#for a first in wisp history:

[elderwisp]

[averlym]

For the prompt thing can you do lina and jane w no.8?

If that's fine w you ofc

(for context: prompt post can be found here)

i was unsure which no.8 you meant so i did,, all three,, anyways here is your very belated request, thanks for sending it in!

[simpjaes]

ONE OF THE DAMNED GIRLS PT.1 (P.SH)

Moving to a city with wild nights and charming days felt like the perfect choice in your head upon finishing college. Hours away from home, you accept a job at a local museum ironically placed dead between a large historic cathedral and a booming gothic nightclub. You were meant to curate the art, not be curated yourself by a local priest who found you with buckled knees outside of said goth club. ― part two here!! | MINORS DNI

PAIRING ― vampire park sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT ― 20.4k

CONTENT ―  modern vampire sunghoon, cathedral/chapel settings, blasphemous behavior, false holy facades, the main vampire trope i use is the act of drinking blood, luring, and living forever, heavy manipulation and toxic behaviors, mentions of reader being alt/goth

SIDE CHARACTERS―  jungwon as your very very best friend who has an installation at the museum (you guys are attached at the hip), jay as the hot bisexual bartender at the goth club, some goth guy named balor 

!WARNINGS! ― dubious consent (due to the act of mind manipulation), hunting and playing victim, a lot of blood: blood sucking, wounds/puncturing, menstruation in a sexual light, manipulation, near-death experiences, fainting, talk of death, acts of mind control/luring 

NOTE ― here is part one of the first vampire fic i've ever felt compelled to write in my life. shout out to me, myself, and i for being entirely deranged and coming up with on a whim based on a song a lovely anon sent to me. this is semi-proof read, and does require two parts to get the full story.

tags under cut

smut tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic] ― big meat sunghoon, biting, A LOT OF BLOOD, sucking and drinking of blood obv, pussy eating (once while reader is menstruating, and another time where she isn’t), deep penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex bc like…he’s dead so lmfao, missionary, scratching, dirty talk, body worship, praise, jungwon is involved in a bit of an erotic situation but there is not smut involving him, 

other tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic]― depictions of death, anti-religious language, the act of dying including intense descriptions of the feeling, mentions of pimping and human trafficking, corrupt government, dead nuns, funerals

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Upon moving to this city, all you have in your mind is the future. Of what could possibly come of you here? The museum is truly beautiful, propped in the center of the historic district, a mere ten or so blocks from your newly renovated apartment. 

Years worth of study has led you here and honestly you’re sure you never would have found this city as lovable as it is if it weren’t for those credit hours you poured into art history and architecture. Truly, you feel at home here. Especially working within the historic district at that beautiful museum. 

The rest of the city is quite modern. A bit boring to look at if you’re being honest but, thankfully, your place of work offers much for the eye to devour. The museum itself is quite victorian, with rococo styling throughout. Many could call this an eye sore, but you find yourself loving every inch of the place. You feel like a willow wisp in the clutches of that museum, and honestly you’re more than excited to grow bored of seeing such beauty on a day to day basis. 

Across the street sits another old building, also victorian in style. The large and tacky sign glowing with neon lights that reads “AFTER LIFE” goes to show that it’s very clearly a club. And the attire of those who go to and fro through the doors only further proves that it’s more than just that. It’s a goth club. 

Which, arguably, high-school you would’ve died to be able to attend. Thankfully, that little goth girl inside of you still lives strong and surely the club will be a place you’ll frequent during your free time. It’s not too hard to dress the part considering you are an art loser. The majority of your clothing consists of black, colored hair, and wild make up anyway. All you gotta do is forego the ratty coveralls or the typical business quirky you go for at work and you’re good to go. 

Last but not least regarding the charm of the historic district, your favorite site. One that is so profound to you and likely everyone else who visits this town mostly because, well, there isn’t much mention of it on any website regarding the city. In fact, you weren’t aware that such a place existed here until the day you came to view your apartment for the first time. 

Seeing it loom from the apartment window very nearly had you sign the lease without so much as looking at the cabinet space or the bathroom setup. 

No, nothing in that historic district, absolutely nothing in this city, rivals that of the cathedral that towers above both the club and museum. 

There, parked just three blocks down from your place of work, sits the cathedral. Clearly old but well maintained, you can just tell that the building has seen more than enough through the passing decades. The arches are pointed and towering, and the flying buttresses only further your heart to beat with love and admiration for what men could build at one point in time. 

You’ll never understand why the preferred style these days consists of primary shapes, anyway. Boxes, cones, spheres. Never twisting hallways or nooks and crannies to hide in. You miss the depth of which buildings used to be. Inside practically a maze, outside a wondrous presentation of knife-sharp features. So intricate, so many lines to trace.

What a shame to find yourself living in a space that’s a mish-mash of perfect boxes, but it’s not so bad when the window offers a daydream, at least. 

You’re in love each time you gaze upon the building, actually. It’s a forever reminder that no human being on this earth could make you feel such excitement. Perhaps you’re just a nerd for gothic architecture though. Honestly, it’s a shame that this cathedral seems to be a forgotten gem despite how it’s blatantly visible at almost any view point in the city. 

Fortunately for you, this only goes to show that the historic district is just that. There for those who admire, and not for those who gawk. There seems to be rarely any stray humans making their way down this street without at least an inkling of interest in the ancient life that’s been breathed here. 

If anything, the streets are filled with what you can assume to be open-minded individuals. Your first day at work showed that much. Tattooed bodies, pierced faces, wild hair, even wilder attire. Yes, you feel right at home. 

And despite the excitement of living in a new city where you seem to fit like a puzzle piece, life can still grow boring after a certain amount of time has passed. For you, it’s taken about three weeks of training, well-slept nights, and cozy days. 

Even through the summer, the nights still have a chill in the air. Which is nice but even your night-time walks have become an auto-pilot task that offers nothing new to your forever hungry brain. So, with the weekend fast approaching, you figure there’s no better time than now to dust off those hot platform boots you bought on a whim years ago and have yet to wear. 

You’re going to the booming “after life”. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well.

“After life” is certainly a perfect name for the club if the intensity of the drinks alone is anything to go by. Inside is adorned with stark black walls and silver trim, loads upon loads of purple and red curtains, women and men near-nude wrapped in straps and chains. 

