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astarionancuntnin · 4 months ago

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Hyello! I don’t know if you do requests but I thought I’d ask so the request is that x reader is honestly pretty badass and Astarion does something that pisses her off and so she barges into his tent after a long day to tell him off and fight him but decides that amidst the anger there is also hunger and decides theres a a way he can make it up to her and smutty content insues, preferably very like animalistic?? think closer by nine inch nails lol i do like the idea that they're both fighting for dominance in the interaction, you choose which one wins lol hope I’m not bothering you

did i listen to closer on repeat to bring you this? perhaps

and i never really put it out there, but hell yeah im taking requests! thank you for being my first <3

(also thank you for your patience i was heavily focused on my last chapters for die for you before approaching this ask and then it really went overboard LMAO you said "animalistic" and i took it literally, i hope you enjoy!)

Run, Little Fox

pairing: astarion x reader!ranger!tav

rating: E

word count: 5.1k

cw: 18+. smut, biblicaly accurate Astarion primal!astarion, predator/prey, knife play (if you squint), rivals/hate sex, mildly dubious consent, fighting for dominance, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie, very slight somnophilia (but id rather mention it, never too safe)

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

That’s it.

That was once too many.

This brat of a rogue had gotten on your nerves more times than you could recall, and today you decided you had enough. Your group trusted and respected your position as their leader, a brave and cunning ranger whose decisions everyone agreed with — as they were for the greater good — so why couldn’t he do the same? It wasn’t enough that he questioned your every move in front of everyone else, no, he grew bored of you ignoring his remarks. He just had to act on his impulses and get you in trouble this time.

You had intended on getting information out of a group of adventurers, when he had tried to pickpocket them in the middle of your discussion, and when he got caught, things obviously went south. You tried to talk things down, but they wouldn’t hear it. One thing led to another and next thing you know, they laid in a pool of their own blood and you stood with no more information than you started with. All of it, because of him, and he had the gall to say it was your own fault for not defusing the situation better. Really?!

The stress of this adventure — the impending doom that those tadpoles in your brains were — was already enough weight on your shoulders, you didn’t want to deal with Astarion’s trickery on top of it anymore. No — you couldn’t. You had enough of his unnerving attitude; enough of his shameless flirting when it was clear you weren’t interested; enough of his impetuous disdain and insolence that matched your own. Tonight, you would set the record right.

Once back at camp after this horrendous, unending day by his side, the first thing you do after dropping your loot and equipment at your tent, is bolt straight for Astarion’s.

Still covered in a mix of your sweat, today’s unfortunate souls’ blood — and your own — you burst through the entrance of Astarion’s tent without so much as a warning to find him peacefully laying, with one arm behind his head and the other already flipping through the pages of a book he had found, and most certainly stolen, during today’s stroll.

He barely lifts his head to notice your intrusion, his eyes darting your way, half-lidded. “Looking for a cuddle?”

The sheer audacity of the smirk he gives you.

“You—” You fully step into his tent, staring him down with an anger that couldn’t be contained, as you close the flaps behind you, “Have been a pain in my ass for long enough.”

He scoffs, “Darling, we haven’t been close like that yet — unless this is your way of asking?” He closes his book and puts it aside to focus on you, as he rests on his elbows, his taunting smile never leaving his lips. What you wouldn't give to wipe it away from his smug face.

“The last thing I want is you anywhere near me.”

“You see,” he checks his nails, bored. “I have a hard time believing that, dear.”

“Get over yourself.” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed at how well he could annoy you. “What makes you think I want anything to do with you after the commotion you caused today?”

“For one, you came to me, in my tent. If that's not a dead giveaway, I don't know what is,” his eyes dart back to you. “And to further prove that point, you still haven’t left — even though you claim I am the reason for your frustration. Really, it's as if you relished my company after all.”

You open your mouth to contradict him, but your words are left hanging when he gets up, his shirt slightly unbuttoned revealing the lines of his muscles concealed underneath and you can’t help but let your eyes wander longer than you intended, gulping as you do so. He chuckles lightly before he speaks up again.

“Secondly, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

Your eyes shoot up to his face again, and you ask defensively, “Would you rather have me not look at you?”

He gives you a mischievous look as he eyes you up and down, and he meets your gaze with just as much intensity.

“Third, and lastly, I can smell you, darling.”

“I haven't washed yet.”

“You know that isn't what I'm referring to.”

Your heartbeat quickens, as the air seems to draw out of the tent, “Well, whatever you think this is, isn't your doing,” you lie plainly in the hopes he buys it, but his smirk leads you to believe he sees right through it.

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself, dearest.” He tilts his head, a long silence settling in between the two of you, with your breathing as the only sound audible in the space of his tent. “Maybe… There's another reason you might be frustrated. That all this, pent up anger building inside, is because of something else that you can’t control.” He closes the distance between the two of you, stopping but a whisper away from your face, and his voice gets lower, deeper. “Something that you would rather not have to deal with, but for some reason just can’t get rid of. Something that just rubs you the wrong way, and is the same reason why you can’t help but want to stay in my presence.”

You scoff, challenging his gaze, “If that something you’re referring to is you, Astarion, then you’re right — you are the sole reason of my frustration as of late, but I could do without your irritating presence.”

“Oh, but I could make it much more pleasurable.”

You lean back, and turn your head aside, trying to make some distance between the two of you, ”You give yourself too much credit.”

He slides a finger down your throat, leaving an unexpected shiver in its wake as he exposes your neck, when he pushes your vagabond strands of hair away, before he continues.

“Why don’t you give me a chance to show you exactly what I mean? We would both benefit from this, really; I could fix your predicament, and in exchange, I could receive… a little something from you in return.”

You contemplated the opportunity laid before you for just a second before opting for the reasonable choice. You grab his hand, pulling it away from you and when you speak up again, the anger in your voice is gone, leaving place for your much smoother, yet very assertive tone. “If you want my blood, you’ll have to earn it.”

You release his hand and he keeps it in the air where you left it, cocking his head to the side as he looks at where your hand had held him, “Earn it, you say?”

You nod, “We wouldn’t want you to become soft now, would we?” A smile of your own takes place on your lips. “If I am to be your meal, it’s only fair that you work for it.”

His eyes dart back to yours as a smirk appears on his lips, “I’m all pointy ears.”

“I’ll be hiding in the woods. If you can find and catch me, you get to drink from me. But if I catch you instead, you’re never getting a drop from me.”

He sighs, “That’s hardly a fair proposition, darling.” As you’re about to contradict him, he continues, “Here’s mine instead: if you catch me, fine — I’ll keep chasing boars and whatnot in the woods — but if I catch you…” He leans over the crook of your neck, whispering. “I get to drink from you every. night.”

You grab him by the chin, bringing him face to face with you, “If I catch you, you don’t get to put the party at risk anymore. You will be kicked out of the camp if you do.” If you had to put your vitality on the line, he had to bet something just as valuable.

His fangs glow in the faint lighting of his tent as he smiles. “Deal.”

You drop his chin as he steps back and you notice how something about him seems to be shifting; the pupils of his eyes widen, darkening; his own breathing stops; the hands at his side turning into claws, with his long and sharp nails peaking out, ready to hunt. There was nothing left of the rogue in distress that you picked up a few weeks ago, who could’ve pretended to be nothing more than an innocent, but rather pale, elf.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, you spy his elongated fangs; much longer than you remember them to be, and his voice—

“Run.”

You don’t lose a second more; the vision of nightmares before you triggered your fight or flight reaction and without your weapons, the choice was clear. You turn around and slide through the flaps of his tent, bolting straight for your tent, where you quickly manage to pick up your trusty dagger and your set of bow and arrows.

Thankfully, everyone else at camp had gone off to bed, so no one notices you as you pick a frantic run towards the deep woods, making distance from the hungry vampire on your tracks.

The woods are dark, with only the faint light of the moon guiding your tracks. Once far enough, or so you think, you hide behind a tree to control your breathing; you had no intention to lose to this, you needed all the advantages you could get. With your experience as a ranger, you were almost assured to catch him off guard.

Almost.

What you had seen in his tent before sprinting off was like nothing you had ever seen before. Of course, you knew Astarion was a vampire, but this was… different.

Terrifying.

A beast, straight out of those scary bedtime stories you recall from your childhood; a monster guided by his thirst for flesh and blood, who would show no mercy, no remorse. It was merely enough to make you question this challenge with him, Gods, how embarrassing would it be to lose your life to a stupid game you had initiated purely out of spite?

The rustling of leaves nearby brings you back into focus, the adrenaline in your veins keeping you on edge for any sound. You ready your bow before you peek out of your hiding spot to aim where you heard the sound and wait patiently for another moment, your eyes never leaving the bush right until you hear another crack — right when you release the arrow, your aim striking true as you hear a loud thud. You wait a few more seconds, and when no sound can be heard from the bushes you leave your cover, advancing towards your prey. When you push the branches away, you’re face to face with none other than—

A boar.

Shit. Well — guess you caught your next meal.

Another rustling of leaves has you drawing out your bow again, ready to strike, but you’re unable to tell where it comes from.

“How does it feel, little fox?” You hear him through the woods, his deep and raspy, but unnatural voice almost echoing through you. “To be the one being hunted?”

“I’m hunting you, too, in case you forgot,” you mumble mostly to yourself, not wanting to draw out more attention and telling on your location.

Although you were confident in your capacities, you couldn’t deny the fear building up in your chest. The unnerving feeling of knowing he was around, knowing he was onto you, but unable to find him through the dense woods, the reminder of what he looked like before you ran for your life, a creature of darkness—

“Keep running, you delicious little thing,” his voice already seems to be coming from somewhere else, where exactly you couldn't tell, as if he was constantly moving and it came from everywhere all at once. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

Damn him. He could be anywhere, it was useless to stay there, out in the open, when he was clearly onto you. Then again, he could also intentionally be pushing you to run, only to lead you into a trap of his, right where he wanted you to be.

No, you’re smarter than this. You won't let your emotions get in the way of this: you were a hunter, born and raised for this kind of situation.

He is just another prey; you can outsmart him. You are better than him.

You put away your bow and arrows; you know your long range weapons would be of no use to you if you couldn’t see your target. If he’s trying to make you run, he has to be further ahead, so the smart choice would be to go back on your tracks.

You turn on your heels in a heartbeat and start sprinting in the opposite way, not even bothering to look behind you for any sign of him, as you hear the clear rustling of branches around you. At this moment, you know he’s right on your tail, the sounds of the forest barely covering the sound of his own movements between the trees — if that was even him. You assume it is, but who’s not to say it isn’t just another boar? Either way, all you can do now is keep running, hoping he will tire before you.

But you were against a creature of the night, someone — or rather something, now — much more in its element, in the darkness of the woods, than you were.

You don’t run for long before you stop abruptly in your tracks to change directions, leaving the clear road for the crowded forest, where you think you could lose him.

You're temporarily reassured when you don't hear him anymore, and allow yourself to breathe again. Your heart is pounding in your chest, faster than ever, as the fear of being chased — of your life being on the line — created a warmth within you that pooled right down to your core. The risk of being caught, as for once you’re the prey, and you can’t explain it, but it excites you. Although Astarion had gotten on your every nerve, you had to give it to him — he was right that his unnerving attitude had gotten a rise out of you in the most carnal way — but you’d never admit it to his face.

A good minute passes by with no sign of him, and you feel safe enough to peek out of your hiding spot, investigating the beaten path for any sign of life. When you’re met with a dead silence, you move away from the tree you had been leaning against, only to come face to face with Astarion, who drops from the branches just above you. His eyes are somehow a much deeper shade of red, his pupils fully blown out, and he even seems taller as he smiles down on you, and that’s when you perceive the additional fangs that appeared next to the smaller ones you knew.

You’re fixated on his sudden presence, assessing your opponent the way you would a wild animal, and you remain unmoving, focused on your own breathing.

“Nowhere left to run, I’m afraid,” the voice that comes out of his mouth is otherworldly, almost a growl and nothing like his sultry voice he used to try and charm you before. It’s as if anything that once made him pass as a mortal was gone the second you ran off from him.

You want to turn around and sprint in the opposite direction, but he's faster than your thoughts. Before you can even move a finger, he grabs you by your neck, his sharp nails digging into your skin enough to draw blood as he pushes you against the nearest tree, slightly lifting you from the ground. Instinctively, you reach for your dagger, but he is fast to catch onto your intentions and takes it away from you, throwing it on the ground far from reach. With no other options left, you reach for his hand around your neck, trying to hold on as your vision blurs from the chokehold he had on you.

“Caught you, little fox,” he leans into your neck where you bled from to breathe you in, and licks your skin from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw, tasting your sweat mixed with the dry blood left on you. Your camp clothing leaves you dangerously exposed as opposed to your armour, and he had every intention to take advantage of it. “You will make a fine meal indeed.”

He presses his entire body against you, and you can feel not only his oddly cold breath down your neck, but also his hard bulge rubbing against your navel, right above the heat between your legs.

A particularly bad idea crosses your mind, and you know you’ll blame it on the lack of oxygen later, but for now, it’s the only option you have.

Your hand slides down to his crotch, where you squeeze his length through his trousers, making him shudder against you and loosening his grip on your throat. You take this chance to free yourself as you quickly push him away and against the earthy ground of the forest, pinning him down using your entire body weight. You land right next to your knife and grab it just in time before he comes to his senses, now holding it against his throat.

“I win,” you say, breathless, over him.

You remain unmoving, with the threat of your knife keeping him in place, but unsure what to do next — until he laughs. You’re taken aback, but you keep your position, pressing your blade deeper into his throat.

“Well done.” His voice softens, still deeper than what you’re used to, but less guttural than it was a minute ago. “You have me completely and utterly helpless. What will you do next, I wonder?”

You don’t get to answer before you feel him moving under you, his hardness rubbing against that sweet spot between your legs. Your breathing quickens once again, caught off guard by the delicious movement of his hips against you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

“Fulfilling my part of the bargain, of course.”

“That’s not—” he lifts his hips higher, the tip of his crotch rubbing against your clit, and your body tenses at the contact. He’s rock hard and between your thin camp clothes, it's almost as if you were rubbing skin to skin against each other. A pleasurable shiver running across your spine, and you allow yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, fighting between giving in to your desires or stopping yourself from letting this go any further; it was clear which side of you was winning over, as your hunger for that something more was becoming impossible to ignore. You soften your grip on his wrist and your dagger against his throat, and that’s all he needs to gain back dominance over you, flipping you back under him and seizing your wrists to pin you down the same way you had him only seconds ago.

“Now,” he says, “this is much better, don’t you think?”

“Oh you prick,” you groan, fighting to free yourself from his grip on you, but he only tightens his grasp around your wrists. His immortal strength beats yours and your hand twists under his crushing grip, making you finally release your knife.

You curse under your breath for letting yourself be bested by the most annoying member of your party; the one who you had dreamed to put back in his place was now dominating you instead. A mix of anger and shame swirls in your stomach, along with something else that you want to deny, but can’t for the life of you understand.

Your eyes meet his, dark and hungry and so incredibly close to you. His lack of breath is strange in comparison to yours, so heavy that your chest rises with each breath you take, brushing against him. It wasn't a position you were used to, either, and you find yourself liking it more than you thought you would; with his entire body pining against yours, his legs surrounding yours and keeping them closed together, your wrists held strongly above your head; a prey caught by her predator.

You remain unmoving in this position for what feels like an eternity, until he licks his lips, his eyes falling to the space in your neck that was exposed just for him.

He leans into you, his deep voice shooting a warmth straight to your core. “This little game of yours made me quite hungry.”

You gasp when you feel his bulge rubbing against you once more and touching that sweet spot that made you rub your thighs together.

“Perhaps,” he whispers, “you've grown an appetite of your own, little fox?”

You take a few breaths, "If you wanna feed, be my guest. You…” you sigh, defeated. “You earned it. Just— be quick about it.”

You turn your head aside, looking away and giving him space to feed, only for him to lean back, “Quick? Oh darling, you’re mistaken if you don’t think I won’t draw this out as long as I possibly can.”

He pushes your wrist up above your head where he can hold them both with one hand, while his other hand slides down to your chest, his sharp nails grazing against the curve of your breast. You close your eyes as his hand continues its journey down your navel, and into your pants, rubbing against the moist spot that kept growing in your panties.

“But don’t worry — I’ll make sure we both get our fill tonight,” he growls.

Your hips move of their own accord, wanting more of him and his touch, almost against your own will.

“Greedy, greedy, little fox.” He flashes a toothy smile, “Can't get enough? I'm not surprised.”

Your eyes open back up and you stare at him, frustrated, “Gods, do you ever shut up?”

“You have such a way with words.” He sighs, pulling his hand out of your pants. “You know, it's a wonder we haven't gotten killed because of your social prowess.”

“If you think you’re so much better than me, why don’t you—”

His lips collide with yours into an hungry kiss, one bold enough to shut you right up. A part of you is disgusted, furious, even, that he would push himself onto you, but your body’s reaction betrays you, as you kiss him back with the same intensity. It’s sloppy, his elongated tongue invading your mouth and rubbing against yours, until he bites into it and sucks, letting your crimson hit his lips.

You moan as you pull back, rolling your tongue around to feel the puncture he made, and he smiles down on you, his teeth tainted by your blood.

“Ah… delicious.”

Something comes over you, a supernatural strength — almost animalistic — and you flip him back around on his back to take control once again. Your dishevelled hair frames your face over him, and he gets to see you panting, teeth bared, with angry eyes towering over him. There's a flash of surprise in his eyes before they take back their lusty look, and his hands fly to your shirt, ripping it open as his nails tear through the fabric as if it were air. Your shirt is quickly discarded, exposing your skin to the cool night air that raises the hairs on your back.

In the frenzy, you give the same treatment to his shirt, using that strength to destroy his clothing and revealing the very muscles you spied earlier in his tent. He raises himself up to meet you where you sat over his hips, his mouth finding yours and kissing you feverishly as he did before, while his hands work to remove your pants.

With a grunt from him, you're pushed back on the harsh forest ground where he rips away your trousers, leaving you only with your panties to cover you. You gasp into his mouth, breathing in his cold breath, when the night air that matches his breath hits the thin fabric of your undergarments. The shock of temperature affects you more than you had anticipated, as you are completely soaked from your arousal that had pooled down there since the beginning of the night. Astarion instantly notices it, and laughs ominously.

“Are you still going to deny it now?” He pushes your underwear aside and slides his dexterous fingers between your folds, discovering just how dire your situation is. “Hells, look at how wet you are, just for me.”

His fingers feel good, and fucking Hells you didn’t want to admit it — he was an absolute asshole — but that ship had sailed a while ago, and now you just wanted to know how good he would feel inside you.

“If you still want to feed, you better do it now before I change my mind,” you groan.

“Change your mind?” He scoffs. “I'm afraid that isn't an option. I won fair and square, little fox; now I get to devour you every night.” He flips you around, the sudden roughness of the earthy floor rubbing against your sensitive nipples making you gasp in surprise. You feel him move behind you, and you're not sure how or when it happened, but he must've removed his own trousers as you feel the ghost of his cock hovering just over your entrance. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest with anticipation, and this feeling goes into your throat when he grabs you by the nape of your hair and pulls you into him, making you arch your back and clearly exposing your neck to him in the process. “Starting tonight.”

Within the same beat, he thrust into you, his hips slamming hard against your skin, and his fangs dive into the crook of your neck, finally taking what is rightfully his.

You cry out at the stabbing pain in your neck, this one much more different than the first time he bit you, as his elongated fangs dive deeper into your neck to draw out more of your life source, and the additional fangs leave more marks into your skin. It hurts and yet, you find your core growing warmer and wetter; between his bite and his reckless thrusting into you, with the added sensation of his initially cool skin getting warm from your blood. His thrusts gain in speed and force, and in that position, there is nothing else you can do but take it.

Even as you try to reach behind you with that last remaining will to have control, to grab his hair and pull him forward, Astarion takes a hold of your arm and pushes back against you, using his entire body weight to hold you firmly against the rough ground, and his hips to slam into your needy, little cunt. With your hair still pulled back, but your wrist now stuck in his grasp, he continues to take his fill of you with no restriction.

“Look at you, finally put in your place,” he growls as he licks up the drops of blood leaking from the fresh wounds in your neck. “Is this what you’ve been desiring all these times your eyes got lost at the sight of my body? What you’ve been dreaming of? To be properly used, like a bitch in heat? Ravaged by a beast?”

You manage to get a few words out between rushed breaths, sneering.

“F— Fuck. Y— You.”

He snickers wickedly, “I guess that answers my question. Don’t worry, pet. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh you—”

“Shh now,” Before you can even finish your sentence, his hand quickly moves from your wrist to your mouth, muffling any sounds coming from you. “We wouldn’t want to risk waking our dear friends, now, would we? Unless that’s what you want?” You groan in the palm of his hand and he chuckles. “You depraved little thing. I’ll give you just what you desire.”

His hand previously holding your hair goes down your body to hold your hips in place as he fucks you, and his teeth sink into your shoulder on the other side of your neck. The gesture meant only to keep you steady as he fucks you senseless. With his fangs deep into your skin, his nails cutting the soft skin of your hips and his dick pounding your abused cunt, you scream into his hand as you reach your climax. It’s nerve wracking, mind shattering, and leaves you completely drained.

With a final push inside you, Astarion’s hips still and he growls into your neck, taking his last sip of you, as he pulses around your inner walls, filling you up with his warm seed. Your muscles fail you, as your body goes limp against the earthy ground, and you barely feel anything else — leaving you almost unconscious. Behind you, Astarion pulls out of you, and a weak moan escapes you as you feel his load leaking out of you.

While you’re recuperating from this treatment, Astarion loses his monstrous features: his nails retract, his pupils go back to those annoyingly charming red ruby eyes, his fangs retract just enough to fit back into his mouth, and he mimics breathing again; now passing as a mortal again.

With the minimal strength you manage to gain back, you push yourself up, and gather the few pieces of clothes that were shredded during your nightly session; tomorrow you would definitely need to find new camp clothes, these were the only ones you had and they were utterly ruined. Thank the Gods everyone else was fast asleep and you’ll be able to walk back to your tent without any remarks.

As you’re about to take your leave, completely disregarding the rogue who looked just as messy as you were, you hear him clear his throat.

“It’s always a pleasure to be doing business with you, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

You roll your eyes before shooting him a glare. “Don’t push your luck.” Your cheeks still flushed, your hair all over the place, and your form barely clothed, making you not as convincing as you had hoped for.

You only catch a glimpse of his smirk in response to you as you walk away, and when you catch yourself actually looking forward to it, you tell yourself it's only for the opportunity to put him back in his place.

Perhaps another white lie to coat your true feelings, but no one needed to know about that.

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#my posts #my writing #ask #wtv-my-current-hyperfixation #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #bg3 smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #writing request

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lesinquietes · 6 months ago

Text

Forgive me y’all but I’m on a Hellsing kick again and I’m thinking about Alucard being infatuated with a darling who’s the daughter of a deity 🪽

18+ (minors dni) // yandere buildup

Curtailment

He knows you’re off-limits. Integra said so. She told him not to tamper with the Gods. Hellsing has enough trouble dealing with Iscariot; she doesn’t want her pet interjecting himself in any more supernatural affairs, particularly when you’ve decided to graciously lend a hand in information gathering for them.

But he can’t help himself.

When you come around — which is not often, mind you — he’s always watching from the shadows. The day he introduced himself to you, taking your hand in his and planting a gentle kiss to your knuckles, was the same day Integra commanded him to stay away. You aren’t dumb, though. You know he’s there. You’ve done your research on vampires, and you know who he is. In fact, it’s your unwillingness to flinch when you glance into his blackness and he flashes a pair of crimson orbs at you, that fascinates him about your demeanour. Such a curious thing you are. Beautiful, too. A being that was truly sculpted by the Gods.

One night, tired from your travel and his incessant antics, you address him. You’re reading in the library. The atmosphere is peaceful, save for his tumultuous, overwhelming presence; it’s that which makes you privy to speak.

“If you always make such a racket stalking your prey, it would be no wonder to me if you were starving.”

And he takes that as an invitation. Despite Integra’s caution, he manifests in the middle of the stacked shelves. It would be rude if he ignored Hellsing’s most esteemed guest, after all.

“My dear, you wound me.” He utters, pressing a chaste hand to his empty, unbeating chest. “Do you believe I’ve learned nothing over my years of hunting?”

You close the book you’re translating and stand up from your lonely desk. Static in place, you maintain a short distance. Unlike prey of the past, you’re collected and certain of yourself. He senses no worries, no second-guessing. As with him, it must have taken you decades to hone yourself and your abilities. He has respect for spirits, deities, and other things of old precisely because of this shared perseverance.

“If what you say is true, then you’ve made a crucial error in judgment.” You muse, eyes meeting his without fear. “That’s not very befitting of a King.”

“Oh?”

He tilts his head ever so slightly to the right. The grin painted on his handsome, pale face hasn’t diminished a bit. Although your banter is spicy, you haven’t stepped out of line. He likes playfulness in conversation, so long as the other party meets his expectations; thus far, you’ve exceeded them.

“We may be on the same team now, but don’t think for a moment I’m not a threat to you.”

A low hum leaves his closed lips. Boldly, he nears closer to your desk. He’s significantly taller, towering over you like an evergreen canopy in a chaotic forest. He lowers his gloved fingers to rest just below your chin, hovering there, not daring to touch you, though deeply tempted to take what he feels will be his. Instead, he settles for flustering you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my Goddess.”

Next l

#hellsing #hellsing x reader #alucard hellsing #alucard x reader #alucard x deity reader

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herefortheships · 2 months ago

Note

Why would you say people ship Beetlejuice and Lydia? I’ve been a fan for so long I’m just like “huh…why do we ship it?”

Suddenly remembered I hadn’t answered this, and since I can’t sleep right now I’ll answer it! I meant to earlier and forgot.

I personally ship it because I love the concept of monster x human relationships, and especially when one character (usually the male part of the ship when it’s m/f) in this case this character is Betelgeuse, is dark, powerful, often immortal and even terrifying, (in Betelgeuse’s case also unhinged and absolutely crazy lol), and definitely the least you would expect to EVER fall in love, and yet he does fall in love with this other character who happens to be human, mortal, often quiet and also unlikely to fall in love. These two are the least likely to fall for each other, but they do! Then he starts to show a softer, completely unexpectedly romantic side to him that is reserved only for this woman he loves and no one else. She is both his strength and his weakness all at the same time. He is willing to do everything and anything for her.

Often these two characters are complete opposites and at odds with each other (or even enemies!) and yet they find each other in the middle. There is something they find in the other which cannot be replaced or found in anyone else in the world, and as unexpected and unusual and crazy at it is, before they even know it, their connection is forged in a way where they cannot and will not ever belong or fit in with anyone else. They’ve become a part of each other, even when the odds were against them or might be against them forever because they are intrinsically worlds apart. But love just finds them, and they meet in the middle.

I also love this kind of couple a lot when one of the two realizes their connection before the other, like Beetlejuice just knowing Lydia is *the one*, even if he can’t explain to her how he knows or why. This same scenario happens with Spike in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At some point he realized she was the one, and she just got under his skin and became an inseparable part of his being.

Although not always, I believe this type of couple also follows the female gaze, since the male character (as I mentioned above it’s often the male character) shows an interest in the emotions of the female part. This is true in Beetlebabes. He isn’t interested only in her body, but also in honoring her emotions and desires (like Betelgeuse honoring Lydia’s wishes to have a more private wedding and respecting her boundaries by not forcing her to kiss him or something like that, plus making an effort at being romantic by serenading her and giving her an absolutely romantic wedding with a magical dance in the air). These interactions that are more romantic than sexual speak to the female gaze.

I think also that Beetlejuice Beetlejuice had several “Universal fantasies” entwined in the Betelgeuse x Lydia relationship that are just irresistible for many romance lovers and when those are present, our minds just inevitably grab on to those fantasies and identity them whether we are aware of them or not. Our mind just goes yep this is a romance and oh boy what a romance this is and before you know it you are obsessed. If you haven’t read about Universal Fantasies in writing, these are basically just more specific tropes that really speak to audiences in a way that hooks them powerfully to a story, and more specifically to romantic stories. This concept is introduced by Theodora Taylor in her book 7 Figure Fiction (which I’m sure many writers know about since it’s pretty popular but I mention it just in case it’s new to someone reading this).

Another reason lots of people love this ship is just aesthetics as well which is also valid. For me this for sure became one of my top three Burton couples.

#Beetlebabes #Beetlejuice x Lydia #Betelgeuse x Lydia #Beetlejuice Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice

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fettuccinealfred0 · 10 months ago

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 6

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 14.5k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, unprotected p in v sex)

Summary:

“Fine, you want honesty?” Astarion's voice takes on a desperate, forlorn quality. “I ache for you down to my very soul. I feel as if my heart is clawing its way out of my chest and I’m powerless to stop it. Love is a sickness and you have infected me and for that, I despise you and I despise myself for ever being so weak.”

