looking into your eyes, the light from the candles shining off your face beautifully. "May I ask how long?" you take a sip of your wine as he responds 

"About 10 years sexually?” Jack says as if it's common news, you choke on your drink. 

"How your so attractive?!” You blurt out, not knowing how badly your words affected him, his hard ached at being called attractive. “Well being a reclusive rich divorcee affects your dating life” Your smile faded, looking around the dining room at how gorgeous the room was, realising how empty it must have been, there are no family photos or personal touches anywhere, making you realise how lonely he actually is.

“Mr Daniels-“ you started, “Please call me Jack” he interrupted as he continued to eat.

“Jack” Correcting yourself as you continued, “You put all this effort into dinner, massive roses and dressed up to the nines so you could get laid?” You press him, “I used to be so confident in myself, being rich and knowing I’d inherit this massive estate and run the ranch back in Texas, married my gorgeous wife, all for her to cheat on me” His faced crunched up as he continued. 

“She called me a washed up cowboy, my confidence shaken a little, tried to date again only to be cheated on and called a washed up cowboy for a second time and left in the middle of dinner, haven’t put my Stetson back on since” he placed his knife and fork down.

“May have been some years apart, I feel like people forget I’ve got feelings” He chuckles to himself, “This is the most successful evening with a Lady I’ve had since then” He looks into your eyes, which are looking at him with an unreadable expression.

He watches you lean forward, your lips landing on his in a sweet kiss. His eyes go wide with his hands immediately grasping for your waist, you move to sit on his lap, he grips your thighs tight pulling your crotch onto his hardening bulge. You take charge rolling your hips, he moans out giving you the chance to slip your tongue into his mouth deepening the kiss.

He desperately grinds up to meet yours, his hands roaming your body, gripping you tightly as if you’d disappear. He breaks the kiss to moan out your name “(Y/N) Darlin’ your makin’ me hornier than a teenager, it’s been so long I may come from just this” You moan out at his confession.

“Fuck I’d find that hot” you start to kiss his neck, rolling your hips to emphasise your point, his groans spur you on. His hands reach for the tie of the robe your wearing, releasing it to show your body, top half naked, your breasts bouncing with the movement of your hips. His lips reach the nipple on one and fondles the other in his hand, the other gripping your arse, moving with your body. He rolls the nipple with his thumb while his tongue licks around the other.

You groan into his ear, grinding your pussy down, fastening the pace to chase your approaching orgasm. “Shit Jack don’t stop, I’m close!” Jack doesn’t relent, you grind especially hard triggering his orgasm, which breaks his concentration and makes him nip your nipple. The sharp pain brings you over the edge as well, following him in the ecstasy of pleasure.

You both pull away from each other, you both flushed and panting. “Darlin’ I can’t even put into words how good that felt” His arms gripped you tighter as he spoke his next words, “I-if you intend to leave, I won’t blame you” his voice wavers as he spoke, your next words stun him “Jack I may have just met you but I know I ain’t leaving until I feel that cock in me, plus the storm sounds like it’s going to last all night” you grin hopping off his lap, pulling on his hand to stand up.

“Besides I thought I saw your bedroom down the hall, please lead the way… I ain’t done with you yet” The look you gave him was pure lust, he leads you towards the bedroom. His room didn’t match the rest of the house, his personality shone through more, he sits down on the bed as you spy the Stenson on top of his dresser. 

You grab it and put it on his head, sitting on him again. His breath is shaky as you speak your next words.

“I defiantly wanna see what this old cowboy can do” Your words stoked a fire that hadn’t been lit in a long time, he felt his confidence coming back, he flips you over, hooking your leg over his hip.

“Darlin’ I’ll show you exactly what this ol’ cowboy can do”

He smiled too himself realising he just broke his unlucky streak.

[permafrown]

Tonight Ve' Dance

❥ -> Bat invites Medkit for a brief waltz. WORD COUNT : ~586 SHIP : Batscythe x Medkit (rblx) (romantic) WARNINGS❓: none! NOTES❗ : i feel so rusty i haven't written in ages. anyways this is short n sweet. also bat uses french exactly once and it's the french word for 'spin' which is just 'tour'

In the empty, gothic ballroom-esque upstairs of her house, Batscythe makes a humble request.

"Indulge me, my dear Medkit."

They move across the marble floor with a confident stride, stopping just in front of him, and extending their hand with a flirty smile.

"Allow me this dance."

Medkit gives her a blank stare long enough for it to be awkward. Despite this, they remain undiscouraged. They beckon him, mouthing a soft 'c'mon' as they wait for him to take their hand. And, with obvious reluctance, he does.

Medkit allows himself to be pulled into Bat's elegant embrace. "Just follow my lead," They murmur softly, waltzing around the room in a large circle, effectively pulling him along, one hand in his and the other on his waist.

"If you haven't noticed, I've never done this before, Bat." Medkit says after a few moments of trying to figure out where to place his free hand.

Bat giggles a little. "It's fine," she assures him. "You make a fine dance partner, regardless."

Despite his earlier statement, it doesn't take much for Medkit to ease into the motions. It's rather rhythmic; moving in a circle, one step after another, trying not to trip over the other demon's foot.

The two keep eye contact, but every now and again Medkit catches Bat glancing downwards with a nervous glint in their eyes, almost as if they're uncertain of their own movements.

Something clicks with Medkit, and he opens his mouth to inquire about it, but before he can, Batscythe speaks up.

"We're going to try a little tour, are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

With another giggle, Bat pulls away ever so slightly, raising the arm that was holding Medkit's hand above his head, guiding him into a smooth spin.