It only took two drinks to see the black painted walls as a beautiful void in space with wonderful dancing bodies falling into it. You can’t stop smiling through the warmth in your cheeks and dancing to deep bass with husky voiced music. Your arms stay in the air as you dance, and you welcome any dancing partner up until your third drink. 

God, the drinks are strong. Or perhaps it’s just the specific drink you’ve grown partial to. One they call “Red Death”, which according to the handsome bartender, was quite popular in the 90s. You see exactly why it was so popular, considering it basically hit you like a fucking truck in the middle of this club and has you stumbling out the front door without so much as remembering why your feet are moving in the first place. 

Unsure of how much time has passed since you got here, you nearly forget the extra five inches under your feet as you stumble your way through the heavy doors in front of the club. A kind bouncer with the whites of his eyes tattooed helps you with your balance as you step out, chuckling and noting that you’re definitely new here.

His strong hold on you is kind and gentle compared to the bouncers outside of the clubs back home, and despite how drunk you are, you still feel as safe as you do inside of your own apartment when he gives you a small “woah there.”

Thankfully, he keeps to himself after helping you regain balance, once again unlike most bouncers at clubs. You’re left to your own drunken plans now as you wobble around the building in search of a bench to sit on and sober up. Thankfully, that very bench is found sitting lonely on the backside of the building. You can still hear the muffled music from inside, but you’re currently spinning and able to hear just about anything, you think. 

You hear your ass thump to the ground when you try to take a seat, missing the bench completely and falling a full two feet with your head hitting the bricked wall behind you. 

Honestly, all you can do is laugh at yourself as you hold your head. The fall didn’t hurt, and thank fuck no one is around to have witnessed that from you. To think your senses are enhanced at this moment is quite a feat, considering you were so focused on hearing everything that you completely forgot to determine which of the two benches in your drunken vision was the real one.

And as you accept your seat on the ground as the space you’ll sober up in, your senses prove yet again to at least be slightly more amplified than usual. 

A heavy scent of cinnamon wafts through your nose as you breathe in the brisk summer air and immediately you try to adjust your eyes to whatever the scent is coming from. Or, whoever.

Then, a cold hand on your shoulder. You didn’t even see him before smelling or feeling him, but somehow, your vision adjusts immediately as if you’re not drunk at all.

In fact, looking at the man is entirely sobering. 

“Child, temptation has you by the throat.”

“I’m no child.” You scoff at the voice reaching your ears, frustrated as you try to chase the fizzling drunk feeling. A waste of money, you could say, to lose the dizzy feeling so fucking fast. 

The man stands in front of you, clad in black, offering a gentle smile. 

You can imagine you look a mess, sitting on the ground outside of a night club, but that should be expected you’d think. 

“It’s a figure of speech.” The man shrugs with a chuckle. “Now, now. Allow me to help you, my dear, you are in no shape to be left to your own devices.”

You look up at him, noting that the man appears to be a priest. What kind of priest wanders around goth clubs this time of the night? 

Then again, you don’t even know what time it is. What you do know is that you’re nearly entirely sober now for some fucking reason, and you absolutely can be left to your own devices. 

“No, I’m fine. I don’t live too far.” You shake your head at him, but he pulls you up anyway. 

Oh, a rush of woozy nausea. Your ankles buckle immediately upon trying to stand and the man simply keeps his smile aimed at you. 

“My conscience will not allow me to leave you be.” He says, taking your arm and leading you further down the street.

You’re unsure as to why you don’t fight him on it now. There’s a feeling in your body that tells you to go with him, and who are you to fight it? 

Strangely enough, your eyes sparkle as he leads you straight to that very cathedral that floods your thoughts on most weekdays during work. So big, so beautiful, so otherworldly to see so closely. 

You stare up at the towering building even as he helps you through the doors, and then your eyes immediately adjust to the vaulted ceilings and darkened stained glass windows with only the moonlight shining through. 

God, it’s more beautiful inside. 

You’re entirely mesmerized by the building, blinking up at every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s pristine inside compared to the outside, and the floors shine so beautifully even in the low-light. Your boots stomp with each step against the well-maintained floors, to the point you can feel the vibrations running from your toes to the top of your head. 

You can feel your skin tighten at the viewing experience, every hair on your body raising in euphoria, pupils growing wide and dark. You smile, feeling your face flush as if you’ve got a man between your legs. There is no man though though, no. Just big arches and echoed footsteps.

It’s simply too beautiful to comprehend with a semi-drunken brain for the first time. 

The man saunters through the building with you in tow a bit too quickly than you’d prefer though. You try to soak in the image of the main chapel before he leads you away from it, and thankfully you caught a decent look at the gold and silver adornments surrounding a centered altar. The figure within the altar didn’t quite get more than a glance, but you could have sworn it was no religious figure that you know the name of. 

And then, within three blinks, you’re in a corridor where whispering nuns look on. Their voices sound high-pitched even in a whisper but it slows your heart rate down to that of near sleep. Drowsiness overtakes you as you blink out of sync, barely able to comprehend that you should be at home rather than in this wondrous and magnificent building with a strange priest. 

Still, even as the corridor grows less and less extravagant, where the stomping of your boots on the floor turns to that of breaking up dust and weighing down creaking wood, you find it all the more beautiful behind your heavy-lidded eyes.

The deeper into the cathedral you go, the older it becomes. Where electricity turns to candles, and then candles turn to pure moonlight shining through stained glass windows. 

Even up the spiraling concrete stairs, you feel your feet carry you more than the priest with his back turned to you. He wouldn’t need to lead you through this building at all, as the feeling in your gut would likely have you explore the place inch by inch if you were given the permission. 

Still, even while your mind is sober but your body is drunk, you find it hard to believe that people still reside here. Never once seeing anyone come from the cathedral since being in this city. And trust, you have honestly stared at it day after day during work. 

That means nothing to you now though, considering you’re inside the building, being led to a small room for sleep where your sleepy eyes devour the small bed against the wall.

The man who led you here lends no more words or thoughts to you as he steps inside, presents the room to you, and then quickly leaves with that same smile he gave you outside of the club. 