He sounds half like he’s accusing you and half like he’s exalting you.

“I have experienced the worst forms of torture and yet, this past week without you has made me wish my suffering had a tangible wound,” he continues. “My heart does not beat and yet I feel it flutter in my chest when you are near. I do not need to breathe and yet I feel as if I am suffocating when we are apart. You are stubborn and impudent and reckless. You are lovely and clever and kind, beneath it all. I fear I will spend the rest of my life trying to fall out of love with you.”

Trying to fall... out of love with you. Which means... he's currently in love with you.

Read on ao3 here.

You hardly ever see Astarion anymore. It feels as if you’re simply going through the motions of your life, trapped in a haze.

Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!

You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. It wasn’t even true.

In reality, you greedily took every scrap of affection that Astarion was willing to offer you. But he had been cutting at your heart so painfully and the only way you knew how to make it stop was to make him hurt, too.

You miss him.

You hadn’t noticed how Astarion had managed to become such a fixture in your life in such a short amount of time. You hadn’t realized how accustomed you had become to his presence until you were forced to feel its absence. It seems every corner of the manor is tainted by Astarion’s ghost.

You sit by yourself at meals, eating but not tasting. You stare at books in the library without really reading. You take yourself on walks in the garden that are meant to cheer you up but end up making you cry when you see how the moonflowers had been trimmed back for winter. The bush was almost unrecognizable. It felt like some disgusting metaphor for the state of your marriage, which Astarion had cut and brutalized into something hideous.

Halsin finds you that afternoon- crumpled in a heap on the ground, hands caked in dirt from where you had been digging the plant out by the root. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his warm arms and lets you sob into his shoulder, dampening his shirt until you run out of tears.

The comforting embrace of sleep does not offer any reprieve from your anguish, either. Without Astarion, sleep eludes you and you spend your time twisting and turning in the sheets, craving Astarion’s cool touch.

Even the bed in your room feels foreign to you. After spending so many nights together in Astarion’s, your room feels empty and lifeless. It’s yet another reminder of how suddenly Astarion had cast you aside. Another reminder that he didn’t need you- that he had found someone better, someone who wasn’t so desperate.

The days and nights blur together, endless and unrelenting. Time is determined to sweep you along in her current even if you’d rather drown.

Shadowheart forces you to at least rise out of bed and get dressed every day. You can tell she’s growing concerned about how little sleep you seem to be getting. The circles under your eyes are growing darker with every passing day.

About a week after your fight with Astarion, you find one of his shirts folded in between your chemises. When you look at Shadowheart inquisitively, she just shrugs her shoulders. You know this is her way of acknowledging that she has done this for you, that she has slipped you one of his shirts from the wash in an attempt to help you feel better.

When you’re alone that night, you lift the white muslin material to your nose and the sweet, familiar smell of bergamot and rosemary sends you into a tailspin. He has forever ruined those scents for you, they will forever be tied to him.

You clutch onto the fabric like a lifeline, holding it against your chest as if that will miraculously ease the aching in your heart. As you rub the soft material between your fingers, your thumb catches on a patch of raised thread at the hem of the shirt and you find small, evenly stitched letters lining the bottom of the shirt in pale red thread. It’s masterful work. Had Astarion embroidered this into his shirt himself?

You recall your wedding dress, with the shimmery gold embroidered flowers and how Astarion had seemed so concerned whether you liked it or not. Had that been his work, too?

It all terrifies you- to think you were in love with someone and to realize that you hardly knew them at all. And how well you thought you knew him, too... All your careful studying was for naught.

You finally focus on the words sewn into the shirt. Clearly, they must be important to him if he felt the need to sew them into his innermost layer of clothing.

Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums.

The words are beautiful and fill you with a deep melancholy.

Oh. Is that how Astarion saw you? A late season plum with no taste, the unwanted scraps given to the poor.

He had cast you aside because he felt he deserved better than some foolish girl with romantic dreams and clumsy hands. You were bland. You were desperate. He wanted someone experienced, someone with taste- a ripe, juicy pear that would satisfy any autumn picker.

Lamentable is poor Astarion, you sneer to yourself, for being content with a boring, easy wife who dared to love him.

The words are a second gaping wound to your already damaged heart. It feels as if they had cut down to your very bones. And still, you curl helplessly around the shirt in bed, desperate for sleep to claim you so that you could have a momentary reprieve from this suffering.

The more Astarion avoids you, the more your sadness begins to turn into a familiar anger.

Does he truly respect you so little that he would so callously remove himself from your life? Who is he to pretend these past few months meant nothing to him?

For when you were wrapped together at night, did he not caress you so softly like you always imagined a lover would? Did he not kiss you with the reverence of a man worshiping his deity?

Even Astarion is not that good of an actor.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can continue like this,” you whisper to Shadowheart one morning, when you hardly recognize your haggard, pained reflection in the mirror. It had not even been a fortnight since your fight and the prospect of living with this heartbreak much longer seems exhausting.

“You still haven’t even told me what the two of you are fighting about,” Shadowheart says, rolling her eyes. “Who can stay away from each other the longest? Which one of you loves the other more? There are never any winners in those types of games.”

“Astarion isn’t capable of love.” You repeat the words to her that have become your mantra, “You have to have a heart to be able to love.”

Shadowheart huffs out a laugh, “Please. I’m not stupid. Anyone with half a brain can tell he loves y-”

“Stop,” you interrupt.

You must remind yourself that she doesn’t know what he has said. Although Astarion’s words seem to repeat in a vicious loop in your mind, you didn’t dare speak them aloud. You were still too embarrassed by how cruelly he had thrown you aside, too ashamed of how desperately you still needed him.

She doesn’t know that her words are yet another reminder that even if at some point Astarion did hold some scrap of affection for you, he had grown tired of you since then.

“The Lord’s been miserable, too,” Shadowheart says, attempting to comfort you.

“He doesn’t get to be miserable. Not when he-” you cut yourself off. Not when he was the one who ripped the beating heart out of my chest and crushed it into dust. Not when he was the one to replace you.

“Well, Gale said the wine cellar has been decimated,” Shadowheart offers you a friendly smile, as if she’s just offered you up a salacious bit of gossip.

It just makes your skin crawl to know they’ve been talking about you behind your back- that her and Gale have been comparing notes about your and Astarion’s misery.

“Glad to know he’s been drinking himself stupid while I’ve been miserable,” you scoff.

“That’s not what I meant.” Shadowheart sighs in frustration. “Gods, you two are perfect for each other. You’re both prideful idiots.”

—------------

You nearly run over Astarion a couple days later as he trudges down the hallway with his shoulders hunched and a haunted look on his face. Other than Shadowheart’s report from Gale that Astarion had been drinking through his collection of expensive wines, you’re not sure what he’s been up to since your fight. He spends nearly all his time locked away in his study.

And admittedly, Astarion looks as bad as you feel when you see him. It’s a rather stark transformation for someone who normally takes so much pride in their appearance.

When was the last time he bathed? His beautiful curls are all askew, greasy and unwashed. And he’s obviously starving. His skin is pale and ashen, the dark circles under his eyes are too prominent. That lovely pink undertone to his skin that appears after he’s fed is missing. Gone are the days of pretty flushed cheeks as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

He told you that he didn’t want to drink from you anymore. Had yelled at you that he had found someone else, someone better, as he nearly chased you out of the room.

So then why did he look this miserable?

You’re unsure what to do, torn between reaching out to pull him into a hug and that anger burning in you that’s a little bit satisfied at his suffering.

You know Astarion can see the shock on your face. And after so long of dedicated study, you know his mind almost as well as your own and so you know that he’s probably interpreting your surprise as pity.

He growls at you, baring his fangs in warning as he shoves past you. The sound of his study door being slammed hangs heavy in the air while you stand frozen, skin still tingling where his shoulder had brushed against yours.

Your body still calls out to him, even now.

Your feet move seemingly of their own accord, taking you to the study. You try the doorknob, but it’s predictably locked, so you raise your hand to knock at the door. When Astarion doesn’t answer, you pull a pin out of your hair and wiggle it into the lock. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Get out!” He growls at you when the door swings open.

You think he might throw the book he’s holding at you. It makes you waver- this man who is so similar to you, who lashes out when he’s scared and feels small. It’s the same response you had that first morning after you were imprisoned, when Shadowheart had entered your room.

You wilt a bit under his gaze, his fiery red eyes looking at you with something akin to… hatred.

Ignoring the way your heart feels as if it is freezing inside your chest, you square your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intensity of his stare.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You say and Astarion rolls his eyes in disgust.

“Oh, don’t act like a child,” he sneers back at you.

You cross your arms in the most unchildlike way you can manage and resist from stomping your foot on the ground in frustration.

“I am not the one who has been acting like a child here.”

“Gods, what do you want from me?” Astarion yells.

His response nearly makes you laugh. Since when has he ever cared what you wanted? He didn’t care when he forced you to marry him. He didn’t care when he rejected you right after you had opened up to him. Even now, as he asks you directly, you doubt he will truly listen to you.

No, Astarion is only capable of caring for himself. It doesn’t matter how many people he has to hurt to get what he wants.

But you watch as he deflates almost immediately, his anger turning into fatigue as his hands come up to massage at his temples like he’s got the worst headache in the world. When he speaks again, he just sounds like a broken man, “I told you that whatever was between us is done.”

“I want you to stop pretending like I don’t exist! I want you to be honest with me for once! I want-” You cut yourself off, chest heaving.

I want you.

The truth that you cannot ignore, the truth that doesn’t dissipate even in your darkest moments.

“You want honesty?” Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been honest with you!”

You bristle.

“You lied to me when we first met! You chased me down and threatened me and then didn't kill me. You run around all the time whispering in the shadows with strange people that don’t work here. You go on weird business trips and come back on the brink of death. You tell me you hate me and want me gone from your life and then mope around like I’m the one who broke your heart. Everything you do is a lie!”

“I never said that I hate you,” is all Astarion says in response.

“That’s the only thing you got out of everything I just said? That was like the least important detail!” You shout back at him, incredulous.

Of course, he continues to evade all the very real issues you have just mentioned. You decide that you will offer him one last chance to be honest.

“Tell me the truth,” you spit out through gritted teeth. “Or at least tell me to my face that you never want to see me again and I’ll be gone by morning.”

Please, you think, say the words. Then, you can be gone from this place and can somehow try to salvage a life without Astarion. But you cannot stay here any longer and suffer. You cannot bear to continue to live as a ghost. You cannot watch as he gives his happiness to another.

But you know Astarion. You know when you’ve caught him. There’s that momentary shock in his face before his jaw locks in frustration.

“You’re a nuisance,” he says, but his words don’t hold the usual fervor.

“I am,” you agree. “So why didn’t you just kill me the night we met? You could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

“It would have been a crime to take your beauty away from the world,” Astarion says, but the answer seems too rehearsed. You doubt you’re the first person to hear this line.

“No, I want a real reason!” You demand.

“What do you want me to say?” He cries out, palms slamming loudly against the desk. He’s nearly frantic as his red eyes bore into you- desperate, pleading. “That perhaps you reminded me of myself? That perhaps I am indeed very lonely and you’re the first interesting person I’ve met in years? And here I was, presented with this opportunity to have you. Only a fool would say no to that.”

“I’m a person, Astarion. I am not something that can be kept.”

“And you never let me forget it,” he says, chuckling darkly.

“Fine, you want honesty?” His voice takes on a desperate, forlorn quality. “I ache for you down to my very soul. I feel as if my heart is clawing its way out of my chest and I’m powerless to stop it. Love is a sickness and you have infected me and for that, I despise you and I despise myself for ever being so weak.”

He sounds half like he’s accusing you and half like he’s exalting you.

Trying to fall… out of love with you. Which means… he’s currently in love with you.

“You love me?” You ask in disbelief.

Although your heart is singing in your chest, chirping and trilling how it always does when Astarion grants you any affection, your mind is clouded by anger. You can tell by the shock on Astarion’s own face that he half-expected you to be placated by his words and did not anticipate that you would turn on him.

“Then what the fuck was the other night about?” You shout. “Because, remember, it was you who pushed me away. It was you who told me that you had found someone new and cast me aside like I was no better than the dirt under your boot. It was you who called me easy and shamed me for my desires.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Astarion crumples in on himself, head hanging in his hands. “And then there were all the times I took advantage of you in your compromised state. I’m sorry. There will never be enough words to tell you how sorry I am. You should hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

He’s practically on the verge of tears. And although Astarion deserves to suffer your wrath far longer, you rush to wrap him in your arms because you are weak and cannot bear to see him in pain. He sags into your embrace immediately.

“I should have never said that. I’m sorry, Astarion. I assure you, I was a very conscious, very willing participant in all our evenings together. You just- you vex me.” You huff out a frustrated breath. “You’re like a puzzle with pieces missing. And every time I think I’m starting to see the picture, someone comes along and messes it all up again. I feel as though I’m being driven to the point of madness.”

With your hands on his cheeks, you move his head from where it is tucked against your chest, forcing him to look into your eyes. You need him to hear what you are saying, to feel the words down to his very bones. “You must know I never meant it when I said that I wasn’t clear headed.”

“I just…” you take a deep breath, attempting to collect your thoughts. Astarion’s eyes are desperately searching your face. You cannot tell if he is more scared at the prospect that you are telling the truth or that you are lying.

You speak, gently tracing your thumb down Astarion’s sharp cheekbone. “It felt as if you had frozen my heart inside my chest and I needed you to stop talking, to stop reminding me that I don’t mean as much to you as you do to me. The only way I knew to do that was to make you hurt, too. But you must know I treasure every moment we spend together, every book we read, every night we share. Whenever you…” you trail off, a bit shy. “Touched me, I was painfully, blissfully aware of every moment. I asked for you to share yourself with me because I wanted you. I will always want you.”

“If anything, the blood loss just made it all the more exciting,” you place Astarion’s hand over your chest so he can feel the beating of your heart. “Had my heart racing nearly as fast as it is right now.”

Astarion breathes out a breathy, astonished laugh and you’re sure he can feel the way your heart stutters in response.

“You are my north star, Astarion,” you say with a soft smile on your face. “You are the gentle light that guides me home, that helps me remember myself in the dark.”

“You really mean that?” Astarion asks, looking up at you with adoration.

“I love you. Every beat of my heart is for you.”

And, in fact, perhaps you had loved him since the moment you first danced with him. Love and hate are very similar emotions, indeed.

Astarion’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, a wide smile on his lips. He’s radiant, like the stars in the night sky- something whose beauty could never be captured by something so mundane as oil on canvas, something who’s beauty could only ever be experienced.

“Are you going to be insufferable now that I’ve admitted that?” you ask and Astarion tips his head back to let out a loud laugh. It’s perhaps the hardest you’ve ever seen him laugh.

“Absolutely, my love,” he murmurs, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. He continues peppering your face with kisses between each word as he says, “Completely and utterly insufferable.”

“I need you to promise me something.” You catch his face between your palms again so he is looking into your eyes. “If- if you still want this to work, if you still want me, I need you to promise that you’re going to be honest with me from now on. About everything.”

He frowns for a moment and you can see him thinking. Apparently, you had found the dealbreaker in his love.

“I swear on my life,” he finally says with a little smile.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re not technically alive.”

“It’s a figure of speech, darling.” He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s a bit disappointed he didn’t get away with it. Damned lawyer. “I swear, full honesty from this point forward.”

“Thank you.”

“But I need you to promise me something in return,” Astarion says, turning serious.

“Anything,” you promise.

One of Astarion’s hands comes up to cup your own cheek and his cool skin sends a little shiver down your spine. “In the future, if you ever do decide you want us to be intimate again, we save my feeding until after. It’s important to me that you’re able to think clearly. That you’re able to say no.”

Okay, well, you hate that idea. Apparently he had also managed to find the one condition you were unwilling to agree to.

“I don’t want to agree to that because I like it when you drink from me. It’s… exhilarating.” There’s nothing quite so electrifying as the feeling of your lifeblood being pulled from your veins, knowing that it will be used to nourish Astarion’s own body. You attempt to negotiate, though you are sure Astarion will be unimpressed with your skills, “So, I propose an amendment- we check in with each other before we do anything? Just so I can assure you that I am a level-headed, very willing participant.”

“Those are terms I can agree to.”

Astarion’s finally pulls you down into a kiss. Your lips slide against each other’s and it tastes faintly salty, though you’re unsure if the tears belonged to you or Astarion.

“I love you,” you murmur against his mouth and he’s descending again, hungrier. Your hands move up to curl in his hair and Astarion has wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to straddle him on the chair.

It’s one of those toe-curling kisses that has you feel like your very soul is leaving your body, that has you feel like the very essence of your beings are singing together in harmony.

“Say it again,” he commands in a low rumble. And, oh, you like that low, commanding voice he gives you. You can feel your thighs tighten around Astarion, feel the way his hand claws at the fabric of your dress.

“I love you,” you say before your lips press against each other again. You let your tongue trace along one of his fangs, snagging just enough so that you can taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood. Astarion becomes ravenous as he licks into your mouth.

You kiss, over and over again, until you are satisfied that Astarion is assured just how willing and enthusiastic of a participant you truly are.

“I love you, too,” he breathes and you can feel how his lips curl up into a smile.

When you finally part from him long enough to see his face, he looks all wrong as you push his greasy curls off his forehead.

“You need a bath.” You wrinkle your nose and Astarion chuckles.

“You’ll join me?” He asks in a rich, deep voice as he gives you a devilish smile.

You stand up and hold out your hand to him, “Come, pretty boy, let me take care of you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you will,” he says and his arm wraps around you from behind so he can catch you, playfully nipping at your neck. You laugh as you detangle yourself from his arms.

The servants swarm to set up a bath in Astarion’s room and you watch in the corner with him, a bit embarrassed that all the servants know you will be bathing together.

When you are finally alone, you help Astarion out of his clothes first. He doesn’t really need help, but it’s nice to take care of him for once. A little shiver runs up his spine when your fingers ghost against his stomach as you help him pull off his shirt.

When he turns around to check the water, you see the huge scar on his back. It’s massive, spanning the entirety of his back. How have you never noticed this before? You had seen Astarion naked. Evidently, he had taken great care so far as to not let you see the scar. You can’t help but wonder why he had been hiding it from you and why he suddenly was allowing you to see it?

Your hands reach out to trace the patterns and Astarion jumps, but lets you continue. You’ve seen this pattern before, on the drawing you found in his study the day you broke in. And because Astarion cannot see his own reflection in a mirror, that must be the only way he knows what his scar looks like.

“How did you get this?” you ask, horrified by the pain he has suffered. You try to keep your fingers light against the jagged tissue, unsure of how sensitive the skin is.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and you know a lie is about to spew out of his mouth.

“Honest,” you make him promise.

He swallows hard and nods. “The man who turned me was cruel. This is a relic of that past. I don’t like to talk about it.”

And because you are trying to trust him, you respect him enough to not ask about the past he had just told you was too painful to bring up. Though, if he’s answering questions, you might as well try to get at least some new information out of him.

“And the trips?”

His words are careful when he speaks. Like he’s being honest, but not giving you the full truth. “Just business. Sometimes we go to dangerous areas. I take Karlach, Lae’zel, or Wyll with me for protection.”

You’re satisfied enough with that answer and thoroughly distracted when Astarion’s fingers begin to slowly undo the buttons down the back of your dress. Unfortunately, you still haven't been able to master those slippery little devils. Astarion seems content with taking his time on the task- letting his fingers trail teasingly along your spine and occasionally dropping soft kisses along your shoulder. It’s maddening.

Your corset somehow manages to take twice as long as the buttons on the dress. Astarion seems perfectly happy to let the bath water grow cold as he runs his fingers over every inch of the satiny ribbon that ties the garment to your body.

When you’re finally undressed, Astarion steps into the tub and settles back in the hot water, resting his head on the edge of the tub with a sigh.

It’s awkward- you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to position yourself in the large bathtub. Sitting in his lap seems too direct. But you need to make up your mind quickly. Even with the warm fire burning in the room and the steam rising from the hot water of the tub, your bare skin is growing cold the longer you take to decide.

After you step into the tub, you sit on the opposite side, facing Astarion. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you chew on your lip. You’re nervous- partially because you’re a bit new to showing so much skin around a man and partially because you aren’t sure how much you’re allowed to touch Astarion. You aren’t used to this level of physical intimacy. You had only seen Astarion’s body once before and you had been so caught up in the haze of how silky soft the skin of his cock had felt against your hand and how his eyes were screwed so tightly shut with pleasure that you hadn’t really gotten that good of a peak at what said cock actually looked like.

And that night had ended… poorly, to say the least.

“Gone shy, pet? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Astarion says with a cheeky smile.

You love him, your heart sings. He’s reverting back to that easy banter, trying to help make you more comfortable. Gently, Astarion tugs on your arm and guides you into his lap.

“See,” he leans his forehead against yours, “much better.”

“Much,” you agree, knocking your nose against his before you remind him, “you need blood.”

“Are you offering?”

“Always,” you tease. Astarion’s eyes are hungry as he watches you tilt your neck to the side for him.

“Devilish woman.” His eyes crackle dangerously, all crimson and fire. It’s a total contradiction to how softly his hand cradles the back of your head as he leans down to your neck.

He presses a long kiss to your skin. The simple act nearly brings tears to your eyes. For weeks, you had let Astarion drink from you. For weeks, he would kiss you so gently before he dug his teeth into your skin- an act of apology, an act of worship. An act of love.

So much had changed this evening. Your worldview completely shifted, yet again, as you grew accustomed to the idea that Astarion loved you. With every heartbeat, you are reminded- he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. And yet, that one little habit remained the same.

The soft cold of Astarion’s lips gives way to that familiar sting, to that chill that seeps down to your very bones. You fight to orient yourself for a moment, inhaling deeply to focus. The coldness fades. The familiar lick of desire burns bright within you.

Astarion’s cool tongue swirling against your skin does nothing to tamper the heat growing within you and the arm he has wrapped around your waist tightens, dragging you in even closer. You feel him everywhere and still, you need more- it’s not enough.

Too quickly, always too quickly, Astarion parts from the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving one last kiss on the hollow of your throat.

When you look at him, he’s got that gooey, drunk look in his eyes like he always does after he’s fed. The pinkish tint has returned to his cheeks and the tips of his ears now that he’s got some blood in his system and you feel a sense of pride bloom within you.

I did that, you think, that was me.

Astarion reaches his thumb out to swipe up a stripe of blood that must have been leftover from the bite mark on your neck, runny like blood always is when mixed with water. His pretty pink lips close around his thumb as he lewdly sucks it into his mouth. Your mind goes blank as you watch him, entranced.

“Delicious,” Astarion says with a wicked grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“I’m not too bland for you?” You ask, repeating his words from the fight back at him. You’re teasing him, mostly, but that jealous, insecure part of you deep down is looking for his reassurance. “I’m not the late autumn plum that you lament picking?”

“What are you talking about?” Astarion looks at you, brow furrowed in confusion. It takes him a moment before his expression clears and he laughs. He has the audacity to laugh at you. “That’s not what that poem’s about at all, darling. How did you even know about that? Is that why my shirt went missing?”

“That’s not… important… right now…” you say, feeling your face heat up. Astarion’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, tracing his thumb gently over your cheek bone.

“Do you want to know what that poem means?” He asks, in perhaps the quietest, shyest voice you’ve ever heard Astarion speak with. “For many years, I had nothing except my hunger. My own body didn’t even belong to me. What’s lamentable is someone who is content with that life, with living on scraps of rats and insects. The poem is a reminder to me that I had to keep fighting, a reminder that I refuse to be broken.”

Astarion leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You remind me so much of myself, little flower. Your will and your determination, even in a losing fight. That’s what drew me to you that night we first met. In the face of certain death, you couldn’t resist telling me I was wrong.”

You laugh. He’s right, of course- you do love telling people when they are wrong.

“In truth, your blood is the best I’ve ever had. I fear I have tasted perfection,” he says, letting his nose dip down to trace along your neck. You shiver, keenly aware of how your cunt is resting tantalizingly against one of Astarion’s thighs. All it would take is a little roll of your hips to provide some sweet relief.

But Astarion still needs a bath and your neck still stings a bit. You know from experience the stinging of the twin bites on your skin will last a while longer, so you distract yourself by wetting a hard bar of soap in your hands. You run the soap over Astarion, working it into a lather on his skin.

It’s an excuse to touch him. You know this. He knows this. Neither of you are complaining.

You take a moment to stroke along the muscles that run from his neck to his shoulders, chasing away some of the knots and sore spots that had developed after so many days hunched over a desk. Astarion lets out content little hums as you work, his eyes slowly falling shut.

You move to his arms, which he’s draped elegantly over the side of the tub as if in preparation for your work. Moving the soap, you trace along those beautiful, pale blue veins all the way down to the inside of his wrist. Bringing his hand to your mouth, you press a soft kiss to each of his fingertips before repeating the same pattern on his other arm.

When you wash his hair, Astarion practically melts into your hands. It reminds you of Tara how he purrs when you let your nails scratch gently against his scalp.

“Tilt your head back,” you instruct him. You let the water run through his white curls and wash the soap away.

When he comes back up, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment before you’re falling together. It’s one of those hungry kisses that leave you wanting more. All teeth and tongue crashing against one another. One of Astarion’s hands palms at your ass, pulling you closer to him. You tug on Astarion’s lower lip with your teeth and you feel the growl reverberating in his chest.

Astarion’s length is hard where it presses against your stomach. You move your hand under the water, aching to touch that satiny soft skin again. Astarion deftly catches your hand, intertwining your fingers with his own.

You huff, frustrated. He always did this. It was as if he thought he didn’t deserve pleasure, too. Or thought you were inexperienced and incapable of giving it to him. You wanted to learn how to please him, desperately, but he was always batting your hands away.

“Are you truly so cruel you would deny your wife this simple pleasure?” You ask, trying your best to pout in that way that always makes Astarion cave and give you what you want.

“You’re dramatic,” Astarion brings your entwined fingers up to kiss the back of your hand. “And I’m not cruel. I just refuse to let the first time I have you be in a lukewarm bath. I intend to savor every moment and for that, I will need much more space.”

Astarion speaks in that husky, arrogant voice that sends a shock of electricity straight to your cunt and has you clenching around nothing.

You try to move a bit and end up banging one of your elbows painfully into the side of the tub. Okay, maybe he has a point. More space would be good. Even if you ache to feel him inside and don’t want to wait.

He helps you out of the tub and your legs are a bit shaky, which puts a self-satisfied smirk on Astarion’s face. He finishes towel drying his hair, curls messy and beautiful as the wet locks lay flat against his skin. His towel drapes around his shoulders and you use it to pull him down for a kiss, your tongues sliding against one another. You feel Astarion’s hands against the back of your thighs and he’s lifting you off your feet so you can wrap your legs around his waist. You’re keenly aware of how your cunt rubs against the thatch of hair at the end of his navel as he walks you over to the bed and gently sets you down on it.

Astarion kisses down your stomach and you know where he’s going. You cup your hand around his cheek, guiding his face up to look at you.

“Need you,” you practically whine. It’s annoying, how Astarion is able to turn you into this needy little child, how your very being is addicted to him.

“I know just what you need,” he gives you another kiss above your hip bone and you whine again.

“No.” You’re trying to pull him back up now, hands grabbing at his shoulders and arms, trying to settle his weight on top of you again. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Oh? How can I refuse when you beg so sweetly?” He has that sinful look on his face that makes you ravenous for him. “But you’ll have to wait,” Astarion says, moving to settle between your thighs. “You need to be ready so it won’t hurt. And besides, I’ve missed your taste. You won’t deny your husband that, will you?”

He probably has a point. You had barely been able to fully wrap your hand around his cock when you had touched him. And the most you had ever taken inside yourself was, what? Two of Astarion’s beautiful, dexterous fingers? And those already had you feeling stretched to a point where you thought you might shatter.

Astarion’s tongue swirls on your inner thigh, tracing over the faint bruise left from the last time he bit you. He blows cool air over your cunt that has you nearly jumping out of your skin. It forces you to be painfully aware of how wet you are. But Astarion quickly takes pity on you and his cool mouth presses a soft kiss against your cunt before his tongue is darting out, licking so wonderfully.

Gods, the miracles he can perform with his tongue are sacrilegious.

Astarion eats you out like his very life depends on it. And when he slowly slips one, and then two, and then three fingers into you, your worldview shrinks to red eyes looking up at you hungrily from between your thighs.

There’s that familiar warmth rising in your stomach as your trembling hands clutch onto Astarion’s damp hair like a lifeline. A distant part of you laughs about how his normally perfect curls will be a mess when his hair dries.

With Astarion’s lovely fingers curling inside you and his tongue dancing against your clit, you settle into the warmth that seeps into your bones.

"So good," you manage to pant out when his tongue moves in a particularly delicious way. You feel the coil tightening in your belly before it snaps, waves of pleasure rolling over you as you climax.

