#autumnal reaping

[deny-the-issue]

Autumnal Reaping

Chapter One: At First Glance

Overall Summary: While researching a topic you hold close to heart, you meet Emmrich Volkarin in a chance encounter. He introduces both romance and academic opportunities into your stagnant life as an unknown, sinister shadow lurks from beyond the Fade.

This story is set after the events of the game where Rook does not romance Emmrich. There will be end-game spoilers, although they are not discussed in detail.

Thank you to my wonderful friend for beta reading, @juniper-sunny <3 I'm sitting on the finished second chapter already, and I cannot wait to post! I'll probably set it free in a day or two, but the next updates will be every 1-2 weeks after that.

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[MDNI] [Emmrich x you] [Emmrich x Reader] [no y/n] [fluff] [angst] [fat!reader] [reader has boobs and vulva] [eventual smut] [eventual romance] [non-binary pronouns] [angst with a happy ending]

The Mourn Watch is a respectable order within Nevarra, and it is an honor to be a watcher. Yet, to be a part of a respected order and to be respected are two concepts leagues apart, and the latter is far out of your reach. There are worse lives you could be living, certainly, but if you could roll the dice and be someone else–you’d do it in a heartbeat.

A better life is but a blink away, always residing in the back of your mind. While you toil away at your day job, a daring adventure plays out in a daydream, saving you from the monotony of daily life.

Wake, clean, study, repeat.

To clean up after the real masterminds of this place is a privilege to those unable to contribute in other meaningful ways–as Matron Thistle is fond of saying. You could recite the jab in your sleep, and the ensuing spite fuels your day to day grind. It works, you suppose, but this amount of ill will can’t be good for your fragile mental health.

Studying is the only part of your day that is entirely yours. A refuge and a hobby, you research the nature of the Fade, venturing into metaphysics more often than not. There are many theories surrounding the Fade’s properties, but so much is unknown. 

It fascinates you to ponder the different possibilities of what's out there. Looking not only for answers to humanity’s greatest questions, but of other worlds and dimensions. 

Maladaptive daydreaming with your nose in a book is how you spend most evenings, nestled away deep in the catacombs. People never tread these quiet, hallowed halls, and for that, you are thankful. Most people your age have moved far beyond your current status, and your fellow janitors are a rotating door of freshmen having drawn the short stick for work duty. 

Friends are impossible to come by for you, these days. Not that it’s ever been easy for you. Solitude is a solace, allowing you to be yourself unapologetically.

This cozy, abandoned corner you’ve come to call yours has a stone table in the middle of the small room. Its walls are lined with urns containing remains of the unidentified dead, instilling the stagnant air with a chilling sadness. 

The stone walls and floors match that of the rest of the Necropolis, gray bathed in green veilfire. Sand collects in little piles and thin lines along the edges of the room, ever present in these parts. Sweeping wouldn’t do much good–you know from experience. The sand falls from the Fade, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. 

There is comfort among the forgotten–a kind of kinship, even. The wisps in this area have taken a liking to you as well, their shimmering cyan forms with tendrils stemming from a center point gives them the appearance of an etheric dandelion.  

Two of them float and bob around weightlessly to the same beat as your hips, swaying to an unheard rhythm. Too antsy to sit, you stand as you read with your back to the open hallway. Humming and singing errant lyrics absentmindedly, you tear through a text on an obscure theory of the Fade recorded hundreds of years ago. 

Despite life’s general malaise, it was a good day. Matron Thistle ate something that disagreed with her and you had an amazing day without her nagging your every move. You’re so relaxed from the quiet day of work, you could kiss those skeletons on cooking duty. 

A man clears his throat, announcing his presence behind you. You freeze as if you’ve been caught, and turn around slowly. 

“Ah, hello! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man clasps his hands together. “It’s rare to find another person among these forsaken souls.”

How long has he been standing there?!

With a perfectly cordial tone, his carefully modulated voice complements his fine clothes and jewelry, giving him a distinguished air enhanced by his crows feet and gray hair. Going from his grave-gold, he is a prominent member of the Mourn Watch, and you adjust your behavior accordingly. 

“Sorry, I can go.” Your book closes with a heavy thud and you hastily grab your bag off the floor. 

“No, please. These halls could do with a bit of warmth.” He smiles, pointing to the wisps with his gloved hand. “They’re quite fond of you.”

“Oh-uh, yeah. They keep me company while I read.” Your fingers trace the intricate grooves of the book cover nervously.

“Personal or academic study? If I may ask.” Interested or nosy, you have the handsome man’s full attention.

The wisps investigate him and you relax a little. They are excellent judges of character, or at least you choose to believe so. The man greets the wisps with the same respectful manner he used with you, and the gesture softens your guard. 

“Personal.” The man’s silence pushes you to say more. “It’s about the possible multi-dimensional properties of the Fade.”

“How interesting! What drew you to that line of inquiry?”

“Uh-just, you know…” you clear your throat and try to string some coherent words together. “I like the thought of other worlds out there. From subtle differences to global changes–the possibilities are endless.”

“Ah, yes! Fascinating to think about, isn’t it? I spent some time in my youth researching multi-world theory. An under-appreciated topic, unfortunately. I can count on one hand the number of sources,” he sighs wistfully.  “I apologize for putting you on the spot. All topics of the Fade interest me, deeply. Learning about its mysteries is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

With an agenda all their own, the wisps leave the two strangers alone, their ethereal laughter fading quickly. And with them, the little peace of mind you obtained vanishes. 

“What-uh, brings you down here?” you ask, shuffling nervously.

“Ah, well. There is a rumor of a haunting in this area. Have you seen any wandering, restless spirits?”

After a moment of thought, you shrug and shake your head. “Not that I know of.”

“Ah, good. Are you down here often?”

“Mhm. Almost every night.” Your answer seems to satisfy his curiosity.

Anxiety worms through your stomach because you revealed more than you’re comfortable. His kindness is too disarming–or is it because you haven’t stopped blushing this whole time? Are you imagining the connection you feel?

Probably. 

“My rounds should be made with ease, then. Thank you for the riveting conversation. I apologize for interrupting your private study, and I hope you have a pleasant evening.” With a little bow, he makes his exit gracefully.

You manage an awkward, “It’s ok! You too.” Waving nervously after him. 

Why the fuck did you wave. That’s not something you do normally. Place a hot old man in front of you and your brain leaps into the void. 

Looking back at the closed book that held your attention in a vice only moments ago, obscenities leak from your mouth. You didn’t mark your page, and you lack the motivation to find it again. Sighing heavily, you gather your things and head back to your living quarters for the night. 

The jingle of your keys as you unlock the door is outmatched by the growl of your stomach. 

Wishing you could ignore it but knowing you can’t, you drop your things off in your room and follow your nose to the kitchens. The cafeteria is closed this time of night but the kitchens are always open to those who need a snack. 

The sleepless skeleton cooks greet you with excited hisses, bringing a smile to your exhausted face. 

The warm yellow light of the fire is a welcome change from the green-tinted surroundings. Dried garlic and herbs hang from the walls, pots and pans litter the counter tops, and a wooden table rests off to the side with three mismatched chairs. 

You’ve developed a rapport with the regular cooks, teaching them how to add more flavor in little ways. A skeleton with a bow tie brings you a bowl of soup before you can even ask. 

“Oh, thank you, Francis. You’re too kind.” You notice the droplets of orange oil floating at the top of your corn chowder. “You even added chili crisp! You’re the best.”

Happily slurping away with not an ounce of grace, you barely hear the footsteps approaching. 

You place the bowl on the table with a heavy thunk, rake a napkin across your mouth, and turn to face the visitor. 

“Hello again!” he greets. 

It’s the same man from before, but this time he has a skeleton at his side. They are wearing an acolyte’s robe and goggles, which tickles something at the back of your mind. 

You’ve gone twenty years without seeing him in the Necropolis and now here he is, twice in one day. What are the odds?

“Oh, hey! Find any hauntings?” you ask. 

“No restless spirits tonight. Though, I doubt there ever was one.”

“Oh?”

“Several people have reported ghostly singing echoing through those halls,” he pauses, choosing his next words carefully. 

The pieces begin to fall into place through the silence, and embarrassment tints your every move. Eyes cast down, you fidget with your hands, waiting for judgement. 

“You have a lovely voice,” he finishes with a kind smile.

“What?—oh, uh. Thank you,” you smile out of reflex. 

His words are slow to process. Lovely? You count your blessings that you were singing something pretty and not screeching like a banshee. It’s surprising this hasn’t happened sooner, now that you think about it. 

“Manfred!” The skeleton hisses, pointing a boney finger at its chest. 

“You’re right, Manfred! Where are my manners? I never properly introduced ourselves. I am professor Emmrich Volkarin, and this is my pupil, Manfred.” Emmrich steps forward, offering his ungloved hand. 

Your name sounds dingy in comparison with no title or accomplishments to go along with it. But it’s hard to dwell on such things when his hand is warm in yours, skin weathered and soft. 