A nun replaces him with light and silent footsteps, running past you to fluff the flattened pillow on the bed. Another came in behind her with a small bowl of crackers and a glass of water. She holds out the bowl and glass, urging you to take them from her. 

Naturally, you do. Popping a cracker into your mouth and instantly feeling it soak up any saliva in your mouth, leaving it feeling dry and sore before you sip the water. And with a nod from the two nuns, they leave you be. 

This room appears to be that for refuge, surely for those the church takes in when they’re in need of a warm bed and some food. 

You smile, saying nothing as you sit down on the bed and place the glass and bowl on the small ledge by the window. There, you take off your boots and flop back without so much as sinking under the thin covers, and you fall asleep as if there’s nowhere else on this earth you’d rather be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The sun feels warm against your face when you stir from your slumber. Your eyes feel heavy though, so you simply lay here and breathe in the strange heavy air. Your eyebrows furrow at the feeling of the bed beneath you. Stiff, hard, uncomfortable. Clearly, you’re not at home. 

And, well, that’s when the happenings of last night dawn on you. You can barely comprehend what the helpful priest looked like, better yet how long it took for your feet to carry you to this room.

When you open your eyes and squint to look out of the stained window, most of the city is distorted through the tinted colors, but you can tell that you’re quite high up in the building. Then again, the throbbing in your feet could have probably told you that. 

Still, sitting in this bed now feels much more uncomfortable than it did when you initially laid down. Your head pounds as you pinch the bridge of your nose, squinting around the room and trying to grasp your memory. 

The only thing you remember is the cold hand that guided you here and every beautiful inch of the cathedral. Which can only mean, you have no fucking idea how to get out of here.

Oh, the horror and embarrassment of needing to search for someone to help you leave feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Surely, if you’re silent with your feet, you can search the halls until you manage to find a back door, right? At least the route would be scenic and interesting if you can manage it.

And, well, you do try. Searching for a staircase the moment you leave your room simply because you know that the only way home is down at least a hundred steps. Strangely enough, your instincts seem to know exactly where to go. 

Somehow.

Your socked feet carry you straight downstairs and to the main cathedral. You weren’t necessarily expecting to find a room full of people upon entering the space either. After all, if it were Sunday perhaps you’d have to drag your hungover ass past a crowd participating in Sunday mass. 

Despite never seeing a soul enter this cathedral save for yourself and that priest. 

Weird, there are a few people with bowed heads sitting in the pews of the main chapel. All appear to be clad in black and gold, one or two others with silver. Not entirely cloaked but still incredibly eerie from behind as you look on with each silent foot step. 

And suddenly, your body freezes. 

There, at the center of the altar stands a stoic man. Posture so straight you could argue he is nothing but an ancient statue. Behind him, you note that there is an actual statue of a figure standing much the same, far too distant to make out the face of. 

Only for a moment do you recall glancing at the statue from the night before, noting how it resembled no god nor deity that you’re aware of. It doesn’t even resemble a human the longer you stare at it, actually.

Ah. Yes. The vibes in this cathedral are off. From your feet somehow knowing the place as if it’s your own home to the silent chapel bowing their heads to an even more silent man standing frozen in the center. If at all, you feel like you’ve been caught in a photo, stuck with your feet on this single tile with the front doors just out of your reach. 

That is, until one of those whispering nuns makes her way to you, tapping your shoulder with a nod and a very quiet, “Shall I see you out?” 

And she does, opening the large doors for you and closing them behind you without so much as a sound. 

Strange, because you remember the echo of those doors closing from the night before. But whatever, you guess, as you’re assaulted with the bright afternoon sun forcing your eyes to tear up. 

You take a step through the flash-bang of summer air, slowly adjusting your eyesight to the very museum you work at. Bustling with your co-workers who are made to work this weekend, you try to avoid being seen. After all, as a new employee, the last thing you need is to be perceived as a hungover mess while walking out of that weird fucking cathedral with nothing more than socked feet and a pair of stompers held against your chest.

And so, you make the short trek home, thankful for the walkable city but entirely unthankful for the charming weather your realtor promised for this time of the year. It’s fresher than you’d like for it to be outside today, the warm sun keeping you at a perfect temperature while the cold breeze offers a shiver here and there. 

You’re not sure why it pisses you off. It’s probably the headache that only pounds harder and harder with each step you take. 

Finally, you make it to your apartment. You feel cold when you step inside the lobby and make your way up. Somehow you feel even colder when find yourself at the window, gazing at the same cathedral you just spent the night in, looking hazy in the afternoon sun. 

It looms there in the city, with its elder rooted walls and pointed arches. Still so beautiful, still so mysterious, still so fucking luring. 

Even after sleeping there, and even after you felt the vibrations inside skew your comfort, it stands out not only in the city, but in your brain. With the modern city only forcing it to stick out like a sore thumb, you can argue that the city could be just as old and still that cathedral would offer a shiver down your spine. 

Your head pulses at the sunlight shining through your window, forcing your eyes from the darkened haunt, and you’re quick to make your way to the kitchen to rummage for something to help with the headache. 

And by the time you flop down on your couch, you drift back to sleep, realizing that you’re not entirely sure if you slept at all the night before. Despite waking up, despite not remembering a thing from after you laid down, and despite feeling rejuvenated in every aspect aside from sleep. 

That rejuvenation strangely drains you more as you drift to sleep, finding it so unnatural that you willingly slept in a maze filled with no face you can put a name to.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Making your first friend feels good. Weeks worth of pretending and hoping you and your co-workers would somehow become besties outside of the museum walls fell short, after all. Not that you don’t consider them friends, it’s more so just the fact that they’re all a bit too stoic and up-tight for you. 

You’re quite a bit younger as well. You can tell that they lost their spark for creating art years ago, if they ever even created it in the first place, anyway. It’s all just curating, curating, curating for them. An eye for beauty only, which is respected and appreciated but still, no eye for fun outside of these walls though. 

That’s where Jungwon comes in. A young artist with first-installation jitters dimpling his cheeks as he offers the smallest “hello” that you think you’ve ever heard from another person. 

He’s similar to you in the way he dresses. He works hard, amazing you with each piece of his collection that’s pulled from a tightly packed box, filled with bubble wrap and slammed with “FRAGILE” stickers. 