When you’ve finally started breathing normally again, Astarion crawls up your body like a fucking predator and you’re practically drooling over him. As he moves, his leg catches yours and he hooks your knee over his thigh, draaaging your leg up with his own.

You’ve never been this aroused in your life. You feel like putty in Astarion’s hands- his to mold and move and control how he wants you. And you know Astarion’s noticed the effect it’s had on you, too. You see that arrogant gleam in his eye that lets you know you are dangerously feeding into his already inflated ego.

And he knows what he’s doing. In this position, he’s opened up your cunt that much further and his own hard cock is pressed against your center. It’s wet- gods, it’s almost obscene how wet it is. And the way Astarion’s cool skin rubs against your most sensitive spots sends a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Astarion-” you manage to choke out. “If you don’t fuck me soon, I think I’m going to die.”

“Perish the thought, dearest, I��d never let that happen.” He says in that cocky, teasing tone that lets you know he’s enjoying this too much.

He stops moving and grips your chin with his hand. You mewl, letting him force you to look at him. His eyes have softened and his face is so open and loving that you think your heart might very well flutter out of your chest and settle inside Astarion’s own rib cage.

“You’re good?” He asks, voice gone soft with concern.

“So good,” you try to roll your hips against his, ignoring your confusion at his complete change in tone. But at this point, if you don’t have him inside you in the next minute, you think you might spontaneously combust.

“Not what I meant,” Astarion chuckles darkly, his grip on your chin tightening just a bit. “You’re clear headed? You promised me we’d check in.”

Oh, that’s right, the promise.

“All clear,” you say, tapping the side of your head, trying to ease his concerns with a bit of humor. It seems to work based on the gentle grin that tilts up one corner of his mouth. You focus on committing this moment to memory. “How are you?”

A look of shock passes over Astarion’s face for a moment, so quickly that a lesser trained eye might have missed it completely. It makes you wonder if you’re the first person that has ever bothered to ask Astarion if he’s okay.

“I’m going to remember this forever,” Astarion reassures, like he’s reading your mind. He gives you one more serious look. “Any point you want to stop, tell me and I will. No questions asked.”

How could this man exist? He seems unreal. Your guardian angel perched above you.

“Same goes for you,” you tell him, turning your head a bit. Astarion loosens his grip on your chin to allow for the motion and you press a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he leans down and kisses your lips, soft and sweet. “You ready?”

You nod and he shifts his weight onto one forearm so he can grab his cock with his hand. He runs the tip along the length of your cunt teasingly and oh, it feels wonderful against your wet folds. Slowly, he starts pushing into you.

You hiss at the initial sting and Astarion pauses immediately, just sitting with the tip of his cock inside you. He’s kissing all over your face, whispering about how ‘you’re doing so well,’ ‘you feel so good I can hardly stand it,’ and ‘think about how good we’re going to make each other feel, my love’ that has the part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise soaring. When you start to get used to the stretch, you nod again and Astarion presses in a bit further.

It takes what feels like a small eternity before he’s fully inside you. And oh, the stretch, the fullness has you feeling like you’re ready to shatter at any moment.

“Gods, your cunt is perfect. Like you were made for me,” Astarion says, through gritted teeth. It causes liquid fire to shoot through your veins and your cunt clenches around him. You think you actually manage to catch his brain short-circuiting as he lets out a strangled noise that’s a cross between a growl and a moan.

“Tight… s-so tight. And wet,” Astarion groans, his mouth nearly hanging open.

You feel a spark of pleasure deep within yourself over seeing this man- who acts so confident and above everyone- nearly disintegrate into a babbling mess from just the feel of your cunt around him.

And then, Astarion begins to move and it’s you who becomes a babbling mess. The pressure stings a bit at first, but it doesn’t take long for the sweet feeling of pleasure to overwhelm you completely.

His pace feels torturously slow, as if he’s determined to make you feel every wonderful inch moving in and out of you.

“More,” you plead, trying to move your own hips to speed up the rhythm. “Faster, please.”

Even when he picks up speed, it feels like he’s holding back.

“I won’t break,” you tell him, hooking one of your legs around his hips to urge him that much deeper inside you.

Astarion listens to you then, finally, and begins thrusting into you at a rhythm that has your mind spinning. His hand snakes down between your bodies, moving to trace tight circles over your clit.

You feel as if you are ascending to the heavens. It should be impossible to feel this good.

And you’re so close to the edge, so close to that precipice of pure bliss.

“So close, Star,” you manage to gasp out. “So good.”

“Let go, little flower,” he says. “Want to feel you.”

Your second orgasm is earth-shattering. The kind of orgasm that makes it feel as if your soul itself is fracturing like beautiful glass inside you. The kind that has you arching your back and digging your nails into Astarion’s skin as you desperately try to tether yourself to reality.

Astarion fucks you through it, rocking his hips into yours with a clinical precision that has stars dotting at the edges of your vision.

He slows for a moment and then stops, hard cock still nestled firmly inside you. You let out a pathetic whine that makes Astarion give an involuntary little buck of his hips. You chase after him with your own, but he rests more of his weight on top of you, effectively trapping you underneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight when you come. I need- I need a minute,” Astarion says, eyes screwed shut.

“Why?” you ask, pushing a lock of messy hair out of his face. It’s a good thing he can’t see himself in a mirror, he’d be distraught at the state of his hair. “What are you waiting for?”

“Need to- fuck, need this to last. Never want this to end.”

It sends your heart soaring- the fact that Astarion is so determined to try to make this moment last as long as possible. Perhaps, beneath all his layers of pretend smiles and barbed wire guarding his heart, he’s secretly a romantic.

“Doesn’t have to end,” you murmur, nails scratching lightly at his scalp in the way you know he likes. “We can do this forever.”

And then, the most glorious thing happens. Astarion whimpers.

It’s one of those involuntary sounds that worked its way up from the back of his throat. You think you could grow used to the surge of power you feel inside you at forcing Astarion to lose his carefully practiced control. You want him to whimper again.

You use your grip on his hair to move his face towards yours to kiss him and you speak against his mouth, “Let me take care of you for once.”

You feel his nose rub against yours as he nods and you grin wickedly in triumph, gently pushing him off you so he’s laying back on the bed. Astarion looks confused for a moment before you settle on his lap, moving to guide him back inside you. You’re still so sensitive after your last orgasm, you feel every wonderful ridge and vein of his cock inside you.

You lean down, biting his ear before you whisper, “You deserve to not have to do all the work for once.”

And then you move, rising and lowering yourself against his cock. This new angle has him hitting impossibly deeper, has him pressing against some secret, sponge-y spot that makes your toes curl every time he’s fully inside you.

So, this was what all the fuss was about. Why men waged wars and forsook religion. For what gods can compete with the way that Astarion moved inside you? And what cruel gods indeed if they forbade this act of your salvation. You felt as if you had been born anew atop Astarion’s cock.

You bite your lip, trying to dampen the barrage of noises that threaten to spill out of you.

“No,” Astarion nearly cries out, his thumb coming up to pull your lower lip out from between your teeth. “Need to- fuck, need to hear you.”

Oh, he’s desperate in the best way possible. You stop holding back- let out every gasp and moan and curse. Astarion’s hands come up to your breasts- kneading and squeezing them and pinching your nipples and he’s looking at you with such awe that you think you could tell him you were an angel sent from the heavens and he would believe you.

Your thighs are starting to burn when Astarion’s hand moves from your breasts to curl around your throat and you mewl at how perfectly his hand fits around your neck. His thumb traces gently over his bite mark from earlier, his eyes getting even more desperate and hungry, all fiery red like he’s going to consume you alive.

Astarion is not subtle about his obsession with the marks and bruises he leaves on your skin.

You think that animalistic, instinctual part of him is proud of the idea that everyone knows he was the one to give you those marks. And you have never tried to hide them, even if particularly nasty marks on the column of your throat sent Gale’s eyes skittering to look anywhere but you and caused Shadowheart to make snide comments about them as she helped you dress.

You toss your hair over your shoulder, displaying the bite even more proudly, still rolling your hips against his own.

Astarion uses his grip around your neck to pull you down against him and press his mouth to yours in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. One of his fangs must catch on something because there’s that wonderful metallic taste of blood being shared between you two.

“Where?” He pants out against your lips.

And because you’re a little dizzy with the influx of new sensations, your brain can’t quite decipher what Astarion means. “Where what?”

“Where can I come, darling?”

Oh. Oh.

Although Astarion could have told you simply that the sky was blue in that husky voice and it would have caused your eyes to roll back in your head, those deliciously racy words out of his mouth have you practically turning into mush.

“Gods,” you breathe out. “Anywhere you want. Inside?”

Because the idea of being separated from him for even a moment seems unbearable. And that was the right answer based on the way Astarion’s hips start to buck into you with wild abandon.

You continue to move together, two inseparable bodies- unable to tell where one ends and the other begins. His cock pulses inside you before he lets out a strangled moan and you feel him come inside you.

Tired and spent, with aching thighs, you settle yourself on top of Astarion. You have laid your head on his chest many times and his lack of heartbeat will never get less foreign. Though, you do feel a sense of satisfaction that he’s also exhausted- panting beneath you and trying to catch his breath. Astarion’s cool chest feels wonderful against your flushed, sweaty skin.

“Where did an innocent thing like you even learn about this position?” Astarion asks and you can hear the delighted little teasing tone in his voice. “Here I was thinking I’d have all sorts of fun things to teach you.”

Despite the fact that Astarion cannot see your face, you roll your eyes. You know he thinks you naive and bashful because you are inexperienced.

“Married women whisper rather loudly if you know how to eavesdrop,” you tell him. “You can find out all sorts of salacious secrets- whose husband has a mistress or whose child might have been born a bit too early after the wedding. More interestingly, you learn all about what scandalous things happen in the bedroom between married couples. ‘Riding Saint George’ caused quite the uproar a few seasons ago.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Astarion laughs and you feel his chest rumbling underneath your cheek.

“And I know all sorts of things,” you defend yourself to Astarion. “Most other ‘prim’ and ‘proper’ ladies would have balked the moment your head went between their thighs.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see the extent of your knowledge. And fill in any gaps that might arise,” he says in a low, seductive voice that makes you keenly aware of the fact that his cock is still inside you.

Propping your head up on Astarion’s chest, you look at him, giggling a bit at the way his dark, sultry eyes contradict rather comedically with the mess that had become his hair. He’d need a small fortune’s worth of pomade to tame it.

“We probably should have saved the bath for after that, huh?” you grin, reaching up to brush some of the loose curls away from his forehead.

When Astarion laughs, you use that as the opportunity to slip off of him, hissing at the dull ache between your thighs and the feeling of how desperately you already miss him inside you.

Astarion gets up to find the towel that had somehow ended up thrown over the folding screen in the corner of the room as the two of you had desperately clawed at one another and stumbled over to the bed. Astarion wets the towel and returns, gently wiping it in between your legs.

You hiss. Astarion looks at you worried, like he just committed the greatest crime in the world by hurting you.

“Sensitive, s’all,” you explain and he returns to carefully wiping away any residue of your coupling.

Astarion’s arm wraps around your waist as he settles next to you on the bed. He has a book on his bedside table that you grab and read aloud. It’s wonderful how easily the two of you settle back into your old patterns. You read until your eyes start to grow heavy and you instead shift your focus your attention to studying Astarion’s beautiful face. His eyes close and he relaxes as you gently trace your fingers over his strong brow, down his lovely nose, over the curve of his jaw.

“Can you turn into a bat?” You ask, half on your way to sleep.

“Why would you possibly be wondering that after I’ve just given you the most memorable night of pleasure you’ve ever known?” Astarion asks, eyes opening to look at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

You giggle and poke him on the tip of his nose. He playfully catches your finger in his mouth and gives it a gentle bite.

“I don’t know. I always thought they were cute when I was a girl. And I think you’re cute now. And you’re a vampire. My mind just connected some dots.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “I’m not cute, darling. Dashingly handsome or devilishly good-looking, maybe, but not cute.”

“I think it would be weirder if I called a bat dashingly handsome than if I called you cute,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

You had missed this- the easy back and forth that you always managed to find with Astarion. You had been so lonely without him, your best friend. Yet another reason why you love him is because he understands you innately, because the two of you have managed to dig your way so far under each other’s skins and find a home there.

“I’d rather you didn’t compare me to a bat at all,” Astarion says, still acting as if you have gravely offended him by daring to call him cute and like he doesn’t require your compliments as a basic necessity to survive. He lets out a sigh, as if you are greatly annoying him (you both know you are not) and finally answers your question. “And no, I can’t turn into one. As a general rule, I try to stay as far away from rodents as possible.”

Weird rule, you think.

“Pity, I’d bet you’d be cute. You’d probably be white, like one of those albino ones,” you tease, bringing your hand up to tug on his mess of white curls.

“I worry for your sanity, darling.”

You gasp, a big dramatic one that Astarion himself would be proud of. “Don’t tell me you just passed up an opportunity to make a joke about how you ‘fucked me stupid’ or something obscene like that.”

“I would never debase myself with such vulgarity.” He says in mock offense at your words before his lips twist up in a lecherous grin that you know means trouble. “Besides, it sounds so much better from your lips, my love.”

Astarion leans forward and kisses you on your vulgar mouth.

The two of you resume holding each other, wrapped in your little cocoon of love. But your mind is still elsewhere.

“I found one when I was younger, you know,” you break the silence.

Astarion hums. “One what?”

“A bat,” you remind him. “It was right after my mother died. The poor thing was injured. It had a broken wing and was just crawling helplessly on the ground. I brought it home with me, foolishly thinking I could heal it. When my father found it in my room that night, he made me watch while a servant killed it. He told me I shouldn’t be messing around with nature, that I was lucky it didn’t give me rabies.”

You shiver a bit at the memory of the bat’s tiny head caved in where your father had ordered a servant to take a shovel to the animal. You think of that poor man’s distraught face, how he had been unable to disobey if he wanted to keep his job, if he wished to be able to feed his family.

You continue speaking, “It felt like my father was telling me that caring about something doesn’t matter. But I disagree with that- I think we should try to help the things we love no matter what. Even if it is a stupid bat that might give you rabies.”

“I’d still love you. Foaming mouth and all,” Astarion smiles at you.

“Liar,” you say, poking his cheek.

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t say anything for a long time. You see him chewing on something in his mind but you give him time- you try to trust him to tell you when he is ready.

“You’re going to die some day,” his voice is grim when he speaks. “Unless…”

Well, that’s a bummer.

“Unless I’m a vampire,” you complete his train of thought.

And you can’t say the idea had never occurred to you. Especially as you had sat at Astarion’s bedside when he was injured.

At times, he had been thrashing and screaming so violently that he would reopen the wound on his abdomen. You had been frantic watching him like that. Shadowheart had to practically pry you away from him so that he didn’t accidentally injure you in his flailing.

You never speak of those memories with Astarion, no matter how deeply they haunt you. You know they would only serve to embarrass him, that he would only interpret your care as pity. You know this because you would think the same.

But as you sat and watched him, useless except for your blood, you had a long, long time to think about what would have happened if you were the one that was injured. Would Astarion have cared? Would he have sat at your bedside in anguish as you recovered?

No, you had realized. Because a wound like his would have left you dead.

“When I asked you if you’d ever want to be a vampire, you said you didn’t know if you would. That it would depend on the circumstances. Is that still true?” Astarion asks, searching your face for an answer you’re unsure you’re able to give.

Because it’s not that you don’t ever want to be a vampire. It’s just all too soon. You and Astarion had only been married for six months and you had just gotten back on solid ground after a very rocky two weeks.

And you know that you do want Astarion forever, but you also want to settle into this new life with him for a while longer. There was still so much he was hiding from you and you don’t want the memory of your turning to be tainted by doubts or hesitation. It should be a joyous occasion- the true union of your souls that you didn’t get at your wedding.

“I don’t know…” you trail off, a bit unsure of how to put your thoughts into words that will not hurt Astarion’s feelings. Instead, you choose to deflect, “Do you want to turn me? Is that why you’re asking this?”

“I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed. Of you dying.” Astarion laments, his eyes all blood red, reminding you of that monstrous gash in his side. “What a miserable existence that would be, not after I have known the ecstasy of being with you. Everything else just seems dull in comparison.”

And he’s right, the idea of a life without him seems hollow. Survivably, certainly, but lackluster. It reminds you of how Astarion can only see the gardens at night- still beautiful, still worth experiencing, but not nearly as vibrant or wonderful as you knew it could be.

“I know I want to be a vampire someday,” you say. “I dread the thought of growing older while you remain unchanged. I hate the idea of becoming a burden to you in my old age.”

“You could never be a burden. And that’s a long way off,” Astarion tries to reassure you.

Because for him, time isn’t running out. For him, time stretches and flows lazily like a river into the sea. And he had been like this for so long, had been a vampire many lifetimes longer than he had been alive. You can’t even begin to help him conceptualize what you mean, but you try anyway.

“A long way off for me, but that’s nothing for you, Astarion. It will pass before you even notice.” You take a deep breath and try to communicate the thoughts that you yourself are not sure you fully understand. Interlacing your fingers with Astarion’s, you guide his hand to your mouth so you can press a kiss to the back of it. “I do want this, I want a life with you. Forever. I’m just- I’m not ready yet. Let me enjoy being alive a while longer. Let me choose when and how it happens.”

With a gentle smile, Astarion says, “Of course, my love. Just say when.”

—----------

Astarion hardly even lets you leave his bed the next few days. Not that you’re complaining about it. He separates himself only long enough to tell Gale to bring your meals to his room for the foreseeable future. Astarion’s very specific about how Gale is only supposed to knock and how under no circumstances are you to open that door.

From your spot in the bed, linen sheets pulled up over your chest in an attempt to protect your modesty, you think you overhear Gale saying, “Under no circumstances would I want to,” before he leaves.

The next couple of months are a blur of sitting in front of warm fireplaces and reading and you and Astarion wrapped together, his cool skin only intensifying the burning desire within you. With the warmth in your heart, you wouldn’t even be able to tell it’s the dead of winter. The weather outside is dreary and miserable and you don’t even notice because you and Astarion are too consumed in one another.

And touching. Always touching. Astarion seems unable to ever let you be out of his grasp, even if it was as simple as your feet being pressed against one another underneath the table at meals.

The best part about winter is the long nights which allow you to keep the curtains open that much longer without fear for Astarion’s safety. He relaxes in the darkness, comes alive like those silly moonflowers you planted for him. In the dark, he’s less restrained, more confident (if it was possible to describe Astarion as more confident).

You come to realize that Astarion doesn’t like the cold based on how he’s unable to resist warming his hands when he sees a fire and the pile of quilts he stacks on top of the two of you in bed before you sleep. You would wake up stifling if not for Astarion’s cool touch beneath the sheets.

It’s wonderful how easily the two of you balance each other- hot and cold, alive and dead, sun and moon.

And although Astarion hates winter, with enough carefully timed pouting, you do force him to humor you one evening when there’s a particularly beautiful snow. He bundles himself up in about ten layers and grumbles the whole time he’s pulling on his thick woolen greatcoat.

“Enough layers,” you laugh, tugging on his hands to pull him outside.

“I’m freezing,” he says, stopping completely and tugging you backward by your interlaced hands when you’ve only made it about three steps out the door.

The sky is cloudy and there’s no silvery moonlight to highlight Astarion’s beauty tonight. You have to be content with the way the torches that line the entrance to the manor make his face all shadows and sharp angles.

“Poor star,” you say in a mocking tone. You step back toward him, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek as you promise in a low voice, “I’ll warm you up later.”

“I’d much prefer if you would warm me up now.”

“Patience is a virtue, my love,” you tell him and drag him out further into the snow.

He catches you around the waist, pulling you against him to whisper in your ear, “I’m not a virtuous man.”

And for a second, you do consider the merits of letting him drag you back inside. But it’s been so long since you’ve seen a snow this pretty and it’s getting late in the season and you aren’t going to let your lust-addled mind win out. Astarion could wait- you would have a lifetime with him. You need to appreciate fleeting moments as they come.

“Help me build a snowman,” you say, attempting to distract yourself from the flames of desire burning hot within you.

Astarion looks incredulous, “What do you take me for? A child?”

“I take you for a man who loves his wife very much and would make her very happy if he listened to her,” you say, looking up at him and trying to bat your lashes in that way he can’t resist.

He sighs, one of those big dramatic ones that is meant to make you feel like you’re the biggest inconvenience he’s ever encountered. Always an actor, your husband. You have grown to appreciate it now that you can understand the man beneath the performance.

“The last thing I want is to ruin my beautiful nails,” he says with a frown.

“You’re wearing gloves,” you point out, laughing at his theatrics.

“It’s the principle of the thing, darling,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll supervise. That suits my talents far better.”

And so, Astarion sets to work micromanaging you like his life depends on it. Over a stupid snowman that he called childish.

You can hardly even pack a bit of snow into a ball before Astarion is complaining about it being lopsided or that the ratio between the different snowballs is off and making the thing look ugly. It takes entirely too long to complete.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You look at the completed snowman for a second, feeling a sense of accomplishment in your work. And then, you reach out to kick it over.

“See,” you grin up at Astarion. “That’s the fun part.”

“Gods, you’re ridiculous,” Astarion says, leaning down to kiss you.

But you also know he’s secretly disappointed he didn’t get to kick down a snowman.

“C’mon, I’ll build another one for you,” you tell him.

When he isn’t looking, you roll a ball of snow in your hands and throw it at his back. He stiffens and turns, shooting you an angry glare over his shoulder. Trying to hold back your laughter, you reach down to collect another bunch of snow in your hands.

“Don’t you dare-” Astarion starts to say, but is interrupted by the snowball that strikes him directly in the center of his chest. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, you insolent little-”

You let out a little shriek as he starts to chase after you. With your feet sinking into the snow, you aren’t able to run very fast and Astarion somehow manages to move so deftly and sneakily, as if the snow itself was helping to hold him aloft. He gains on you quickly. It feels so different than that first night in the garden, when you had been running for your very life. This time, you sneak peaks over your shoulder, admiring Astarion’s beauty and eagerly awaiting for him to catch up to you.

You’re a bit off-balance when his hands finally wrap around your waist. The two of you end up tumbling into the snow and you land on top of Astarion with a loud ‘oof.’

And although Astarion hates the cold, he settles into snow beneath him, wrapping his arms around you tighter and pressing your foreheads together as you both shake in laughter. He looks beautiful like this, underneath you. The tip of his nose is red from the cold air. He looks alive.

After your laughing fit subsides, Astarion says with exasperation, “Well, if I’m already down here.”

He starts moving his arms up and down in the snow and it’s a bit jarring considering you’re still laying on top of him.

Oh, you realize. He’s trying to make snow angels.

With a delighted giggle, you roll off him into the snow to join him, moving your arms and legs in time. With every stroke of your arms, you make sure to reach out so that your gloved fingers brush against his.

Eventually, you pull yourself up out of the snow, carefully brushing the snow out of the fur lining your coat and thinking about how Shadowheart is going to scold you tomorrow for getting the beautiful fur all wet. Astarion stays on the ground, elegantly sprawled and content to watch you. His pale skin and white hair would almost blend in if not for the rosy pink on his cheeks and nose. You feel a sense of pride simmering within you that it was your blood which gave him that lovely coloring.

“Help me up?” Astarion asks, holding his hands out for you to grab.

“No! You’re just going to pull me down again! You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are.”

Astarion pouts. You hate to admit that you are just as susceptible to giving him what he wants as he is to you.

“Spoiled little rich boy,” you huff, grabbing his hands to pull him up. You can tell he’s pulling back against you, trying to be difficult. “Come on, you’re making this hard on purpose!”

Astarion laughs and finally stands up, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against him. The wool collar of his coat is soft and a bit fuzzy where it brushes against your cheek.

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion says in a quiet voice, dropping a kiss along your hairline. “I haven’t laughed that hard in years. You help me remember what it’s like to feel young again.”

Oh, there goes your little heart. Thumping away like a racehorse.

“You are still young. Or at least, you still look young,” you tease.

“Not everyone can age as gracefully as me,” Astarion says wistfully, as if his beauty is some great curse that he is forced to live with.

“Like a fine wine,” you agree, playing into his ego.

“I do recall that you promised to warm me up,” Astarion murmurs huskily in your ear. It has your head spinning and your cunt aching. “I’d like to take you up on that offer now.”

You nod, breathless, and let him lead you back inside. The two of you strip out of your wet clothes, spreading out on a blanket in front of the fire and you thoroughly warm Astarion by sinking to your knees and using your mouth on him.

You curl around one another after, Astarion’s head against your chest as you cuddle together underneath a blanket.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” Astarion says, interrupting the comfortable silence.

“Have to?” you challenge him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “And let me guess- I can’t come. That’s why you humored me tonight.”

“You know I worry too much about your safety. So no, you cannot come. Not while you’re still human.”

“I don’t appreciate you using my humanity as a bargaining chip,” you hiss back at him.

You know he doesn’t mean to make you mad. You know that deeply, down to his core, Astarion is terrified of losing you and that fear will always be present until you ascend past the confines of mortality.

Astarion takes a deep breath, shifting his weight onto his arm so he can hover over you and see your face. His voice softens as he looks down at your angry, furrowed brow, “I apologize, little flower, that’s not my intent. I just- I would be too worried about you, it would jeopardize everyone else’s safety and they don’t deserve that.”

He’s right, of course. And you appreciate him listening to you and reframing his words in a better way. That is what love is- challenging the other person to do better.

But you can’t help feeling that you could be of use if Astarion would just tell you what’s going on. You have your own anxieties. You worry greatly for his safety, too. And it just feels a bit like he’s prioritizing himself over you. It doesn’t feel equal.

When you’re still silent, Astarion drags his thumb gently across cheek, “We can take another trip when I get back. Just the two of us, anywhere you want to go.”

You smile at him. You really do see and appreciate him trying.

You do not know Astarion’s romantic history, but you are sure he must have had many, many lovers based partly on how skilled he is at sex, but based mostly on how wonderful he is. Who wouldn’t want to be around him? Who wouldn’t fall in love with this man immediately? He was snarky and funny and somehow still managed to be impossibly sweet and gentle.

But you also had a feeling that Astarion was not very experienced at being in love. There were times where he seemed so unsure, times where he seemed almost clumsy with his love, and many times like this where it felt like the two of you were speaking different languages. You were both still learning how to work together and how to compromise after so long of only looking out for yourselves.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“To the Underdark,” Astarion says. And he must expect your displeased response because he rolls to lie next to you, so that he is looking at the ceiling instead of your upset face.

“Why on earth would you be going to a place like that?” You ask, surprised. The Underdark was a lawless, dangerous place. It was where criminals and lowlives congregated and festered. You can see the wheels in Astarion’s head turning, trying to come up with some lawyer-y answer that doesn’t answer your question at all so you use the promise. “Honest.”

And so far, he has respected that promise. Usually, his answers were purposefully vague. But sometimes he gave you answers that were actually useful. You had finally learned who the strange people he was always whispering with were. Astarion had even introduced you to them over dinner the next time they had visited.

Karlach you had met previously, when Astarion was injured. You didn’t like to think about that time. It was much easier to pretend you first met Karlach over dinner, where she was all big smiles and boisterous laughter. You got along with her easily, but she seemed like the type of person that everyone got along with.

Lae’zel was the mean-looking lady and she was from very far away, Astarion had explained. Her homeland didn’t have the same restrictions for women, so she was raised and trained to be a warrior before they met in Baldur’s Gate. She didn’t say much at dinner, just chewed her meat angrily.

And Wyll was the man with the two differently-colored eyes. He was very polite and very cordial- the perfect gentleman. He promised to dance with you at the next ball after Astarion had made a mocking comment about his fancy feet.

But tonight, Astarion’s voice is measured when he speaks, each word carefully chosen. “I’m looking for something. And I just got some new information that leads me to believe I’ll find what I’m looking for there.”

Humming in acknowledgement, you choose not to pry further, no matter how desperately you want to. You respected Astarion enough to use the promise of honesty sparingly. He deserves the opportunity to tell you things of his own free will.

But really, you could have guessed he was looking for something. At least now you have confirmation. Now, you just need to figure out what he’s looking for. And why.

“How long do you expect to be gone?” You ask instead, turning your head to study his profile.

“A few days. A week at most. I’m going to take both Lae’zel and Karlach with me. The only thing I want to repeat about my last trip is to see you welcoming me home, full of blood for me to drink.” Astarion turns his head to give a mischievous little grin.

You know he is trying to deflect, trying to lighten the mood with playful banter. But you can’t help but feel your heart stutter in your chest as you picture him, bloody and wounded, bleeding out in front of you. You tear your gaze away from Astarion, back to the ceiling so you can close your eyes, willing away those horrible images.

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him and you feel his pinky finger brush against your own. It makes you smile. Touching. Always touching. You sigh, “I get bored when you’re gone. And it’s winter, so I can’t even work in the garden to keep me busy.”

“I fear what happens when you grow bored,” Astarion teases. He’s probably right to fear considering the last time you were too bored you had broken into his study.