Emmrich Volkarin. Emmrich Volkarin… 

“Wait—not the Professor Emmrich Volkarin that took a sabbatical to save the world?!”

He laughs, lighthearted and breathy. “The very same.”

You relinquish his hand, cringing. Handshakes aren’t supposed to last that long, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite, actually. 

“What were you singing before? If I may ask,” he inquires.

Caught off-guard once again, you look at him blankly. You should have known he would have questions. 

“Just something that came to mind,” you offer, shrugging.

Please be enough. Don’t make me explain.

Emmrich hums thoughtfully. You’ve disappointed enough people to know the look of disbelief when you see it, but he doesn’t push the topic. Something else catches his attention off to your side.

“Is the soup too spicy for your liking?” he asks. 

“Oh no–It’s delicious! I’ve added chili crisp to my food so much the cooks have caught on–they’re so thoughtful,” you blurt out, all too excited to talk about your newfound way of adding flavor to the normally-dull daily soup.

“Ah–so you’re the mysterious mentor! The Watcher overseeing the kitchens was quite perplexed at the altered menu,” Emmrich reveals.

“...altered menu? Wait–they made it this way for everyone?!” 

Emmrich nods, “I appreciate a little spice now and then, but a Matron admitted herself to the infirmary early this morning.”

“Not Matron Thistle?!”

“You know her?”

Flabbergasted, you look at Francis. Bow tie quaking, he backs out of the room slowly at first, and then skitters away. Laughter bubbles up from your chest, unbidden. You cover your mouth, but you can’t hide the shit-eating grin splitting your face as you devolve into a fit of giggles. 

You’re the reason she was out today?! This puts the cherry on top of your rarely acquired good day. 

All at once, awareness smacks you in the face. You’re laughing at someone's misery in front of an esteemed Watcher. 

Unable to hide the amusement still plain on your face, you place a hand on his forearm, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell her it was me! She already hates me! I promise I didn’t tell the cooks to add it to everyone's food!”

Francis, you betrayed me!

He chuckles, placing a hand over yours. “I assure you—your secret is safe with me.”

The contact makes your heart race. Your eyes flick down to his lips then back up to his enchanting eyes. It was only a millisecond, but you’re worried he noticed.

“You’re sweet,” your mouth moves before your mind. “I mean—thank you!” Shaking off the slip of the tongue. 

Stop it. Why am I flirting??? Who even am I right now. 

With a sassy tilt of his head, Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s not my favorite Watcher, either.” 

You share a lighthearted smile and bite your lip. 

Shit. He’s so charming!

He pulls away and you miss the warmth of his hand as the moment ends, wishing for more.

Emmrich hesitates, mulling over something silently before asking, “Would you be interested in having tea with me sometime? It would be my pleasure to get to know you.”

“Me?! I’m not that interesting,” you pause, redirecting your thoughts. “I’d love to!” 

“There is more to you than meets the eye, dear.” Softly chastising, he takes a moment to admire your bashful look. “Everyone is entitled to their privacy—it is not my place to pry. However, I hope you feel comfortable enough to trust me, in time. How does Tea in the Garden sound? Let’s say–noon?”

“Tomorrow?” You ask with a dumbfounded expression. 

Not only does he want to date you, but so soon as well? What does he see in you?

Emmrich nods, “Unless you’re busy, of course. We can always reschedule for another day.”

You typically get an hour for lunch, so you’re eager to agree. If it goes over, you won’t have the strength to end it early. 

But….

What Matron Thistle doesn’t know can’t harm her. 

“Tomorrow’s perfect!” you blurt out excitedly. 

“Yes!” Manfred hisses, his excitement palpable in his raised arms. 

Emmrich’s eyes brighten, shimmering in the dim room. “Wonderful! I’m looking forward to it. Now, please, continue your meal. I am sorry to interrupt you yet again.”

“You can interrupt me anytime.” The words stumble out of your mouth easily, but lose volume by the end as your confidence wanes.

Emmrich takes your hand in his, dipping gracefully to kiss it. “Goodnight, dear.”

“G-goodnight!” you stutter, mind utterly broken from the small token of affection. 

“G’night!” Manfred waves, and you return his gesture with a small laugh.

“Goodnight, Manfred.”

After they leave you collapse back into a chair, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

You want him in ways you thought had dried-up long ago. But the water has been set free, careening through the familiar, desiccated paths it left behind. It’s nice to feel desire again, after all this time. But it feels laced with danger–hoping for something you’ve never truly had with a man you barely know.

It’s just a matter of time before he sees in you what everyone else does. Nothing. No prospects, no friends–not anymore, anyway. 

The one friend you had was sent away for causing too many fights, finally earning a prolonged stay in the most dangerous part of the Necropolis. You haven’t heard from her in six months, and count yourself left behind. 

Even through the doubts, you smile as you finish your meal. A warm blush settles across your face that not even walking back through cold halls can extinguish. 

A soft noise pulls you from your reverie. You come to a halt, the ruffle of your clothes fading to silence as you listen. 

The hair on the back of your neck raises, and you start to panic. Eyes darting around the empty, seemingly endless hall for a threat with fisted hands.  

“Mreow!” A black cat emerges from a dark corner, its green eyes matching the surrounding lamps. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you let out a breath of relief, feeling quite silly now. 

“Hi there!!! You’re so pretty!” you coo, all too excited to see a new furry friend. 

The cat rubs up against your leg, doubling back in between them like a figure eight. Its fur glistens in the dark, thick and healthy looking, and its figure is lean and muscular, befitting an outdoor cat. 

“Ooh, thank you! You’re so cute. Can I pet you??” You lean down, offering your hand.

The cat sniffs you for only a moment before rubbing its cheek against your fingers. Cautiously, you scratch behind its ears and your heart melts as it chases your touch, raising its head into your palm, eyes closed.

“Such a trusting lil guy, huh? Do you wanna come home with me?” 

As soon as you think the cat distribution system finally got to you, the cat perks up as if it heard something, and then scampers away. 

Maybe another time. 

Sighing heavily, you return to your room alone with a mind swimming with possibilities and failures. 

You need to get some sleep.

You have a date tomorrow, after all. 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach, threatening your peaceful rest before a busy day. Lazily humming a relaxing tune, you let your mind wander, never staying on any specific thought, and the day fades away to a fitful slumber, plagued by dreams. 

Tag list: @planetahmane, @l0calgoth, @ohlookacow, @severusminerva, @thepalehorsevictoria

@sllverchariot, @mollymauksboi, @haunting-6, @czarzarr, @pwney

@farore05, @fallen---alien, @skiddyyo, @muddiestpath, @nin-dy-tro

@mxfiggs, @godival33, @daddymothmilkers, @charliebear2105

[sadgirlautumn]

Losing my mind at this

[criminal-sen]

It is 5°F outside and is only supposed to get colder. Currently huddled in front of my space heater with a winter coat on, got my thermostat turned up to 70 but it's just getting sucked straight thru my windows. Oh fuck my plampts😬

The WOES of a ground floor apartment

[irlactualhuman]

Queen Mother of Autumn. From my own worldbuilding in Temras. When I make OCs, they usually come with a voice. Cuz... I voice them at the table. Anyway.

The Queen and Lady:

(These ladies have not yet come up at the table, so they're not uniquely voiced as of yet. They might soon, though.)

[starryechoesworld]

Whispers of Autumn

I remember the way the seasons would turn,

How autumn arrived with its soft, gentle burn.

The leaves would fall, golden and bright,

Like whispers of secrets that fade with the light.

It was months before the trees turned red,

I saw you then, but you turned your head.

I lingered, hoping for that fleeting glance,

And when you caught me, it felt like a chance.

Not just once, but again and again,

Our eyes would meet in that silent refrain.

People talked, their voices a soft rustle,

But we stayed quiet, lost in the subtle.

Outside the classroom, you’d be near,

Your presence behind me, always clear.

We never spoke, but your eyes said enough,

In that autumn air, we shared something tough.

Thirteen years since those moments we knew,

And still, your shadow lingers, so true.

Your gaze, your silence, it shaped my past,

A memory that echoes, meant to last.

You’ve built a life now, with love and a home,

And sometimes I wonder, when I’m alone—

Was our silence a blessing or a curse left behind?

A story untold, a love undefined?

If you had wanted, you would’ve made it clear,

But perhaps the quiet was all we could bear.

Maybe it was the silence that held us tight,

A love that was felt but never took flight.

As autumn returns, I feel the same weight,

The brush of the wind, the threads of our fate.

The leaves still fall, they don’t whisper your name,

But in the rustling, I hear echoes of the same.

Perhaps it’s the autumn, or the memory we keep,

That binds me to moments I still silently reap.

We were always the season that never quite came,

A fleeting love, lost in autumn’s soft frame.

[grimsmuses]

// omori tag dump lol ignore

[astra-ravana]

Witch's Runes

The Witch's Runes are a set of 13 pictographic runes. They are cast similarly in fashion to Futhark runes and interpreted using one's intuition.