As Bat pulls him back towards them, they pull a little too hastily, causing Medkit to stumble. "Ah, ah, sorry!" Bat says quickly as they move in to catch him, supporting his body with their own.

"Sorry," they repeat.

Medkit's good eye locks with Bat's as the two just stand there, and a tiny grin graces his lips. "You haven't done this either, have you?"

Bat freezes, a soft 'ah' escaping them. They can feel their face growing warm with a rush of embarrassment. "That's.." they start to respond, averting their gaze from their fellow phighter.

"Well, I mean-" They laugh sheepishly, failing to cover it as something convincingly confident sounding. "O-Of course I have! I've practiced this for ages now…"

There's a long pause. "Of course, it was more of a.. one might say.. solo waltz, but.." They laugh again, weakly this time, clearing their throat before adding. "..Maybe it's not still so invalid, despite that."

After saying this, Bat finally looks back at Medkit, surprised to see a smile still on his face, one that's more noticeable now.

"I'm.." Medkit sighs softly. "I'm flattered." His hands find their way to their shoulders once more. "…I wish you had told me from the beginning, maybe I wouldn't of worried so much if I knew you were just as new at this as I was."

"But.. I'm still honored to be your first dance partner, Batscythe." He chuckles.

One of his hands slowly slides over their arm, until it finds theirs, taking ahold of it once more as he gets ready to continue with their waltz.

"Let's continue." He says, looking them in the eyes once more. "Ready?"

Bat can't help but smile, feeling their heart swell. "Of course."

"From the top, as they say."

[maddiem4]

That's all I got in me tonight, but a second chapter of Brood is out! It's a special treat for everyone demented enough to enjoy prose like:

He snickered. "Happy to oblige, miss." He grabbed the rope and pulled down, and the deer lifted up and over the spiderwebbed glass. Delia fell into his arms, and he barely caught her, but by god he caught her. She looked up at him again, and they kissed in the moonlight - the reckless kind of kissing, both of them drenched in deer blood after tens of minutes tying knots around the corpse.

Before you ask, yes yes, of course I'm building up to a sex scene. You think I'd set up the romantic intimacy between a human man and a spider girl without some sort of highly explicit and shamelessly graphic payoff? For shame! Know me better! Mama Maddie would never leave you hanging like that. I'm just trying to find a deft way to weave it into the American Gothic Horror of the overarching narrative in a way that doesn't feel contrived. Rome wasn't architected in a day, people!

@jennihurtz @wanderwytch @k-simplex @mr-orion @that-house

[bumps-in-the-night]

I watched La Morte Vivante (known as The Living Dead Girl in English) tonight. It’s a 1982 French horror film about the relationship between Catherine, who recently rose from the dead and now feeds on the living as a sort of ghoul or vampiric creature, and Helene, Catherine’s childhood friend who has sworn herself as her caretaker. Throughout the movie, Catherine becomes more Alive as she continues to feed and grows increasingly aware of the reality of the situation. It’s very lesboerotic. It had a lot of the gothic hallmarks (supernatural horror, heavy emphasis on atmosphere and aesthetic, intense displays of emotions) so I feel comfortable calling it a gothic horror movie.

Spoilers ahead: I thoroughly enjoyed it. Specifically, I really enjoyed how it turns a common vampire media trope on its head. Often, when vampire media features a human and a vampire in a relationship (this can be romantic, platonic, familial, et cetera), the vampire is deeply, toxically obsessed with the story’s human in a way that often proves destructive. However, in La Morte Vivante, it is Helene who is destructively obsessed with Catherine. As Catherine grows more aware of what she is, she is horrified; she begs Helene to leave her alone and let her die so she doesn’t keep hurting people, but Helene cannot let her go.

They’re deeply devoted to each other, but the only way they can express that devotion goes against the wishes of the other. Helene wants to stay with Catherine, while Catherine wants Helene to flee and save herself before Catherine loses control of herself and hurts her. They love each other so much. I won’t really spoil it further, but they both lose in the end.

[mollymauksboi]

Sunsets | Percy de Rolo x M!Reader

this is dedicated to my beautiful fiancè @pixielostboy, i love you to the moon and back my little songbird. i hope you enjoy it 🥰

word count: 1,106

(no use of y/n. sfw, fluffy romance)

Percival de Rolo was one of class, one of wit and much talent. He held himself to the highest of standards... Except for when in the likes of this rag-tag group that called themselves "Vox Machina." Ever since he had joined, the noble man of Whitestone had found himself going through much more than he anticipated; he had dealt with the trauma of his past with the Briarwoods, overcome the demon Orthax who had a tight grasp upon his soul, restored Whitestone to it's former glory and reunited with the only other living de Rolo- his darling sister Cassandra.

While all this was happening, Percy had found himself also falling in love. With who in particular? This adorable, gothic Half-Orc who had joined in their heroics and adventures some time ago. It came as a bit of a surprise, the once cold hearted, revenge seeking de Rolo falling in love. But here he was, currently pacing the room of his in their home on the outskirts of Emon, fiddling with a gloved hand as he tried to find a way to talk you into a date with him. After all those lonely nights filled with dread that were remedied by your company and comfort, all the long talks and your genuine interest in his tinkering, how could Percy not begin to fall for you? Percival would have sought out the help from the other members but thought against it. The twins would only mock him, Scanlan wouldn't be of any help in the slightest with his highly sexual ideas. No, he wanted to romance you, not fuck you. Well- not yet anyhow.