Arguably, you don’t need to be friends with your co-workers when you have artists like him coming in and out every few months. He’s quite lively, very excited, and almost clumsy in the way he carries himself. 

You were endeared with him the moment you met him and honestly just three days in, the two of you are practically attached at the hip as you push and work hard alongside him to set up the installation as perfectly as possible for the following weekend. 

And, well, the first showing went off without a hitch. His smiling face could have been seen for miles, you think, as you watch him mingle and blush at each compliment and critique of his work.

So bright. 

So full of life.

The exact person you’d want to be around. 

“Jungwon–” You elbow him in the side as he nods and shakes hands through each farewell while the museum comes to its close for the night. “It’s Friday.” You smile. 

He nods you off, paying close attention to each face that came to visit his work. And only when the halls are empty does he make his way back to you with a deep exhale and a loud, relieved groan. 

“Finally.” He huffs, blowing a strand of his hair up and into the air. “Just fifty nine more days to go.” 

You roll your eyes fondly at him already counting down until the two of you are scheduled to take down his work. 

“You do know you only need to be here for opening night, right?” You laugh.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “But it’s my first installation, I worry some kid will come wipe his snotty nose all over my hard work.” 

You chuckle, he chuckles, and then you turn to face him. 

“So, it’s Friday.” 

He bounces on his feet. 

“Yeah, glad to see you seem to grasp the idea of fleeting time and whatnot.” He looks at you with a mischievous smile. “What about it?”

“We should go out. The club across the street has really strong drinks for half the price as most places.” 

You watch as Jungwon’s eyes shine when they flick behind you to glance out the window. Then his face falls, his eyebrow raises, and he tilts his head. 

“You do realize we’ve been here for like, eighteen hours straight, right?” 

You nod casually with a shrug.

“I live super close by, if we get tired, you can just crash on my couch.” 

He pretends like he thinks it over for more than two seconds before ultimately accepting the offer of fun. 

“Cool. Wanna meet me there in an hour? I should probably change and stuff first.” 

You eye over his outfit, and then give yourself a quick glance. 

“Good plan.” You smile, backing away and throwing your bag over your shoulder. “An hour. Be there.” 

You both nod in agreement and go your separate ways. Sleepy, but entirely willing to celebrate Jungwon’s huge accomplishment with drinks that have already proven to be too strong. 

The hour passes quickly, wearing that same pair of boots for a second time now that you have the perfect place and reason to stomp around in them. This time, you even go as far as darkening your lips and smearing your mascara just a smidge. After all, you’re definitely gonna get drunk and your makeup will be smeared by the end of the night regardless. 

You gasp upon seeing Jungwon’s chosen attire, offering him an “Ooooh” the second you walk up to him. He had been leaning against the front doors of the museum, as if he’s simply an on looker and not a working artist with a top-notch showcase within those walls. 

He lends you a matching “Ahhhh” upon seeing your chosen outfit. Both of you somehow match in a way that makes this appear more like a date night rather than friends getting drinks. Which is kind of cute and a welcomed idea if the two of you have one to many and accidentally start making out or something. 

It feels platonic enough to laugh off in the morning, anyway. And really, while his boots don’t lend him extra height, he stomps around in them much like you do your own. With his black knit sweater littered in frays and pulled yarn, and his hair intentionally messed up. 

“Wonnie,” You offer the nickname easily as you grab onto his arm and check the street for cars before beginning to cross. “I think some eyeliner could finish off your look.” You laugh as the two of you practically prance with heavy boots to the club. 

He smiles at the nickname, hiding his face only slightly in his sweater when he blinks back at you with sparkly eyes. 

“Really?” He smiles, dimples on full display for the tattooed bodies lined up outside, already checking out the artist. 

“Yeah, oh–” You huff, digging in your small shoulder bag. “I have some, let’s do the finishing touch.” 

And when the two of you stand at the back of the line, you do just that. Carefully holding his cheek in one hand and lining the lower lashes on his left eye. 

He doesn’t even close his eyes, and instead looks up into the night sky with that same dimple showing. Blinking every few seconds at the sensitivity, ignoring the fact that his eyes start to prickle at the feeling. 

“It tickles,” He chuckles in a hushed whisper, never having a friend be so close to his face like this before. “How do you manage to do this every day?”

“I guess you just get used to it after a while.” You focus on the way the darkened color brings his eye to seem more catty than it already was, taking your thumb and swiping the bottom lid to smear the charcoal makeup.

You note how innocent and shining his other eye looks compared. Nevertheless, you go to rest your hand on his other cheek now.

Just for a moment, his eyes flash down to look at you. So, so close to his face. Instantly, you lend him a pause and your own smile. 

“You’re blushing.” You laugh, holding your hand steady in wait as he shifts his weight to the other leg out of natural nervousness. 

“Sorry,” He whispers out, blinking frantically to prepare for his other eye to tickle. “I’m not used to being this close to someone.”

Ah, you don’t believe that for a second.

“Look up.” You instruct, already lining his other lashes. “Feels like I’m putting the finishing touches to a masterpiece.” You add in a lame chuckle, feeling a little flustered yourself the more you note how his eyes water at the tickle. They shine so pretty.

He laughs out at your comment, a hand shooting to your wrist as you smear the liner on him. Not to be intimate or anything, just simply to steady your hand more.

“I guess I am kinda the canvas like this, huh?” He comments, standing as still as he can while looking up at the moon. “Hey–”

“Hm?” You say, pulling your hand back now and doing the same with your thumb to smear the make up into perfection on his flawless little face. 

“What kind of gum is that?” He asks, blinking a few times before adjusting his eyes properly and pretending like he can’t feel the waxy substance caked on his lashes. 

“Just regular spearmint.” You give him a half smile. “Why, you want a piece?” 

He nods, mostly because if he had known you were going to get this close to his face, he probably would have already had some type of candy in his mouth.

Again, it’s not like he has feelings or anything. It’s just, well, it’s always intimate to have someone so close to you. In your space. Your bubble. No one ever gets that close unless they want to kiss. Or, he guesses, if they’re putting eyeliner on you. 

“You look really cute,” You comment now, stepping back after giving him a piece of gum and looking over how the smeared makeup really does complete his look. “Should’ve brought one of my chokers too. Now that, yeah.” 