To use Witch's Runes for divination, form a question in your mind and push that thoughtform into your runes. When this is complete, cast them all at once, like dice. Only the face up runes are relevant to the reading, disregard any that fall face down. The most significant rune in the reading is the one furthest from you. If all the runes are face down, you aren't yet meant to know the answer (if this happens don't attempt another reading for at least a week). You can also seek general guidance by drawing a single rune.

Witch's Rune Meanings

Sun

• New beginnings

• Good news

• Abundance

• Good health

• Fertility

• Joy

• Growth

• Prosperity

• Gods

Moon

• Intuition

• Long-term changes

• Transition

• Mystery

• Dreams

• Emotion

• Healing

• Psychic ability

• Shadow work

• Goddesses

Flight

• Communication

• Spirit messages

• Travel

• Birds

• News

• Information

• Movement

• Ascension

Rings

• Connections

• Binding

• Family

• Teams

• Alliances

• Alchemy

Romance

• Love

• Relationship

• Deep emotional connections

• Life, death, and rebirth

• Trinity

• Harmony

Woman

• The feminine

• Traditional female characteristics

• Birth

• Creativity

• Life blood

• Home

• Motherhood

• Life

Man

• The masculine

• Traditional male characteristics

• Action

• Goals

• Provider

• Strength

• Vitality

• Justice

• War

Harvest

• Blessings

• Rewards

• Abundance

• Wealth

• Security

• Manifestation

• Plants

• Education

• Self-investment

Crossroads

• Decisions

• Opportunities

• The unknown

• The in-between

• Blockages

• Spirits

• Hesitation

• Deals

Star

• Guidance

• Gifts

• Light in the dark

• Navigation

• Astrology

• Other worlds

• Destiny

• Authenticity

• Freedom

• Wishes

• Hope

Waves

• Being moved

• Deep connection to the spirit world

• Raw emotion

• Purity

• Rejuvenation

• Land of the dead

• Momentum

• Overwhelm

• Recovery

Scyth

• Sudden change

• Ending of an era

• Release

• Clearing the way

• Waning

• Death

• Reaping

• Autumn

• Final decision

• Danger

Eye

• Lifting of the veil

• Protection

• Watching

• Clairvoyance

• Awareness

• Evil eye

• Seeing the truth

• Focus

• Psychic abilities

[running-with-kn1ves]

Could you do Orc Tribal Leader X Reader on your wedding night?

A/N: I SWEAR I'm literally just writing the same stuff over again b/c I had a story just like this, but you know what I never get tired of it because its like a top fantasy bro. Hope this one was better than that version at least

Content warnings: Forced Marriage, kidnapping, attempted escapes, nonconsensual touching, infantilization of reader  

Synopsis: Your village, destroyed and burned. Your life picks up somewhere you would never have imagined. Maybe, death is a better option than being an orc’s spouse. 

Word Count: Approx. 2600 

The autumn solstice was a bountiful, beholden time of year. From the greeneries of cabbage and the fowls hatched in summer now fully grown, there was much to be harvested and ripened for the taking. Your town was boisterous, full of life with a variety of competitors and businesses attempting to lurch at any tourist’s or local’s wallet to get them to buy countless crops, meat, and woven goods.  

Your tiny tea shop, suffering from last July’s drought, was finally starting to perk up with re-growth. Black tea, jasmine, bergamot, even hybrid blends like crushed raspberry and chamomile-- you could assemble enough to raise prices, label the small reaping as an imported foreign good luck charm that when drunken, blessed women with marriage prospects and men with wealth.  

That was, before however, you became bound and gagged to a chair, pleasantries being exchanged around you in a language harsh in your ears. The fires... You remember them well, the putrid stench of charred meat from the butcher next door, his body even more ablaze. Your jade boxes of fine silk bags meant for holding gifts of tea, becoming laden with ash and dust. Every scrap of money you saved up under the floorboards disappearing into floating particles and melted coins.  

“Brutes,” Your uncle called them, “deranged beasts with only two things in mind: bloodlust and greed.” 

Orcs were not well-received in a conservative, fearful town of humans. Even the elves, seen as symbols of beauty in mortal standards, were causes of paranoia and irritation whenever they made their rounds nearby.  

It was no wonder that the lines of tusked, olive-fleshed creatures in animal skin were spotted, the guards of your small city went on a rampage. Bows and arrows were no match for iron bones and teeth of steel.  

You, were no match for anything wider than a tree trunk. So when fire caught to your village, your home now rampaged for its finest ‘offerings’ to the orcs, you were left to be eaten by the licking flames. And yet, was it a blessing or a curse that one of the warriors decided to haul you on his back, doting on how “nicely you’ll do” as a wedding gift. You didn’t realize that the gift was to be part of the ceremony yourself.  

With smoke in your lungs and your eyes blurred by dirt and ash, you watched the ceiling cave in on your tiny tea-filled shack, bright orange and red dancing from behind the window panes as you drifted away.  

Daraktan is spoken all around you, harshly and with flicking tongues. You can hear snippets of English, wondering what’s going on behind the black veil covering your head. You don’t dare remove it, recalling what the orc woman, supposedly your now husband’s ‘mother’ telling you in your native tongue.  

“Touch this, and you will surely die. My alfhild will remove it, when it is time.”  

And so, you wait. Digging your fingernails into your palms, crying quietly in heavy furs and leather, the occasional hand coming to pull your shaky one to their mouths, kissing the tip of your index finger.  

“Aka’magosh..” They mumble to you, seemingly more at the body to your right. 

The calloused hand of someone much larger than you, whom you have assumed is your husband from his constant appearance nearby, occasionally comes to grace your back, to rest a hand on the top of your head, to smoothen your veil or the soft fur shawl on your legs.  

His hearty laugh hurts your ears, the jingles of the metal jewelry he adorns constantly making noise as he shifts.  

“Please..” You whisper, praying, to whoever may be listening. Why you? Why, out of all the fair, eligible humans of your town, were you picked out from the rubble to be “saved”? To be married to a faceless orcish man, who would surely break you in half before morning? 

The bitter cold of coming winter brushes against your legs. You can feel that you’re not inside wooden walls, and yet unnatural lighting seems to shine through your veil at times.  

“Omulork, I think I will take my… wedding gift, to be with in solitude.” 

Loud, deep laughs fill the room, the guttural voices of female orcs being swallowed up by uncountable numbers of warriors surrounding you. Your body shivered as a gust of wind blew in, the autumn breeze barely being kept at bay from where you sat.  

“Enjoy the festivities, shedzvagas!”  

His unique husk leaves everyone in the room to cheer in their orcish language, tough and painful pats coming to your back, the festive shakes to your shoulder nearly making you topple. 

That same heated, abrasive hand comes to grab your roped wrists, lurching you firmly, yet gently from your place on the ground. Panic started to fill your stomach as it rose to your chest, the warm aura of an orc next to you radiating to heat you from the chilly weather outside.  

Now. It was now or never. You didn’t want to think anymore what he would do to you when you were alone, when you had no one to cry to for help.  

Your feet moved before the thought finished crossing your mind. Your hands shook as you stumbled in a sprint forward. You passed thick bodies as you ran blindly, making it a mere five steps before a pair of meaty hands grabbed you by the hips. 

“A feisty one, Gar’mak!” The sounds of the orc woman who forced you into your wedding attire spoke up, a drunken laugh leaving her plump lips. “Alfhild, better not leave it out of your sight.” 

You hated how clear the English they used was to your ears, how human they all sounded, how when they spoke in your native tongue-- it was meant for your ears. She wanted you to know, to let the fear soak into your chattering teeth.  

The orc keeping you captive merely laughed, tossing your weightless body to his shoulder just like he had done when pulling you from the cobble of what was left of your tea shop. 

You screamed, biting down on what you could reach from under your veil. But the salty, thick flesh from beneath you was aloof, offering no reaction as a double pat was brought to your buttocks.  

“Now now, Djenifor, don’t fuss.” Gar’mak mused, each step he took forward making your body thump against his. He held a tight grip on you, not caring for the scratches you layered his back with. “I won’t try to hurt you… I will keep you safe, try my best to keep your fragile body in one piece.”  

The coldening night air was a drastic change to the room of heavy body heat and weighty movement where the wedding ritual and festivities were held. Now, it was quiet. You could hear the loud chattering begin to drift, songs and chants rising again as they once had when you were unceremoniously married to your new ‘husband.’  

Gar’mak patted your butt again, moving down to rub at the back of your thigh with a gentle, firm rhythm. He seemed to hum to himself, satisfied with the nights events. Scored himself a spouse and the treasured belongings of a human town.  

He must be pretty proud of himself, you seethed.  

The tears were beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, frantically scratching at the orcs back when you felt the warmth of an enclosed area meet your skin.  

“No, no--” You began to kick, trying to shove off the arm holding you steady on the orcs’ shoulder.  

“Settle down now--” Gar’mak ordered softly, putting you down on the fuzzy ground. You managed to hit his face, the hard scrape of tusks scratching your hand as a firm nose nearly cracked your knuckles.  