Astarion presses himself up again to lean over you again, eyes hungry and redder than blood. “You’ve given me such a lovely memory tonight to think of when my time on the road grows dull. Perhaps I need to give you one, as well.”

He leans down to give you a lingering kiss. You savor the way his lips glide against yours, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Astarion’s hand begins to trail up from your hip slowly, over the curve of your waist, heading toward where your hardened nipples press against his own chest.

“Not tonight, too tired,” you yawn and Astarion’s hand dances back down over your ribs, instead, his thumb moving in little circles over your skin. You give him your own imitation of one of his signature sinful smiles as you say, “And I have plenty of those memories already, but they’re a poor substitute to actually being with you. My hands just aren’t as adept as yours. Makes me miss you worse.”

“It’s true, I do have wonderful hands.” Astarion lifts one of his hands up between the two of you to admire it. You bring your own hand up to meet his, pressing your palms together and appreciating how his hand compares to yours.

Astarion twines your fingers together. The fire crackles and glints against his gold wedding ring.

His wedding ring.

Which had been noticeably missing from his ring finger since the night of your wedding.

“You’re wearing your ring,” you point out, a thrill of pleasure running through your veins. You continue moving his hand, watching how the firelight twists and shines off the gold.

Good, you think, let the world know that this perfectly imperfect man is mine.

“Have been for weeks, pet. I thought you noticed it already and just didn’t say anything.” Astarion says with that soft voice reserved especially for you.

You detangle your hand from his, sliding the ring off his finger as you go.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, trying to pull it back out of your grasp so he can put it back on his finger.

You push Astarion off you and sit up and Astarion looks utterly lost about what’s going on. You’re content to let him sweat for a little bit because you feel he didn’t make a big enough deal about the fact that he had started to wear his ring again.

Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you turn to look at Astarion. “Help me.”

Astarion- dutiful, devoted husband that he is- sits up to help you unclasp the necklace chain which holds your own ring. You slide the delicate gold band off the chain for the first time since you had put it there and press the ring into his palm while you hold onto his own.

“Let’s try this again. Do you, Astarion Ancunin, take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?” You ask in a low voice, trying to be serious in what feels like a childish, silly moment.

You are worried that Astarion will laugh at you for being foolishly sentimental but when you look at him, Astarion is gazing back at you with a matching goofy grin on his face, like you had just hung the sun and stars in the sky for him.

“I do,” he says and his lovely, beautiful voice lilts through the air and dances its way into your heart. You slip the ring back over his finger, cherishing the way the gold looks nearly incandescent against his pale skin.

Mine, you think, now and forever.

You motion with your hand for him to go next.

Astarion clears his throat. “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you choke out in a whisper and Astarion slips the ring onto your finger, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. You think you might have seen tears welling up in his eyes and your own vision is starting to go a bit blurry. It feels like the wedding you never really got.

“Where’s Gale to tell you to ‘kiss the bride’ when you need him?” You ask with a watery laugh.

“I think I can manage that perfectly well by myself,” Astarion huffs. “And knowing Gale, we’d be here all day before he got around to saying the important part.”

“Who’s the one being wordy now? Just kiss me already,” you tease.

And he does. Over and over and over again until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning.

“I’ll miss you,” Astarion murmurs against your lips.

His words tear you back to reality, force you to remember a world outside of this perfect moment, which has wrapped around the two of you like a warm blanket.

“You don’t have to miss me if you take me with you,” you point out, nudging your nose against his.

“Cute,” Astarion says. “But not going to work.”

You pout in that way that always makes Astarion give you what you want.

Astarion kisses the tip of your nose. “That won’t work either.”

Alas, that’s all the dirty tricks you have left in your metaphorical pocket.

“You better bring me back something really good, then,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

Astarion laughs- all golden and shimmery and filling the room with the warmth of the sun.

—-------

Astarion wakes you up with a gentle kiss the next evening, when the sun is just about to slip past the horizon into night. He’s kneeling beside the bed, dressed in what can only be described as armor. It’s concerning, to say the least. The Underdark is dangerous, certainly, but the implication that whatever he’s doing is dangerous enough warrant armor has you even more worried.

“Goodbye, my love. I’ll be back in a few days,” Astarion’s voice is soft and his fingers run gently through your hair. It would be the perfect way to wake up if he wasn’t leaving.

“Be safe. I love you” you tell him, feeling hopeless at your lack of control over whether he will return home safely.

“I love you, too. Go back to sleep,” he urges you, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

There’s something gnawing at you as you watch him slip silently out of the bedroom door. It still feels like he’s not telling you the truth.

------------------------

Notes:

Yay! Everyone is happy (for now…)

Not going to lie, I had a whole blowjob scene written for this chapter and decided to cut it because this thing is already monstrously long without it and I honestly didn't feel like it was contributing anything new to the story. So I'll probably repurpose it for a later chapter or I might post it as a separate little side fic because it did have some dialogue that I thought was funny that wouldn't work later. We'll see…

Fun fact, the 'lamentable is the autumn picker' poem is something that Astarion did have sewn into his shirt in early access and as a poetry lover, I think it is one of the loveliest lines I've ever read. He's also got a funny little line sewn into his underwear in the game that makes me laugh: 'If you're reading this, you managed to bed or behead me. Either way, you got lucky.'

Another fun fact, 'Riding Saint George' was actually a regency era slang term for riding a guy. It comes from the story of Saint Georgy and the Dragon, where the dragon looms over St. George. So the phrase essentially means that the woman (like the dragon) is on top during 'amorous congress.' I heard about this term in a different regency era fic I read forever ago and I thought it was so funny and I'm so happy I finally got the chance to use it somewhere.

I'm going to try to have chapter 7 out at around the same time as normal next Sunday but I am in grad school and going to a conference out of town next weekend so it depends a bit on when I can sneak away to post. Fair warning, the next two chapters are going to be very plot heavy and then we will be back to more fluffy, smutty goodness for the final two chapters.

I love you guys so much!!! I wish I could give all of you little kisses on the foreheads! It makes my day every time I read a new comment and I felt like an evil overlord all week feasting on your suffering from last chapter lol. Thanks for sharing this crazy journey with me- it makes it all the more fun!

As always, hugest thank you to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #x reader #my writing #til death do us part

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owmyeyeballs · 1 year ago

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Batstarion Fic

I had to. Batstarion is too adorable for words. He's still a spawn in this fic, because I say so. Tav is Silence, my tiefling monk, and she's so done with her adorable weird vampire

It’s probably nothing. Of course it’s nothing. He’ll show up any minute. He’s fine, everything will be fine… Silence had been pacing so long, she wondered she hadn’t worn out the Elfsong’s shiny floorboards. Astarion was missing. Astarion had been missing for hours. Usually at this time of day he would be lounging at her side, reading a book and cradling a glass of wine. Ordinarily Silence wouldn’t have worried quite so much, but since the death of Cazador, Astarion had been a mess. Joyous one minute, on the verge of weeping the next, and through it all, extremely reluctant to leave Silence’s side.

He probably just needed some space. He’s probably just gone to track down some prey. He’s probably totally fine, and hasn’t fallen victim to a vengeful spawn, or a Bhaal-crazed murderer, or…

The door opened, and Silence turned in worried expectation, only to find Wyll regarding her sympathetically.

“Still no sign of our favourite bloodsucker, I take it?”

“Nothing. I should be out looking for him.”

Wyll came to stand by her, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You should be with the rest of us at the bar, relaxing. Astarion’s a grown man. There’s no sense worrying until we know for sure we have cause.”

“He’s barely been out of my sight since Cazador, and this city is dangerous, and…”

“And Astarion has two hundred years of experience navigating those dangers. I tell you what, if he’s still gone in another hour, I’ll join you, and we’ll go looking for him together. But until then, try to relax. I know Astarion’s been a little out of sorts since taking down Cazador. But so have you.”

Silence opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. In truth, Wyll was right. After coming so very close to losing her lover, she had barely relaxed once.

“… You may have a point.”

Wyll smiled warmly, and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Try to relax. If you won’t join us downstairs, at least sit down for a while up here. Even with your light feet, we can hear you pacing your way through the floorboards!”

As he left her to rejoin the others, Silence took his advice, collapsing on her bed. The absence of Astarion laying beside her, holding her close, did little to ease her worries. Without the vampire to hug, she clutched a pillow to her chest instead.

“Where are you, Stars…”

Her eyes drifting aimlessly across the elegantly furnished room, until they came to rest on her alchemy bag. A thought darted across her mind, and she leapt to her feet once more, taking the bag and rifling through the contents, until at last her hand closed on the bottle she wanted.

“I mightn’t be able to sniff you out, but I know who can!”

Scratch had settled quite happily into the Elfsong, and had already become a familiar presence at the bar, delighting in being petted and fed treats by patrons in various stages of inebriation. Seeing Silence, his tail began to wag, and he loped across the room to meet her. The taste of the animal speaking potion still lingering on her tongue, Silence knelt to scratch behind his ears.

“Hope you’re keeping well, Mistress! You haven’t joined us tonight! You’re missing out! There’s been singing!”

“I’m well enough, but worried,” Silence replied. “And I think you might be able to help me. Do you think you can track someone for me?”

Scratch tilted his head, the wagging of his tail slowing a little.

“I think so… But is it Astarion you want me to track? That… Might be a problem.”

Silence felt her heart begin to race in fear.

“Why? What’s happened? Do you know something?”

“He’s alright, Mistress. Well, I think he’ll be alright. But he made me promise not to tell!”

Silence frowned.

“Not to tell me what? Please, Scratch. I’ve been worried sick!”

Scratch let out a low whine, and tilted his head again.

“I don’t know… He said he’d bite me if I told! But… He likes you so much. I don’t think he’d like you to be worried… That makes telling you alright, doesn’t it?”

“I think so! And don’t worry, I won’t let him bite!”

Scratch let out a sigh, his tail wagging once more.

“If you go back to your room, Mistress, I’ll bring him to you there.”

Giving Scratch one last pat, Silence rose to her feet, halfway between relieved and worried.

What in nine Hells have you gotten up to, Stars?

Silence didn’t have long to wait before finding out. She had barely settled back onto her bed when she heard Scratch’s claws clicking merrily on the floorboards, and her lover’s voice raised in indignation.

“If you don’t drop me at once, you filthy hound, I’ll visit you tonight and drain every last drop of blood from you! Do you hear me? You miserable fleabag, I mean it!”

Scratch came bounding into the room, something white in his mouth. Something winged and flapping angrily, and yelling in Astarion’s voice as it was dropped at Silence’s feet. A bat. A white, fluffy, red-eyed bat.

“At last! Ugh, I’m covered in your slobber, you beast! I ought to…”

Red eyes looked up at Silence, and blinked.

“Ah. Darling. I… Suppose I ought to explain.”

Silence knelt, and scooped the bat – Astarion? – up off the floor. He flapped his wings clumsily, trying to get his balance, and clawed feet gripped at her hands. Torn between laughing and shouting in disbelief, she stroked her thumb over soft, fluffy white fur.

“You’re a bat.”

Astarion heaved a sigh, and shot a glare at Scratch.

“I’ll deal with you later, mongrel. Now, shoo!”

“Ignore him, Scratch. But you can go back and have fun with the others.”

Tail wagging and tongue lolling out happily, Scratch left. Astarion gave an annoyed huff and folded his wings. Or, attempted to. His control over them seemed to be somewhat lacking.

“Well. I suppose an explanation is in order. I found a book, you see. When we were looting Cazador’s palace. A book on vampires, and vampire spawn. Turns out the bastard was keeping even more from us than I realised!”

He waved a wing angrily, nearly falling from Silence’s hands. She quickly sat down on the bed, and set Astarion down on a cushion.

“Turns out I’m capable of more than I realised. All of us spawn are. Apparently Cazador didn’t want us to get any ideas… According to what I’ve read, I ought to be able to turn to mist, to walk upside down on ceilings, to… Well, to turn into a bat. It took some experimenting, but I figured it out! Only…”

Silence bit her lip to keep a laugh from bursting out.

“Only you can’t work out how to turn back?”

Astarion groaned, burying his head in his wing in embarrassment.

“More than that, I can’t even figure out how to make this useless form fly! I’m stuck as a winged rat, scrabbling around on the ground… Do you have any idea how many times I’ve nearly been stepped on? And the kitchen cats tried to make a meal of me! I had to beg that damned mutt for protection! And… Are you laughing? Is this funny to you?”

Unable to hold in in any longer, Silence let out a snort of laughter, and only laughed harder as the little white bat gave her what he clearly imagined to be a ferocious glare.

“I’ve been worried about you, you precious bastard! And all the time you were a cute little bat!”

She scooped him up again and pressed a kiss to his furry head, holding him up and taking in the long, twitching ears, the leaf-like nose, the sharp little teeth he revealed as he shouted.

“Will you take this seriously? Imagine what the others are going to say! The sheer indignity will kill me!”

“That’s what you get for skulking around and playing with powers you don’t know how to use! Now, where’s this book? We’ll see if we can’t find a way to change you back.”

“Outside, on one of the tables out the back. Assuming no one’s stolen it, that is. Wait, you’re not leaving me here? What if the cats come back?”

Silence, paused, halfway through placing Astarion down on the bed again. He flapped his wings in indignation, and she sighed and placed him on her shoulder instead.

“There. Stop getting yourself in a flap – literally. Those wing claws are sharp!”

At last, with Astarion settled on her shoulder, Silence made her way downstairs, where the tavern rang with cheerful singing. Astarion let out a slight groan.

“Let’s get out of here, quickly. This form has sensitive ears, and that drunken caterwauling is making my head throb!”

Silence tried her best to avoid the rest of the party as she made her way to the door, but with no luck. Spotting her, Gale cried out.

“Ah, there you are! Joining us at last? Come on, pull up a chair, pour a glass! Hello… What have you got there?”

“Oh gods...” Astarion groaned, as Gale approached, looking curiously. “He’ll be insufferable…”

“Well, aren’t you a chatty little fellow?” Gale asked, reaching out to stroke the bat’s head. Astarion snapped at him. “And bitey! Reminds me of Astarion. Any luck tracking him down?”

“Don’t you dare tell him!” Astarion hissed. “I’ll die of embarrassment!”

Gale couldn’t understand, Silence realised. Not without the animal-speaking potion. Although… Her eyes darted to the bar, where Halsin stood close by. Sure enough, the druid was smiling, having clearly understood.

“It seems our pale friend is in something of a predicament! How have you managed that, Astarion?”

“Astarion?” Gale frowned, and looked around the bar. At long last, his eyes returned to the bat currently fuming on Silence’s shoulder. “He isn’t… Is he?”

Well, there was no avoiding it now. One by one, the others turned their attention to Astarion, who hid his face in his wings.

“That’s Astarion?” Karlach cried, leaping from her seat and coming to pet his fur. “He’s so cute! And soft! Aren’t you just precious?”

“Certainly an interesting development,” Wyll remarked. “Could be useful for scouting ahead, or getting to places we can’t…”

“Have you figured out your wings yet?” Halsin asked. “Many druids struggle with flight when they first take a winged form. I can offer some advice, should you need it?”

Astarion flapped his wings angrily, brushing away Karlach’s hands and nearly falling from Silence’s shoulder in the process.

“Unhand me! Gods above, get me out of here!”

“Aww, listen to the cute little squeaks!” Karlach exclaimed. “Is he having a little tantrum?”

“He’s… a little overwhelmed. We’re going to go back upstairs and try to figure things out. See you all later!”

The book, thankfully, was where Astarion had said it would be. An ancient volume, full of loose and torn pages, which Silence briefly flicked through curiously. Arcane diagrams, bizarre illustrations, archaic text…

“You can browse it upstairs! Hurry, I can hear the cats coming back!”

“Alright, calm down. Relax, I’m not going to let you be a cat’s dinner.”

Making a brief detour past the bar for a bottle of wine, Silence hurried back upstairs, and settled onto her bed, the book in front of her, Astarion settling himself onto her lap. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she tried not to laugh as he clumsily attempted to open the cover with his wings, and failed, a giggle bursting out.

“Will you stop laughing? Do you have any idea how hard these wretched things are to control? They feel as if they ought to work like hands, but they don’t! I can’t pick anything up, I can’t turn pages… I can’t even scratch my nose!”

“You’ll figure it out in time, I’m sure. In the meantime…”

Silence gently scratched at the delicate, leaflike nose with one fingertip. Then, unable to resist the soft fur, turned her attention to the fur around his ears. Astarion closed his eyes, letting out a little sigh.

“Well… that I could get used to…”

With one hand now dedicated to bat-scratching, Silence opened the book with the other.

“Right, where were you up to?”

“There’s a page marked with a ribbon. Turn to that one.”

Silence obliged, turning to a page covered with illustrations of bats. Cruel-looking things, not at all like the fluffy white creature in her lap. Seemingly content in his lover’s lap, satisfied that his problem could soon be solved, and rather enjoying having his ears scratched, Astarion yawned, showing off those sharp little fangs again.

“Now, then. If you’d be so good as to turn the pages when I tell you…”

Peace settled over the room. Silence could make little sense of the archaic style of writing, but Astarion seemed to be puzzling it out. She sipped her wine, humming idly, the bat’s fur so very soft under her fingers…

“I wonder… Would you mind?”

Astarion flapped a wing clumsily at the glass in her hand.

“Seriously?”

“What? Perhaps things taste different in this form! It has to come with some perks!”

Silence gave a snort of laughter, but lowered the glass to Astarion’s level all the same, watching him lean over the rim.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Ugh! Gods, if anything, it tastes worse!”

The white fur around his mouth was now stained red, and he clumsily tried to wipe it with his wings. Silence rolled her eyes, and drained the glass herself.

“Now, if you’re done experimenting, ready for me to turn the page?”

How much time passed, Silence couldn’t say. After a while, it occurred to her that she was no longer being asked to turn pages, and the tiny body in her lap was making a rather curious sound.

“Stars? Are you… purring?”

“Hm?” Astarion twitched an ear in her direction, his eyes closed. “I… I suppose I am.”

He yawned again, and the purring resumed. Marking the page, Silence closed the book and set it aside. Gently picking Astarion up, she lay down and settled him on her chest, high enough that he could nuzzle into her neck.

“You seem comfortable, and I’m tired. We can read more in the morning.”

When Silence woke, it was to a familiar figure in bed beside her, arms wrapped around her waist, nose nuzzled into her neck. Letting out a sigh of relief, she stroked a hand through Astarion’s white curls, and scratched lightly at a pointed ear. Not as twitchy and delicate as his bat ears, but still adorable. He gave a sleepy hum of pleasure, and held her tighter.

“Well, last night was interesting. You figured out how to turn back.”

“Not consciously, but it seems the form wears off when I sleep. I think I’ll do some further reading before trying that again.”

“That sounds wise,” Silence agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Though, for what it’s worth, you do make an adorable bat.”

#bg3 fic #astarion #batstarion

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thegreatirene · 1 month ago

Text

Traveling Witch(Adrian Tepes x witch!reader) Part6

Rating: Mature for language

Here it is everyone! The last chapter! I hope you guys like it and let me know if you like it! I’ll be starting on some other fic for other fandoms. I think I plan on writing some more fics of witchy reader and Adrian. Nothing to do with the storyline but like prompts I’ve seen floating around on here. So look out for those too. Again thank you for reading!

For some reason I’m not able to link part one to here. Probably cuz I’m doing it from my phone but the tags should lead you to the other ones. If I’m able to I’ll make a post with all of the chapters on it so it’s easier that way too!

Part1. Part2. Part3. Part4. Part5

It’s been about a week since you’ve been back to your timeline. Walking through the tunnel of time felt a lot colder than usual and you were not sure if it always felt that way or because of Adrian. As soon as you got back you went straight to your room and started to read about The Alucard of Wallachia. Everything seemed to be as it was the first time you have read it. Nothing out of place or even added. As if you weren’t even there to disturb it.

You sighed as you looked up at your ceiling and letting your mind wonder to Adrian. The books you have of him are few. Not many details of him sadly. It had nothing to do with you and more with how every vampires lived. Adrian was a private person to begin with so you’re not surprised he didn’t have a journal he wrote in.

You want to go back so bad but what’s the point if you have to go through the whole process again.

You sign once again as you got up and walked to your desk getting ready to do some research on where you can find your precious rock. You stopped in your steps as you felt an energy coming from your bag. Walking over to it you rummaged through the bag and stopped when you felt a book. You pulled it out and examined the book.

“Where did this come from?”

The cover was red and it looked old. You don’t remember getting any books recently. You sat down at your desk as you opened the book. A light breeze flowed around you as you opened it. Looking around the room to see if something came in, you looked down at the pages. It was blank. Each page was blank. You flipped through the pages and landed on one and grabbed your pen. You drew a little bunny face on it and leaned back in your chair. It wasn’t like you to buy a journal but then again you haven’t been in your right mind lately.

You were about to close the book when something caught your eye. Writing appeared above the bunny.

‘Found you’

You frowned as you looked at the words and got up as you felt a familiar presence. You ran through your house as you made your way to the front door. The doorbell rang and your mother was already there. Answering it by the time you came around the corner.

“Hello, can I help you?” You heard your mother ask. You were breathing hard as you slowly walked up to her and placed a hand on her arm. She looked at you with a smile as she opened the door wider for you to see the stranger.

“Just the person was looking for” came that sweet honey voice you have been dreaming about since the first day you had heard it. Tears stung your eyes as you smiled at him.

“Adrian” you hiccuped as you threw yourself at the man. He immediately held you to him as he fell to his knees. You understood when someone said getting hugged by your loved one feels like home. Adrian right now is making you feel like everything is complete. He was your home and you hope you were his.

You pulled back and held his face as you looked up at him.

“Oh my god look at you!” You brushed a stray tear from his cheek. “You’re even hotter than before!” You pinched his cheeks and he chuckled rubbing his thumb over your hands.

“And I’ve missed you too” his cheeks a bit red from your pulling on them as he brought you closer to kiss you. You were determined to show how much you missed him with this kiss. Your hand whined into his hair as you pulled him closer to you. You needed to feel him against you. You needed to taste him again. The both of you pulled apart as you heard your mother clear her throat.

“Apologies, ma’am” Adrian stood up and pulled you along with him. He held his hand out to your mother who you totally forgot was the one that answered the door. She laughed and took his hand bringing him into a hug as well.

“Adrian Tepes. I’ve meet your parents a couple centuries ago. You look just like your mother” she said with a sweet smile. Adrian gave her a quizzical look to her statement.

“We’re witches remember” she said with a smile.

“Yes y/n said but I did not know you could surpass human life”

“With some learning and knowing what spells and potions to make we can probably live as long as a being like yourself” you closed the door as you followed your mother and Adrian. She continued to explain as she sat Adrian in one of the seats in the living room and you went to make some tea and snacks. By the time you were done both Adrian and your mother were laughing at a story Adrian was telling.

“She’s told me only little things about her trip” your mother said as she looked at you when you passed her a cup of juice.

“I told you what happened” you told her as you gave Adrian a cup as well and sat next to him on the couch. Adrian smiled at you and scooted a little closer to you as he took a sip of the juice.

“Mhm” your mother looked between you and Adrian. She chuckled to herself as she got up from her seat.

“I’ll be out for a couple of hours,” she walked to the kitchen “don’t do anything while I’m gone.” She playfully said as she heard you groan at her teasing. You heard the front door open and closed and the room became quiet.

“I’ve noticed you’re speaking English” you turned to look at Adrian with a smile.

“I’ve picked it up a long the way. I can see why you chose the way you did to learn mine” he sat the cup down on the table and looked at you. He brought his right hand to your cheek and you leaned into it. You’ve missed him even if it was only just a week or two. For Adrian you knew it was longer. Your want for him wasn’t as bad as his was. You could see it in his eyes as he looked at you with so much love.

“I’ve missed you” he whispered as he brought your face closer to his lips. You held on to his shirt as you kissed Adrian again. This time the kiss was slow. You could feel the want and love for you as he kissed you. Even though you wanted to stay back with him in the past. You knew what you did was the right thing to do. Now you didn’t have to part ways. You can grow old with Adrian now in the present time without worry of harm coming to him. You pulled him down on to you so he could lay between your legs and rest his head on your chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Finally everything is fine now.

Epilogue:

“Oh I forgot to give you something” Adrian said as he was sitting on your bed and held out his hand. His bag that he was carrying came to him and landed in his hand. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a small box with a red bow on it.

“For you my lovely” you walked over to him as you finished drying your hair. You excitedly jumped on the bed and threw the towel at him as you grabbed the box.

“Ooo whatcha get me!” You opened the box and in the center of the box cushioned by fluff was the trovant. You squeaked as you threw yourself on to Adrian and peppered his face with kisses.

“You remembered!” You gave him one last kiss and got off the bed. You to the door that lead to your garden and placed the little rock in your little section of a zen garden. You stood up and placed your hands on your hips with a proud smile on your face. Adrian wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on top of yours. You leaned back and looked up at the night sky. The full moon shined brightly down at the two of you as Adrian rocked you side to side.

“I really do love you Adrian”

“I love you too y/n”

You looked back at him and he gave you a sweet kiss and placed his forehead against yours. The both of you closed your eyes and swayed to the motion of the night.

#adrian tepes x reader #castlevania fanfic #castlevania alucard x reader

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ily-sunghoon · 3 months ago

Text

The Omen of Sterling | CHAPTER I

Pairing : vampire!enha x fem!oc (a lot of jungwon in this chapter)

Genre of this chapter : vampire, fluff if you squint

POV : Author’s

Words count : 4k

WARNINGS : food, mentioned of blood, curses, mentioned of menstrual cycle, sarco is mean and crazy but he's just silly! trust (lmk if i miss anything)

Note : thank you for your excitement, guys! i feel loved <3 feel free to ask if you have confusion about anything!

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST : @nshmrarki @capri-cuntz @millieinyourarea @strxwbloody (let me know if you want to be added)

CHAPTER I: BET

“Jusarlie Grieffang.” Jusarlie shakes the guest’ hand softly. Afraid to hurt her since it has been so long since he interacted with humans.

“Iolana Sterling.” Their guest smiles.

That last name was a jumpscare for Jusarlie, but he managed to put on a poker face.

“Hey, your name is familiar… are you a writer?” Iolana squints her eyes a little.

“Oh! Yes, I am. Do you like to read books?” Jusarlie’s eyes immediately lit up when Iolana mentioned that.

“I love books! I think the very first book that I read so willingly is one of your masterpieces. Mind Ruler? That was amazing and mind opening.” Iolana tries to recollect her memory.

If Jusarlie’s eyes were not sparkling before, they really sparkling now. His books reached outsiders! She is a Sterling, but still, this lifts his mood so much!

“Even your first book? I’m truly honored! Thank you for enjoying my works, Iolana!” Jusarlie giggles like a teenage girl in love.

“I’m the one who’s feeling very honored to meet you unexpectedly like this. You’re such an amazing writer. I love your brain.” Iolana totally adores Jusarlie’s books.

“Writing is just my hobby, I only do it when I have a spare time.” Jusarlie is still on cloud nine after what Iolana just said.

“Your lore is very amazing, what is your daily activity, then?” Iolana is still in awe.

“I’m a beginner professor at one of our schools here in Krashoviel.” Jusarlie smiles with his eyes too, his fangs are showing and they’re so perfect. Wow, good dental hygiene.

Iolana is not even hiding her jaw drop expression. “You’re the coolest in the world. There are no such things as beginner professor…”

“Iolana, stop… you’re complimenting me too much.” Jusarlie giggled.

“What is your favorite book, Jusarlie?” Iolana had no idea how Jusarlie loved that question so much.

“Finally, someone asked me my favorite book!” He looks so excited. “It’s Endless Cycle by Roberto Cairneye! It’s amazing.”

“Classics! I swear we have it in my father bookshelf, I regret the fact that I haven’t read it now.” Iolana sighed, real sigh, unlike Jusarlie’s.

“Hey, it’s fine. I can always give you a copy! Now, tell me your favorite book!” Jusarlie is beginning to feel interested in Iolana.

“It’s your masterpiece, Under the Solid Ground! I really love how you picture history perfectly with your words. I had such a wonderful time learning the basic history of Krashoviel with that amazing book.” Iolana is truly a loyal reader.

“Iolana, you made my day hundredfold better. Thank you so much for loving my works. Truly, I’m very grateful.” Jusarlie swore he will protect Iolana if the others still want to eat them.

“It’s the other way around, Jusarlie!” Iolana giggled.

“By the way, is your book lover dad the Tearle Sterling?” Jusarlie asked curiously.

“Yes, that’s right! He is my beloved father.” Iolana nodded.

“Ah, I knew it. He was my favorite teacher back then when he was still young.” Jusarlie admitted. “He was a legendary professor. I wanted to be one because of him.”

“Really?!” Iolana found this really interesting.

Time passes by as they’re talking, it doesn’t feel like a burden anymore to Jusarlie. Iolana is such an amazing person. She is far more brilliant than any other humans he had encountered before, he even dared to says that she’s probably the most brilliant person than any of the people in their kingdom. It’s like a fresh breath of air for a prisoner.