“Huh?” He tilts his head as the two of you move up the line. “You’re really into this kind of scene aren’t you?”

You nod shyly. 

“Was a total mall goth back when I was a teenager. I would’ve stalked you around the mall if you looked like this back then, really. Totally my type.”

He lends a bashful blink and a half-hearted laugh, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking to the ground. 

“Well, when I was a teenager I looked like the person who invented calculus.” 

“And now you’re just a little work of art, huh?” You continue the cringey art-jokes, mostly because you like the way he tries to pretend they’re funny rather than utterly horrifying. 

And he does smile at it, ears flowing with heat as he blushes. He probably wouldn’t feel so shy if it weren’t for the fact that he also heard compliments all day about his art. He’s a bit sensitive right now.

“I guess so.” He accepts your compliment like all the others, lifting his shoulder to his cheek with a squinted eye. It’s nice to feel like the world’s favorite person for a night, truly.

And the conversation is even easier from here on out. Albeit, a bit flirty but it stills platonic enough to where the two of you are just…in a comfortable little bubble surrounded by faces you don’t know. Perhaps playing the part of being two individuals who came to a club together rather than separately and alone. 

As the hours pass, there are several strangers approaching the two of you. Words of “need a third?” and “well aren’t you two just fucking perfect?” 

Jungwon basks in it, snickering quietly with you but never denying a single accusation. The two of you play along. Drinking, dancing, and then more drinking. Up until Jungwon decides he’s held his bladder long enough and is off in search of a bathroom while you make your way to the bar. 

For more drinks, of course. Not to hit on the bartender you met the first time you came here.

“Another red death?” The man with inky red hair smiles at you, already grabbing a glass and starting your drink. 

“Yes but, can I actually–” You pause, glancing at the other man behind the bar. 

Red haired man laughs knowingly with a nod and a side eye before pointing silently at his co-worker and raising a brow at you.

You nod back, dipping your face only slightly when you see him take two steps back and whisper to the man. 

Instantly, you feel a bit more shy over asking to be served by this guy but goddamn. His dark hair looks slightly damp when his eyes glance to you upon whatever is being whispered in his ear, probably from something spewing in his face after being shaken up, or perhaps from sweat. 

You try to avoid eye contact under the man’s gaze when he walks over and in front of you. Sharp jaw, silver chain, loose black t-shirt revealing equally as damp collar bones.

God. The shirt is sticking to him. 

“Babe, my eyes are up here.” He laughs, holding an empty cup and leaning on the bar towards you. “Had a little too much to drink again?” 

You nod, dazed by his dark eyes before immediately shaking your head. 

“Red death, please. Two of them.” 

The man nods with a knowing smile. 

“I saw that you came here with someone.” 

He’s flirting. Mostly for tips but it’s not like he hasn’t been known to take people home from work before so, wherever it goes is where it goes for him. 

“Jay, can you grab me the-” The red haired bartender says from behind, and Jay, presumably, hands him a bottle without so much as letting him finish the sentence. 

“He’s cute.” Jay continues talking to you, enjoying the way you don’t realize how you fold in on yourself. “Any reason as to why you asked me to make your drink?”

“Um, oh,” You were gonna be bold, but you feel Jungwon suddenly clinging to you from behind, eyeing the bartender just like you are. “I just think you make them better.” 

“Did he just say I’m cute?” Jungwon whispers behind your ear, watching the man’s hands as he makes the drinks with expert knowledge. 

“You’re both cute.” The bartender smirks, looking between both of you and then offering a wink. “This round is on me.” He adds, sliding both cups forward and brushing your hand just for a moment before turning his attention to someone else. 

Honestly, it’s like you and Jungwon are the same person at this moment when you grab your drinks and you turn to face each other. 

Both of you, bouncing on your feet with whispered squeals over the hot bartender including both of you in the compliment. 

“Oh my god.” You stare forward, tasting the drink and noting that there somehow seems to be more alcohol in this one. “He’s so–”

Jungwon nods to you excitedly, sipping his drink quickly before glancing behind you and meeting the eye of the bartender again. 

“He was just looking at your ass.” He comments, flipping his body to cling to your arm and now turning his back to Jay “You think he’s gonna check mine out too?”

You nod with a snicker, the song changing and the tempo instantly drowning your thoughts. 

“I love this song!” You shout with drunken glee, already making your way from the bar but keeping that little thought that hopefully, Jay will keep glancing at the two of you simply because it’s fun to be watched by a hottie. 

And Jungwon just goes with your flow. Dancing with sticky sweet lips, eyes glazed over from the music and mood. His makeup looks more beautiful now paired with strands of his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen dimples so fucking deep before, and it’s almost painful to remember his face without that smile plastered on it. 

“Wonnie,” You grab him by the shoulder and pull him against you, ignoring how his hair dips into your drink for a moment. “I think you’re my best friend.”

And the way he pulls back with a gasp, smiling wider? It shatters your heart just so it can grow larger. 

“I am?” He does a little bounce through his dance move, eyes shining in the strobe lights, flashes of red and purple shading his cheeks, only deepening those dimples. “Really?”

Never have you enjoyed spending time with someone like this. Never without crushing hard, never without wanting to take them home and fuck them until you can’t walk. Jungwon is different though. He really does feel like a long lost best friend, like the part of you that has been missing for far too long. 

The moment you met him, you clicked in a way that didn’t involve a dick or a hole. I mean, sure you’d probably fuck him for funsies but there’s really no point in it because you feel perfectly happy, perfectly fulfilled, just having him spend his free time with you. 

Surely when he has to travel back home, you’re going to cry. 

“Why do you have to live so far away?” You pause your dancing, making yourself sad at the thought that he will only be here for a few weeks. “Who am I gonna hang out with when you leave?”

Jungwon lends you a pouty sound, a coo, almost. 

“I only live an hour away.” He laughs, leaning forward and plastering his sweaty forehead to yours with a slurred shout so you can hear him clearly. “I’ll come see you all the time!” 

And with that, the mood seeps right back into your veins as the smile overtakes you. 

You dance with him, forehead to forehead for a long, long, while. Up until the club is so crowded with people that Jay couldn’t possibly be paying attention to anything other than making drinks, and you couldn’t possibly pay attention to anything other than the music vibrating the alcohol in your stomach. 