The orc went silent. Quiet in rage, he rips your veil away with a grip hard enough to tear hair out if he so desired.  

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly lit tent, lanterns glowing at the corners as the mass of a creature leers over you. You forgot just how… big, orcs were. From afar they looked small, bigger than a human, but no threat due to distance. But now… he was above you, twice your height, twice your size, twice if not thrice everything. His palm the size of your skull, his eyes gleaming and looking over your body, weak with exhaustion and fright.  

Small, intentional scars were placed under his auburn eyes, some kind of tribe symbol you were sure. Thick eyebrows furrowed at the way tears decorated your cheeks, the exhales from his flat nose blowing hot breath on your chest.  

“Please, I, I can’t, I don’t belong--” You fumble over yourself, trying to slide back on the floor of soft wolf and caribou furs.  

“Shh, shh now,” The orc puts a hand to your ankle, an action that jerks you to a stop. “I won’t hurt you, lebam…” 

You sincerely doubt that, but the sentiment sounds genuine from his broken, baritone voice. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, pulling slowly with immeasurable strength at your leg. You slide towards him with little strain, even with your muscles going rigid for you to stand your place, your fingernails digging into the ground beneath you.  

You shake out your name, reluctant to give it.  

“Ah. What a human name; a scared wee human, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dare to respond, waiting for the sound of your snapping ankle. 

“They call me Gar’mak, though that may be too difficult for simple human brains. Mak is fine, little Djenifor…” 

You don’t want to call him anything, to refer to him at all-- yet, he looks keen to hear you say it. There’s an expectation in his eyes, a flick of his giant tongue against his lips.  

“Mak..” You mumble, trying not to gag.  

“Yes…” The orc’s hand frees your leg, caressing up to your cheek as he wipes away a forgotten wet stream of tears.  

“Please, just let me go--” You beg under your breath, scared of the way he seems to be eyeing your knees, your frail neck, your round ears.  

“You know that’s not going to happen,” He doesn’t seem angry at you for asking, just… Sorry. “We are bound forever now; even the gods couldn’t tear us apart. Wherever you go, I will find you. Whenever I leave, you will feel me gone. By sunrise tomorrow your scars will be given, and you will become one of us.”  

The panic begins to settle once again in your stomach. Maybe, tonight, yes-- tonight, if you could escape. You could-- just maybe you could find a way, past their all-seeing eyes, their all-hearing ears, escape to the mountains they took to get you here. 

 “But can’t you change it back?” Your voice cracks, expression twisting into an ugly cry as you feel thick fingers dig into your hair. “Just, we can go back-- just let me be…”  

You sob for what feels like too long, hours maybe, Gar’mak’s eyes never leaving you as he pulls you to his thigh. He brings a cotton blanket to your legs as he shushes you, the tenderness of his eyes a foreign sight compared to the façade he forced you to endure during the night's festivities.  

When your cries had turned to miserable, quiet sniffles, a muscled knuckle finds its way under your chin. He turns your head to look at him, eyes red and droopy as you try to think of any method of escape.  

“You’ll learn to like it here, human.” Gar’mak thinks for a moment, caressing your leg with a single finger.  

 “We are far more civilized than your kind-- far more… Fair. You’ll be treated well. The spouses of warriors do not go unfed, unbathed. Unloved, most of all. You will be cherished; I will cherish you, as long as you let me.”  

The orc grips your jaw in his hand, firm enough to where his fingers made dimples in your cheeks, but softly to where you felt like a mouse in someone’s closing palm. A kiss was planted to your temple, your body pushed deep against your husband’s as he holds you close enough to suffocate. You wait for him to choke life from you, and yet it never comes. He is harsh with his touches, but not harsh enough to hurt.  

“Please, let's finish tonight how it was meant to go, hm? Let me hold you…” He murmurs, all soft and lamblike into your ear. It sends shivers down to your soles, hot breath layering your neck as he looks at your lips with such intensity.  

You fear saying no, but the word rises up to your throat.  

It doesn’t make it out in time. Lips engulf yours, the stiff coldness of bone-colored tusks brushing against your face as Gar’mak holds you tight. Just one kiss is enough to make his demeanor act up.  

Your unassuming, comfort-driven spot on his lap is altered swiftly. You find yourself straddling the orcs’ waist, a hand pressed against the back of your head as your tied hands remain useless against his chest.  

You don’t know whether to speak, to scream, to bite at his lips-- but you remain flexile, afraid of the rough hand holding your skull so tenderly, the other gripping your thigh to wrap around his flank. You’re like a resistant doll, licked lips becoming tender as the orc pushes against you with such tenacity.  

You see his eyes open, staring into your wide, unblinking ones. They seem to communicate more than just lust-- its desire, desire for your reciprocation.  

Gar’mak waits… he kisses you, eyes narrowed on standby for your submission. They’re hazy and make you wonder if this is enough to make him release his brutish side, the part that showed no mercy for your neighbors or your home. What would happen, if you broke away or dared to claw at him?  

That thought doesn’t stay for long, not when the tough hand on the back of your head moves to your neck, squeezing just enough to bruise.  

You wince, lips pursing in reaction just in time for his next tongued assault.  

That slight opening of your mouth, the press of your lips against his, is all he needed. You find yourself twisted beneath his body as you’re brought to lay on the furry floor, the orc lying above you.  

“That’s right, I’ll be soft Djenifor… just do as I command, keep smelling so sweetly for me.” 

Scars litter his shoulders and collarbone, metal necklaces and piercings dangling on his olive-green, lightly haired chest as you fear how much it would take for him to crush you.  

He’s so quiet, letting go of your mouth as the orc’s curled tongue licks a slow, wet stripe down your jaw. His hands grab your thighs to wrap your legs around him, intent on keeping you steady and so close you practically breathe the same air.  

Before he leans to kiss you feverishly again, the orc brushes your cheek with his knuckles, petting down the amalgamated fabrics you wear to commemorate your wedding.  

 “You’re so lucky I found you first, that I had saved you from that rubble without layering an extra scratch; my brethren would not be so kind.”  

He kisses your cheek, a soft, hungry grin playing on his plumped and tusked lips. “So stay pliant like this for me, wee human, and you won’t feel any pain.” 

You lay rigidly, squeezing your eyes shut as a tender, all-consuming kiss eats you up, preparing you for the night’s affairs.  

[misserabella]

the farmer’s daughter

dbsf! abby x fem! reader

summary; abby knew it was wrong to like you. you were her best friend’s daughter. but she couldn’t help it.

cw; +18 minors dni!, reader isn’t shy!!!, nudity, body worshipping, kissing, begging, tit and nipple play, oral sex (r receiving), praise, use of nicknames instead of y/n, hair pulling…

she knows she shouldn’t. you’re her best friend’s daughter. but she couldn’t help herself.

it was a hot july afternoon. the sun was bathing her freckled skin and broad exposed shoulders. sweat was running down her face in salty droplets that she swiped away before they could reach her sky blue eyes.

she had been helping her best friend for hours on his farm, soiling the ground for the autumn and helping him out with some oil and tire changes for his truck.

“some lemonade?”

and there you were. in your denim short jumpsuit with just a mere bikini underneath. you were a sight for sore eyes. with tanned skin exposed for her hungry ones.

“thanks honey.” you father gave you a smile as he took one of the glasses being offered, gulping down the sweet iced lemonade.

“thanks.” abby said, taking the other, and you gave her a nectar grin.

“i’m going to the lake for a little bit with laura.” you informed your father, who nodded.

“okay, you two be careful out there, yeah? don’t wantcha drowning.” he ordered in his deep accent. you snickered.

“i would never.” you gave her a soft kiss on his sweaty cheek. “good luck with your truck!” you quickly waved as you ran towards the field, where your friend was waiting for you, towels in hand.

abby watched you go, your beautiful hair waving against the wind and shining under the sun. what she’d do for a kiss of your lips…

“sweet isn’t it?” you father inquired, tasting the lemonade you’d made for them, although abby was not really thinking about the lemonade when she answered.

“yeah. real sweet.”

-

when you got back to your house, your father was nowhere to be seen.

abby was in the kitchen, drinking a cold beer to fight the warmth of the summer.

you were dripping wet, your clothes and towel hanging on your arm as your drenched hair let droplets fall onto the skin of your chest.

“where’s dad?” you inquired, leaving your things on the kitchen table and opening the fridge, bending over to retrieve some lemonade.

“went out to the market. said he needed to buy some stuff.” she said, her eyes roaming your body; the arch of your back, the nipples poking through the top of your bikini, your perfect little ass… abby gulped down another mouthful of her beer, feeling the heat of the summer on her throat.

you hummed. “probably ingredients for dinner. he’s been craving my meatloaf.” you smiled at her, jar in hand.

you took a glass and poured some of the lemonade in it, hurriedly gulping it down in a frenzy. desperate.

abby seemed amused. “thirsty?” you hummed, finishing down your drink and spilling some of it down your chest. if your skin would be sweet before, now it could make her teeth rot.