The silver-haired man had a plan.

After knowing the paladin for some time now, Percival had learned all of your favourite things- some of which included picnics and long walks in the woods. It was a good thing that they had a rather large piece of land while living here in Emon. The human artificer quickly made his way into the kitchen, making little sandwiches and snacks with what items they had. He then gathered a blanket from a spare chest in the hall. Hell, he even scouted the property- finding a spot near the borders of the forest behind their cozy little abode and began to set things up. Taking his time, Percy made sure everything was perfectly in place. He hoped you would love the romantics of a sunset picnic and cuddling under the stars. After double and even triple checking that he had everything for what he could only hope was a spectacular evening by your side, the gunslinger headed inside to fetch you. He knocked upon your door and greeted you with a charming smile, his green eyes twinkling with hope. When you agreed to accompany him, Percival felt his heart begin to pound within the confines of his chest, politely offering out his arm to you and leading you into the field.

“I hope you don't mind that it's still close to home,” he chuckled softly, getting you situated and taking his seat next to you. Seeing your auburn eyes widen at the sight of everything, Percy couldn't help but to grin as he watched you fumble over your words.

“Th-thank you Percy. My Gods, this is absolutely delightful! And the food- Just… Wow-” You were completely awestruck, and that was exactly the goal the gunslinger had wanted to reach. Scooting a little closer, he gently brushed a few locks of your salt and pepper hair from your face, thumb grazing over the deep set scar on your chin. “I wanted the perfect night for the perfect man. I must confess… I really do like you, darling...” As Percy finally began to admit his true feelings and the real reason as to why he had invited you out tonight, he watched as your cheeks blossomed with a beautiful pink colour.

"Y-you do..?" you asked, your sheepish nature creeping back in and causing you to try to hide your face.

"Yes, I do. I have for quite some time.. I just didn't realize it until recently. But I wish to make up for that lost time and I promise you, darling.. I will take good care of you" Gloved hand never leaving your face even as you tried to turn away and hide your flushed cheeks, Percival tilted your head back to face him, russet eyes meeting frosty greens, smiles tugging at the corners of both mens lips. No words were needed for what was to come next as Percy slowly began to lean down for a kiss, all you could do in response was to watch excitedly before his lips pressed into yours.

Percy gently guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding you there firmly while your hands gripped desperately at his silky blue coat. The kiss was a heated one, filled with all the lustful desires both of you held for one another, all the passion and love was bursting at the seams spilled out amongst the blades of grass surrounding you. It was a truly magical moment that left both of you breathless by the time you pulled away, carefully readjusting Percy's rounded glasses upon his nose.

"I love you, more than you'll ever know-" came Percy's gentle voice, barely above a whisper.

"I love you too, Percy" you murmur into his ear, trailing affectionate little kisses down his sharp jawline.

You remain happily seated in the artificer's lap for a time, enjoying conversations that range from his tinkering and experimenting to future little dates much like these. While both of you converse, the sandwiches are eaten, as are the little snacks Percy had placed inside the basket, and a fine wine is sipped throughout the evening. When the conversations begin to close, Percy cleaned up the blanket a touch, storing the now empty glasses within it before he came to lay beside you. The sun was now beginning to set on the horizon, the gentle glow of brilliant reds and oranges filled the sky with splashes of pink and blue hues dotted within. The darkening sky above littered with the twinkling of millions of stars.

Wrapping his arm firmly around your waist, pulling you against his warmth, Percy placed a few kisses to your hair, heads resting against one another while you both stared up into the beautiful sunset. As the sun dipped lower and lower, crickets and fireflies began to make their way out of hiding, filling the air around you with an immense peace and sense of tranquility.

This truly ended up being the perfect evening after all.

[gothgenderism]

Get into my music taste with me

I'm going to make a few posts about different bands I've been listening to! (feel free to make your own posts about your own music tastes, or add onto mine/tag me, I'd love to see some and find new music!)

As a disclaimer, I'm not the best with genres or isolating specific genres from what music I like, so I like to describe my music in other ways!

The band in question: The Birthday Massacre

Gothic

Some of it's heavy, some of it's not!

Do you like to listen to the lyrics?

Sometimes throat singing???

Try your luck with The Birthday Massacre!

How I was introduced: through the Walking With Strangers album. I believe I specifically added these two songs:

Red Stars (youtube, spotify links)

Looking Glass (youtube, spotify links)

Red Stars is heavier than Looking Glass, so they're both good songs to start with if you want the range this band has. They can go from upbeat and romantic to sorrowful and heavy between songs.

One thing I love about TBM is their lyrics. Also, each album has a different sound, with their most recent one (Fascination) being a bit more synth-y and ones like Hide and Seek and Pins and Needles being more heavy in their guitar / guttural singing.

A few favorites of mine:

Surrender, Superstition (youtube, spotify)

Shallow Grave, Pins and Needles (youtube, spotify)

Leaving Tonight, Hide and Seek (youtube, spotify)

Night Time, Imagica (youtube, spotify)

[sweethoneyrose83]

Nerdy Goth Girl Dialogue Prompts

"Oh, you're into horror movies? That's cute. Let me introduce you to some real nightmares. Ever heard of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari?"

"I'm not obsessed with death. I just think it’s fascinating how people spend their whole lives avoiding the inevitable."

"Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe was terrified of being buried alive? Imagine waking up in darkness and realizing you’ve been sealed away forever. Fun thought, right?"

"I was reading about the multiverse theory last night. Imagine—there’s a version of me out there that actually likes sunshine. Horrifying."