It’s almost suffocating, as you feel a pang in your chest of overheated anxiety. You breathe in, smelling the fifth piece of gum that Jungwon slipped from your pocket on his breath. You exhale, smelling your own sweet alcohol breath before pulling back and dragging Jungwon by the hand into the only corner not packed with people. 

“You okay?” Jungwon slurs as he sways in front of you, eyes trying their best to seem concerned. “You look like you might get sick.” 

You nod, feeling your mouth fill with warm saliva indicating that you should probably go to the bathroom now. 

“Okay, lets get you to-” 

You cut Jungwon off with an off balance sprint to the bathroom and somehow he keeps pace with you, gripping your shirt and refusing to lose you in the crowd. 

Unfortunately, as you press on your stomach to somehow hold down whatever is trying to come up, you notice how there’s a very long line for the bathroom. 

And it’s still suffocating in here. 

And your mouth tastes too sweet. And the music is too loud.

“Let’s go outside!” Jungwon shouts against your ear, vibrating your brain as he navigates you through the crowd himself, pressing you up against the front doors of the club before pushing you outside with him close behind.

The waft of breezy summer air instantly fills your lungs and your stomach settles at the space you have to yourself now. 

You stumble forward, making your way around the same concerned bouncer from before who only smiles at you and Jungwon struggling to find your footing. 

And, like the best friend you knew he became, he tries his best to be the sober friend right now. His voice wavers and crackers when he speaks, but his hands are firm on both of your shoulders as he presses you against the wall behind you. 

“Stay here.” Jungwon says with concern still in his voice. “I’m gonna run back in and get us some water, okay?” 

And you nod in a daze as your eyes follow him when he disappears back inside. You note how he says something to the bouncer before opening the doors, and surely he simply asked that the guy keep an eye on you. 

“You should probably eat something soon, sweetheart.” The kind bouncer comments to you in the night air, stepping closer to you and standing just against the wall next to you.

You feel protected by him, so there are no alarm bells ringing. 

“You know I can’t let you back in, right?” He chuckles as he speaks to you calmly. 

“Oh, I bet.” You laugh, breathing in the air again and again, still not regretting the fun you’ve had for the past few hours. “Just gonna sit here and wait for Wonnie, he’ll help me get home.”

“Good, good.” The bouncer confirms your words, still standing protective next to you when you hear the doors fly open and a few seconds of booming music before it’s muffled again. 

Jungwon flops down in front of you on the sidewalk now, two water bottles in hand with a smile on his face. 

“Jay gave me these.” He smiles. “He said if we can handle waiting til closing time he can drive us home.”

You laugh sheepishly. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too drunk and you know you probably wont make it another hour and a half with an additional however much time it’ll take for him to close up the club before needing to pass the fuck out. 

“I think I’ll have to take him up on that next time.” You slur your words. “You’ll help me walk home right, Wonnie? It’s a short walk.” 

Jungwon nods, still doing his best to act as sober as he can, but the bouncer shuts him down fast.

“Oh, I don’t think so buddy.” The bouncer laughs. “You’re both fucked out of your mind.” 

You laugh, Jungwon laughs, and the bouncer throws in his own hearty sigh. 

“Fuck–” You have a sudden, sober thought. “The tab. Jungwon, did we pay the tab?”

He pauses, eyes widening. 

“Shit.” He explains before jumping up on unsteady feet. “Can you help her call for a ride?” He slurs out at the bouncer, only disappearing inside again when the kind goth nods at the request.

And as you sit here in the silence after the bouncer helps you order a ride, a few minutes pass. Your eyes are out of focus as you stare up into the night sky before closing them. 

You could fall asleep right here on the sidewalk if you’re not careful. 

Another few minutes pass, now a loud slam of the doors rings in your tired ears now and you jolt out of the drowsy state, opening your eyes thinking you’ll find Jungwon rushing to you but instead, you note how suddenly you’re entirely alone. 

You don’t know how long you’ve sat here, or where the bouncer went, better yet why Jungwon isn’t back yet but what you do know is that suddenly, you’re mind is sober and fucking assaulted by the smell of cinnamon.

You glance around, trying to focus on the scent and where it’s coming from when– oh.

There, walking down the sidewalk is that fucking priest from before. Tall, clad yet again in black clothes, and he simply pauses his step in front of you. 

“Again?” The man calls out to you with an amused voice, lending you his hand, but you don’t take it. 

Instead, the doors suddenly fly open and Jungwon stumbles out again, nearly tripping over his own feet with an apology of “sorry, jay was trying to convince us to–”

“Uh, hi?” Jungwon interrupts himself as he takes note of the man standing in front of you. “The fuck are you?” He checks the man out, not quite able to focus on him in full.

The priest nods his head at both of you, staring Jungwon up and down before landing his eyes back on you. 

“Get her home safe.” He says nothing else before continuing his nightly stroll. 

And, well, you do get home safe. 

You and Jungwon are a mess of limbs in the short ride to your apartment, and an even messier pile of idiots by the time you make it inside. The couch is long forgotten by the time you close your front door, feeling Jungwon follow you all the way to your plush bed with drunken groans and giggles.

There, you flop onto the bed fully clothed without so much as a happy “goodnight” and you’re both drifting off to sleep. Jungwon’s heavy limbs are thrown on you as he loosely spoons you. Like he’s still trying to take care of you despite the fact that you no longer feel sick, and you’re both perfectly safe behind your apartment walls. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Have you no shame? 

Fuck no. 

What about Jungwon? Nah.

Both of you have a pep in your step by the next Friday, waiting for the museum to close so Jungwon can walk home with you and get all dressed up and ready for another fall into the infamous “after life”.

“We should try to stay until closing, maybe Jay will bring us home this time.” Jungwon wiggles his eyebrows as you put his eyeliner on for him again. 

“We’re gonna have to look real good then, yeah?” You smile at his pretty smeared eyes, reaching your hand up and ruffling his hair.

And you do. Both of you dress up in the darkest, blackest, sexiest fit you can find in your closet. Jungwon is sporting one of your pretty, sheer lace undershirts beneath his own unbuttoned black cardigan, pants tight and low on his waist. 