“it’s so hot outside.” you gasped. abby’s eyes followed the droplets as they found your cleavage.

she shook her head, taking a cloth from the counter to walk over you and press it against your chest. “so clumsy…” you looked up at her, into her ocean eyes, feeling your heart beat faster at her closeness. abigail anderson, your father’s best friends since you could remember. 6,3ft of pure muscle and inches of blonde braided hair that reminded you of the wheat your father reaped. she was strong, kind, intelligent and really, really attractive. your eyes roamed her face, the scar on her left cheek, the little freckles that have shown on her nose due to the sun, her long eyelashes, her supple pink lips…

“sorry…” you muttered, unconsciously biting on your bottom one. her eyes followed the motion, quickly returning to your eyes.

she pulled away, clearing her throat. “you’re drenched.” she said. “your father would kill you if he saw you wetting the floor.” you chuckled.

“you’re right.” and that’s when a glorious idea came to your mind. you turned around pulling your hair to your front to expose the laces of your neck and back. “do you mind?” you looked over your shoulder at her, and abby frowned. before she realized what you wanted her to do.

“oh… sure.” she said with a cough, coming up from behind you. you felt your skin rose in goosebumps when her fingertips graced your skin, holding onto the strings of the bow of your back before slowly pulling. she gulped. slowly undoing it. you took a deep breath, standing still, your heart deafening. once it’s strings were hanging by your sides, abby slowly moved to the one surrounding your neck. the time she took to get it undone seemed to stretch out. abby’s tongue wetted her lips. she could feel her stomach churning, her hands shaking. you felt the top fall. you didn’t even bother to catch it, letting it slide down your navel, exposing your supple breasts and perky nipples.

you slowly turned once again, the piece of clothing abandoned at your feet. and abby felt like she couldn’t breath, faced with your nudity. with your beautiful exposed skin. your cheeks were reddish under her gaze. you felt small and delicate under it. as if you could break. maybe you wanted it.

“what are you doing?” she breathed out, her throat dry.

“you don’t like it?” you muttered, and she quickly let you know it was nothing like that.

“no, no… it’s just…” she sighed. “you shouldn’t be… we shouldn’t be…” but again, you were looking at her with those pretty doe eyes, offering yourself in a silver platter for her to devour. and abby was a weak woman. “fuck it.” she growled, shortening the distance that stood between the two of, cupping your plush cheeks with her warm hands to bring your lips to hers. it was devastating. how they felt. soft. sweet and sour.

you hummed, your back arching against her as you got on your tiptoes to reach her lips. she tasted like beer, and cigarettes, salty due to the sweat that coated her skin. fresh pines engulfed your senses as you pulled on her braided locks. her tongue pressed against your lips in invitation, and you opened up for her, moaning on her mouth. she pressed against you until you were against the kitchen counter, her hands leaving your face to slowly drift down your neck to your shoulders, elbows, hips, and lastly your thighs, pulling you up the cold surface. you gasped as it made contact with your skin. or maybe it was her hands on your waist, the same hands that now were hungrily kneading at your breasts, fingers tweaking your hardened nipples. you whimpered when she left your lips, her mouth leaving wet kisses down your neck.

“abby…” you breathed out, her name tasting like honey on your lips. “please.” it was as if your words had power over her, one simple plea and she was down on her knees for you, dying to worship you like some kind of god. you stared at her from above, as she looked at you through her blonde lashes. her hands were on top of your thighs, shaking in need to touch you in places no one has ever touched you before.

you opened your legs for her. a silent invitation as your hands went to the strings of your bikini bottom, pulling at the laces on your hips until it was loose, barely hiding you from her. but not for long, ‘cause you were pulling at the piece of clothing to drop it on the floor, where your top laid.

“fuck…” the blonde cursed at the sight of you, at the sight of your sticky folds, exposed twitching leaking hole and your puffy reddish clit. the next curse that filled the air came from your lips as her own wrapped around that throbbing bundle of nerves, her hands pushing your thighs over her strong exposed shoulders for a better angel.

“shit, abby… yes, just like that, please…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your jaw falling slack as a pant left your lungs. her tongue was hungrily lapping at your slick, she was starved, yet slow. she wanted this moment to last, maybe for ever. your fingers pushed in between her golden locks, tugging her closer and making her groan.

“ hmm god.” she hummed. “taste so good, baby…” there were fireworks behind your eyelids as your back arched. this was heaven, and you were a sinner for wanting her this bad. abby didn’t mind being one too.

you’re sweet as honey as you drip down her chin, as one of her fingers sink inside of you and you let out this moan that makes her believe you’re certainly an angel if not a god. something holy you must be. for her to push aside the guilt that making you hers brings down her shoulders, that sinks her down to her knees and makes her forget the fact that you’re her best friend’s daughter.

she crooks it up against your g spot, and the fireworks turn into stars.

abby feels like she’s been locked out of heaven for so long… but now, in between your legs, hearing you moan her name, she feels blessed, pure.

she adds another finger, and the stretch makes you cry out as she sucks on your clit. you’re close. and she knows.

“abby, i’m gonna… please don’t stop, please…”

and even if she wanted, she couldn’t. she wouldn’t. not when you beg her. when you plead so sweetly it’s making her rot.

“cum for me, honey. cum for me.” she looks drunk on you, pupils blown, lose strands of her hair sticking to her forehead and lips swollen and shiny on your slick.

and something you do is give it to her. in between moans and cries and whimpers you spill inside her mouth, body shaking in ecstasy.

and abby drinks it all up. scared. terrified. terrified that this would be the last time she will get to taste something as holy as you.

-

a/n; this does not mean my hiatus is over. i just wanted to post something. hope you like it.

[theplotmage]

Halloween-themed Fantasy Festival and Unique Events for Worldbuilding:

1. Whispers Eve – A night when the spirits of the lost whisper secrets to the living.

2. Harrowtide – A festival of fear where nightmares walk among the people.

3. Veilfall – The thin barrier between worlds collapses, allowing passage for the dead.

4. Moonshadow Revel – When the moon is dark, shadowy creatures come out to celebrate.

5. Hallowed Lanterns – A night where enchanted lanterns guide the dead home.

6. Soul’s Gate – The gate between the mortal world and the afterlife swings open.

7. Glimmernight – A festival where ghosts appear as shimmering lights.

8. Dreadmasque – A masquerade where each mask hides a dark secret.

9. Reaping Hollow – An event where spirits return to reclaim what they’ve lost.

10. Bloodfire Vigil – Bonfires are lit with blood magic to protect against the undead.

11. Darkmoon Ascendance – A night where the moon turns black and dark magic reigns.

12. Spectral Tide – The dead rise as the tide reaches its highest point.

13. Twilight’s Grasp – The setting sun never fully disappears, keeping the world in twilight where horrors lurk.

14. Night of the Wraiths – Wraiths descend to collect souls and drag them into the underworld.

15. Frostgrave Feast – A feast in the frozen woods where the spirits of winter grant wishes, but at a price.

16. Bonefire Rites – Sacred fires are lit to honor ancestors and keep malevolent spirits at bay.

17. Witch’s Mark – A night when those who bear a witch’s mark gain immense, but temporary, power.

18. Gravemist Rising – The fog from graves rises, filled with whispers and secrets from the dead.

19. Shadowveil Crossing – A ritual where people cross over into the shadow world to commune with spirits.

20. Autumn’s Curse – A festival where the curse of eternal autumn brings creatures of decay to life.

21. Lantern of Souls – A single lantern, said to hold the souls of the departed, guides the lost on Halloween.

22. Phantom’s Requiem – A symphony is played by phantoms, echoing through the realm of the living.

23. Cindershade Festival – Celebrating the power of fire to keep the dark spirits away.

24. Nightmare’s End – A gathering where the most vivid nightmares are summoned and must be conquered.

25. Hallowveil Procession – A grand parade of masked figures representing both life and death.

26. Gloomhaven Masquerade – A ball held in an eerie town where no one knows who is mortal and who is not.

27. Midnight Harvest – A harvest festival under the blood moon where sacrifices are made to dark gods.

28. Ebon Wreath – A wreath of black flowers is hung on every door to protect against roaming spirits.

29. Soulthorn Festival – A thorny forest springs to life, and only those who navigate it can escape the spirits within.

30. Eclipse of Ashes – During a total eclipse, the ashes of the dead rain down, bringing with them cryptic messages.

31. Gravenight Dance – A dance held in a cemetery where ghosts lead the living in one last waltz.

32. Night of the Void – The stars disappear, leaving the world in utter darkness as creatures from the void emerge.

33. Horror’s Ascendant – A festival that celebrates the rise of a forgotten terror that once plagued the world.

34. Tide of the Forsaken – A night when those forsaken by the gods are given one last chance to walk among the living.

35. Mournstar Vigil – A night when the mournful star rises and the dead follow its path back to the mortal realm.

36. Graveshadow Feast – A festival where the living feast with their deceased ancestors.

37. Shroudfall – The shroud between life and death dissolves, allowing creatures of darkness to invade.

38. Hollowlight Procession – Spirits of lost children carry lanterns, leading a parade through the haunted woods.

39. Doomveil Gathering – A gathering of witches and warlocks under a cursed sky to summon forbidden magic.

40. Veilfire Festival – A festival where fire dances upon the veil between worlds, granting glimpses of the afterlife.

41. Ruinwake Revelry – A chaotic festival celebrating destruction and chaos, where dark beings rise from ruin.

42. Blackthorn Masque – A masquerade in a cursed castle where everyone wears masks of thorns.

43. Echoes of Dust – A ceremony where the dust of ancient beings blows through the town, and their voices are heard once more.