"So, is this your idea of flirting, or are you genuinely interested in discussing the finer points of Gothic architecture?"

"If you think my room is dark, wait until you see the abyss where I store my emotional attachments."

"Listen, I'm not saying curses are real, but if you suddenly feel like you're being watched tonight, don't say I didn't warn you."

"I actually find the sound of thunderstorms comforting. It’s like nature is finally expressing how I feel inside."

"I could explain the paradox of Schrödinger's cat, but that would require you to appreciate both metaphysics and the macabre."

"My favorite season? Autumn, obviously. Everything is slowly dying, and it’s beautiful."

"The concept of eternal life is cool and all, but if I had to spend it in fluorescent lighting? Pass."

"You know, the universe is constantly expanding. But it still can't contain how much I dislike small talk."

"People always say, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ but let’s be honest—it’s the dark, leather-bound ones that have the best secrets."

"I’m like a black hole of useless trivia. Did you know a group of crows is called a murder? The goth aesthetic practically writes itself."

"Are you one of those people who think black is just a phase? Because I’ve been perfecting this look since middle school."

"Oh, this old necklace? It's not just a fashion statement—it’s also rumored to be cursed. But hey, I like a little danger."

"You can call it ‘creepy’ if you want, but I just think it’s efficient to plan my funeral playlist ahead of time."

"You say I'm morbid, I say I'm well-read. There's a difference, trust me."

"Not to be dramatic or anything, but if I could live in a crumbling Gothic mansion surrounded by ravens, I would."

"I just think there’s something inherently romantic about stargazing. You know, staring into the vast, cold void of space, realizing our insignificance… really sets the mood."

"Do you ever wonder if the universe is just an endless library of forgotten stories, each of us just a page about to turn?"

"People say 'embrace the darkness' like it’s an edgy trend, but I say it's better to invite it for tea and let it tell you its secrets."

"Goth isn't just about wearing black. It’s an aesthetic commitment to staying enchanted by the things most people are too afraid to understand."

"I don’t read tarot cards because I think they tell the future. I do it because they tell me the truth I’m not always ready to see."

"There’s something oddly comforting about stargazing. You look up at a vast, uncaring cosmos and think, ‘Yes, this is my aesthetic.’”

"Yeah, I collect old, dusty books with titles in Latin. But no, I’m not casting curses… not yet, anyway."

"I could’ve been anyone in any time. But apparently, fate chose to make me a walking vampire playlist in the year of our lackluster reality."

"Life is basically one giant 'Choose Your Own Adventure' book, but someone tore out all the pages with the happy endings."

"Call me morbid, but I like to imagine every shadow I see has its own little story. We’d all look a little closer if we thought shadows could feel."

"I’m a hopeless romantic, really. I just think love poems sound better when they’re whispered in graveyards."

"Some people see black as absence, but I think of it as potential. Like, what do you want to fill that void with?"

"People call it morbid curiosity; I call it appreciating the part of life no one else wants to think about."

"I’d say I’m a realist, but realists don’t usually hang around places that remind them life’s a fleeting speck of dust in an indifferent universe."

"Sure, my room might look like a museum exhibit on Gothic literature and existential dread, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t have style."

"People always think goths are lonely. It’s more like we’re friends with the parts of life most people are scared to look at."

[madwomansapologist]

Hi hi!! Is it okay if I request some sfw and nsfw head-canons on Morticia and Gomez with sugar baby!reader?

being Morticia and Gomez Addams sugar baby would include

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Gomez and Morticia Addams | AO3

synopsis: A rich and gothic couple: what a dream.

warnings: sugar baby stuff (also, I am trying to include more kinks because I am getting comfortable here, so if you guys like it feel free to comment or to make requests with more specific kinks :))

ps: thanks for your request my love! I hope you like it!

• Look at them. Do you really think they wouldn't like the thought of giving money to someone they love? Gomez is a billionaire (this is canon, I am talking about billions of dollars), so money is not a problem. Great news for you!

• They are willing to pamper you up. Their looks may make a lot of people think that they would be horrible partners, but this is not true. They want to make you happy, don’t matter how

• Morticia is more willing to give you things that envolve your interestings. Be ready to receive first editions of books of your favourite writers, trips to anywhere you show the least interest, make you meet anyone that you idolatre, show you whatever place that deserves your attention. She would spare no efforts to make you experience the best the world has to offer

• Gomez prefer to give you things more... palpable. Clothes from the most delicate fabrics imaginable, jewelry that other would need sunglasses to look directly at, makeup that is worth as much as gold, bags and more bags of everything you want to buy with his card. He would gift you with a suitcase of money if you asked

• They like to show you off. Part is because if they do so than everyone gonna know that you belong to them. But it is also because they want everyone to know how beautiful and smart you are. They want you to open you mouth and make the others realize how dumb they are

• If you ever fight, the apologies will be as big as possible. You gonna enter your home and gonna fin thousands of roses without their buds. Others may think that this is a threat, but thats just Morticia trying to be romantic while dealing with you allergic to pollen

• And it don’t mean that all they would do have something to do with money only. Gomez tried to fight with swords people that we’re mean to you or that tried to harm you. You are pretty sure that he did use some of his specials books to take away some people, but you don’t have a proof

NSFW 🧁

• Gomez love to see you test his gifts. Gomez would sit on his couch, with a glass of red wine on his hand, and let you analize the shopping bags. Without a word, Gomez would watch you test the new clothes on his body. He knows you measurements, but watches all the same.