“Apologize for making you wait.” Jestel made them stop their conversation. He smiled at Iolana and offered his hand to shake hers, “Jestel Sinflame.”

“I should be the one who’s apologizing, Mr. Sinflame.” She smiles back at Jestel, her eyes are smiling too. She shakes his hand, “Iolana Sterling.”

“You can be casual here, just call me Jestel. I’m not that old.” Jestel is still smiling.

“You clearly have aging blindness, Uncle.” Jusarlie giggled.

“We’re in the same age, Nephew.” Jestel threatened Jusarlie. “Now go and see Saine to see what task you have to do.”

Jusarlie nods and doesn’t forget to say goodbye to Iolana, of course. He knew that they wouldn’t have to eat her today. He feels relieved. Iolana is a brilliant girl and she is very fun to talk to. It’s rare to find it these days, at least for him.

“Iolana,” Jestel suddenly brought Iolana’s attention back to him again.

“Yes, Mist—Jestel?” Iolana immediately responds.

“My deepest condolences for what happened to your family. Tearle Sterling was a legendary fighter.” Jestel pays some respect for Tearle.

Iolana smiles, she could feel the sincerity in Jestel’s voice. “Thank you, Jestel.”

“I’m so sorry for you. I know how it feels to lost a whole family… it feels so heart breaking, yet…”

“So fast… like a blink of an eye.” Iolana finishes Jestel’s perfectly.

“Exactly.” Jestel nodded. “Your father’s note… he said you’re a good fighter. Is that true?”

“He exaggerated that one.” Iolana giggled. “I can fight, but I won’t say I’m that good.”

“Based on what I remember, Tearle is never good at exaggerating things. I believe everything he said.” Jestel smiles.

“Alright, I give up.” Iolana chuckled softly.

“Let me walk you to your room.” They walk side by side, Jestel guides her through that big mansion of his.

“You have to acknowledge this,” Jestel paused for a second. “We’re going to give you our best facility, education, and training that you need.”

“Oh? I really didn’t expect that. I thought you were thinking about turning me into your dinner or something. Thank you so much, Jestel.” Iolana is very grateful. She was so ready for any kind of bad probability, but here she goes with the best one.

“You’re the last Sterling alive, Iolana. We wouldn’t risk witnessing the whole of Sterling go extinct. Sterling is very legendary for us.” Jestel admitted. “Did your father tell you what Sterling did during the wars?”

“He said Sterling are the doctors?” Iolana is a little unsure. They’ve been saying that Sterling is legendary, is doctor strong enough to be legendary? In the field where their patients mostly regenerated and heal so fast?

“That was after the war.” Jestel giggled after almost a decade not even caring to smile. “Sterling are our heartless fighters. Best of the best along with Phelanflame, Sarco’s family.”

Iolana listened very carefully.

“We only put them in the battlefield when the other are exhausted or the important people of our rivals show up in the battlefield.” Jestel continued. “They were vampire killers after all, even if they’re vampires themselves. We were on cloud nine when they decided to join our nation.”

“Wow, they’re a huge deal…” Iolana nods, beginning to understand why Jestel call her family legendary.

“We wouldn’t have won the last war without Sterling’s help. That’s why Slevado and Axadel tried their hardest to make your family turn their back on Krashoviel. Every nation wants Sterling on their side.”

“My father never told me about this… it’s not on the books neither…” Iolana is dumbfounded.

“Now you know, Iolana.” Jestel chuckled again. “How did you get here, by the way? It’s almost an impossible task for human.”

“Well, I know the borders are tough. I chose the west border. I used a big blanket and a rope to just… well, fly off the cliff! It’s the fastest way even though the risk is big.”

“Fly… to the gate?” Jestel is dumbfounded now. What an odd girl.

“Yes, I got nothing to lose. It was so therapeutic.” Iolana laughed at herself.

A sudden wind brush over Jestel and Iolana. It was Jusarlie who brought Iolana’s bags to her new room.

“Oh, sorry about that. Vampires have so many capabilities, I’m assuming you know about it.” Jestel continued to walk upstairs.

“Yes, I’m aware. I will train myself to get used to it, since my father barely use his power at home.” Iolana nods.

“By the way, your room is—oh, no. I apologize.” Jestel realized he made a mistake. “Your room is on the 3rd floor. I can move—”

“No, no, it’s okay! I could get a better view from the 3rd floor, right?” Iolana doesn’t want to burden Jestel.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I will love it.” Iolana smiles widely.

“As your wish, then.” Jestel finally nods.

“Although, I have one question…”

“And that would be?” Jestel tilts his head.

“My menstrual cycle.”

“What’s that?” Jestel is purely confused.

“I bleed naturally every month through my reproduction area. Would that be a problem?”

Fucking hell, Jestel is in shock.

“What do you mean? Like bleeding? Literal blood coming out of you? Does that hurt?” Jestel is worried.

“For me, no. For my mom, sometimes. Depends on the person. Yes, it’s literal blood, it lasts for about 5 days maximum for me.” Iolana explained.

“Well, that is a problem. You have a set schedule for it, right?” Jestel is worried sick. “I should give your room high-level security.”

“It usually ends on the full moon, so around five days before full moon?” Iolana is starting to worry now.

“Alright, I’ll figure something out.” Jestel nods. He holds the door handle, “Welcome to your new room.”

Iolana eyes wander over the whole room. It’s such a big room. The right side of the room is her bed, vanity, and some sofa. On the left side of the room is an open two-story, where the upstairs are full of books and underneath the area is her walk-in-closet and bathroom. There’s also some big windows and a balcony. She loves this room.

“Wow, this room is beautiful.” Iolana adores her room.

“Hi, Iolana! I left some books for you on your desk. I arranged everything except your clothes.” Jusarlie is so smiley.

“This room is clean, because the maids clean empty room once every three days. And I left some incense! It’s good for relaxation.” Saine also smiles at her.

“Thank you, guys! I love it!” Iolana is so thankful for the fact that they welcomed her nicely like this.

“Go get some rest, while we wait for dinner time. Tonight, I’ll take you for a personality test.” Jestel informed Iolana. “Jusarlie and Saine are living on the 3rd floor as well. Saine is right across from you and Jusarlie is next to you.”

“Thank you, Jestel. Thank you so much.”

“You deserve all the love, Iolana.”

Oh, really? All the love, Jusarlie and Saine hit Jestel with their mind links.

I’m being nice, Jestel replied in their mind links.

“Alright, let’s head out. Iolana needs to rest.” Jestel is ready to go and he’s already behind the door, but Jusarlie and Saine are not moving anytime soon.

“Five minutes.” Jusarlie told him.

“No, let her rest.”

“I want to join them.” Saine plead to Jestel.

“No, I need you to do your task. Jusarlie could stay.” Jestel threatened Saine. “Come on.”

“Bye, Iolana…” Saine looks sad.

“Bye-bye, Saine!” Iolana waves and smiles.

“Bye, Uncle Jestel!” Jusarlie mocked the annoyed Saine.

“I’m going to educate you about anything you need to know!” Jusarlie sits on the floor. Iolana follows him.

“How old is Jestel again?” Iolana asked curiously.

“Three hundreds this year.” Jusarlie answered excitedly. “And I’m two hundreds ninety-eight soon!”

“Wow, is it boring?” Iolana is curious. “To live for so long…”

“Sometimes? Unless there’s a war going on, they’re kind of fun.” Jusarlie nods.

They talked for a while until it was finally two hours before dinner time. Jusarlie excuses himself because Jasper called him through mind links.

—

“Where’s Jusarlie?” Hiael asked Saine.

“With Iolana. Ugh, he’s so annoying.”

“Still with Iolana?” Sarco laughs.

“Besides from her annoying smell and the fact that she is cute, what’s so special about her? Most of you just seems… in love?” Jasper is unsure.

“Not me,” Ricardo chuckled.

“Saine, Jusarlie, and Jestel.” Jasper specified.

“I’m not in love.” Jestel shook his head calmly.

“Give him a day or two.” Sarco laughs at Jestel’s confidence. They’re best friends, Sarco could read him like an open book. Jestel is in love for sure.

“Jusarlie is in love.” Jestel is sure about his feelings.

“Quit it. Let him be, it’s been long since he found a friend that he could talk to like that.” Hiael is wiser than them. “Who knows? Maybe she could bring the bubbly side of Jusarlie again.”

“Absolutely not. Let’s make a bet.” Ricardo laughed.

“I bet he will not change, and he will just be soft towards that girl. If I’m wrong, I’ll get you guys shoes fresh from Cynfael.” Sarco chuckled.

“I bet the old grumpy Jusarlie will be gone. If I’m wrong, I’ll teach the kids at Underwood Orphanage how to fight.” Hiael made the others shocked.

“Now this is getting serious!” Ricardo couldn’t believe Hiael. “I bet Jusarlie won’t change. It’s just temporary. If I’m proven wrong, I’ll look after the kids in Derrick Orphanage for a month.”

“Oh, wow!” Saine nods. “I bet he’ll change. I’ll teach the kids in Derrick Orphanage a table manner class for my bet.”

There are two main orphanages in Krashoviel and they are two different kinds for sure. Derrick Orphanage is where the crazy and naughty kids live. While Underwood Orphanage is full of insecure kids who are afraid of everything, they give up so easily.

“He will change. I’ll buy you guys new suits from Charson if it’s turn out to be wrong.” Jestel took his part in the bet too.

The others are surprised by that. If Jestel took a part in a bet, then it’s a serious bet indeed.

“He won’t change. You can order me around for three days if I’m wrong.” Jasper shrugged his shoulder.

“Have some manners, putting a bet over me? Where’s the morality?” Jusarlie appeared in an instant.

Ricardo tries to hug Jusarlie roughly and mess his hair up, but to their surprise, Jusarlie is still smiling and has no interest in being angry like he always did. Sarco is dumbfounded.

“Would you like to teach at Derrick Orphanage?” Jestel asked just to make sure it was real.

“Sure! Oh, and… Iolana said that children behave the way that behave based on their caretakers. You might want to investigate our main orphanages, Jestel. They’re our new generations, I wouldn’t want a mix of insecure kids and rebellious kids.” Jusarlie informed him.

“Oh, really? Thank you, I’ll investigate the caretakers.” Jestel nods.

“If possible, you have to ask to the children instead.” Jusarlie continued.

“What if the caretakers threatened them? It would be difficult.” Hiael speaks his mind.

“Sorry for suddenly catching up, you must ask them very smoothly. Children are naturally honest and innocent. It won’t be that hard to make them open up about their feelings. You can also watch their body language! It tells a lot.” Iolana appeared out of nowhere. She is already standing next to Jusarlie.

They’re all shocked. None of them felt her aura or even her sweet scent.

“How the hell did you do that?” Ricardo panicked.

“Do what?”

“Hiding your presence?” Jestel is as confused.

“Oh, easy! Just don’t make a sound and believe that you’re not actually there. Bad affirmations about yourself would help.” Iolana gladly shares how to do her thing.

“Why don’t you meet Hiael and Jasper? They’ve been eager to see you.” Jestel pushes Iolana softly towards Hiael and Jasper. “The others please follow me, we have to make sure our food is ready.”

“Yes, Jestel.” They headed out from that dining room to the closest office room they found.

“Hi, I’m Iolana.” Iolana smiles at Hiael and Jasper.

“Jasper.”

“Hiael Von Ruden, nice to meet you.” Hiael smiles slightly. “Sorry, Jasper is a new vampire. He hasn’t gotten used to human scent. So, if he’s being a little rude…”

“It’s totally fine. I hope you feel well about your transformation soon, Jasper.” Iolana is kind enough to say that.

Jasper smiles and nods at her. Her sweet scent is very annoying.

—

“What in the hell was that?” Jestel is furious.

“I fucking told you she’s the girl in the omen.” Saine chuckled.

“That was NOT normal.” Ricardo shook his head. “Her scent is very strong, she can’t just hit us with invisible aura like that.”

“She’s a Sterling, why are you so surprised by the fact that she can just make herself invisible?” Sarco giggled at their confusion.

“Because she smells like the most delicious food ever?” Ricardo is still confused. “I mean, okay! She’s in that legendary bloodline, but her scent!”

“Did you really don’t feel her presence?” Jestel asked Jusarlie again.

“I would’ve said hi immediately if I knew she was there.” Jusarlie admitted. Frustrated at Jestel’s weird panic moment.

“I wonder what she capable of in fight field.” Sarco is zoning out. Imagining how brutal she would fight him, or the other way? Maybe she has silent-killing skill?

“Jusarlie, Saine, let’s take her to Idris after dinner.” Jestel made up his mind.

“Uh, oh.” Sarco was a bit surprised when Jestel made his choice. He gets it if they’re scared of her, but taking her to Idris? The best wizard in town? That’s just comedic, they have Saine, Idris’s son, at home for a reason.

“Something is not right.” Jestel shook his head. “By the way, we have a problem. She has this menstrual cycle.”

“What is that?” Sarco is confused. “Menstru—what?”

“She basically bled through her private part every month for five days.” Jestel explained. “She said female humans have that.”

“Absolutely not.”

—

The talk with Hiael and Jasper only lasts for like fifteen minutes? They’re too reserved for Iolana. So, she made her excuse to go back to her room again. She chose to pick up a book from Jusarlie, the one that he said was his favorite. She reads it while waiting for dinner time.

Reaching page fity-two, Iolana heard a bell chime. Must be dinner time. She left her book open on her bed and walked out of her room. Just in time! Cause a moment later, Saine got out of his room too.

“Iolana!” Saine yelled in the corridor. “Wait up!”

“Hi, Saine!” Iolana gives him a sweet smile.

“Do you want a ride?” Saine offered.

“How do we do it?” She wanted to say yes, but she was confused.

“Excuse me,” Saine puts his hand on her waist. They instantly reached the dining room. Iolana has no idea of what just happened.

“For the love of Alexander Grieffang, what is wrong with yo—oh, hi!” Jusarlie’s sudden change of behavior shock Sarco to the core.

“Thank you, Saine. Hi, Jusarlie!” Iolana greets Jusarlie who said hi to her.

“Are you not feeling nauseous after he gave you that deathly ride?” Hiael is confused.

“Am I supposed to feel nauseous?” Iolana scratches the back of her head slowly.

“Does the effect not work on humans?” Jasper is also confused.

“Maybe not yet.” Sarco chuckled, mocking Saine.

“Or maybe she’s just stronger than you, losers.” Saine spat back.

“Even our handsome Jestel always feel nauseous if you gave him a ride.” Jusarlie reminds him of the fact that Jestel hates Saine’s little ride trip. “Humans should’ve felt the worst nauseous they ever had.”

All of a sudden, Sarco throws a vase at Iolana. Fortunately, she’s fast to catch it so it doesn’t break and make her bleed while Jasper is in the very same room with them.

“Or maybe she’s not an ordinary human, guys.” Sarco declared.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Jusarlie and Saine are visibly angry.

“I was just testing wave.” Sarco admitted.

“She could’ve bled and that is my favorite vase, Sarco.” Hiael reminded him.

“Are you alright?” Saine asked worriedly.

“As good as ever. I’m glad the vase didn’t break.” Iolana gave the vase gently to Hiael.

“Thank you, Beautiful. Pardon him, he’s a little sick in the head.” Hiael smiles gently to Iolana.

“For the love of Amadeus Cairneye, Iolana. We’re glad you’re okay.” Saine is worried. Iolana seriously could’ve died.

“Are you in love, Saine?” Sarco giggled.

“Get lost, Sarco.” Saine is still angry at him.

Just right on time, Jestel and Ricardo arrived in the dining room. Seeing angry Saine and Jusarlie, Jestel is curious about what just happened.

“You may sit.” Jestel asked them to sit on their chair at the dining table while he sits at the head of the table.

Sarco sits on the right side, Jusarlie on the left side. Iolana sits between Jusarlie and Ricardo. While the others are on Sarco’s side. Jasper is right across from Iolana, she tried to smile at him, but he quickly looked at the other way. She expected that.

They wait for the food to be served by the maids. Iolana feels this tense atmosphere when they serve the food. The maids are probably hating on her too, that’s alright! They’re just not used to living with humans, right?

“You may eat.” Jestel informed them and took the first bite. The others follow along except for Ricardo who’s still figuring out how to use knife and fork.

Iolana hits him softly on his leg with her own leg, and Ricardo looks at her in confusion. She slowly uses her own knife and fork, showing Ricardo how it’s done.

Sarco, Saine, and Hiael are observing that scene very carefully.

“What happened earlier?” Jestel asked them.

They turned their heads to Jestel, then to each other’s. Who’s going to tell him?

“Sarco threw Hiael’s favorite vase to Iolana. Luckily enough, Iolana caught it right on time.” Saine eyed Sarco sarcastically.

“I was just testing something.” Sarco admitted.

“You could’ve killed her. Apologize.” Jestel’s voice is calm but dominating. Iolana takes a mental note not to make him angry.

“I’m sorry, Iolana.” Sarco said half-heartedly.

“Be genuine.” Jusarlie scoffed.

“I’m sorry, Iolana.” Sarco did it wholeheartedly now.

“It’s okay, I feel relieved that the vase—”

“Go finish that sentence, I dare you.” Saine scolds Iolana. “You must be worried about yourself more than we do, Iolana. Seriously. You could’ve bled and died.”

“Sorry…” Iolana feels good. They care about her, but at the same time? Saine is scary.

“I haven’t properly introduced you to them, Iolana.” Jestel remembered his actual responsibility. “This is Sarco Phelanflame, the one who just went out of his mind and threw that vase at you.”

“Hi, Sterling.” Sarco smiles at her. Seems genuine? Iolana thinks he’s a bit odd.

“Right across you, that’s Jasper. Our new vampire. He joined eight months ago.” Jestel continues.

“Hi.” Jasper gave her the cold shoulder.

“That’s Hiael Von Ruden. He is our eldest.” Jestel continued again.

“Von Ruden? As in the Von Ruden?” Iolana was clearly surprised. Von Ruden is the royal bloodline of Slevado.

“I betrayed my nation.” Hiael explained shortly.

Iolana nods, showing that she understood now.

“And that’s our youngest, Ricardo. He’s twenty years old this year. How old are you, Iolana?” Jestel asked her curiously.

“Twenty-one this year.” Iolana answered while smiling at them.

“We’re about the same age, then.” Ricardo giggled.

Sarco couldn’t believe that. Even Ricardo is enchanted by Iolana’s charm now.

“I have a niece who usually sits next to Sarco. She is staying in the palace for a few days right now. I think you will get along with her, Iolana.” Jestel explained.

“Can’t wait to meet her.” Iolana chuckled nervously.

“I hope you feel at home, Iolana. Even though, it must be hard since we live under the same roof as this maniac.” Saine smiles at Iolana and then stares at Sarco like he wants to kill him.

“Won’t you forgive me, Saine?” Sarco fakes a sigh.

“Never.”

“Just scream whenever he’s being out of normal, we’ll be there in no time to save you from him.” Jusarlie makes sure Iolana felt safe.

“You make me sound like a creep.”

“Because you are.”

“You are creepier than me, Saine.”

“Pardon me?!”

They keep bickering with each other, Iolana loves this. She loves it when others get into an argument. That dinner unexpectedly feels warm for the first time in a hundred years.

TO BE CONTINUED...

; YOUR CUTE REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MAKE ME FEEL REALLY GRATEFUL <3 ; FEEL FREE TO HIT MY ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTION ABOUT THE WORLD BUILDING OR CHARACTER!

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atzfilm · 1 year ago

Text

— clair de lune. (m) - finale

genre; yandere, vampire!au, reincarnation! au angst, smut

pairing; ot8/f.reader, 21.2k~

warnings; major character death, manipulation, explicit scenes, murder, blood, smut (dubious), gaslighting, prior abuse/assault mentioned, knives, wounds, mass murder mention, blood exchanging, lying, mass delusions

summary; you’ve finally gotten the chance to enter “clair de lune”, a infamous nightclub to see the band hiraeth. but why did you feel like their eyes only watched you?

note: this fic deals with the subject of yandere. with that being said, a lot of the things happening in this fiction will be manipulation, gaslighting, and various other techniques displayed by the characters. if you are not comfortable with that, please do not read.

thank you to my best friend @hongism rereading for me .. <3

Chapter 8:

“He brought her to where Yeosang is,” Yunho says softly, watching his friend pace back and forth. Endearing how worried he seems to be, though they all know the likely end of this. You will never be convinced to become one of them, and their time is slowly ticking down. Yunho himself wouldn’t mind turning you now, so that he may deal with the decades of anger sooner rather than later. The others, excluding Wooyoung, not so much. Especially Song Mingi, biting his lip as he ponders his thoughts.

Though Mingi showed a tough facade to you in the beginning, he has always been softer. Blunt, sure, but his worry seems to supersede everyone else’s. There was a time that it burdened him too heavily for any of the others to pull him out, Yunho barely succeeding at doing so. Seeing him close to what he was like before does bother Yunho, but there is surely some way out of this situation.

“You’re letting this worry you too much, Mingi,” Yunho says, flipping through another page of his comic. He snorts at the dialogue. His gaze moved to Mingi’s feet, seeming to burn a path into the hardwood. Despite wanting to finish the book - he’s lingered on the same chapter for a while - he places it to the side, trying to meet the eyes of his best friend. “Hongjoong won’t let her be hurt.”

“Yeosang gets into these sprees when he’s too overwhelmed. I’m worried he won’t see y/n when he’s there. There's a chance–"

“Nonsense,” Yunho waves him off. “He’ll smell her before anything else. Might pull him out of his rage.”

“Might is not definitive.”

“She will pull him out of it, all right? Mingi, don’t let this affect you so much.”

Mingi closes his eyes for a moment, thinking. “It’s as if everyone else can worry but me. Don’t look at me like that. Nothing will happen this time, not like before.”

Though Yunho doesn’t respond, that only seems to fuel Mingi further. He slowly starts his pacing again, fingers digging into the palms of his hands. It’s not enough to break skin, no, but Yunho watches as he begins to lose himself in his thoughts. Interrupting will only worsen the situation so instead, he waits for him to understand his thoughts, to think it through before saying something. Mingi stops, looking back at Yunho.

“Could Yeosang have been right this whole time?”

“Min…”

“I know,” he holds up his hand. “I know that he’s stuck in his head just like I am. But should we just dismiss his thoughts? Should we let ourselves go through all of this again? She’s died once before Yunho, and it feels like it’ll happen sooner rather than later. We’re taking the same path.”

“We’re not. We aren’t even pirates this time. It’s different, Mingi,” Yunho sighs, rubbing his face. “I haven’t shoved blood down her throat. And I doubt any of us will.”

“You’re not listening to me-“

“What do you want me to say?!” His voice rises as he stands from the couch. “Tell you that I’d rather live another one hundred torturous years than force her to turn? Because that’s not what I want, and I know that’s not what you want either. We don’t want her to die. But if we let her live a full life without attempting to turn her, we all will suffer without her being around.”

“But what if that's what she wants?"

Yunho narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Why are we so selfish to force our ideals when it’s not what she desires? Yeosang has been a shell of himself ever since he turned. Why do we assume that she will be the same as she is now? In fact,” his gaze is glued to the floor. “If she is the same, turning her will only exemplify her emotions. Her hate toward us will turn into pure abhorment.”

“Waiting hundreds of years knowing she’s alive is better than letting her life cycle restart.”

He holds in his horror at his words. Mingi knew that Rose's death affected Yunho horribly, especially knowing that he was the one that forced her to murder in the beginning. But speaking of you as if you're not your own person? Mingi decides it is best to no longer try and convince his friend. “You’re right,” he lets the lie slip through his anger. “We cannot endure this again, can we?”

“Have you not seen us?” Yunho snorts, slowly sinking back into the cushions. “Our self-torture can only go on but so far. It will be all fine in the end, Min. Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t.”

You’re not safe.

Hongjoong drags you through the front door, ignoring how you try to fight against his hold. It almost seems amusing to him, the slight smirk upon his lips, quirk of his brow. Enjoyment encasing his features. As if he finally has you and won’t let you go.

Your head is clearer now, absolute. Despite how kind any of them are – including Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi – they will never let you leave. It’s almost humorous to even think that they would have; each time you stepped a foot out of their gaze it was like you committed a felony. How unwise of you not to notice it sooner. It scares you how easily they’ve dug themselves into every part of your life - taking your home away, your friends. You’re sure there was influence on you applying for employment as well. Taking every escape away from you, keeping you to themselves.

“She will learn her place,” Hongjoong says, the grip on your arm so tight it feels as if he’ll pull it right from its socket. No matter how hard you tug he seems to ignore it, walking calmly pass the other men in the living area. The absence of Yeosang and Mingi is blatantly obvious, but you no longer have the will to ponder it. San and Wooyoung silently look on, quickly averting their gaze when you look at them. Yunho doesn’t, expression blank as he stares. Jongho, of course, does not bother facing you at all.

Seonghwa looks at you with pain. It’s sad how you no longer believe it to be real. Or at the very least, not for you. For the person's soul you've taken.

“We spoke about this, Joong,” Seonghwa starts, following close behind. “We said it would be different this time.”

He only scoffs, ignoring your screaming as he turns a corner. “What will we do then? Let her go on her merry way? You know that’s not possible now.”

“It is not now because you made it so,” he hisses, the two of them stopping in front of your door. Seonghwa crouches down, head tilted as he gazes upon you. All you can see is pity, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. You flinch as he cups it, turning your head to meet his gaze. “It’s only for a few days. Just so that you get this out of your system, alright? We wouldn’t need to prolong it if there’s cooperation.”

“Fuck you,” you jeer.

"See?" Hongjoong seems to only sigh louder, pushing the door open and almost throwing you inside. You hold your head from hitting the floor, sliding across to the opposite side of the room. You struggle to lift yourself from the floor, body aching from the throw. You glance down at your hands, the blood from the dead in the restaurant dyed on your hands. You wipe them quickly, chest rising and falling.

There were so many dead. So many lives lost. You don’t notice how Seonghwa looks at you, wanting to step in and pull you out of your thoughts. He shuts his eyes for a moment, looking at his leader.

“Hongjoong.“

He holds up his hand. “She’ll learn her lesson soon enough. A few days of isolation will do wonders. Right, my sea?”

You don’t dare meet his gaze, nor try to run out the door. It’ll be foolish in the end, there’s eight of them and one of you. Why didn’t you listen to their advice?

Why didn’t you end it where it began?

It feels as if it’s spring outside; the window cracked just a bit for you to feel the warm breeze rush through. Vastly different from just a few days ago – the windchill almost suffocating, curtains closed as you tucked yourself beneath the blankets. You finally look away from the window when you see one of them appear, slowly making your way back into the cold sheets. Siyoon’s phone disappearing from the drawer only confirms your suspicions. If they are as guiltless as they make themselves out to be, it would still reside inside. Nothing sharp enough to hurt yourself with lying out and about. One of them searched your room when you left with Hongjoong. Now you’ll never know what happened to her. If she even survived her encounter with them.

The night Hongjoong dragged you back into this room is one you cannot forget. The pleas spilling from your lips as you begged for them to let you go, banging on the door. The sympathetic looks they gave you. As if you were the unstable one. As if all of this is your fault. Even Wooyoung, as guilty as he may be, gazed upon you with sympathy, an understanding nod as Hongjoong dragged you back inside, locking the door behind him. It's one of the last times you’ve seen him, and it’s been over a week since.

The first few nights were torture. They sealed your bedroom window, leaving it only open a crack for a bit of fresh air. The windows were coated with some sort of frost, hiding the outside world from your view. It only cemented the fact that no matter what you do or say, you’ll still be stuck in this room at the end of the day.

Now there’s nothing that could change your mind; Rose left for a reason. It wouldn’t surprise you if the two of you ended up in similar situations. Though she was stuck on a ship, and you are stuck in their home.

At least there’s the slightest chance that you can run.

“Your food is getting cold.”

Yunho stands at the door, hands tucked in pockets. He gives you a smile. You don’t have the energy to even pretend to care, shifting your gaze back to the frosted windows.

“No talking now?”

“Let me go.”

“Ah,” Though he speaks to your back, you can hear him run his fingers through his hair. “Eat and then we’ll talk about leaving.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your body to turn to him, “I should have noticed your lies from the beginning. It just comes so easily to you. What are you going to say next? I’m allowed to get some fresh air if I take a bite?”

His grin sticks, “Of course.”

“Go away, Yunho.”

“None of us want you stuck in this room, y/n,” he moves closer to the bed. You tense up immediately at his steps, eyes flicking to his hands. He holds them up in surrender, slowly sitting on the small stool. “We said it’d be temporary and we weren’t lying about that. If you want, you can sit outside and eat. I know you’re tired of looking out that window.” He gestures, dropping his hands. “We never wanted you to feel like a prisoner.”

“What a joke.”

“None of this would have happened if you cooperated,” he shrugs. “So, you want to go out or not?”