You, with another semi-transparent shirt. Sheer, showing all the goods if you hadn’t put on a nice fitting bralette under it. Cute skirt that shows your thighs, the stompers, of course. 

And the finishing touch this time? Matching chokers. 

“Cute.” You comment, leaning forward and popping a minty kiss to the tip of Jungwon’s nose. 

“You too.” He smiles, pinching your waist before turning to face your vanity mirror and checking himself out. 

Cute is right. Jay’s probably gonna fall to the floor when he gets a look at the two of you. 

And, well. The night is a blur. 

Jay does, in fact, eye the two of you with that sharp smirk like he did last weekend but you, unfortunately, drink far too much yet again. 

Jungwon slowed down a bit towards midnight but he kept an eye on you for the most part. Trying to secure the ride for both of you by orbiting around the bar and making flirty talk with both bartenders when time allowed it. 

You stayed on the dance floor through it. Sometimes dancing with Jungwon when he comes up behind you with clingy hands and updates on the Jay situation, but after a few songs he’d wander off again. 

It’s nice, kind of. Having someone with you that can maintain control through your own drunken stupidity. You don’t mind dancing alone, after all, you’re not entirely alone giving the pretty men and girls who come by to dance with you every other song when Jungwon isn’t around.

And of course, around the same time as last time, you find your mind feeling suffocated by the time the club is at capacity. 

You sway on the dance floor in search of Jungwon, unsure of which way the bar is because your eyes simply can’t adjust to the darkness and flashing lights by this point. 

Dimples. You need to find the sunshine face in this void of darkness. 

And you search. 

And search. 

Until you’re stumbling out the front doors alone, knowing that if Jungwon is looking for you, he’ll probably know you stepped out to breathe at some point. 

Just like the week before, the crip summer air outside instantly settles your stomach and breathing comes easier. You feel more sober than you thought you were as you sit here, making small talk with the bouncer who finally introduces himself to you. 

“That’s a good name for a big goth teddy bear.” You mock the man. “Balor.”

“In the flesh.” The man waves you off. 

And then, suddenly, the bouncer is stepping closer to you with a stiffened shoulder, the air outside shifting to something else for him, but you’re completely unaware of it. 

“I need to step inside for a moment, will you be alright for a few minutes?” He knows he shouldn’t step inside, but in all fairness, it’s kind of the protocol at this point. 

Considering that man has made himself very clear that if he’s near the club at all, it’s for good reason and he’s not to be interrupted. At least, that’s what code is for the bouncers here at this club. 

It’s a shame though, to know he has to leave you to the night. You’re a fun girl, peppy and sweet, not rude or hard to make small talk with on the long nights of work. Maybe you drink a little too much, but still. It’s not like the bouncer knows why he is to leave the sidewalk when a certain someone wanders by. What he does know is that more often than not, he’ll sink away inside only to resume his position alone, with no one left on the sidewalk.

Probably just a pimp. 

Or human trafficking. 

He isn’t sure, but time and time again he has been told to leave it be. That it’s nothing wretched. That it’s simply a territory that isn’t their own. 

Still, you nod to the bouncer. 

“If you see Wonnie, can you scold him for letting me get lost?” 

You miss the look of concern on the bouncer’s face. 

“Hey, come back inside, I’ll help you find him.”

“Oh, hello again.” A voice echoes from around the corner, causing the bouncer’s shoulders to fall as he immediately offers you a small “I'll find him–” before disappearing behind the heavy doors with haste. 

And then, cinnamon. The spicy scent wafting through you so fast that you’re almost dizzy. 

More dizzy than you already were, anyway.

“Have you learned nothing?” The priest walks up to you, chuckling and raising his eyebrows. 

“Weird ass priest.” You say, paying no mind to the happenings of just now, totally unaware of the energy surrounding you.

“And to what god do you believe I pray?” He tilts his head as he stands in front of you, hands behind his back, leaning down at the waist to position his face in front of yours. 

The question makes you look up at him with a skewed brow. 

“The usual one?” You ask, rolling your eyes at the silly meeting. 

Again.

A third meeting. 

“Ah, the usual one.” He mocks, nodding his head before standing back up and towering over you. “Do you seek him out?” 

You nod momentarily, having never been religious but at this moment, as drunk as you are and as alone as you feel with this strange man, only god could answer your curious question as to why you keep meeting him. 

As to why you’re always all on your own when he appears. 

As to why he forces a hope in your mind that god is really out there, and he’ll protect you when the bouncer isn’t here.

“Was that a nod?” He smiles at you, landing a cold hand on your shoulder. 

“Yes,” You whisper out, feeling heavy and more and more dizzy by the moment. Not from the alcohol but from something else. “Do you know where I can find him?” 

Your voice calls out on its own to him. You don’t recall wanting to ask him that, nor do you recall even thinking those words before saying them.

“He’s right here, love–” The priest pulls back, presenting the space in front of him before turning his hands inward and presenting himself to you. “I am God.”

You freeze, a rush of cold running through your veins. Surely you’re hearing him wrong despite that voice echoing those words in your head three, four, five, six times. 

“Isn’t that considered blasphemy?” You try to play it off in a joke, hiding the chill down your spine. 

Pretending you’re not interested. 

Wondering why it is that you are, actually. 

“Perhaps on any other street.” He confirms for you, now crouching down and showing his face plainly to you. “Do you keep secrets?” 

Your body nods before you can think to do it yourself, and you narrow your eyes for a moment at him. He’s…insane looking. Unnaturally flawless. Like those little speckles of moles on his face were placed with perfected intention. 

You’re mesmerized as he looks at you, eyes glancing to each part of your face, watching your expression change and fall, then rise and– he chuckles fondly, deeply. 

“I believe you.”

Why do you feel proud of that?

“Come back with me, yes?” 

There’s a long pause as you fight to think for yourself. If Jungwon were here with you right now, surely you’d be more grounded than you feel right now. Surely, you’d be having a heated conversation involving some sort of shared fantasy over that bartender. 

What was his name again? 

J…J-

Your eyes adjust to the face in front of you as you lose your train of thought. Something inside of you pulls. You can’t tell if it’s your heart or your thoughts but it appears to be instinctual when you replay his invitation in your head. On any other night, with any other man, you’d say no. 