44. Ashen Sun – The sun turns ashen, and with it, the spirits of forgotten warriors rise from their graves.

45. Night of Unraveling – A night when the fabric of reality unravels, and the boundary between dimensions fades.

46. Hushmoor Eve – A silent evening where all sound is banned to prevent awakening the slumbering dead.

47. Cryptwatch Festival – Vigilant watch over ancient crypts, where treasure seekers try to unlock the secrets of eternal life.

48. Wraith’s Breath – A chilling wind blows through town, said to be the breath of wraiths hunting for souls.

49. Duskmire Celebration – A festival in a swampy region where creatures of the mire rise to celebrate with the living.

50. Moonless Descent – A night where the moon disappears and the world descends into a temporary abyss, where anything can happen.

[recitedemise]

Gosh, and what helluva gardener that this wizard proves to be. Between them, a most rousing moment--heady, intoxicating, almost, like a potent wine--goes on and stretches for the length of eternity. Perhaps she is a growth, something foreign and sprouting in the bed of his roses; yet, he'd fancied her, hadn't he?, nurturing her silly as she dug her roots. She came barreling and flowering, crowding whole his head like a blossoming chaplet, and now she's claimed his thoughts. Is sprouting in his mind. He lays awake at night, every idle musing humming long her name. Lords, he has grown this eagerly, that much is true, but the seasons of yearning are fast burning at his wick. He eyes her, skin flushing, and longs to reap.

This, he muses for the umpteenth time, is but harvesting devotion. They're now, as far as he's concerned, at the autumn of surrender. Gale's never been afraid, laying himself down like a lamb at altar, and will she cradle him, he wonders? Or snap him to drain? It hardly really matters, his words catching thickly at the bob of his throat. So long as she takes him there where her heart lays still and mum, he'll burrow himself eagerly and he'll tangle her gardens. Just as she's done, he'll take root.

Again, again, again. A gasp. I am yours.

And as she crowds in closer, he thinks she knows this. Gale--swallows. He eyes her, and the air between them waltzes, threading as if lightning through the web of his bones. Her hand reaches for his own, and reverently, the cold press of her lips travel his veins like river. It's unsightly, surely, the blistering evidence of his ardent desire. However, though poorly does he hide it, so helpless to color so madly his chest, what's a mortal to do with labor of his breathing? And more damning yet, the thunder of his pulse? He's read down to filth, half-smothering his gasp as she pricks at his thumb. But when she moans out loud, his flavor traveling thickly--oh, gods above, how loudly Gale keens. It sounds like hunger, like desperate need. "I," he manages, vying miserably for casual. "I propose another idea. Unsurprisingly, I'm not that eager to cast you out there half indisposed. No. You will leave here tonight most properly satisfied," he breathes, "and you will have as much as you're both willing and able to. Lay my worries to rest. Leave here full with me."

Her nails find his scalp as he full body shivers.

Gale listens raptly. Hungrily. Her fangs sink in again. He doesn't yet know, however, which is more to blame for this ravaging feeling in the twist of his belly. Is it the trickling of his wooziness? The howling empty in his half-hazed thoughts? Or is it the press of her body, flush and close and so notably warmer? Gale doesn't know, hands settling along the shelves of her jutting hips. All of her kisses and all of her promises so thick and reverent... The lines are blurring, mingling together like the bleeding of paint. The bed's the altar, and this too-thin tent is now a church at night, and all the pews are empty save for this section they've laid claim to--just Serana. Just Gale. And who knows who's the god? "Were that you only knew what it is you asked for," he starts, half-gasping as she pulls away, "you may have considered your words more carefully. You're--entirely too generous. It would hardly be fair. What I would ask of you, what I have dreamt from you... It's entirely too much to burden you with." He's almost shaking. "I might've resolved to shoulder it alone." It isn't fair. It can't be fair. No, she's already ruining him. He leans in, the tickle of his beard scratching up the soft of her now-blushed cheek. His nose bumps against hers, the smell of oud and thunder and magic so strong, and how he longs to reach over and push down upon her spine. Feel how much I want you. Slot in flush and close. Let his every heartbeat cave your ribs--thundering and hammering like the pulse of lightning. "Admittedly, I'm not sure how to answer your question. There...have been nights, several, where I've felt this very same feeling in considerable intensity." He laugh laughs, almost mad with it. It hardly required much to send him toppling-- "It took only your name, and I was lost."

his words wash over her. the decadent taste of him still coating her tongue. as she listens ( tries to ) the connection between the two of them takes hold of her. his desire becomes hers. threads from her core and snakes it's way through the weaving of her vessels and ─── WAIT. there's something else isn't there ?? something she'd been looking for. wanting desperately. something, anything as concrete proof beyond the pearlescent gem at her collarbone or the occasional grazing of their fingertips ── the yearning. and not that of the soft and effervescent kind. the kind brought about by the nature of vampiric feeding. a byproduct to help ease live meals and make them less messy. no this wasn't that. it wasn't fleeting. it had roots. like hers. ones grown deep into his very soul.

AGAIN. it comes through the fog of their entanglement clearer than everything else he says. ( . . .go at it again. . . ) it takes her out of it , brings her back to the surface for air. ( . . .if you'll at all have me again. . . ) and when her eyes re-focus on to him it's as if everything becomes clear. AGAIN , CONSIDER ME EAGER FOR YOU.

he's coming to you , chest pried open so that you can reach between his ribs and feast from his heart however it pleases you. devour him.

their fingers still twined together , serana lifts them to her lips. " eager. . . " she murmurs thickly through their shared desire , removing her own hand , his palm is next to receive a tender kiss. his racing pulse draws her down to the thin , supple skin of his wrist. too long her eyes would linger on these veins , hungry to taste. " not much more , though. . . you should be at full strength if we're going to help halsin tomorrow with thaniel. " with a gentle nick from the sharp nail on her thumb , he can watch as serana's mouth encloses around the crimson that beads and wells. watch her eyes roll back and close as she indulges in him once more per request. much to her delight , the pining only strengthens as she takes more from him. twists with hers in a dance that builds her confidence that , yes , their want was the same.

someone just had to be brave enough to make the move.

serana lifts from his wrist and presses to the wound to staunch the bleeding , he's stained her red. hands reach , taking a moment to trace where his hairline met the features of his face ( where she's been lost so many times ) before they tuck beneath his chin and with the momentum of their shared yearning , serana leads gale towards her. " you're a flavor of tempests. a sharp sting like i'm standing in a field before lightning strikes. like stars are dancing on my skin. i'd taste you every day if you'd let me. " before finally , FINALLY , she risks closing the gap , the millimeters , she'd left between them with a delicate kiss. don't break him. he's been cracked enough already. " i'd remind you of how beautiful you are. " again. he'd asked. " how deserving you are. " AGAIN. she'd bestow. " i'd rip into the planes of coldharbour if it could heal that orb , if it could take away your sorrow , and let me keep you. " confession after confession , peppering him with kisses between them , she's drowning in their mass. he , full of desire to worship. she , fashioned his angel , needing someone to share communion with. if he is surrendering in soft prayer , she is too. her hands are warmer as they cup his face. yes. he did that. " does your yearning feel doubled now that i've tasted you ?? it's because you're feeling mine as well. my longing , my desire . . . all for you. " we are the same. we covet the same. " you could have everything you want from me. you could have that desire and yearning. you just have to ask me for it. "

[flightrising]

Autumn has returned to Sornieth and dragons everywhere are reaping the benefits of a bountiful harvest season! Drakeharvest runs from September 5-9, and brings with it a bounty of rewards!

[iknwreid]

pumpkin – spencer reid x reader.

spencer loves autumn and halloween so much, and you and him are always togheter, this time for a pumpkin carving.

wc: 2.5k | disclamers: fluff, realy fluffly. bau!reader. no use of y/n. | a/n: english is not my first language, also, this is my very first time writing a fic in english, lmk if theres anything i can improve. glasses reid is my favorite. text divider by cafekitsune.

Reid and you were more than work colleagues, you were friends. You were always talking to each other, even outside of work, using your free time for friendly dates, going to cafés, museums and anything else you'd like to do on your own but didn't dare, because leaving the house alone had been a bit of a problem since high school. And deep down you knew it was a problem for him too, not a problem but probably an inconvenience. Going out alone was always awkward for everyone, the feeling of people looking at you and wondering what they were thinking – Not that it really matters what people think, but social anxiety is a real thing.