“If I say no?”

“Another week, unfortunately,” he frowns.

You slowly sit up, body numb from not moving for several hours. Yunho reaches out to steady you but you shift from his hand, shaking your head. They’ve hidden a lot from you; letting Yunho touch you is not the plan. You’d probably be put under some sort of spell. Of course, your imagination is very much working overtime, but months ago you wouldn’t have guessed that there was an underground vampire band that used to be pirates so consumed by their grief that they latch on to the reincarnation of their former lover.

Saying it in your head makes it even more unbelievable.

“You’re all sick, you know that right?” You murmur, sliding into your slippers. He doesn’t say anything, watching as you make your way to the plate of food. He takes it just as you’re about to grab it. “Yunho.”

“We’re going outside. You’re looking sickly without any sunshine, you should open the curtains a bit more. Light isn’t your enemy.” He steps to the side, gesturing to the open doorway. You’re not sure why the sight makes your anxiety start to rise. But you leave anyway, Yunho close behind you. The hallways are quiet as you step through the home. The back door is already ajar. You can see others just outside. One in particular stands out amongst the rest, sitting idly by the door. You still, causing Yunho to bump slightly into you as you do.

“I want to go back.”

“No.”

“Yunho–”

“I know there’s still a backbone in there somewhere, pretty,” he whispers, “Use it.” He pushes you slightly, forcing you to step further to the outside.

You stumble as you walk through the doors, desperately trying to calm your heart down enough. How have they beaten you down to the point where you cannot function properly around them? One man shouldn’t terrify you so much. You ignore his eyes, feeling them trail after you as you quickly make your way to the bench after slipping into your outdoor shoes, leaving the others to the side. The last time you were here, you enjoyed your time with Jongho. The memory is happy enough to ease your heart slightly, slow breaths escaping you. You sit down, Yunho placing the plate on a small table in front of you, a water bottle adjacent.

“See? Not so bad,” he pats the table, stretching. “I have to run out, but the others will keep you entertained enough. See you later, pretty.”

“Wait-”

He turns and walks before you can say another word. Your fists rest upon your thighs, gaze glued to the plate in front of you. From the quick glances before, you spotted Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung lingering outside. Your body is too exhausted to think about where the others may be. The sun is bright today, hot against your skin as you slowly take a bite of the food. Your eyes move to the side, San and Wooyoung leaving promptly. You grip your plate, staring at the chest of the man who slowly makes his way over to you. Fear is what drives you now, looking in his eyes too much for you. All you can think of is the way he grinned as blood coated his hands and clothing, the way he laughed as he threw you into the room.

"Nice to see you after a few days, my sea," he sits on the grass in front of you, keeping enough distance for you to calm down slightly. You look back at the plate, unable to respond. "Nothing to say to me?"

"No."

He slowly drops his body against the lawn, hands resting behind his head. You inadvertently look at his face. The same sly smirk rests against his lips, brows lifting quickly when you finally look at his eyes.

You take another bite.

"Have you slept?"

"How could I when I'm in a house with people who want to kill me?" You say, teeth clenched.

"Being a vampire isn't killing you, y/n. It's another life. Extending your human one beyond what you can think of. It's a gift."

"It's a curse," you whisper. "Humans shouldn't live that long."

"Once you turn you're no longer human, so that doesn't really matter, does it?"

You place your chopsticks down, taking a slow breath. There's no use in speaking to him about it. He's lived long enough to twist your words. make it fit into his. And the other you’s probably had this same exact conversation with him dozens of times. “And then what comes after? Eternal suffering?”

“After turning? Anything you desire. You’ll have the world at your feet, just as we do.”

“It must be quite easy for you to assume,” you note, tucking your knees further into your chest. “Assuming that I will decide to live with you for however long I will be ‘alive’–“ you motion quotes with your fingers– “It’s a bit presumptuous to believe that I will never leave your side. And forcing me to will only work for so long. There will be a point when I decide that I’m sick of it and run.”

“You have yet to run though,” Hongjoong shrugs, gesturing to the gate. “It's been open for quite a while now but you lack an attempt to make a run for it.”

Scoffing seems to only lessen the impact of his words. What if you were to make a run for it? You doubt they would let you out of their sight for a moment. You can only think back to when Seonghwa let you go in that supermarket. You’re sure that everything would be in a different shape if you never arrived back home. What if… what if you didn’t show back up? Seonghwa gave you the out. The perfume that hides your smell, pheromones. You had the chance and you didn’t even take it.

Has there ever been a moment where you would have?

“Will you chase after me?”

He only smiles.

“Then what’s the point of me running? I doubt I’d get over the threshold without one of you stopping me.”

“Have you lost your drive to survive?” he raises a brow. “Or have you settled? The sea that I know wouldn’t allow us to keep her here without at least attempting to fight for it. It is only saddening to look at.” Despite his words his grin only seems to widen as he watches you. He’s desired this. He's always yearned for you to be subdued, underneath his fervent whims. Abiding by them only worsens the situation. But you cannot imagine yourself not giving up, fighting through it. You’ve tired yourself out over this year of meeting them. Who knew that the snarky woman at Clair de Lune would allow herself to be broken down into this empty shell? You know now that Rose wouldn’t have settled. She would have probably taken her life long ago.

It’s strange that you have yet to consider that path yourself.

“Who turned her?”

“Excuse me?” He’s mocking you now. "Couldn't quite hear you."

"Who turned Rose, Hongjoong? Which one of you did it?"

"Why do you care? Do you want to reenact it again? I wouldn't mind it, sure. But that's a bit strange even for you."

Oh. Fuck you.

“Wooyoung insists that it wasn’t him,” you start, knowing that this conversation could easily be turned on you. “And I believe him. But what I don’t understand is why her death is being hidden from me. What’s there to hide if she killed herself as you all have said? If it’s true, you could talk about it. If it’s true, you wouldn’t hide it from me.”

“Who are you to tell us what we’re thinking?” Though he still has the teasing grin on his lips, his eyes shifted, more narrowed. “Would it make you sleep better at night, knowing what truly happened to her? Would it change your mind about us, make you see us in a different light? Because as I see right now, you’re completely terrified of being in the same room as us. Pouring gasoline on the fire isn’t going to put it out.”

Though he doesn’t admit it blatantly, you can read between the lines. It’s true; Wooyoung didn’t kill her. He killed Yeosang, yes. But not Rose. And from what you know thus far Hongjoong wouldn’t hesitate to tell you it was him or Yeosang. He’d probably do it on purpose to make you fall deeper into yourself. But why hide it?

What would he gain?

Hongjoong stands, brushing off the strands of grass from his slacks. “I’d love to play with you some more, but we have a show. Mingi is somewhere around to entertain you whenever you decide to leave this spot. See you later, sea.” He waves slightly, leaving you alone outside. You glance at the open gate. There’s no one around that you can see but you know they’re watching. Waiting for you to take a step to it. You close your eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath.

Are you truly stuck here?

There seemed to be silent agreement amongst the men. Averted gazes, stepping out of the room when you enter. Even Wooyoung, as boisterous as he is, avoids you as you walk down the hallways. The feeling is eerie; watchful eyes at every corner, behind every door. The freedom to roam only makes you feel more trapped. More secluded. You wonder if this was their captain’s plan all along.

Your grip on the ceramic cup Mingi slides to you is tight. Lips firm. It’s strange how alone you feel in a house filled with people.

“Are you all right?” Mingi keeps his distance, leaning against the far wall. There’s a bit of a frown on his lips. He’s never shown you mock concern, but that was before you were forced into these walls. Now you don’t think your read of their expressions is accurate at all. “y/n?”

“Fine,” you remain tight lipped, placing your cup on the counter. You lift the coffee pot, slowly pouring it. You pretend not to notice the knives sitting on the countertop, only an arm’s reach away. “As fine as I can be while being kidnapped.”

You wait for him to excuse their behavior, say something along the lines of It’s not like that, we love you. A part of you hopes he does so you can tear apart the argument piece by piece. Instead, he nods solemnly, a sigh breaking the silence.

“It’s inexcusable.”

That makes you stop for a moment and turn to him. He sends you a closed-lipped smile, shrugging.

“There’s not much else I can say but that.”

“Shocked you’re not begging on your knees for me to forgive you,” you admit, placing the pot back down. The warmth causes a shutter through you, hands cupping the coffee. “Or telling me to go see Hongjoong.” Hongjoong told you just before he left that if you wanted to know details, you could just ask him. Alone, of course. Exactly the one thing you'd never do.

He laughs dryly then, “Would you even agree to it?”

“Hell no.”

“Then there’s no use in me even asking.”

“What’s up with you, Mingi?” Though the question is reasonable, there’s layers to it. He’s been off ever since that day the two of you were taken and kept in Subin’s home, or whatever it was. The day that he found out you were slowly being poisoned. It’s as if something shifted with him. Sure, he was annoyed with you in the beginning and it drifted to a fondness. But nothing this odd. He looks as if he’s in neverending pain.

Wait.

No. You’re not about to do this. There’s no reason to be worried for him. Feeling sympathy toward a person who is holding you against your will isn’t smart.

He shakes his head slowly, “I just, I worry for you. I know you won’t believe my words because I’ve broken your trust, but I am scared.”

“Of?”

“What we are doing to you,” his voice is low, eyes widening as he says it. His pupils tremble as they stare at you, full of aversion and panic. “I’m afraid of the past continuing to repeat. It’s frightening how similar it is.“

“You say that and yet here I stand across from you, unable to leave while you look at me with pity. I’ve got to say, Mingi, you almost fooled me.” You snort, ignoring the way your heart pounds. He can hear it, you’re sure of it.

“They’re not home,” he starts. “I’m the only one here.”

“So?”

“I’m the only one here,” he repeats.

You still, gaze moving back to him. “You would let me go?”

“You wouldn’t get far.”

“Mingi, you would let me leave right now?”

Though there is pain in his eyes, he nods. “I’d do anything for you. But you have to hurry, y/n. They’re—”

You don’t let him finish, dropping the cup from your hands and turning down the hallway. There’s no time to grab anything but your bag that hangs by the door. Just as you swing the door open, you meet the eyes of Jeong Yunho. His widens briefly before sighing, running his fingers through his hair.

“Didn’t I tell them that Mingi shouldn’t be home alone with you?” He steps inside, stepping around you. You don’t bother exiting the house, the others slowly making their way up the path. “Running away at the slightest chance. I told them this would happen. They were all worried about Seonghwa when we should have been watching Mingi.”

Mingi swallows slowly, looking at you with sympathy. The others enter the home, talking amongst each other as they step around you. They all wear their outfits from the show, not bothering to clean off the blood of their victims. Most are stained, except Jongho. And again, Yeosang is nowhere to be found. You doubt you’ll ever see him again after what you’ve witnessed. Hongjoong is the last to enter, slowly closing the door behind him. He closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing the space above his brows.

“What was the end goal, my sea?” He asks, turning to you. “Where were you going to go?”

“Hongjoong—”

“Ah,” he holds up his hand, stopping you just as you begin to speak. “Better that I not know so I don’t mess up your little plans, right?” His smile drops when he looks at Mingi, eyes narrowed. “You said you would watch her.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t think she would run—”

“A foolish thought. An even foolisher one that you would let her.” Hongjoong interrupts, eyes flicking to yours. “Yeosang would be hurt that you’d just run away, you know.”

“I don’t care what he thinks.”

“Is that so?” His brow lifts. “Then what about Mingi? Seonghwa? Jongho? You would leave us all without blinking?”

“This is not a life, Hongjoong!” Your voice rises, throwing your hands in the air. “What do you expect me to do? Just sit here and take it? Let you turn me into whatever you want? Generations of my soul didn’t want it, Joong. I myself don’t want it either. I just want to go home.” You can feel your breath quickening, heart beating against your chest. “Why won’t you let me go home?”

“What home, y/n? Your apartment is gone. Or are you speaking of your family? Parents? Oh my beautiful sea,” he tsks, shaking his head. “They don’t want you. They’ve never wanted you.”

“Stop,” you shake your head. “I won’t listen to you.”

He takes another step to you, forcing you to shrink into the corner of the room. The others do nothing to stop him. “You know it yourself. That’s why you ran to Seoul. Because they didn’t want you, remember? You begged for them to listen to your dreams, to accept you as you are. But they disowned you, told you that they were no longer your parents. You pleaded over and over but they only forced you out with one suitcase, and barely one thousand won. Pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t stop it from being true,” he places his hand on your cheek, pressing his lips against your forehead. They feel abnormally hot on your skin. “We’re your family now, y/n. We’ll take care of you.”

No. They didn’t… did they? Your memories begin to jumble. And just as clear as day, you remember the way your father shouted at you, telling you to leave. How you cried, falling to your knees. That’s not true, no. He loved you. He… hated you.

“I’m sorry Rose, it’ll be quick okay? Really quick, I will not let you suffer.” Jongho pushes his hand against your mouth as Rose–you, cry out. Your hands grip his arms, gagging as you accidentally swallow his blood. He pulls away, letting you fall to the wooden boards. You cough, desperate to get it out of your body. Realizing that you cannot, you try to stand, only for him to stand above you, holding a silver knife. His eyes are wide. He is smiling. Smiling as he stands over your body. You've never seen him this terrifying before. You try to speak, gagging at the blood in your mouth.

“It’ll be quick, Rose.” He brings it against your neck as you gasp, your screaming cut off. You feel it sink into your skin, gripping it tightly. Hongjoong moves around him, crouching next to you. His eyes flick over yours, ubiquitous glee radiating from his gaze. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead as the pain consumes you.

"y/n! Are you there? Can you hear me?" Jongho’s grip on you is tight. shaking your body over and over again.

Your hands grab his, pushing them off. He looks confused as he moves closer to you, but you cry out, backing up against the wall. The others look at you with worry, Hongjoong conveniently no longer in the room. You touch your face, wincing as your fingers brush against the cuts. When did they appear on your skin? Your eyes flick to Jongho, remembering. He killed you, her. Jongho was the one who did it.

It was never Wooyoung.

You fall to your knees, feeling him quickly move to touch you. "Get the fuck away from me!" Your head whips around, glaring. "Do not touch me, Jongho."

"y/n, I know a lot is happening right now—"

"You," your legs push you farther into the corner, eyes swelling with tears. "It was you all along. I thought it was Wooyoung, I blamed him but it was you. It was always you." The tremors through your body seem to only rise as you push through the thoughts. Your head throbs, eyes shut. "You killed her."

"Please just let me explain."

You shake your head, slowly standing. "She… you all lied. She never wanted to be like you, just like Yeosang. Both of them wanted to be human and you forced them to be like you. Because you're all fucked!" A half laugh, half gasp leaves your lips, thoughts scattered. "Why am I still here? I need to go, I need—"

"Why does every incarnation of you just never listen? Why do we have to go through this every time?" Yunho sighs, rubbing his face. "It would've been so easy if you just cooperated, y/n. It all would be easy." He slowly shuts the door behind him, the grip on his knife tightening. When did he get that? "We could've done it differently this time, my love."

The tension in the room shifts as he speaks. Wooyoung keeps his gaze low, Mingi staring at his friend. He looks furious, fists curled into themselves. “Yunho—”

“Say another word, Song, and I’ll kill you myself.”

"No one is killing anyone," Seonghwa enters the room, barely giving Yunho a glance. He looks at you, a small smile on his lips. "Want to talk? Alone?"

In all honesty you want to be left alone completely, but that will never be the case. Instead, you give him a weak nod, letting his hand slip into yours. Just as you're about to leave the room, you stop him. Whatever is happening between Mingi and Yunho, their friendship is crumbling in front of you. You just have this strange feeling that if you leave them alone something would happen. It's human nature; despite their lack of care for your own life, you care for theirs. Out of fear you avoid Jongho and Yunho's eyes, looking at Mingi.

"Can you come too?"

None of you say a word as you sit in the room together. Your head is tucked between your knees, breath shaky as you try to think this through. None of them will help you, you’re sure of it. Even with Mingi’s attempt, you’re sure he won’t do it as easily as before. Hongjoong might convince him otherwise. How he pulled those memories out of you, you’d never be able to explain. All of it is just so much, so heavily weighed on you. Everything is just too overwhelming.

“Do you need air?” Seonghwa asks softly, crouching in front of you. He doesn’t touch you or hold your hand and you’re thankful for it, emotions slowly taking over.

“I don’t know if I can take this anymore,” you admit, lifting your head just enough to show him your moist gaze. “My friend is dead, my parents disowned me. Seungwoo tricked me into caring about him and he’s gone now too. Yeosang is…” Your voice catches in your throat. “I have no one, Seonghwa. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone. I’m alone.”

Waiting for his reassurances, telling you that you have them, it never comes. He rests his head against the foot of the bed, barely a centimeter or so away from where you rest. Your body shakes, trembling. You wonder if he realizes that there’s nothing he could say that would convince you that you’re not in danger, that you’re safe around them. The more you think about it, he’s a part of the few who told you that they apologize for what they’ve done - despite continuously doing it. It all feels mute now. The more you try to convince yourself that everything is fine, the more you fold into your own thoughts.

Nothing is fine. You’re sure that it never was.

“Was it the change that made him do it?” You ask, “Did turning into this make him unstable? Make all of you not as you were?”

Mingi scoffs, a light laugh escaping him. “It’s like we’re experiencing the same conversation over again.”

“You should have learned from the first time. Rose warned you and yet you made her take her life because she was terrified of all of you. You did this to her, whether you’d like it or not.” All of the visions are beginning to add up. Realizations one after the other. In the end Hongjoong was right; it didn’t matter who killed Rose, or this Cassia that he mentioned. It didn’t matter because your soul would never be free if they continued this cycle. Each time you died was because you rejected one of them. Hongjoong was the first, sure, but whatever poison that infects their bloodstream made all of them the same. All of your thoughts are forming one conclusion.

You have to let them turn you.

The thought makes you ill, body shivers. It makes sense. Every rejection led to death, every single time. Even now, before this revelation, you promised yourself you’d find a way to end your life before living as a vampire. But why let your soul continue the endless torture when you can just stop it? Perhaps you would enjoy your life after this. Maybe, eventually, you’ll learn to love them, enjoy them. You did before all of this. It wasn’t hard. It was strangely easy.

You reach to the side, opening your drawer to grab a tissue. You tense up, remembering that Siyoon’s phone is no longer in its place.

“Did you listen to anything I’ve said?” Seonghwa asks, pulling you away from the drawer. “Are you alright?”

You stare at the blank space, blinking slowly. “Can we have dinner together?”

His eyes widened, looking back at Mingi before standing. “Oh, I can grab a plate for you. I think Yunho was preparing something—”

“No, I want to eat together. With everyone, if that’s okay.”

The room is loud. Having eight people talking all at once, laughter in the air as they speak of different things makes you forget for a moment that they aren’t evil. That you’re not safe the longer you stay here. Your resolution from before begins to crack. Are you truly okay with being one of them? The metal smell of blood seeps through the air, your stomach turning as you watch them swallow it from glasses, mixed with other strange substances. None of them mention Yeosang’s absence, the chair pushed in as they pass around miscellaneous things. You can’t help but focus on it. He’s hated his life for over a hundred years. Your heart feels like it’s sliding through your body, sinking into the old hardwood floors. It’s scary, the effect he has on you. His absence has gone through you, you’ve tried burying the thoughts but they only seem to come back into your shaky hands, consuming every waking thought.

Is this how they feel? You planned this dinner to be an intervention, to question them as to what happened to Siyoon’s device. But all you’re doing is selfishly thinking of yourself and not her. Perhaps you’re not much different from them. It’s far too late to run away. Each part of them already lives there. You wish that you had more time. Your eyes shift to Jongho. Did you love him, despite it all? The way he pressed his hand against her lips, forced her to turn. He did not do that to you, no. But would he? Would your Jongho make you choke on his blood with a tender look in his eyes as your life faded? He seems to notice your stare, round eyes meeting yours. There’s care in them, worry, hurt. Regret. The feelings are so overwhelming that you force yourself to leave his eyes, watching the others. He doesn’t look away. Is this feeling what most want? To have someone unable to look away even when you have?

“Which one of you took Siyoon’s phone from my drawer?” The table silences in an instant. You look up from your cold dinner, sliding your gaze from face to face. None of them speak up, as if you didn’t ask a question at all. You swallow slowly. “Is she dead?”

“Yes,” Jongho speaks up. The tone is careful as he whispers. “But I want you to listen to my words carefully, y/n—”

You should have known. Nothing can be good with them. Nothing. “One of you killed her.”

Jongho shakes his head, “y/n—”

“Stop! Stop making me think I’m some fucking crazy person!” You stand up from your seat, hands gripping the wooden table. Through your anger you can see how Hongjoong sips his drink silently, not saying a word. “One of you took her phone away from me and probably destroyed it before I could read what’s on it. Pretending that you didn’t hurt her in any way to keep me here. Jongho, your lies aren’t going to work this time. Not. This. Time.”

“Would you like her phone?” Hongjoong’s brow quirks. He digs into his pocket, the familiar cases appearing in his hands. Without another word, he stands, placing it in front of you. The familiar pink casing staring back at you. “Be my guest. Fair warning; you won’t enjoy what’s on there. She wasn’t the kindest person in the world.”

You ignore his warnings, immediately entering her password. The table is quiet as you look through the various apps. Nothing is out of sorts, not even her emails. Your thumb hovers over the messages, before pressing the icon. It’s filled with unread messages, most sending their sympathies and condolences. But your brows furrow at one chat, the name of it unsettling.

You open it. It’s a group chat between her and several others, many of whom you recognize as acquaintances you met through Siyoon. You read through it, each message sinking in. Insults in between jokes about you, many of which are from Siyoon herself. Endlessly complaining about you, telling the rest that she was using you for her own gain. Messages that date back to even before you met the men who sit in front of you now. Your vision begins to blur as you control to scroll, stopping at the first message in the group chat.

It was a week after you met Siyoon.

siyoon: think we can use her for better grades?

You close the phone, mouth dry. "Did you kill her?"

"No," Jongho says again. “That night, the night we met. She was with someone, they said. A Jaehyeong? I can’t remember his last name. But they were together, and he…” Jongho trails off. “It was a car accident, y/n. They both died.”

The air feels colder as you think back to the night. Leaving her with him despite the red flags. She wasn’t drunk, nor was he, but there was just something off about that night. You were too involved with yourself to think it through clearly. In fact, you’re sure that you told her to message you when she got back home. Thinking about it now, you’ve never received that text.

You don’t take their word for it, opening the web browser on her phone and typing in their names. It’s the first article of a few, a car accident that killed the lives of two innocent young adults. No alcohol in their systems. The phone slips through your fingers, face down against the table.

“How long did you know?” You ask softly. “How long?”

“Not too long after Seonghwa saw you in the bookstore,” Yunho admits, taking another sip of the drink. “We didn’t know you well enough back then, so we thought you knew of it already. It was a bit of a shocker that you didn’t up to this point. When we found the phone in your drawer, that’s when we realized where you went when we lost you in the supermarket.”

Your head slowly shakes on its own as the information sinks in. Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the men in the room exchange looks over you.

“She’s gone.” You hold your hand over your mouth, tears falling down your cheeks, dripping against the table. Seeing your friend Siyoon, her words egregious, makes you feel all but nauseous. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone, but it hurts knowing she felt that way about you. That you were just a tool in her life, when you thought you were more than that.

You've felt alone before, but the sinking feeling that you have not one person in this world who cares about you is utterly terrifying.

Hongjoong sits on the balcony, Seonghwa and San across from him. He tends to a cup of wine, sipping slowly as he looks out into the surrounding forest. He hasn’t heard from Mingi or Jongho, guiding you to your room once you’ve found out. A part of him forgot that you still had that brief connection with the woman, immediately giving the phone to Wooyoung once he found out about it. He’s thankful that you were too distraught to notice anything strange about the messages, dates and communications slightly off. But it convinced you enough, the device forgotten as you sink into your grief.

He glances at the other two across from him, lids heavy. “Would either of you care so much for a woman who insulted you and used you in your past?”

San hesitates before speaking. “They were friends, Hongjoong. She cared for her. It would be hard not to feel immense grief at the thought of losing someone that close. She will be devastated for a long time.”

He sighs, taking another sip. “Then we have to delay turning her.”

“Is this… not too far?” Seonghwa asks, already predicting his answer. “She has lost her friends, family. You never told us you would manipulate her thoughts that way. Now she believes that her family hated her.”

He merely shrugs, “They would have anyway once they saw their daughter as one of us. Her parents were quite traditional. She hid every relationship from them in fear of their rejection. Ours wouldn’t have been much different.”

“And Yeosang, then? Will we continue to force them apart?”

“Of course not, hyung.” It’s a farce in itself, knowing that Hongjoong is thousands of years older than he is. “Do you truly consider me that mad?” He rolls his eyes. “I told Yeosang to come home whenever he likes. He is the only one preventing himself from entering these doors. He’s afraid of what she might say to him. Not unwarranted — she did see him at his lowest. It would be a bit hard for her to see him without imagining that blood covering his body.”

“I just don’t understand,” San stands from his spot. “How will all of this make her want to be one of us? She’s just brewing in her hurt now. It’s worse than Rose now. There’s no chance she’d agree, or live that long to accept herself.”

“You never think of the bigger picture, San. She is hurting so badly now, thoughts darker and more vulnerable. Now she really has no one but us. There's no need to convince her because she'll come to the conclusion herself." He grins, leaning further back in his seat. "And I will be waiting with open arms."

Wooyoung wipes the blood against his jeans, some of it sticking to the underside of his nails. They haven't killed anyone; their thoughts wiped as they stumble down the street, told to go back to their homes. He slumps himself onto the bench. After being turned he considered himself a less caring man. He knows it, more than the others tell him. But seeing you so defeated… it made him feel filthy. No amount of blood draining helps him forget the distant look in your eyes. You looked so alone. It reminded him of his former life; abandoned and distraught. He knows that if Seonghwa didn't find him sooner, he wouldn't have survived for much longer.

He lifts his hands, staring at his palms. Is this what they've become? Shells of their former selves? Losing you devastated him. He could remember the murder sprees they went on, full of grief. Not caring who or what they killed. So consumed with turmoil for years. He thought that when he saw you again, his peach, it would be okay again. You would love him as you did before with ease, care for him. But it just feels the opposite. That he's trying to convince you to give him a chance.

He leans his head back, staring at the night sky. It's a bit colder now despite the change in seasons, the summer breeze chilly.

He scoffs, rubbing his face.

Maybe he is completely delusional.

Your knees are tucked close to your chest. You're not sure if you can cry anymore, body exhausted from the hours of sobbing. You stare at the door, knowing that even if they're giving you space, you couldn't do anything without them knowing. Their hearing far supersedes yours. It wouldn't surprise you if your heart beat is being listened to. You close your eyes for a moment.

You have nothing. Just them, just their endless and unconditional affection. No friends, no family. Not even a slip of a memory that Rose could give you. Nothing.

It's scary to think about.

"I want to see him." You whisper.

It pains you to even think of his face, but you need to see him. You need him to tell you that he's there. That he won't abandon you when you make your choice.

"Please."

Mingi stands outside the abandoned cemetery. His hand grips the rusted gate, chest tight. It's funny that he could feel it despite his heart no longer functioning at all. All of them know where he went. It's hard not to when they're all so in tune to each other. But here? The place that Mingi avoided with everything that he had. The place they buried their beautiful Rose. He takes a long breath, taking slow steps inside. Her grave isn't too far away from the entrance, but it makes him want to break down the closer he gets. He spots Yeosang not too far off, sitting in a folded chair, eyes glued to her grave.

He wears the same outfit he left home that night. Clothing still stained with dried blood, ripped every which way. Smell putrid, nauseating if Mingi were a human. But he's used to the smell of the dead. It's a smell that appears when they haven't fed or moved in a while. None of them really let themselves get that far into decaying, but Yeosang does quite often. A form of self torture, Mingi thinks. A method that he once used when he let his thoughts take over.

"That's something you and y/n have in common. Never say a word until I speak up," Yeosang says. His voice sounds hoarse. This is probably the first time he's said a word aloud in weeks; deeper tone much more so. He doesn't move though, back still facing Mingi as he makes his way over. "I'm not going back if that's what you're here for."

"We want to make sure you're okay."

"Right. They wouldn't send you if they did care."

"You know we care, Yeosang. Don't start with that," Mingi knows he's partially correct. Hongjoong planned on coming himself but Mingi insisted it be him. Wooyoung was usually the first to break Yeosang. Mingi never really understood how to speak to him. They're friends, sure. Family. But he and Yeosang aren't as close as the others. There's often silence when they're together. Comforting, but quiet. "I wanted to come."

"Did you." A statement, more than a question.

"It's been weeks, Yeo."

“And it’s usually years before one of you decides to come find me.”

Mingi sighs, “You know it’s different this time.”

“Ah yes. This time you have your Rose, and you want everything to be perfect for her. My apologies for messing things up again. Tell Hongjoong I give him my condolences.”