• The only time he interferes is when you start fitting the jewelry to your body. Gomez finishes the glass, stand up and helps fasten all the clasps. He saves the necklace for last, this way he can smell your skin. His hands will pass through the fabric of your clothes, fingering your jewelry, squeezing your hair: you're in his hands, what could be better than that? 

• As I said, Morticia prefer to pay attention on experiences. When you both have dinner together, in a fancy restaurant closed just for you, the table is surrounded by only one chair. You sit on Morticia's lap, who makes it clear that you won't move a muscle tonight. How could she make you spend your energy when she can serve you? She will care of you, she always does

• After you eat everything you wish for, it is her time to eat. And she is hungry. Forever hungry.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @amournoir @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[anonymousfiction211]

Ending the discussion

A/N: Can I just say, I absolutely loved Crimson Peak! And I love Thomas Sharpe. Thought he was sweet, and sexy as hell. So, I really loved to write this one. 

Request: Both you and Tom were casted in Crimson Peak. You are currently cockwarming Tom, but he has a hard time laying still during that specific scene

Word count: 1.623 words

Warnings: Sex (18+) and spoilers for the film Crimson Peak

Ending the discussion You were on a mission tonight.  

Crimson Peak had come out a long time ago, 7 years to be precise. That was the movie you had met your husband. The two of you were working for the first time together. Your characters got married and fell in love with each other. While his sister, who was also in love with him and he loved back for a long time, tried to kill your character. The movie was a gothic romance story and was filled with suspense. Tom had already done some impressive acting jobs and really had made a name for himself. You were rather unknown. After Crimson Peak your career got a boast. You weren't as famous as Tom was, but that was never the goal. You turned more to plays and theatre shows instead of movies.  

But Crimson Peak was often a discussion topic between you and Tom. How could it not? As your character fell in love, so did the two of you. Tom helped you rehearse for your part and was amazing in giving you tips and helping you through your insecurities on set. The two of you started to meet in each other's trailers, in coffee shops and eventually Tom had invited you to his house. He had cooked dinner, you talked about the upcoming sex scene you had to shoot – your first. The two of you had some red wine and talked for hours on the couch together. Tom had leaned in slightly and you had copied his move. Before you knew it you felt his lips against yours. It was soft and slow. And you couldn't be happier.

After Tom broke the kiss, he started to panic. He was apologizing for five minutes straight about how he shouldn't have. You were working together, and he didn't want to take advantage of you. He didn't want you to think that this was something he did regularly with his co-star. No, you really were the exception. He had felt head over heels for you and couldn't hold himself back anymore. While he was ranting on and on, you couldn't get a word in between. So, to shut him up and tell him it was okay, you kissed him again. That seemed to relax him, and he did kiss you back.

The next day on set the two of you were acting like two idiots in love. Laughing a lot together, stealing glances and smiling like idiots the whole day. You were thankful that it distracted you from the sex scene you were about to shoot. And knowing that Tom like you made it both better and worse at the same time. But once you got into your character you were less nervous.

Filming a sex scene was everything but romantic. The two of you were faking sex, while there were lots of people watching you, and lots of lights and cameras that were pointing at the two of you. Your character laid on her back on the lap of his. He was stroking your cheek and kissed you softly. The scene ended and you had to lay down on your back, while his character was kissing you passionately on top. You were undressing him, and he started to undress you, by lifting your skirt. When he got back up again, you swear, you felt more of Tom than you should have in that situation. But decided to keep it to yourself.

After you and Tom were together for a few months, the sex scene came up, after a lot of wine. That's when you brought up that you could clearly feel his erection during the scene. He, however, denied that accusation. Saying that he was in character and the scene didn't do anything for him personally. The two of you laughed about it, and it became an inside joke.  

But tonight, you were going to prove him wrong!

The two of you had scheduled a movie night, as you often did. Tom was amused when he saw your choice: Crimson Peak. Both of you knew the movie inside and out and started to reminisce more. And that lead to making out. But you stopped him, before things could go any further.  

‘Can we just stay close, the rest of the movie?’ you asked.

‘Of course, love’ Tom answered.

The both of you undressed. You laid down on your side and Tom did the same behind you, making you the little spoon. He was already hard and had no problem slipping his erection inside of you. You laid your head back against his chest, while he put a protective arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The two of you cuddled and watched the rest of the movie, still talking and reminiscing. You felt him grow soft inside of you during the movie. But it was still nice to have him so close to you.

That's when the scene finally came. The topic of your discussions. You felt Tom shift a little behind you. You couldn't help but anxiously await his reaction for what's coming next. Your characters were kissing again, Thomas was on top. He was getting undressed. You felt Tom's cock inside of you starting to grow harder and he shifted a little again. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning softly. While your characters were getting hotter, so were the two of you.

Tom's cock was fully erect and suddenly he trusted his hips forward and you moaned loudly. That spurred him on even more. He snapped his hips up and down and you started to move with him.  

‘Tom’ you moaned.  

He suddenly slipped out of you and put you on your back. He put your legs over his shoulders and started to kiss from your ankle down to the inside of your thigh. Your hands went through his hair, begging him to get back up to you again. He complied and started to kiss you. He grabbed his cock and put himself inside of you again. Your legs were still on his shoulders and the angle made him hit your g-spot.  

‘God, you drive me crazy’ he breathed in your ear.  