So you and Spencer were always together, your teammates already had jokes ready when you left the bullpen together, with Morgan and Prentiss always being the first to say something they found hilarious. “Going away together again? Soon you will be living together too.” Morgan’s voice echoed through the office in a joking tone. Spencer looked at him with an annoyed face. “Yes, Derek, but better than living with you, tho.” You replied, also jokingly. The dynamic between the two of you was sibling-like and you were constantly annoyed with each other. 

“We're going to the fair to buy a pumpkin to carve.” Spencer said, packing up his things. “Halloween season is starting!” Reid loved Halloween, everyone knew that, and you loved it too, not as much as he did, but his excitement and anticipation infected you too this year. 

The Halloween season had not started yet, it was only the middle of September, but for him it was Halloween season when fall came and the pumpkins were sold. You could not count how many ghost stories Reid knew by heart that he told you over and over again. You did not really mind all the excitement, but you knew it could be overwhelming for the others. In fact, you loved his excitement at this time of year, loved watching the movies on his list even if you had already seen them all last year, loved the pumpkin-flavored things he bought, and loved the smile on his face when he saw a pile of leaves in the street. 

If you looked out of the window, you could see that the trees were beginning to look autumnal. The hot summer air had already faded away, welcoming the cold breeze and the orange paisaje he liked so much. It was nice to have fall again, to not feel hot all the time and to not see Hotch’s disapproving face when you broke the dress code a little just because it was too hot for all the formal wear. 

When your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer’s touch on your shoulder, you turned your head towards him and smiled a little. “Are you ready?” he asked with his typical face, but it was impossible not to see his excitement. “Yes, yes… Sorry. I've been thinking too much.” It was normal for you to get tangled up in your thoughts, you loved thinking to yourself. “I love this time of year.” I love seeing you like this, you meant. 

You grabbed your purse and coat and began to walk with him to the elevators. He was silent for a moment, then you smiled as he began to speak. “Did you know that the fall season used to have a completely different name? In the 12th and 13th centuries, autumn was known as ‘haerfest' in England -" You beamed at his words, because every time you walked towards the elevators, he regaled you with another fact that he had probably read one day years ago. “One of the reasons it has that name is because the full moon closest to the fall equinox is called the Harvest Moon. The other reason was that harvest time was also a time when farmers could finally reap the fruits of their sowing, resulting in an abundance of produce.” 

“Have you noticed that you tell me a different fact every time we walk this way?” You say, looking at him after pressing the elevator button.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to–"

“No! That's not what I meant, Spence. I just think it's really nice that you always have something on the tip of your tongue. It's pretty impressive.”

Spencer's rambling never bothered you, it was so nice to hear him talk about anything, anything at all really. His voice echoed in your head every time, and you remembered the random things he said when you didn't have important things to do– sometimes when you did have important things to do. The truth was, you thought about Spencer a lot more often than you should. Probably way more than he thought of you.

“Well, I'm glad you like it then.” He said after wetting his mouth with his tongue. It was a habit, maybe a tic, but you always saw Spencer doing it. Adorable. “I have a feeling that saying facts to you is almost unconscious. It's just nice to share.”

You laughed a little, then the elevators came. You got in as usual, waited a second for Spencer, then pressed the button to the floor. Spencer practically never pressed the button, he thought there were too many people pressing and he didn't know how clean their hands were beforehand. Since he had told you that, you had a small bottle of hand sanitizer in your purse, and even before you took the bottle out of your purse, Spencer’s hand was already extended in your direction, waiting for you to put some in his hand. And you did, as always. You and he had everyday rituals that no one knew, that no one could interfere with. Just you and Spencer doing silly little things together. Like going pumpkin hunting to make incredible Halloween decorations, even though it's not even October yet.

You loved his companion, the world felt lighter every time you were together. And as always, the elevator ride was quiet, the silence that only comes when two people understand each other. And Spencer understood you and vice versa. Rambling on your walk, being silent in the elevator after your hand sanitizing ritual. It was better than all the silly little jokes Morgan or Prentiss made. And you knew that and hoped Spencer knew that too.

“I don't think I tell you often enough how much I enjoy being with you.” You commented after you exited the elevator and looked at him.

“Well, you don't have to.” He explained, turning his eyes away from you. “I think I know. In fact, I like to think you're enjoying it as much as I am.” His tone was calm and flustered. You giggled and touched his arm briefly. “I guess I do, Spence.”

The walk to the fair was so nice, the laughter and the conversations and the short break to buy coffee. You would stop every time you could at the tiny coffee shop that made the best coffee near work, and the seasonal flavors began to appear. Spencer got his usual pumpkin spice latte, you got a chai latte, which is always good, but at this time of year it was just hitting different.

The two of you spent the whole walk chatting non-stop. You felt the stares of some people when you were talking louder over excitement about something, but it did not matter when you were together.

“Originally, jack-o’-lanterns would have been carved out of potatoes, turnips and beets, but when immigrants came to America, pumpkins were more fruitful, so they became part of the tradition.” Told Spencer as you sipped your coffee and nodded your head in agreement to what he was telling you.

“I think it's easier too. Imagine having to carve something out of a turnip, it's so tiny.” You gesticulated to express how difficult it would be to make tiny faces in the little vegetable. He chuckled and his face showed pure confusion as he tried to understand the gestures, you rolled your eyes and laughed as well.

“You understood what I was doing, don't make a fool of me.”

“Yeah, I get it. All those little knives to make little faces. Really hard.”

A little further and there you were, some stalls with big vegetables and some with baked goods, toys or decorations. There were fairy lights everywhere, so your eyes hurted a little, but it was so beautiful that you could forgive the inconvenience. The way the lights reflected on Spencer’s face, in his glasses, made him look really pretty too. You felt like this moment had lodged itself in your brain like a core memory. He gave you a quick glance as he began searching through the stalls to find what he was looking for: a big ass pumpkin.

You followed him and looked at all the cool stuff that was being sold  there. All the trinkets were so interesting to you, you loved little objects that you could display in your home. It was tempting to buy them all, but unfortunately you did not. Every time you liked something, you showed it to him and he said, “You should buy it. It would look good in your house.” And you and Spencer would think about whether it was really worth it. For him, the Halloween decorations were always worth it, but you laughed and left it to save up for something greater.

“Hey, look at this!” He said, pointing to a big pumpkin, a really big one. Honestly, you shouldn't buy it, it was big and it would be a pain to get it home. But the way his face lit up when he pointed at the orange vegetable, you knew you wouldn't have the courage to say no. “Spencer, this is huge.” You said, stepping closer to him to look at the pumpkin. “Yeah, exactly. It's perfect for us.”

A few minutes later you were on your way home with the pumpkin. When your arms got tired, he carried it and when he was tired, you carried it like a little child who wants his parents. Apart from that, it was a nice walk to his apartment. You already knew the way by heart, just like he knew the way to your home and where you had hidden your key. It was only natural. You and Reid were a natural product of friendship– of love. The two things came together, but you couldn't help but wonder if this love was something more, something bigger. Whether Spencer's skin burned as much and his heart ached as much as you did. The September flush hit your face and made you shiver for a moment, in stark contrast to the feeling you had just a second ago when you thought of the possibility with him.

You were near his home now, turned the corner of the street and there you were. Spencer and you entered the building and now came to the worst part. “The stairs,” you said with a giggle, imagining yourself walking up the stairs with this thing. “That's on you, Dr. Reid.” you added, handing the pumpkin into his arms. 

“That's definitely not fair.” He whined, but he knew it was more than fair. It was his idea to buy such a large pumpkin, so it was his responsibility to carry it upstairs. “You should be glad you live on the second floor,” you laughed, touching his back to encourage him. “Let's go. You're strong.”

With some difficulty, you and Spencer got into his apartment, you took off your coat and put it in the coat rack with your bag. You went into his kitchen and searched for a large knife and all the other utensils, a bucket for the pulp and smaller knives for the details. He was prepping the floor with some old newspapers, so it would be easier to clean after. 

“Well, what face do you want to make?” You knew he'd never done the original Jack-O-Lantern face, so it must be something original, spooky and funny. “Maybe a scary cat?” He looked at you as he sat on the floor and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “I think we can do this, yeah.” It can't be that hard, can it? you thought. You grabbed the big knife, sat down next to him and started to slice open the lid. It was a messy part, because you had to take the lid off to remove the pulp and seeds. As you did this, Spencer drew on a piece of paper what he wanted the pumpkin to look like and showed it to you to get your approval. You kept nodding and saying it looked nice. And it did. Spencer had many talents, some people wouldn't say drawing was one of them, but you really liked the little doodles and all the things he drew. A creepy little cat face that had a strange charm.

“I love it. I might steal that for myself.” You say, admiring the drawing. Spencer smiles and looks down at his knuckles. Still today he didn't know how to deal with compliments.