“She’s not just mine.”

“No, she’s his. She’s always been his. Alas, I have forgotten,” He rolls his eyes, “What do you believe is holding us together after all these years? And if there is any answer other than her, it’s a lie. We’ve all desired in different ways, what we would do if she came back to us. And now that she’s here, everyone is only caring about their own feelings. Have you not considered hers? Do hers matter in the grand scheme of things? Do we truly want her for as she is now, or how she was before?

“You think we don’t care?”

“Not necessarily. I think you care for a woman who’s no longer there. What do you know of her now that isn’t something from before? Wooyoung called her peach with such ease, Hongjoong called her his sea. Nothing that we have done thus far is for the woman in front of us now. We have wrecked her life so that we ourselves can live in a falsehood. The only reason we still tolerate each other after decades of fighting is because we have her as the reward at the end. You may consider me wrong, fine. But I’m not deluded into this fantasy that you’ve all formed.”

Mingi looks at Yeosang sitting on the rock. He looks tired for an immortal, eyes heavy, skin paler from lack of blood supply. It’s strange that despite all his words Mingi can tell that he loves her. He was never this passionate about Rose, never this protective over her well-being. In a bizarre way, the man sitting in front of him may love you more entirely. No one fights for a life this desperately without love.

“You adore her, don’t you, Yeo?” Mingi asks softly. His brows seem to furrow in pain at the question, mouth opening and closing. He takes a long breath, gaze on the city in front of them. “What will you do, then? Let us turn her?”

“... I can’t stop it.”

“You’d give up so easily?” Mingi’s brow lifts.

“Have you? You tell me to do something you know I cannot, and complain about me being resigned in my position? And make it into my problem when you're as concerned as I?" He scoffs, sinking deeper into his seat. "Mingi, you've lived long and have known me well enough to not ask stupid questions."

"I'm accepting it because I don't see another way," he admits. "You wish to no longer be immortal, but I can't imagine not being one. I can't imagine being a human again. And I can't imagine losing her because of it. It's horrid, no need to look at me like that."

Yeosang tries to fix his expression, only twisting further into silent disgust. He looks away from his friend. The sky seems more interesting than the conversation they're having. "I'm glad you know how stupid you sound."

"I know. Might be because we're all slowly falling into our madness without you around."

"Shiny words won't make me come back."

"...She needs you, Yeosang. More than you know. I think you're the only one who can pull her out of this."

"Nothing you say is going to make me want to come back—"

"She asked for you."

Yeosang is silent. It feels like a lifetime has passed when he speaks up again.

"Lying is a sin."

"Then my words must make me all the more blessed."

Yeosang grips the railing, "Did she truly, Mingi? You aren't fibbing this time? Hongjoong didn't put you up to this?"

"No. Yeosang, you're a fuck-up just like the rest of us. But she loves you. She wouldn't give up on you."

Yeosang sucks in a breath, turning back to the grave. He lifts his hand, as if to reach out. Instead, it limply falls back to his knee.

"I love her, Mingi. I love y/n, I probably love her more than I've ever loved Rose. And it fucking terrifies me," he runs his fingers through his hair, only causing it to stick up more. "I can't see her because I will break down. I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't forgive me. I don't even deserve to be forgiven for killing all of those people. I—" He looks at Mingi, eyes glazed over with a pink tint. "I would try to turn her right then and there to make her forget."

“You wouldn’t.”

“And I would have believed that before everything happened. Now I’m not too sure. It might be what Hongjoong is banking on. Me losing control like I always do. I can’t, Mingi. I can’t see her when I’m like this,” he glances down at himself, thumbing his soiled clothes. “Even more so with this on me. It’ll just remind her of what I’ve done.”

“One, you’re not going to hurt her,” Mingi holds up his hand when he sees Yeosang opening his mouth. “And two, take a shower?”

"Mingi…"

"Prolonging it will only make it worse in the end. Don't be a fool, Yeosang. We already have enough of those around us, including me."

Yeosang turns back to the headstone, a solemn look on his face. "Rose would strangle us all if she knew what we're doing. In moments like this, I cannot help but miss her presence. She was often kind but stern with her words. I am sure all of us would have been scolded to the ends of the Earth."

Mingi's lips curve into a small smile. "We'd leave with burning ears and ringing heads."

Yeosang laughs then, shaking his head. His smile slips again, swallowing slowly. "I'll think about it, Mingi. I know you're not lying, and she requested me. But though she is ready, I'm not. Not yet."

"Then I will stay with you until you are."

"You don't have to do that," he glances at him. "I know you dread this place."

Mingi only sinks to his knees next to his friend, resting against the side of the large rock. Yeosang does not discourage him, allowing him to join as they stare at the stone.

At their Rose.

You can't remember how much time has passed. Sadness burdens your soul, your feet dragging against the tiles, barely acknowledging anyone who passed by. Holding back your tears each time you think of your friend. It's enough that you've broken down in front of them, it would be silly for it to happen over and over again. Your pride speaking, but it's all you have left.

You feel the air shift as you're shifting your blankets on the bed. Your grip tightens when you sense someone standing at the doorway. They've announced themselves each time, but this feels much different. You slowly let go of the sheets, turning around. His hair is in disarray, baggy sweats covering him. Eyes bloodshot, skin paler than usual. Frightened as well, hand gripping the doorway, fingers almost digging into the wood. His body trembles, lip between his teeth as he stares.

"Yeosang?" Your voice is rough, eyes moist.

His smile is slight, swallowing slowly.

"Hi, pretty."

He steps inside, sliding his hand against the wall. He stops when he's on the far opposite wall, glancing around your room. It's in as much disarray as he looks. Clothes thrown everywhere, items in the wrong places. His eyes stay on the window briefly, the bars against it making his brows furrow for a moment, before relaxing.

"I heard about your friend."

You slowly nod, sinking into the mattress. "It hurts, Yeo."

"I know." His head tilts. "It must hurt plenty."

"Unbelievably so," you whisper, looking away from him. "I think… I should be used to hurting. It's happened for a while now. But everytime I think about it I just, I can't. I never got to say goodbye."

"You love her."

You force out a laugh, "Yeah, despite all of the shit I read. I can't help but still love her. I have so many questions I can't ask and it feels like… I don't know."

"A hole. One you can't ever fill because she's gone," he rests his hands above where his heart should be, blinking slowly. "And you relive the moment you last saw her over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of it all but you can't because grief is just too hard."

The familiar tightness in your chest twists inside of you as he speaks. He looks at you, understanding. You can't respond, a sob waiting to escape.

"Tell me where it hurts, pretty. You can point to it if you want."

You hover your hand over your chest, lightly resting it against your skin. Yeosang takes a slow step toward you. He's still trembling, one hand tucked into his pocket. He looks at you before he touches you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod, and he places his hand upon yours. It's quite cold in comparison to yours, the beating of your heart filling your ears.

Kang Yeosang slowly crouches in front of you, gaze and head moving to meet your eyes. "I'm here."

It's enough for the sob to leave your mouth, your hand entwining with his as you let go. You've found it so hard to walk through everyday, you dreaded the moments when you were alone. Your grief grew so heavy inside of you it felt as if you were becoming numb. But he says two words to you with such ease, and you fall apart.

It utterly terrifies you.

Hours must have passed, the exhaustion of your sadness guiding you back beneath your sheets. Yeosang does not dare touch you, but he stays just a couple of feet away, Head resting on his forearm as he watches you from your bed. Neither of you have said a word for quite a while now. You wonder if he is waiting for you to speak up, or will he do it on his own. There's several questions you'd like to ask, but now being with him, you no longer have the will to.

He adjusts himself in the cushion seat, pushing strands away from his forehead. "I could remember the first night that I lost Rose. I was inconsolable. All of them were too stricken with their own grief to help me with mine which I cannot blame. I starved myself over and over again to the brink of becoming solidified, but one of them fed me blood, enough to keep me alive. After about a decade or so… I expressed my grief in a way I hate to speak about. One that you witnessed not too long ago," His eyes shift to yours. "There is no right way to process it, but there are wrong ways. I have taken the wrong path more times than I can count. Sorry wouldn't work in a situation like this."

You can't speak up, the blood covered hall flashing in your memory. You've suppressed enough so that you're able to sleep, at least. "Do you often express extreme emotions this way?" You ask.

He covers his face with his hands. "I haven't in decades. This is… an outlier. I shouldn't have done it, but seeing you there in the midst of it all, it made me realize how far I've lost myself. I let my mind sink into the primal urges. I let myself get that bad, y/n. Forgiveness is not what I can ask of you, and neither could I tell their families I was the one who broke them." He swallows slowly. "I can remember their faces, the glimpses of fear. And it hurts to say that I cannot give much remorse because I know of what they've done. I know the lives that were lost because of their greed. Their faces are burned into my mind. Each and every life I took."

A pause.

"I am the monster I've always thought I was."

Comfort is not what you can offer in this situation, nor forgiveness. Trusting the judicial system is not something you believe in either, but neither is mass murder. You can only nod, shifting your eyes away from him. "You made a decision that you thought was right at the time. I cannot fault you for it." What the hell are you saying? He murdered people. You should be running out that door, not chatting it up. But all your mind could think of is helping him. Letting him know you're not giving up on him.

Perhaps he isn't the only monster in the room.

"I wish I could hate you," you confess. "I really wish I could sit here and say that I hate you and I want to never see you again. And I hate it even more that I can't. I can't hate you, Yeosang," you whisper. "You've lived a life you never wanted, you've done things because of it. It's inexcusable, but it's not surprising given the circumstances."

"y/n…" He starts, but you interrupt.

"All I can think about is that you're safe, Yeo. You're back, and you're safe. And I get to see you again. I don't know what to do about what you've done, but I'm just happy that you're here with me. That you didn't leave me."

"We're both a little fucked in the head, aren't we?"

You snort at the harsh words. “A little is an understatement.”

He leans back, staring at you. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, until he notices you look away, rubbing your arms. He closes his eyes, humming. “Mingi came to me. Told me to come back.”

“Where were you?”

His lip lifts, “At Rose’s grave. We don’t often visit it because of the harsh memories, but I like to. Gives me a chance to clear my head, think things through.”

“You can speak to the dead?”

He laughs, “No. I can speak to a stone though. She’s likely scolding us for how we’re acting.”

“Would she?”

He nods immediately. “No hesitation. She hated when we did stupid things, moreso things like this. I wouldn’t believe alive if she were here. She would…” he paused for a moment. “She would hate what we’ve done to you.”

Your smile fades the same time as his, the room shifting into a silence. It’s not as comfortable as before, his words forcing you to confront what’s happening right in front of you.

“She trusts him.”

“It was broken when she saw him hurt those people.”

“Was it really broken? Do you truly believe that she would ask for him to see her if it were true?”

“Then what do you want me to do, San? Stop them from seeing each other? I’ve done that endlessly, since the beginning. And it’s like it no longer matters because she will find a way to see him again. It’s just as it was before. Trying to separate them will only lead to her end. And I’m not sure if I can handle losing her again,” Wooyoung shakes his head slowly. “I’m not sure any of us could handle it again.”

“What do you propose?” San swallows slowly. Wooyoung doesn’t notice how San’s voice weakens a bit, glancing flicking up before looking back at him. “Joong isn’t going to be happy. He wants there to be difficulty in reconciling between them. But they’re inside chatting it up as if nothing happened.”

Wooyoung glances up from his spot on the bench, the curtains to your room closed. It’s been a while since Yeosang came back, the two of you inside the room for several hours now. Despite having the ability to listen he didn’t this time, knowing that it would hurt you even more. Getting on your good side is hard, but he’s willing to do whatever it takes. And if that means being unable to interfere with Yeosang, then so be it.

“I’m not going to do it.”

“Wooyoung…”

“San, I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t. She already hates me for doing it before.”

“Then this won’t change anything.”

Wooyoung slowly shakes his head, “San…”

“Do you expect her to just forgive you? She’s not going to forgive the man who destroyed her love’s life. You turned Yeosang, remember? You were the one who made him this way because of your jealousy. She saw it in her head. She won’t forget it.”

Wooyoung presses his hands over his ears, nails digging into his scalp. “San, please—”

“She won’t ever love you.”

“Stop!” Wooyoung stands, pushing past his friend and entering the house. He disappears within an instant, leaving him alone to stand outside. San’s express drops, fingers dragging through the loose strands that frame his face. His eyes flick up to Hongjoong’s balcony. Said man stands there, tending to a cigarette. His grin is wide as he looks at San, a light laugh escaping him.

San could only give him a pathetic smile back and enters the house a few seconds after Wooyoung.

The conversation with Yeosang ended there with him mumbling an excuse to leave. You confronted him just as he was about to go, your eyes asking if this were the last time you’d see him. He pressed his lips to your knuckles just then, a soft I won’t leave you anymore falling from his lips before he disappeared down the hall. And he kept his promise since then.

You left your room often now, the others roaming around the hallways. Vastly different from before, greetings exchanged, laughs echoed. It was as comfortable as it could be. You even laughed at something Jongho said to Mingi while they were arguing, and his eyes lit up at the sound. Sure, it was brief and you immediately shifted your gaze, but it was something to him. And if that was the beginning of you forgiving him, he was going to accept it.

Surprisingly, to everyone else and yourself, you slowly began speaking to Hongjoong. At first it was very brief, good mornings and goodnights in the beginning. But now, you let him sit beside you while a movie played in the living room. You even let him serve you dinner. Astonishing, the others knowing that his cooking skills were sub-par in comparison to so many of the other men. Hongjoong took it well, each step in your relationship seemed to build it closer to a good one.

You, of course, did not feel the same.

Each building block is a seed planted in his head. To bring you closer to him, so that he trusts you. Trust you enough to where you can get close.

Close enough to kill him.

The plan isn’t foolproof, you’re sure there’s a part of him that suspects it’s a ruse. There’s no forgetting the dozens of times you’ve told him that you would never be anything to him, that you’ll hate him as long as you live. But maybe if you go slow, if you let a few months pass, you’ll convince even him. It’s a long shot, no telling, but you have to try.

It’s been a couple of months now living with them. You thought you’d hate every moment being there, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. Your laughter and humor is real, the smiles you exchange with everyone are genuine. More often than not you remind yourself why you’re still there, what you’re doing. But most days you forget, enjoying your time spent with them. How easily have you fallen underneath their web.

“Another?” Mingi whines, scrolling through his calendar. “I thought we limited shows to Fridays only?”

“Unlike you,” Yunho wiggles his finger. “Some of us like to feed more than once a week.”

“Then I can stay?” his eyes brighten, only to be shut down by Hongjoong entering the room.

“No, you can’t. Jongho needs someone to guard with him and make sure things are okay while we’re feeding. And you stayed home with my sea last week.”

Mingi throws his head back in utter agony, pout deepening. You watch them, eating your apple. Wooyoung gave up on buying peaches and you’re more than thankful for his change of heart. Hongjoong leans against the wall, glancing at you. There’s something there, something you can’t quite decipher.

“But no one has fed in a while. Any of us,” San points out, glancing around the room. “We should all go.”

“You all can go,” Hongjoong says, shrugging. “I’ll stay with y/n. We have some things to discuss.”

The others look at you, questions in their eyes. You’ve immediately learned their different expressions. These are of worry, and confusion. You don’t trust Hongjoong, you never will… But you know he wouldn’t kill you. At least, not right now. You hope.

“Fine with me,” you continue to eat your snack. “I’ll see you all later, then?”

Mingi’s dragged out of the seat by Yunho, the others slowly disappearing to their designated rooms, getting dressed for the concert. Hongjoong lingers in the kitchen with you, humming. He opens the fridge, tsking at the lack of food inside. “I told Seonghwa to go shopping.”

“No big deal,” you murmur. “I’ll be going out soon enough with him. It was supposed to be today, but I guess it’ll happen tomorrow.” The others pass by again, waving goodbye as they leave. Eventually the two of you are alone, Hongjoong exiting the kitchen.

“Didn’t you want to speak to me about something?” you ask just as he’s about to disappear down the hallway. He glances back, shaking his head.

“I just wanted to be alone with you. A bit greedy, that’s all,” he flicks his brows up, waving goodbye. “Have a good night, my sea.” With that, he exits, leaving you alone in the kitchen. It's an open invitation to follow.

One that you take.

You close the door behind you to his room. You haven't entered it at all. It's similar in size to everyone else's, his bed slighter larger in comparison, a balcony just a few steps away from it. He moves quickly, pressing you against the door frame. Your breath hitches, his lips trailing along the back of your neck.

“Do you even like me?”

Hongjoong’s hand slides up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He turns you around. He rests just below your cheek, tilting your head towards him so as to guide your gaze to his. Despite how warm his eyes look, you can see the tightness in his jaw, the resolute tilt of his lips. He blinks slowly, humming as his thumb trails along your face. “Shall I slay every person who has ever looked at you with disdain to prove it?”

You laugh, though knowing the truth behind his words. There’s no doubt in your mind that he would in fact listen if you asked him to do so. But you play it off as if he’s facetious, shaking your head. “I asked if you liked me, not for you to murder in my name.”

“I would give you anything, my sea. Of course I like you.”

You wonder if he believes his own words.

“I’m just waiting for you to say you like me.”

“Unlikely,” you snort, placing your hand on his. You hear his breath hitch, eyes flicking to your touch. You never noticed how easily it was to make him off balance, lose his nonchalance. There has been endless doubt on how much you afflicted Hongjoong, but there is little now. You would just have to persuade him that you do care, even if it is a mere fraction of his. With that in mind you move yourself off the door and walk to the mattress, ignoring the beating of your heart, nerves coating your palms as you wipe them against your thighs. You sit on the edge, his speed quickly. In a moment, he's sitting on the edge with you.

Hongjoong watches you in curious silence. Just as he’s about to leave forward, you lift your leg, straddling him. He looks up at you in mild surprise, lips parting and shutting. Leaving Kim Hongjoong astounded? Perhaps you are good at this manipulation game.

You lean forward, palms resting on either side of his face. Just a breath apart. You stare at his face, taking in each part of him. The scar of his brow, the light moles adorning his skin. The soft curve of his lips. He is beautiful, no doubt.

“I do like you, Kim Hongjoong. Despite how out of your mind you are.”

His hands go to rest on your thighs, lids heavy as he stares at you. His smile rises, gaze now on your lips. “I’ve lived with you for many lives. Each one different from the next. I’ve known your soul longer than you've known yourself. It's fairly easy to know when you’re being deceitful.”

You ignore how your body shivers as his hands travel to your hips, squeezing slightly. It’s a game he’s played for thousands of years, while you’ve only known him for less than a percentage of that. But one thing you do know: you are his weakness.

“How can I prove it?” You ask, leaning closer. Your nose brushes against Hongjoong, a shuddered breath escaping his lips. His grip tightens on your hips, pressing you harshly against him. He presses against your lower stomach, hard against your softer skin.

“You tell me.”

"Have you ever…?" You trail off.

He rolls his eyes. "I've fucked before, love. Just never with you. Something always seemed to get in the way. You dying, mostly. But I have never made love." His lip brushes against your forehead.

"I don't love you," You murmur, and he only laughs.

"Even you aren't a good enough liar to convince me otherwise. But all I ask is one thing from you." He watches your gaze, hand dragging along your body, before touching your face. “I want you to be mine,” his fingers release your chin, slowly wandering along the outline of your jaw.

“All yours?” you breathe.

“Mine,” he agrees with a whisper so low that you feel it all the way down to your pelvis. His hand suddenly slips downward to firmly grasp the back of your neck, pressure light. “Let me be yours.” The feelings that stir in you now as his head tilts to the side and he wets his bottom lip are separate from anything that may be fearful — and that’s the thought that terrifies you. There’s no use in saying that you’re not attracted to him; you always have been. The realization that you're beneath him now, after so long of resisting and fighting the temptation — you can’t deny the frantic pounding of your heart. And you wouldn't be able to fib in the slightest, Hongjoong can feel it as it goes anyway.

“You’ve tortured me for so long,” he leans closer to you, free hand resting on the side of your body, trapping you beneath him. “I have to admit that I’m shocked to see you beneath me this way. Is this unwanted?” he asks softly, eyes flicking between yours. “Despite my desires, I wouldn’t want this to be forced.”

You have an agenda. And a small part of you feels as if he might know what it is. But the way he’s looking at you now, a glimmer of hope shines beneath it.

“No,” you reply. With that, he takes your mouth with his own. His soft lips press ardently against yours, desire spilling each time he slightly pulls away. Your hands slide into his hair, body relaxing into the mattress. You part your lips, his tongue seeking out yours whilst he grabs a hold of your thigh to drag both your legs closer to him He lies himself on top of you, and all the while his darkened eyes never once leave yours, his jaw tensed but breathing heavy.

As Hongjoong delves back in, his tongue rolls inside your mouth and he lets out a low-pitched groan, your body arching up into his palm that begins to fondle your breast through your shirt. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging harshly as his hand grips the top of your shirt. Fabric rips and exposes your bra, he scoops your breast from the cup, a relieved sigh escaping him.

“You're so soft.”

“Joong,” you whimper, front teeth sinking deep into your lip, fingers grabbing at the soft white cotton that covers his shoulders.

Hongjoong's face lightens up at the sound of his name escaping your lips, dipping to his head to encircle the entirety of your nipple with his mouth. He sucks, gently circling his tongue around and smiling when you moan.

His warm hand reaches for the opposite side of your chest and cups you, switching his mouth to the other, biting and tugging. Just as you're about to say his name again he presses himself into you, his hardness pushing harshly into your pelvis. He doesn’t stop sucking until you're twisting on the bed.

“In awe," you hear him say. You meet his eyes, “You haven't the slightest inkling how long I've waited for you, my sea. I wish I could spend all night with you. Unfortunate that you have to be somewhere in the morning.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Where—"

He interrupts, slowly lifting your shirt up and over your head, hand only giving a slight tug to your pants, the tear echoing through the air as he tosses them to the side. You could only pout, your pile of fabric, one of your favorite sleepwears.

"I'll give you the world, y/n. No need to worry about a couple of pieces of clothing." Unlike the others you have been with, his touch is softer, slowly rubbing the plushness of your thighs, lips trailing delicate, wet kisses against the skin.

“Please,” you moan softly, peering down. Hongjoong looks up with a devilish curl to his lips, his smile to die for.

“Yes?” he replies, mock innocence coating his gaze.

“Please touch me, Joong.”

After having fought against Hongjoong’s yearning for you for close to a year, it feels more than off to let these words escape your lips. Your body is practically on display beneath him, his lids heavy with lust as they take you in. He seems to enjoy the moment differently than you, for many reasons you'd rather not dwell on for long. Hee slides it down to the middle of your legs, hot breath tickling your skin. You can feel how your underwear clings to you because of your arousal, almost forgotten from how his eyes seem to want to take you apart.

“All for me?” he groans as his fingertips slip into you, pressing kisses to the angle of your jaw. “So wet.” Hongjoong traces the outline of you, brushing teasingly over your clit. “I must admit, it feels good knowing this is all for me.”

You say nothing, only meeting his eyes with want in your gaze. He licks his lips, head tilting slightly as he stares at you.

“I know, my sea. I always knew.”

He knows nothing.

He hooks his finger on the fabric lining your hips, a quick tug ripping it with ease. You throb at the act. His body pressed to yours and his fingers hovering so close to you —

How easy it is to succumb to him.

"I've been waiting centuries, lovely," Hongjoong whispers against your skin. "It's made me a bit needy, you know. But I need to know if you want me as I want you. y/n," his hand raises to your face, tilting it so that you meet his gaze. "Do you want me?"

Making the decision to go through with this, to let him take you now — some part of you knows it isn't the wisest decision. It will only make your choice of killing him more difficult down the line. But if this is what it takes to have Hongjoong believe your every word, you'll do it. An even smaller part of you knows that despite everything, you want this. You want him. It feels as if hours have passed of your silence, Hongjoong neither getting closer to the center of you or moving his hand from your face. He waits patiently, just as he has waited for a time incomprehensible to you.

"I want you, Kim Hongjoong."

You see the shift in his gaze in an instant. His brown irises slowly fade, eyes glistening over to a pure white. The sight doesn't scare you as much as it entices you. If you weren't in the heat of the moment you'd scold yourself at how ridiculous you're being.

His fingers slowly rub circles into your clit, pressure increases each time he makes each round. Your hips grind into the movements, a silent plea for him to pick up the pace. He doesn't of course, the devilish grin of his widening as he studies you. You've noticed that he's rarely ever left your gaze, as if memorizing this moment, solidifying this as your choice. And it is, in the end. He's asked several times if you want him. If it's a manipulation technique you aren't the wiser.

You feel his middle finger slip next to the first, lightly squeezing your clit, picking up speed and you let out a low moan, head tipping back, finally breaking the stare.

"All for me," he whispers. "Don't hide your moans from me, my sea. I know it feels good, yeah. Want more?" One of his fingers slips down, dragging around the outline of your entrance. He dips it in barely a centimeter, a stifled laugh escaping him when he sees you clench. "Do you?"

“Please.”

He clicks his tongue, running his fingers back up to your clit, pressing down, hard. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to control the sounds he pulls from you.

"Ah ah," He moves it away, pressing his lips to your fingers briefly. "If I could listen to the others take you, they can listen to us. They all hear us, you know. Amplified hearing comes with the territory."

Despite how your heart races, you clench at the thought of the others listening, Hongjoong's gaze flicking between your legs.

"Oh, you enjoy that, huh? Enjoy us listening to you have sex with someone else, thinking about us coming to your moans with someone else's cock inside of you?" He presses his lips against your stomach. "Wooyoung and Mingi like it the most. They're probably touching themselves right now listening to us." You clench again. "How filthy of my pretty sea."

"Joong—"

He slips two fingers inside of you. "Tsk, so impatient."

Hongjoong is halfway down the sofa, face placed between your legs. Palms flat against the inside of your thighs to spread you wide, his nose dug deep into, a cry escaping from your throat when his mouth covers your clit. You feel his tongue circle it slowly, your fists tightening. The pleasure is all-encompassing — he sucks noisily at the sensitive nub, your fists unclenching and finding themselves in his hair, pushing him closer into you.

He licks at you hungrily, your gaze flicking to his free hand slipping inside his own pants. “Fuck…” he whispers against you, diving back in as soon as the word leaves his mouth. He groans, the flat of his tongue pressed to your entrance as his face slowly rocks from side to side.

“Please,” the feeling of him takes over, your hips rising to meet each swipe of his tongue. The impending release is near, enough so that you’re not able to warn him. Your body trembles, your fingers gripping his hair so tightly you’re sure you’ve pulled out a few strands, his tongue continuing to lap at your core. It starts to linger into the range of oversensitivity, your hands pulling away from his hair and instead, hips moving away from his tongue. He chases you, pushing himself deeper into you.

“I can’t—” you say, but the words seem to go into one ear and out the other. He continues to lick, lips wrapped around your clit. He refuses to let go even as you lean up, his hands gripping your thighs, unmoving. “Hongjoong—” your eyes finally meet his.

They’re completely white as they stare at you. You can see the lift of his cheeks, smiling into you as he sucks. His hands move from your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer into his mouth. He lifts it for just a moment, enough to say one word. “No.”

The break is brief. Hongjoong covers your clit with his plush lips once more, sucking hard. He continues like this for over a minute, watching as tears stain your cheeks. The oversensitivity slowly molds into pleasure, your hips humping against his mouth. Your chest rises and falls, your peak coming much quicker this time. He pushes three fingers into you in an instant, a scream escaping you. He chuckles into you, his mouth finally away from your clit.

“Come for me, my sea. I want to see you come again for me,” he whispers. He doesn’t touch your clit, fingers pumping in and out of you with abandon, the sounds echoing around the room. “Come on, I know you can do it.”

You feel the pads of his fingers touch the spot inside of you, your breath hitching. He keeps them there, rubbing quickly against the rough patch. In an instant your thighs clasp his hand within you, humping violently as you lose yourself. He leans against your stomach, resting his head against your plush skin, watching you.

“Never thought you would be prettier, but look at you. Coming all over me, fucking my fingers.”

You can’t respond to his words, eyes closed as you try to come down from your high. He pulls his fingers out, the sound of him sucking them alluring, but not enough to open your eyes. He pulls you closer to him, finger dragging back to your clit. You pull back in an instant, eyes flicking open. He laughs, grin stretching across his cheeks.

“Already done?”

“Too much…” you swallow. He moves away from your clit at your words, placing his hand just above your chest where your heart lies. He moves up from your legs, head falling on the mattress, eyesight steady with yours. Despite how blown out his eyes are, despite how you can clearly see how aroused he is by the hardness pressed against your upper thigh, he hums, expression softening.

“Okay?” he whispers. For some reason the way he’s looking at you, the love in his eyes… it bothers you. Not because it’s ingenuine, you can see how real the look is. It terrifies you that the look calms you down, settles your heart. That you yearn for him to look at you again just as softly, as kind.

The voice deep in the back of your mind telling you that this wasn’t the smartest idea.