He was pulling almost out of you, for him to thrust hard as deep as he could. Your orgasm was building quickly, and you had a feeling that Tom wouldn't be far behind. You were more wrong than you thought. Your legs fell from his shoulders, and you put them around his waist. You put your head back, exposed your neck and your chest rose. Tom eagerly started to bite your neck. You felt his teeth get lower and lower towards your chest. He started to suck on one of your nipples and you were gone. You came hard screaming his name. But he wasn't done yet.

His thrusting increased and you tried your best to keep up. You were starting to feel overstimulated, but it felt good at the same time. You couldn't help yourself. You put your hands on his back and dug your nails in his skin. To your surprise it made Tom moan your name out loud. You felt his fingers slide down from your breast towards your clit. And he started to play with it.

‘Tom, I can't’ you breathed out

‘One more, I need one more of you’ he whispered in your ear. ‘You look so beautiful when you come’

That voice alone was doing all sort of things to you. But the combination with his cock hitting your g-spot each thrust and his fingers circling your clit, you came hard a second time. Tom still hadn't finished, but you could tell he was almost there. He just needed an extra push.  

You grabbed his hair again, and kissed him deeply. He gasped in surprised which you used to slip in your tongue. Your hands stayed in his hair, and you pulled it a little. One of your hands caressed his back and got lower to his ass. Tom was moaning into your kiss and that's when you squeezed it. You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Tom thrusted a few times, while he let you kiss him.  

Once he was done thrusting, he stayed inside of you. He put most of his weight on you. It felt secure when he did that. He was leaving light kisses on your neck and started to run his fingers down your side, tickling you a little.

‘Stop’ you giggled.

‘Hmm, did I tell you how much I loved you today?’ Tom murmured in between his kisses.

‘Yes, you have’ you laughed.  

He kissed you on your lips again. ‘So, are you ready to admit?’ you teased.

‘Admit what?’ he feigned ignorance.  

‘You were totally hard during that scene. You say it doesn't have any effect on you. But you can't even watch it without fucking me senseless’ you laughed.

‘Love, you really are imagining things’ he laughed with you.

‘Come on, you can't deny it anymore now!’  

Tom just got up on his knees and pulled you with him. He grabbed the remote and saw down on the couch. He made you straddle his lap with his back towards him. You could already feel his semi-hard cock between your legs. He rewinds the movie back to a scene that was just before the sex scene. He pulled your back close to his chest and started to move his hands up and down your thighs. A move he knew that made you crazy with lust. Suddenly, he grabbed your hair with one hand and pulled it. ‘Let's find out, shall we’ he whispered in your ear. And you knew that you were in for a long sex-marathon.  

Taglist: @delightfulheartdream​ @theaudacitytowrite​ @pescadoavocado​ @theestorm​ @justacripple​ @taurusbeing​ @callistoneith​ @mavelfan2335​

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[momolady]

Incubus Boyfriend: Rommel

Ashley has appeared before, but with Ivy and Nicos. Since they’re out of town, Rommel is set to take care of Ashley and his proclivity to get attacked.

Male Main Character x Male Monster (both cis)

Ever since I met Nicos and Ivy, things have been really great. It’s been a long time since I had any incidents like I used to. And my anxiety hasn’t been as horrible as it usually is. Our relationship, combined with the natural therapy their powers provide, have made things the best they’ve been.

But for the next couple of weeks, Ivy and Nicos have to go away for business. They’ve been hired to teach a new batch of succubi and incubi their therapy methods. Things had been going so great that I wasn’t concerned at first. Not only that, Nicos and Ivy put Rommel in charge in case anything happened. Rommel even offered to let me come stay with him at his place, but I still didn’t think anything would happen.

Fast forward two days into Nicos and Ivy being gone, and I’m out of the house going to get a few groceries when I’m pulled into the air by a harpy. It’s the first incident to happen to me in ages, so at first, I just go stiff, unsure of what’s happening. It’s not worth going into detail about the rest. Let’s just say I’m able to escape, and I go directly to Rommel’s apartment.

It’s late and I’m worried Rommel is away or asleep. I’m shaking, so I try to keep my arms wrapped around myself or in my pockets. I just want to be somewhere safe, it doesn’t matter where at all. Nicos and Ivy aren’t home, so it feels empty and lonesome there. My teeth are starting to chatter, and tears well up in my eyes. I feel a rush of relief when Rommel answers the door, wearing a robe and with his long white hair tied up in a bun.

“Ashley?” A look of concern instantly paints his sharp features. “My god, what happened?”

“Can I come in?” My voice sounds thick and warbly when I try to talk.

Rommel puts his hand on my shoulder as he pulls me into his home. “I can’t believe it,” he scoffs. “It’s only been two days! Come in, come in.” He puts his arm around me, and already it helps. “Poor lad,” he says in that sensual yet stern voice of his. He leads me down the hall into a spacious room that’s part gothic bedroom and part romantic living room.

“A h-harpy,” I tremble as Rommel sets me down on a beautiful evergreen sofa.

Rommel begins to inspect me, checking my arms and body for any signs of harm. There are a few scratches and a few bite marks, each one sparking an angry glint in his dark eyes. “You’re here now, at least. Let me get some ointment for these cuts, and maybe a drink.”

“I’m sorry.” The words make my tears flow freely.

Rommel gives me a stern look, but there is a softness in his gaze I rarely see. Being with Nicos and Ivy, I’ve had many meetings with Rommel. He set me up with them, and he’s not only their boss but a close friend. We’ve had dinners together, gone on vacations and to parties. He’s a part of our lives, so I’m quite familiar with him. He was always sort of stern looking, serious in approach, but Nicos and Ivy speak so lovingly of him. I’ve seen that softness in his eyes maybe a handful of times.