It was an intimate atmosphere, you on the floor, close to him, so close that every now and then you felt your arms against his, your skin touching and radiating the hot feeling in the area. His elbow casually touches your forearm, triggering a chaos of emotions in your head. You sigh and admire him drawing on the pumpkin. Your eyes linger on the way his strands of hair fall perfectly into his face, highlighting his profile. His glasses on the tip of his nose and his slightly open mouth show how focused he was. In an unconscious moment, you move your fingers and adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Spencer looks at you and giggles after wetting his mouth with the tip of his tongue. You love it when he does that. 

“Spence.” You call his name in an almost non-existent tone, so softly that he only listens because you were so close. He calls your name back in the same way. You can literally feel your breath catching and mingling with his. Feel how hot his face was, see how his glasses start to fog up. “Can I kiss you?” You say it without thinking, because your subconscious wanted this, needed this. “Y-yes. Absolutely.” Spencer's answer sounded like he wanted it as much as you did, like he was just waiting for confirmation.

And there was. The confirmation. You move eagerly to join your lips as his hand drops the pen to cup the back of your head. The kiss was gentle, just like his touch. You moved a little closer, placing your hand at his waist and tilting your head to better accommodate him. It was so much better than you had expected. Your lips met softly and tenderly and his hand held you like it was the most precious thing ever. The tip of his nose caressed your cheek and the glasses tingled against your skin in an endearing way.

You didn't want to let him go, but when your lungs demanded help, you slowly parted your lips. You both smiled while your faces were still close together. You kiss the corner of his mouth, looking at him. “I thought you'd never ask that,” he said, kissing you on the forehead.

At that moment, you realized that this kiss was only the first of countless kisses to follow that autumn night. 

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Fall Yandere Prompts

Fuck Me I put prompts on the other thing at didn't actually put prompts, I suck anyways here are a few prompts made by yours truly. Others are free to use them just please tag me. Thanks. I'll make more Halloween ones if people like these.

Apple Cider: A sweet yet tangy that leaves a warm feeling. Your eyelids start drooping after drinking every drop.

Bonfire: Dry sticks and leaves are so easy to burn in high bright flames. Be wary of what the light attracts.

Crows: Inky black birds with a glimmer of intelligence in their eyes. You feel a dozen pairs of eyes watching your every move.

Dry Leaves: Crunchy and brown and always fun to mess around in. You hear a second set of feet slowly trotting behind you.

End: Autumn signifies the end of Summer and a change in season. It also signified the end of your freedom.

Flannel: The warmth of this fall apparel is so comforting in the crisp weather. Don't you like it, they picked out just for you.

Grain: Bountiful and golden, shaking in the cool breeze. You meet a friendly stranger standing in the grain field, holding a scythe.

Harvest: Fall provides us with a bountiful harvest of corn, pumpkins, apples, pears, and grain. Such bounty requires a sacrifice to be made.

Indoors: Why go outside when you can snuggle under the covers and keep warm? Just because it's your home doesn't mean you are safe.

Jack-O-Lanterns: Grinning gourds light up the night, carving them is a fun activity. They want to participate but got a little too creative.

Kettle: Boiling water for a hot beverage on the stove is so nice. The water isn't quite done but you still hear whistling.

Leaf: Colorful trees make such wonderful leaves they look good pressed in a book. You see one on your bed side every day, they have a distinct metallic scent.

Mushrooms: Clustered together they're a fungi to be around. More seem to grow near you each day in strange patterns.

Nutmeg: Fall spices are aromatic and make every dish warm with flavor. If your running low the next-door neighbor might have some, might as well come inside while they look for what you need.

Orchard: Fruit trees tended to with tender care, baring crimson fruit. Picking just one won't hurt.

Pie: Steaming goodness wrapped in a golden shell. Have another slice there's plenty to go around.

Quiet: Many an autumn night is filled with sweet and calming silence. It feels a little too quiet tonight, might want to retire early.

Reaping: How to harvest the crops grown, you reap the rewards of the Earth. Someone has come to take you or your soul, they're not very picky.

Spider: Dainty legs weave beautiful webs, enticing as they are dangerous. Any prey they catch, they won't let go.

Tree: Majestic and tall these ancient plants reach up to the dwindling sun with aching branches. Haven't you seen that tree before, you must be hopelessly lost, perhaps that's better than being found.

Umbrella: The cold weather makes rain extra chilling; with a warm smile you share your umbrella. No good deed goes unpunished, as the storm outside isn't what you should be worried about.

Vermillion: Beautiful shade of red found plentifully in the fall, its beautiful yet it can be a dangerous color too.

Wind: Rattling trees and blowing the leaves to the ground, the wind tickles your ears and nips at your nose. It carries with it the unhinged words of a person you never want to see again.

Xenial: Being most hospitable is a must during autumn. This does not change when a stranger shows up at your front door requesting shelter.

Yarn: Soft threads of vibrant colors used to create warm clothes, blankets, and other things. The string prevents you from moving while someone knits in the corner, eyes focused on you.

Zipper: Better zip up when it's so chilly outside, wouldn't want to catch a cold. You also might want to zip it before they hear you.

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 1: Exorcisms [Slender Man X GN!Reader]

Warnings: Mind control, size difference, dubious consent, MINORS DNI

AN: Went in a slightly different direction than what I originally envisioned but that's ok.

Reblogs are appreciated

Kinktober Masterlist

They’ve always said that he manages to invade your mind like a virus, and once he takes hold, that he’s impossible to actually weed out. No force on heaven, or on earth could call him back to hell once he’s set his sightless gaze on you. To earn his favor it to earn a kiss from death itself. 

You hold your breath as his long, slender fingers spread your legs further and further apart. 

It’s all part of the deal, he whispers. His voice is low and rasps like a campfire in deep autumn. That’s right, it’s all part of the deal. Knowledge that you’re so hungry for in your arcane craft that you’d give yourself to him. 

“That’s too much,” you whisper back. Your heart is beating, pounding, like a little rabbit being chased by a wolf. He spreads your legs further and further. The part of you he wants to open with those same slender fingers much like he’s parting the petals of a flower. He chuckles deeply in your ear, faceless visage turning to that of a wolf’s grin in your mind’s eye as he pries you further, and further open. 

He laughs again. Clearly, he’s taunting you. Static fills your head as his tendrils curl around your body. They slink up and down your thighs and press into your flesh. They want to devour you whole. You don’t know the meaning of those words. 

Your breath hitches as you feel him prick you. The head of his cock is round, not too sharp, but similar to a tentacle. It tapers bigger and bigger, stuffing you further and further. Tears prick your eyes as your muscles contract and you attempt to squeeze around him in an attempt to find your bearings. “Wait-”

No. 

Deeper and deeper he pushes inside of you, groaning lowly at how your small human body contorts around him. And once he hilts inside of you, the static grows stronger. Buzzing like a thousand tiny knives prick, prod and poke every part of you, no corner of your mind is spared. A soft moan escapes your lips as he starts to thrust, uncaring if you feel good or not. You grip back, nails digging into the floor before you reach to find his arm. His suit feels… almost out of place. It’s like a crude attempt at showing any sign of humanity, knowing he’s anything but. 

His low voice continues to groan and creak in your ear as he thrusts harder. Slow, deep, and deeper, he makes your eyes roll upwards. You can feel a tight coil form in your stomach, even though it’s overwhelming. You almost swear you hear him swear his ecstasy, but the static grows deeper in your head. “Fuck..!” You hiss as his tendrils and his long, clawed fingers hold you apart, wide and vulnerable for him. Sweat beads on your forehead as you feel the entity invade you entirely. He continues to fill you. His thrusts, still slow and powerful, bloom a warmth as he stuffs the most of himself into you. “A-Are you..?”

Shut up.

His claws dig into you. He groans again. Harder this time, the sound of skin on skin. Your moaning. His desire to be full inside of you. He watches as your eyes roll upwards and his influence entirely takes over. Your body stops curling in on itself, and you become soft and pliable. You’re in the arms of what might be a god, completely at his will. Your mind turns to mush as his power takes hold of you. The wolf’s jaws in your head flick their tongue out around your brain, curling, licking, and finally devouring. Your back arches and your body loosens just a bit to take him just a little more. Your mind isn’t your own. His warmth continues to fill you as you take him. 

Take it, he growls, take it and every last drop I have to offer you. Do it with a smile. 

You feel like you’re floating. Your body isn’t yours at this moment, but you reap the benefits of being fucked by a god. 

The static lessens in your head ever so slightly to give you control of your facial expressions. You glance back and upwards, your head craning to see just a glimpse of him. He’s paler than the moon, his face featureless, but you can tell he’s feeling a deep pleasure from using your body for his gain. And just like he asked, you smile. Tears prick in your eyes from how overstimulating he is, drunk from sex in your gaze, but you smile for him just because he asked. 

And you swear you see it as he finishes inside of you, the ghost of a smile in the wolf’s jaws imprinted in your mind. 

The virus has taken hold, and you did it with a smile.