But of course, you ignore it. Out of selfishness or greed, you're not too sure. Hongjoong’s fingers stroke your cheek, humming when you lean into his touch. “You’re pretty,” he murmurs, thumb wiping the tear that falls down. “Even when you cry.”

He leans forward, lips covering yours. The touch is softer, you can feel the emotion he draws into it, tongue lightly flicking yours, the taste of you filling your mouth. Suddenly it’s sweeter, almost strawberry like as you continue to kiss. You don’t notice how you suddenly take the lead, sucking his lips, entering his mouth. He giggles at your movements, hands moving to pull your hips closer against his.

“Taste good?” he pulls away, laughing.

Your cheeks warm when you’ve realized what you’ve done, pulling away. A string of saliva parting your lips. He pecks you quickly, head back against the sheets. “Hm?”

Realizing he asked you a question, you furrow your brows. “How’d you do that?”

His eyes roll, “I’m a vampire, I can do anything I’d like.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You frown, and his laugh is even louder.

“And yet here you are,” he moves from his spot to hover over you. He’s pulled off his pants and briefs before you’ve realized it, the length of him resting against your stomach. He grinds it lightly into you, lip between his teeth. “Here you are under me, wanting me.” Holding himself up with one hand, he uses the other to squeeze himself, the sight making your mouth water.

“Thought you were done?” his brows raise, amusement coating his expression. “Unless you want more?” He moves away from you, sliding off the bed. He holds his cock in his hand, languidly stroking it as he stares at you. “Want to taste me?”

Your eyes flick up from his movements to look at his face. His brow raised, he waits for a response. Seemingly unable to respond, he moves closer, body leaning over so he’s directly in your line of sight. “I said, do you want to taste me, my sea?”

You nod, and he moves even closer, hand cupping your chin. You open your mouth now, “I do.”

He nods, letting go. “Go ahead.”

He moves slowly, steps closer and closer to you. Though he seems to be calm, you can see the way eagerness lines his features. He pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side. You notice a few scars and tattoos on his body, a belly button piercing shining at you in the lower light. His fingers wrap around the base. He’s longer than you thought, but not as thick as you’ve once experienced. Still, your mouth can’t help but water.

“Open, pretty,” he murmurs. You open your mouth slightly, jaw lax. He rests his head against your lips, bending his cock toward you. He lets it sit there for a moment, his breaths heavy, precum coating your lips. His eyes stare at your mouth as he finally enters your mouth inch by inch, moaning when he finally enters. He continues, stopping when you gag. He twitches against your tongue, your eyes watering as you look up at him. His eyes seem to be glossed over, holding your head as he moves out. He moves slowly, in and out, hips rocking back and forth between your lips. You suck and lick, guarding your teeth to make sure you don’t hurt him, the weight of him against your tongue and angling your throat so that he can enter even more.

He groans, speed increasing. “You take me so well, look so good with my cock in your mouth.” Hongjoong pushes your head against him, your nose pressed to his pubic bone. He moves back a bit as you choke, whispering okays and telling you you’re taking him so well. Your hands wrap around his thighs as he fucks your mouth, your throat burning. You feel yourself clenching around nothing. He moves quicker, grinding into your mouth. Your hand reaches down to touch yourself.

He pulls out immediately, grabbing your wrist gently. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Only I get to touch you my sea.” He lets go, lightly nudging you back against the sheets. “Ready for me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you utter, and he only laughs.

“Scream loud for me, so the others know you’re being cared for well,” he grins. Hongjoong’s hips move forward into you without hesitation. Just as a moan tries to escape, he wraps his hand around your throat. His eyes stay on yours, looking to see if you’re uncomfortable. But all he sees is your eyes rolling back, his excitement increasing. He presses his lips against your cheek, moving to the side of your face, just next to your ear.

“Feel good, pretty? You like me inside of you, like me making love to you,” he bites your earlobe, pulling away. “You feel so good, so relaxed for me. Perfect.” Hongjoong eases himself out to slowly to sink back in, moving at a slower pace, the witch of his cock as it glides between your walls. “I’ve waited so long for this, Ca… y/n.”

His hips stutter as he gradually builds speed, grunting each time your hips collide. You reach for anything, deciding on wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He doesn’t resist, his chest pressed against yours, lips meeting one another’s. You’re too consumed with pleasure to notice the slip of tongue. He drives his cock into you, angling his hips directly at your g-spot. He releases your throat, one of his hands reaches for the headboard, driving into you harder, ”You take it so well.”

“Please,” your fingers dig into the back of his neck, piercing his skin. His eyes shift, darkening. The frame of the bed begins to bang loudly against the wall as his speed and force increases. He lets go of the board, gripping your hips and pulling them into each thrust of his. He fucks you harder, hip bones digging into your thighs. He swipes your hand away when you try to rub your clit. Shaking his head.

“You can come without touching yourself.”

“I can’t,” you cry out, trying to reach again. He tsks, pushing it away.

“Come from my cock only, y/n. I know you can do it.”

Your head tips back, the burning of your clit, begging to be touched. You focused on how he feels, how his cock drags against your walls. Just as you think you’re unable to do it, Hongjoong leans forward, teeth grazing your neck.

“Maybe I can help you out, want me to help you out, pretty? Want me to taste you?” His tongue drags against your pulsing vein. You nod without knowing what exactly he means, until his teeth sink into your flesh. You gasp from pain and pleasure,

The head of his cock pushes harshly into you as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips over and over as your orgasm takes over you, you clawing at his biceps in an attempt to hold yourself together. Hongjoong licks your wound, pulling away from you, breaths ragged.

Before you can come down from your high, in a matter of seconds the head of Hongjoong’s cock is inside you once more and you’re being fucked into the mattress, the movement of his hips frantic enough that you know you’ll be sore for several days.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong groans, snapping against you and making you bounce. “Want my come, pretty? Want me to come inside of you?” Hongjoong moans at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“Please, Hongjoong, please,” you gasp.

You hear him groan in response to your words as he presses his chest into yours, and all the while he continues to push inside of you you can feel his cock beginning to throb. His movements begin to falter, his breath heavy against your neck and you screw your eyes shut even tighter as you rock your hips upwards from underneath him to push him to new depths, urging him on. “Joong, please come. ”

“My sea,” he pants as his thrusts become shallow and hurried, his fingertips digging into the mattress to anchor himself, “Fuck.”

Finally, Hongjoong comes,, his hips pressing into you and then staying right there, buried deep within you. His fingers relax slightly from around your throat to allow you to drag in a deep, ragged breath, but Hongjoong keeps his hold. Chest still heaving against yours, you feel his lips come into contact with your cheek to press a soft kiss there, nuzzling your cheekbone for just a second before uttering into your ear.

“Look at me, my sweet sea.”

Your eyes open. His smirk is wide now, eyes crazed. You remember this exact look, one from the visions that you've seen. The one where Rose died beneath Jongho’s hands. Anxiety begins to rattles your body, the cloud of lust seeping away as it only seems to grow more sinister. He leans close to your ear, his soft lips brushing against the skin. It is only six words, but it brings the fear up too high for you to ignore.

"I know."

The stifling hot room suddenly grows colder.

"I know you lied."

His hand slowly wraps around your neck, fingers pressing into the flesh. It’s not enough to cause you to stop breathing, but enough so that you start to panic as he stares down at you. He does a test squeeze once, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.

“Hongjoong—”

“Why would you try to trick me, my sea?” His brows furrow, hurt etched into his features. “Lead me on to think that somewhere deep inside of you, you cared for me? Why plant a fallacy in my mind? Why make me suffer?” He shakes his head. You feel his thumb press into the base of your neck, nail slowly digging. He hasn’t pierced your skin yet, but it’s close. “Speak.”

“To convince you—”

“To convince me that you care?” He finishes, and you nod. “I know you don’t care for me, y/n. I’ve known with each thrust, each moan of my name. I know what you look like when you make love, y/n. And I know what you’ve just done was anything but that,” he leans closer, his tongue dragging along your collarbone. “I know because I saw the others with you. They aren’t the only ones who enjoy the show,” he grins.

“You weren’t there—”

He agrees, humming, “I wasn’t. The good thing about turning, though. Their thoughts are no longer their own, their eyes are mine. I saw everytime someone entered you,” he lets his free hand cup your center, “I felt what they felt.” He slips a finger inside of you, “I saw your eyes roll back for them—” he moves it slowly, squeezing your throat tighter “—I saw you each time you lost yourself in them. Yunho,” he slips in another finger. “Mingi, oh that one was interesting—” his pace increases. “Wooyoung… poor him, he couldn’t even watch.”

He adds two more fingers within an instant, “And how could I forget the last one? Your Yeosang, your pretty, pitiful Yeosang. He’s always wanted you so badly, always wants to save you…” Hongjoong thumb rubs your clit, pace quickening. “He can’t even save himself…”

The door to the room opens, Hongjoong not bothering to turn around to see who it is.

“I didn’t ask you to come in,” Hongjoong hums, pulling his fingers out of you. He grabs the blanket on the side, covering your body with it, hand letting go of your neck. Your chest rises and falls, moving your gaze around him to see who's entered.

San and Yeosang stand there. It's too dark to see what they're wearing, but you're pretty sure it's the outfits from the concert tonight. Has time passed that quickly? You can still feel his fingers around your neck, anger between his words. If they didn't come in… if you weren't so involved… you're not too sure you would have lived.

Yeosang moves closer first, "You're going too far, hyung."

He leans up from the bed, not bothering to cover himself up. San lingers just behind Yeosang, eyes glued to your neck.

"Sad you couldn't join? I never interrupted the two of you, you should give me the same consideration."

"You were killing her, you were going to kill her." Yeosang looks at you, brows furrowed. "I wouldn't let you do that."

He stands, rolling his eyes. He grabs his briefs from the side, slowly pulling it up and over himself. "I was having fun, not killing her. The two of you need to relax a bit. Why would I dare hurt my sea?"

"The blood in her mouth? We can see it on her lips, Hongjoong. We aren't that ignorant."

You wipe your lips, staring at the blood coating your fingers when you pull away. You don't even remember when exactly he did it, or how. Was he going to kill you? Were you so filled with arousal you didn't even think about what was happening? Was that the sweet taste in your mouth? His blood? Your stomach turns at the thought. Hongjoong looks back at you. His white pupils are gone. replaced with the familiar brown. He raises his brow, tongue dragging across his lips. It's there where you see the cut in it.

"Tastes just like strawberries, doesn't it?"

The thought of his blood in your mouth makes you gag, rises from the sheets. You hold the blanket against you, reaching for the water bottle on the side table. Hongjoong grabs it before you do, taking a long drink, emptying it.

"Fuck you!" You yell, anger rising.

"y/n…" San moves closer to you. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

You grab your shirt and slip it over your body, hands trembling against the fabric. San helps you, picking up your sweats from the floor and passing it to you. Yeosang moves closer to Hongjoong, fists tightened.

"You were going to kill her, just like that."

"Don't start to give me a fucking martyr speech, Yeosang. You don't even care about her."

"You—"

Hongjoong reaches out, gripping Yeosang's neck. He slams him against the wall behind him, a scream leaving your mouth. San stands in front of you, hiding your body with his. He looks at Hongjoong with concern, "Hey, isn't this too much—"

"The two of you are a pair, aren't you?" Hongjoong frowns, "So hopelessly involved with y/n. At least she likes Yeosang. She barely even knows San. And here he is, fucking protecting her as if she loves him. As if she cares if he died."

The others soon appear at the door, crowding into the room. The wall behind Yeosang cracks as Hongjoong presses him deeper into it.

"Please stop," you beg, trying to get closer. San holds you back, preventing you from interfering. "He's just trying to protect me."

"If you didn't have Rose's soul he would not give a shit about you, my sea," Hongjoong looks at you, head tilted. "Your soul already saw him die once, it shouldn't matter if you see it happen again."

Yeosang looks down at him, fingers digging into Hongjoong’s hand. Eyes red, denying his words with the curl of his lips. "You'll never understand love, Joong. That's your problem."

"Enlighten me then, my friend."

Yeosang's eyes move to you, softening with such ease it breaks your heart. "Everyone knows I loved Rose, loved her more than she loved me, surely," his eyes flick back to his captain's. "And I loved her Hongjoong. I loved her with everything that I had, and I could barely function when she was gone." His voice breaks, eyes flicking between his. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be able to love again. She was my first love, but y/n…" His eyes move to yours, softening. The look only makes your heart crumble even more. "She is my greatest."

Your hold on San's arm loosens at his words. You love him. You've loved him, with every part of you. You love him to the brink of fear, afraid of the unknown.

"How sweet…"

He lets Yeosang go, wiping his hands on his underwear. He glances at the others around the room, frowning. "I wasn't going to kill either of them."

"Let's go, y/n," San whispers, slipping his hand into yours. Yeosang catches his breath on the floor. He lifts his head to meet yours. As if telling you everything is alright. That he's okay. San tugs again, and you follow him out the room, parting the small crowd that formed in the doorway.

"Do you know if she truly loved you?" It's an appalling question, one that would throw them for a loop. It seems to leave Seonghwa speechless, mouth parting to speak, closing again. "Did she love you?"

It's been over a day since the incident, Hongjoong moving around as if nothing happened. Yeosang does as well, not mentioning it at all. It was enough of a headache for you to ask Seonghwa for a break. The house feels more stuffy than usual. You sit in the park not too far from their business, swinging your legs back and forth. It was silent while you walked here, but you couldn't help but ask. They love her so dearly, so much. You doubt she felt half of what they did.

"She said she did, she told us she did. Why are you asking?"

"Because if this is the way you express that you love someone, I'm not so sure that she did. If she taught you how to love, this isn't love, Seonghwa."

"I feel like if it was anyone but you telling me this, I'd be furious," he admits, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. "If I may be forward, why do you think so?"

"I don't know," you purse your lips. "I don't know how it was for you back then, how the world was. Maybe my thoughts are more modern in comparison, but I don't think love wants to force you into this mold. If we're humans and you told me you wanted to become this, I think I would be upset for a bit, but I wouldn't tell you to stay a human because I want you to. Though back then, monsters were more of a real thought rather than folklore. I don't think it means that I wouldn't care, it just means that despite it all, I believe you'll still be the person I care for."

You glance at him, leaving out the obvious afterthought. This form changed them. You're sure that Rose died because of their choices. Because they changed. And not in a good way. Their "love" twisted into something unrecognizable, cruel, obsessive, greedy. Dangerous. Subin’s descriptions were mild in comparison to how they actually are. How could Wooyoung just kill Yeosang with ease? Hongjoong almost injuring Yeosang, attempting to turn you?

"I'm very careful when I tell someone I love them. Because for me it is an admittance that my care for you has no bounds, that with everything we will go through I will fight my hardest to make it work. I will stick by you. And I don't feel that way for most of you."

It's a lie, it's a filthy, dirty lie, but you let yourself say it anyway.

He nods slowly. His fingers slowly fold, legs crossed. "It is all a pity, then. I tried my hardest for you, doe. But it seems to be a moot end. I promised them that you would admit your love for us. Stubbornness has always been your strong suit, no matter how many years have passed by. I wanted to save you."

You look around the park. It's quieter in comparison to before. Swings empty, older couples gone. Not one soul, not even a bird chirping. It's eerie in itself. You turn to him, and he looks at you with sorrow.

"One word was all I needed."

You stand up, chest rising and falling quickly. "Hwa—"

"It's calming. Different in comparison to how we turned Rose. I hope you understand that this was a unanimous decision, doe. All of us thought this was the best way to keep you from running away."

He stands and you hold up your hands, shaking your head. "This isn't the way to get what you want, Seonghwa. Repeating the past isn't the way, you know that."

He tilts his head, a light pout decorating his lips. "This is me saving you. Can't you see it?"

You ignore his words, turning around. The closest place is the club just across the street. The one they own. Hiding is the last thing you want to do, but there’s nothing else. Maybe there’s something left over from the fight they had there weeks ago. If you could find your way through the hallways and into the back — maybe there’s a chance you can save yourself. Maybe there’s a way out.

"I'll give you a headstart, doe. At least give you some hope. Go ahead," he nods.

You don't hesitate. Your legs move quick as you run across the empty street. The door to the club is open and you enter, locking it behind you. A part of you wonders why you don't question it, but fear drives you now. You run into a side room, grabbing a knife that Subin left hidden, just before they came to save you last time.

"This will kill them," Subin says to you, dragging his finger along the blade. "It is made from the metal that killed their first love. Hongjoong would be much harder to trick, but I'm sure you can do it."

You stare at it, shaking your head. "Subin, I don't think—"

"Start thinking then, y/n. You won't be free. Not unless you accept their obsession with you, or kill them yourself. Your soul will continue to be stuck in the same perpetual nightmare. You have to stop it. You have to, y/n." His brows soften. "For every iteration of you that has died. Do it for them. Do it for you."

It's the first note that makes you stop what you're doing. You hold the knife in your hands, your grip loosening as you stare out into the hallway.

The familiar tune of the piano. Despite the name of the club you've rarely heard it — the group is a rock band, of course. So hearing the soft melody of Clair de lune echo in the dark is more than what you expect. It's a beautiful song despite this circumstance. You used to love it until this very moment — were they here the entire time? Have they watched your every move once you left Seonghwa in the park?

Were you ever truly alone?

The echo of your shoes add to the music, hushed breaths. There's no use in trying to control them, they know you're here just as you know they are.

"Must we play this game with you?"

You stop moving, gaze glued to the darkness. Your fear overrides your sense of the moment. Who was it that spoke?

"Why run? Is it not beautiful for there to be people who already love you as you are? Why would you try to escape love that is unconditional?"

Still, your mind seems unable to figure out who exactly it is. Is it some sort of talent they have, disguising their voices? Luring you deeper into the darkness? You stop moving.

"Pretty, we already know you're there. No need to try and hide."

Pretty? There's doubt that Yeosang would scare you this way, but it isn't impossible. Not after what you've witnessed at that restaurant.

"What can we do to convince you to stay?"

"Let me go," you whisper. "Finally let me go." Clair de lune rises in volume, your heartbeat throbbing in your ears. "Find someone else to love you. I will never be her."

"You are her, my sweet doe. And you always will be."

Doe? Is it Seonghwa instead? Footsteps catch your attention. They're at the far end of the hallways, slowly ascending, closer and closer to you. Risking waiting for whoever leaves the darkness isn't wise. You know that it'll only lead someone to you back in their home. Back in their arms. You slide the knife back into its place, quickly turning on your heels. You haven't had the chance to explore the club, too engrossed in them to figure out every nook and cranny. You push open a door, locking it behind you quickly. Just as you turn around, your stomach falls.

“What are you?” You say softly.

“It’s easy to guess,” Yunho shrugs.

“Shows at night. Hwa drinking blood, our cold skin. Points to only one thing.”

“We're vampires.”

It's the same room you met them. The velvety couches, the bucket of cell phones on the back table. You were full of life back then, though afraid you stood your ground. And now here you are, back in the same place as before. Will it ever end? Is this a sign that no matter what, you will always follow the same path? Your fingers brush against the knife.

Should you end it here?

"I won't let that happen again, doe," Seonghwa enters the room, hands tucked in his pockets. He moves closer and closer to your frozen figure, hand slipping down your side, pulling the knife away. He stares at it for a moment, worried expression hardening. "Who gave this to you?"

"Subin."

His eyes narrow, grip tightening. The silver bends with ease in his hands, crushed in his palm. He sighs, eyes closing for a moment. "It was the knife that killed Rose, y/n."

“Hwa, what did you do—”

“Do you think I’d allow you to hurt yourself? I said we were going to save you, and you try to do something like this?” He sighs. “We’re trying to protect you the best we can—”

“This is not protecting, Seonghwa. Both you and I know you. I expected things to be different with you. I thought you changed.” Was everything a lie? Every step of the way to get you here, in front of him, about to die?

Are you just that stupid?

“What do you want us to do? Let you die, again? We’ve already done that, y/n. I can’t wait another one hundred years for us to go through the same routine.”

“You’re selfish—”

He laughs, combing his fingers through his hair. “And what if I am, hm? It doesn’t matter; once I turn you, once you become one of us… I can make you forget.”

The same blank look in Yeosang’s eyes.

You back up away from him, gaze resting on yours. It’s not sorrowful in the slightest. It’s settling within you; you expected this eventually. The contemptment, the resignation. He will kill you. You’re not leaving this room without spilling blood. “You never believed I loved you, Seonghwa,” you whisper, back against the wall as he moves to you. “After all this time, you’ve never believed it. But I have.”

“Don’t lie,” he mumbles.

“I did love you, so much. Why do you think I’ve often come to you? I trusted you, Seonghwa. I knew you cared about me, not just my soul. It’s pathetic, really, how much I relied on someone that would go against me in the end. It’s even more pathetic that I’m not angry with you. I’m just sad.”

He shakes his eyes, fists tightening. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

“But I can’t be. I don’t think either Rose or myself was ever really angry with you.”

"You will never lose me."

You can barely make out his words, his fingers digging into yours, light sobs falling from his lips. You hold in yours, letting your forehead rest against his. It feels as if you're mourning him when he is right in front of you. The fleeting wish of knowing him sooner so that you may have spent time with him as he is now crosses your mind. And with horror, the small thought of you living as them so you can know them longer lingers.

"I love you ever so much, Seonghwa," you say. "And I will not make you listen to what I want. If this will make you happy, then I will accept your decision."

Seonghwa presses his palms against his temples, his last sincere moment with you crumbling.

“I would not have asked anyone else to be here with me when I die, Seonghwa. Please let me go.” Rose’s blood spilling onto his clothing, between his fingers. His cries echoing around the ship's chambers.

“y/n, please,” he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Your finger slips into the hole in the wall, the cold metal of a knife resting there feels against your fingertips. Seonghwa’s back is turned to you, and you quickly pull it out, gripping the handle. Despite the fear that overwhelms you, consumes you, you do it anyway. You press it into your chest.

Exactly where the birthmark of the scar is.

The smell of blood hits him before he sees it. The pain is overbearing, your hand dropping from the handle, body limping forward, almost touching the floor. The sound of the door slamming open, wood splitting at the force. The warm touch of hands catching you just before you fall. His grip is tight, blood sputtering from your lips as you look at him.

"No, no…" His grip on your shirt is tight. You're used to the mirrored emotions, the fakeness dripping from his expression. It's nothing like now. The way he holds you, his face pressed against the fabric of your soaked shirt, sobs escaping his lips. Despite the loss of blood, despite it all, you feel your own heart breaking.

"You have to let me go, Joong," you can’t say it of course, the pain too overwhelming to speak through. "You have to."

“I can’t…” he utters. A cold touch of hands pulls you into his lap, Hongjoong letting you go. You can’t quite tell what’s happening around you, but you hear shouting, furniture breaking. Your vision begins to blur, fingers holding you close to their body. His hand covering your mouth, whispering soft words to you. You don’t feel tears against your skin, but you can feel how he holds you, hands trembling. You just wish that you knew who it was.

The knife is slowly sliding out of your chest, the pain enough to make you lose consciousness within an instant.

“It worked.”

“I told you it would.”

“Fuck off, San.”

“Why are you arguing in front of her? Hey pretty peach, it’ll be alright.”

“Still calling her a peach, after everything?”

“You know what-”

You gasp, leaning forward. Hands stop you from moving too quietly, soft words comforting you for the moment. Your eyes flick around, brows furrowed. Mingi, San, Yunho… Yeosang, Seonghwa, Jongho… You continue to circle through the men, one missing. Just as you begin to ask, your head turns to the side. Wooyoung holds you up steady, a sweet smile on his lips. He brushes loose hairs away from your cheek, humming softly.

“You okay, pretty peach?”

You nod slowly, looking down at your hands. They’re free of blood. Wait, should they be covered in blood? “What happened?” you ask.

“One of the attendees at the concert took some bad shit, and you drank from them. It hit you pretty hard and you passed out, but everything is alright now. You’re okay,” Mingi says, nudging Yunho. “I told him to keep an eye on you since you’ve just started this, but he let it slip his mind.”

Yunho rolls his eyes, “I went to the bathroom.”

“Enough arguing, please?” Seonghwa murmurs, smiling at you. “Ready to go to bed, doe?”

You steady yourself off the floor with the help of Wooyoung, thanking him. “Okay.”

Everyone begins leaving the room one by one, Yeosang staying with you. He guides you to the bathroom, asking for permission to help you into the bath. There’s no need to say no, no use for it. He’s been with you since the beginning of your transition since that fateful night at Hiraeth, where you met them all. You sink into the warmth of the water, leaning your head against the side. Yeosang sits there, watching you silently.

“Are you alright?” he asks, thumb brushing against your temple. “You worried us.”

You nod, a smile on your lips. “I’m always alright when I’m with you.”

The expression he gives you back is peculiar. Smile quick, strange. His eyes linger on the scar on your chest. “Okay. I’ll give you some time alone,” his lips brush against your forehead. “See you soon, pretty.”

Just as he closes the door, you lean from your spot. You didn’t mention it even though you should have. Crescents scarred his throat, the imprint of a hand stared at you as he helped you bathe. Your mind told you to stop questioning it, to let it go. But you just couldn’t. The sight looked so familiar, filled you with such fear. Like you were missing something right in front of you, but you just couldn’t grasp it. The eerie feeling began to consume you, clawing at the dryness of your throat, forcing itself into your heart through each beat.

A drum solo makes you stop. Your eyes move to the stage, focused on the man whose drumsticks fly through the air, foot tapping on the bass drum pedal, eyes closed completely as he plays. The crowd screams. But you can only stare. Watch as he expertly plays, lips curved into a smile. Blue hair pulled back with a headband. His eyelids open, immediately looking at you.The burgundy color keeps you in place. He tilts his head, observing you. He hits against the crash cymbal and pulls you away from his mesmerizing gaze.

“...Hongjoong,” you breathe.

He takes out a necklace, holding it between his fingers. “But with the long lives we have lived, it will be unfortunate if someone decided to bring the force of the law against us. I’d rather not spend my days rotting behind a prison cell. Not that we would, of course. But it is helpful, nonetheless.” The necklace drops to the table, a wince from Yeosang catching your attention. “But we didn’t bring you back here to tell you about how San practices law. This piece of jewelry, can you touch it?” Hongjoong slides it against the glass to you. Oddly, it doesn’t scratch at all.

The room grows silent; only the muted music filling the air. You stare at the jewels, the emerald color quite vibrant in the low light. Your curiosity almost outweighs the red exclamation points of danger. So despite it, you only stare at it then flick your gaze to Hongjoong. He tilts his head, waiting for you to respond.

Your hand lingers on the emerald necklace resting between your collarbones, warm despite how cold your skin is.

You remember.

How your soul mourned.

Yeosang pressed his cut hands to your lips just before you died. The others dragging Hongjoong off Seonghwa, barely saving him. Bringing Hongjoong to the brink of death.

When in reality, he was just gone. He disappeared after the night you turned. None of them could figure out where he went. They all simply accepted that he’d never come back. Little do they know what you know.

You held him as you felt his skin grow colder than it ever was. As his fearful eyes lost themselves in yours, and became colder, emptier. You stayed with him, cradling his soulless body tight against your chest. His blood seeping into your shirt, dripping down your leg. The knife thrown to the side; fingers wrapped around the cut on his throat to stop it from bleeding despite how much he tortured you.

The others would tell you how you shed tears for the first time over the man. How your screams were so gut-wrenching, even Yeosang struggled to pull you away. How months later, you woke from your slumber crying out his name. And strangely, how you never recalled any of it at all. They made you believe he’s dead. Yeosang turned you, coerced your mind into perceiving Hongjoong’s blood coating your fingers. You still recollect how clearly the scenery changed around you when you sobbed over his body. Dark background blending into the warmth of the summer dawn.

What a surprise it’ll be when they find out otherwise.

tags: @revehosh@mrcarrots@belletiny@sansblkgirlfriend@hwadump@honeyedtalisman@atzcoke@glitterhongjoong@whatudowhennooneseesyou@marievllr-abg@arkive78@dysftopia@kpopnightingale@wxnderingthoughts @jenniee-tm @hongshines@atinytease @multidreams-and-desires @yla-aira@wommypeaches@avantalem@youre-a-wallflower-charlie@toxicccred@xciiiomwliah@madelinelina@kirooz@a-tiny-teez@tenebrisirae @ageofjade @n0v4t33z@yoongiigolden @jonghoharibo @fl0r4f4wn @gh0stbish @kodsukein @vitrealislux@sarcasticsagittarius1998@spiderrenjunfics@aeoliannie @tannie13@leeknowsalot@xshansimsx@seojonneh @shingene @justconniez@mingi-banana@anushka-k@nightmarej1n@watamotee33@dear-dreamie@the-ghostest-with-the-mostest@jaxavance@malyxsoulpersonal@az-con@charreddonuts@beautysirens@sunukissed@lixpixstix

#fic: clair de lune #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #jongho x reader #ot8 x reader #thank you for this journey... love you all <3

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