Rommel’s body is a cream color with black stripes across his back, arms, and face, and smatterings of black freckles everywhere else. He likes to dress in tailored suits and fetish heels, and often has his nails done. Crisp would be the best word to describe his appearance. He always looks sharp and ready, almost blade-like, and he’s professional to the core.

“This is nothing to apologize for, Ashley,” he says in a steely tone. “You are my friend, and until Nicos and Ivy return home, you are my responsibility.” He smooths his elegant fingers under my eyes, capturing the tears and brushing my hair away from my face. “You’re staying with me tonight, and maybe until they come home. If all it takes is two days for your natural pheromones to cause a harpy attack, who knows what being alone for a week might do? I was getting ready to lounge in a nice hot bath. You should join me.”

It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone besides Nicos and Ivy, though granted, Rommel has watched us often during our sessions. He hasn’t been invited to join us in any other capacity. I look at him, teary-eyed and hurt, and nod knowing I need the comfort of a friend, especially someone who has the expertise that Rommel does into my situation.

“Thanks. That sounds nice,” I sniffle.

“So cute,” Rommel mutters, kissing my cheek affectionately. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But come.” He stands, taking my hand to lead me into his massive bathroom, which is dark navy and white with gold accents. There’s a giant bathtub and a glass-walled shower forming centerpieces to the bathroom.

Rommel stands me in the middle of the floor, taking off my clothes. He unbuttons my shirt, moving it aside and touching my bare skin. His fingers tickle along the port-wine birthmark that goes down my right side. He unzips my pants, tugging them and my underwear down for me. I gulp, feeling a touch embarrassed but also excited. A small smirk spreads across Rommel’s lips as he gazes at me. His black tongue darts over his lips as he clears his throat. Then he points to the giant tub. “The bath is ready, so go ahead and soak. I’m going to go call your paramours to let them know what’s happened, and assure them you’re safe with me. The silver button is jets, and the gold button is bubbles.” He leaves the bathroom with a confident stride.

I step out of my pants and fold them before getting into the tub. The water is warm and smells like bergamot. I sink in, moaning as the heat stings my cuts and soothes my aching muscles. I relax for a moment, sinking into the water completely and wetting my hair and face. I’ve never been in such a huge bathtub before, so I decide to play with the buttons, first turning on the jets to see how they feel. I rest against one and sigh deeply.

Rommel comes in again, setting his phone down by the bathtub as he strips off his robe. One of the first things I noticed about Rommel was his pierced nipples, and right now he has gold bars through them. I try to keep my gaze forward and not look down, but I’ve been curious about Rommel’s anatomy for a while now. He sinks into the water and sighs. “Nicos and Ivy send their love,” he says. “They want you to call them once you’re done here. They also asked that I take care of you again, and they insist I give you the full treatment you’re used to.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that very much.” I clear my throat, feeling a mix of elation and nerves. I have some insight into Rommel’s therapy methods, but I’ve  never personally received them. “How did they sound?”

“They were anxious, worried, a little angry.” Rommel shrugs. “A normal reaction, I must say, but they’re relieved you’re here now. Tomorrow we can get your things for your stay.” He then holds his hand out to me. “If you’re done with the jets, come here.”

I move towards him as he switches off the jets and turns on the bubbles. He places me against his chest, between his long legs, and wraps his arms around me, holding me affectionately. He kisses the back of my neck, moving his lips down to the curve of my shoulder.

“That feels nice,” I breathe.

Rommel moans quietly into my ear before nipping. His hands move down my chest and back up, stroking me slowly, warming me up to his affections. “Just tell me what you’re comfortable with, Ashley. I am here to serve.”

I look back at him uncertainly for a moment before I lean in for a kiss. His lips are soft, and before each kiss he tickles mine with his tongue. He chuckles softly as I eagerly chase for more, and it’s such a sexy sound. “You’re quite potent, Ashley,” he purrs. “Nicos and Ivy tried to warn me.” He kisses me again. “No wonder you get into so much trouble. Poor lad.”

“It’s awful.” I lie back against his chest as his hands knead my shoulders and stroke down my arms. “I thought I’d be okay to just go get milk today.”

“I’m sorry,” Rommel sighs. “I know this is stressful. But you are here now, and I intend to melt that stress away.”

“This is nice,” I sigh. “I feel safe here.”

Rommel hugs me tightly, kissing my neck. “Good. I intend to spoil you a bit while you’re here. Not that Nicos and Ivy don’t, but I know my touch is quite different from theirs,” he chuckles. “I have different methods.”

I swallow my excitement. “Your massage technique?”

“There’s much more you don’t know about, Ashley,” he teases. He reaches under the water, finding me stiff and warm. He strokes me gently, massaging around the base first. His seductive laugh fills my ears as he touches me. “I have many methods. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve acquired lots of skills.”

I whimper as his hand moves. It almost feels like he’s barely touching me. I lift my hips to feel more of his palm, but he only gives me the most feather-light grasp. “Tell me.”

He kisses my ear. “I like to tease a bit more than you’re used to. Frustration and desperation are fun to play with, especially when relieving tensions. I know Ivy and Nicos are more into instant gratification, so this may have a deeper effect on you.” He moves his hand away from my cock and rubs his palms into my thighs. “Lots of work to do, and lots of knots to melt.”

“I see,” I breathe. “You make me work for it.”

Rommel’s smirk is sharp. “I’ll give you an easy one tonight if you’d like. But tomorrow, I plan to use my entire arsenal on you.”

I throb from the thrill of it. “Okay,” I laugh.

Rommel pushes me forward a bit and takes a seat on the edge of the tub. He spreads his thighs, letting me have a grand view of him. His cock is quite thick, bulging noticeably at the bottom. The glans at the top flares slightly, but it’s the thick gold hoop there that draws my attention. Rommel smirks when he notices my attentions become fixed. “Go ahead, say hello.” He places his hand on the back of my head. “Meet your new friend.”

I exhale softly, moving in close and kissing the shaft. I wrap my hand around him, feeling how heavy he is, then lick the gold ring and slowly take him into my mouth.

“Good boy, Ashley. Very good.” His fingers knead down my scalp as he watches me. “Such pretty lips you have, especially wrapped around me like this.” He bites his lip as he grins. The feeling of the gold ring on my tongue is surprisingly nice, but then he pulls away and slaps his cock against my cheek. “Stand up for me.”

I do as he asks and he grabs hold of my hips, moving his hands back to massage my ass. He grins, looking up at me, then moves in, stroking his tongue along my balls and taking one into his mouth. “Oh, fuck!” I gasp loudly, clutching his shoulders.

Rommel laughs, kneading his fingers into the crack. I feel his touch featherlight on my rim, and then his tongue moves up my shaft. “I know you’re versatile, so what would you like for tonight?”

I swallow, unable to form a coherent string of words for a moment. “Um… give me a second,” I giggle.

Rommel kisses my balls and licks them. “Take your time.” He stands, and takes his hair down, letting the long silver locks pour over his shoulders. He looks at himself in the mirror, bending over the countertop, and I come up behind him, rubbing my cock against his ass as I kiss his back. “Like that?” he laughs.

“Your skin feels so soft,” I moan.

Rommel turns and looks back at me. He’s much taller than I am, so I suddenly feel so small in comparison. “Have you decided what you want?”

I nod. “You decide. I don’t want to think anymore.”

Rommel licks the corner of his mouth. “As you wish. Just follow me.” He takes me back into the bedroom and lays me down upon the bed. He tosses his hair back, then strokes his hand down my chest. At first his touch is gentle and soft, but every time he moves up it becomes deeper. He begins massaging my chest and sides, kneading his fingers into my thighs, then moves to my groin, slowly placing his body over mine. He rubs our cocks together, squeezing both hands around us, and moans audibly, chuckling as he watches my desperate expression and strokes harder, faster. The pulse of his cock beats against mine. It’s so warm, so welcome. I arch my back, wanting more.

“There,” Rommel moans. “That’s it. Come, Ashley.”

My hips rise off the bed, jerking and twitching with my release. Rommel moans loudly again, thrusting harder against me until our semen mixes on my stomach. He seems unfazed by it, still professional and cool. Meanwhile, I’m a sticky puddle on his beautiful bed, barely able to breathe, and crying again.

Rommel dips down, licking the mess from my stomach and suckling my cock to capture every last drop. Then he rolls me over, kneading his hands into my back and shoulders. I whimper as he does, feeling myself melt away. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.” He kisses my neck and back. “In my hands, you’re home.”

I sniffle, starting to cry again. Rommel curls up against my back, holding me close. I turn around in his arms, seeking his kisses and reassurance. I missed Nicos and Ivy so much, and it’s all coming to a head.

“It’s alright,” Rommel reassures me. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” He kisses me softly, and then holds me as I rest my head upon his chest.

“That felt great,” I whisper once I stop crying.

“That’s just the bare minimum of what I can do,” he chuckles. “Tomorrow you’ll see just how I work.”

“Can you tell me anything about it?” I ask.

Rommel smiles down at me. “Wait here. Let me go fetch my phone and I’ll show you.” He places a pillow under my head, vanishing only for a moment before he crawls back into bed, curling up beside me. He searches and finds a video. “This is one of my favorite methods,” he says coyly.

The video shows only a man’s hard cock, and dangling above it is a vibrating massager. It slips along him, barely touching, moving too much, causing the man to whimper in frustration. Rommel chuckles, both on the video and in my ear. The man in the video moves his hips, trying to get the dangling vibrator to touch him, but it’s held in such a way that it would be impossible. The pulsing and throbbing, the desperate cries for release, I can feel them in my bones. That ache, that desire comes through and paints itself over my body, making me dread it and desperately want it as well. The man in the video thrusts his hips off the bed, chasing that touch, but it keeps moving, furthering his frustration. Rommel’s hand comes down, pressing against his belly to keep him still.

“Does that seem like fun to you?” Rommel asks, turning off his phone.

“Looks interesting,” I say softly. “Different than what I’m used to, but...” I bite back a smile and Rommel kisses my cheek.

“It’s all part of my pampering process,” Rommel assures me. He lies back and I snuggle against his chest. “After breakfast, I’ll give you a nice massage, followed by something like that.”

“I’m easy to excite,” I laugh. “You may have to do it tonight.”

“No,” he says coyly. “You’ll have to wait. I told you, you only get it once tonight.”

I gulp. “Damn, why did that turn me on?”

Rommel laughs and kisses me. “Because I wanted it to. Now, sleep tight Ashley. We have a full day ahead tomorrow.”

The lights dim slowly until they all turn off. I snuggle close to Rommel, resting my head on his chest and sinking into the warmth of his body and the softness of the bed. “Thank you again,” I whisper.

“You’re a friend,” Rommel replies. “And I will do anything for my friends. You’re in safe hands with me, Ashley.” He kisses my temple, then sighs sleepily. “I will care for you until Nicos and Ivy return home.”