Under these circumstances alone, you should be running away. 

This man. Dressed as a holy priest, walking to and fro from what you assume to be his home within that unnatural cathedral, presenting himself as god.

You should stand up and disappear into a crowd of rowdy dancers. 

You should find Jungwon and cling to him. 

You should push him away, and you should be recoiling by his cold hand that brushes your cheek. His voice shouldn’t feel so good in your ears. Like a siren, something inside of you doesn’t want you to run. 

“Temptation has you by the throat, my dear.” He smiles as his hand brushes your warm cheek again and again. “You seem rather fond of the feeling.” 

And now he flashes his teeth to you. Glistening brighter than the moon, he appears all but natural to you at this moment when you spiral internally at how fucking beautiful he is. Surely this guy is just a turbo goth that truly lives the life. Probably gives his heart to satan and only fucks during a full moon. 

And oh, wouldn’t you know.

You glance up at the sky again, the moon full and nearly pulsing in the sky like it’s a living being itself. Then your eyes fall back to the priest, his smile still present. 

A weirdo. A freak.

But…aren’t you too?

You barely feel yourself stand up and take a step forward under his arm. You follow the scent of him if nothing else. Heavy in your nose, like a hidden treasure cloaked by the darkened fabric draping over his body.

You want to smell it deeper. Maybe if he were to take off those clothes you could–

“By the throat.” He mumbles quietly as he leads you away from the club. 

Away from familiarity. Away from Jungwon. Away from the public.

There, straight back to that damned cathedral.

You’re more unnerved this time though, because the moment you step through the doors, you cannot, for the life of you, recall what you were supposed to be doing. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up with a weight on your side, you smile at the feeling of what you assume to be Jungwon next to you. As you lay here, not quite comprehending what happened in the blur of the night before, you start to take note of something. Color. 

The light behind your closed eyelids don’t match the yellow-white light of the sun shining through your bedroom window. No, you’re seeing colors. 

Blue, red, green– 

“Wonnie?” You call out, squinting your eyes open, not quite processing the room before you feel a pit in your stomach. “Wonnie?”

Holy shit. 

You thought it was a dream.

You thought coming back to this cathedral was nothing more than a drunken dream. That the weight on your side was more than just a misplaced pillow. 

And as you lay here in a room that isn’t yours, and most certainly a different room compared to the one you slept in previously here, you try to think. 

Was it not a dream? 

The way the priest held you close and inhaled you? The way he put you to bed and left you here in the darkness? The way you– oh. 

This feeling in your chest, pulling, pushing, weighing so heavy. Something inside of you wants to see him despite your uncomfortable awakening. No, you need to see him. This feeling, you know now, only becomes more aggressive when he’s near too. Which can only mean he isn’t far outside of this room. 

You think hard about him and what you can remember outside of the blur in your head. He’s attractive. His face is otherworldly, with eyes so dark you hate that you can very nearly see yourself floating in them. 

The image of his face sits clearly in your hungover brain as you try to think. The feeling of his cold skin against your face, his lips, his…

Red.

Panic washes over you when you jump out of bed, ignoring the head rush and the way you immediately topple over and onto the floor. You need to go home, you need to find Jungwon and make sure he made it somewhere safe last night. You need to find your phone, and your…purse? 

Your shoes?

Where the fuck are your things?

You plant your hands against the cold wooden floors, staring straight down as you try to think. Still, nothing comes but blurry images of the club and then solid images of Sunghoon flashing like still photographs behind your eyes.

Are you losing your goddamn mind? 

Finally, you take a deep breath and stand on your feet, rushing for the door and expecting it to open easily, just like last time. But no. It’s locked. You’re fucking locked in. Which is– fuck, you can’t think straight. And while you still recognize that you’re not expected at work today, surely Jungown is worried, right?

He’s probably looking for you. Hell, with the way his nerves get to him, you wouldn’t be surprised to know he’s plastered posters all over the city looking for you. 

He’s definitely looking for you. 

Fortunately though, only a few minutes of pure panic pass when you hear the door unlock and a pale-eyed nun opens the door for you. She instantly sees the fear in your eyes when you take a timid step back. 

“Oh, you poor dear–” She coos out, lifting her brows in pity. “Do you not remember?” 

You hear her sympathy, feeling your body shiver with relief at her safe and calm voice. Looking up at her, she can already see the question in your eyes. The need for an explanation. 

“You did request that I lock the door for you. You were just simply petrified when–”

You gasp at her choice of words, not remembering a single bit of fear from the night before. 

“Petrified?” You whisper carefully, wrapping your arms around yourself and nervously looking around the room. 

The shrouded woman purses her lips, glancing away from you. 

“I do believe Master Sunghoon startled you. He meant no harm, my dear.” She tries to calm your nerves, but the information only stiffens your shoulders more. 

“Master?” You question with hesitation. “Do you mean Father? Reverend?” 

“Oh.” She purses her lips tighter now, a small smile breaking out at the corners of her lips. “It’s worse than I thought. Please, come with me.” 

You shake your head, backing yourself up against the wall. 

“It’ll only be a minute,” She waves her hand for you to come. “You’re not in danger, I assure you.” 

And as you stand here, knowing that you likely have no choice but to follow her, you hope that her words indicating no danger are truthful. You kind of need them to be, after all. 

“Come now, dear.” 

Reluctantly, you follow her. 

All the way up a too-dark spiral staircase, down two long and dark hallways with vaulted ceilings, and upon rounding a corner, you smell it and you fucking feel a tug in your chest. One that drives you to walk a bit faster, nearly in front of the nun as your feet carry you to where you feel you’re supposed to be. 

She chuckles when you reach the large double doors before she does, dipping her head at you before seemingly gliding back down the hallway in silence. 

Before you can even knock on the doors, they open with a rush of air hitting you square in your face. It nearly knocks the breath out of you at first, but you inhale deeply the same scent of cinnamon before your breath is actually caught in your throat. 

There stands the priest. Or god…or whatever he is. 

“Terrified.” He clicks a knowing tongue at you, stepping to the side to invite you into the extravagant room. “Just when I thought I had you too.” 

You stand in silence in front of him after stepping inside, that tug in your chest trying to pull you directly against the man. Still, you refrain with furrowed brows as you remain silent.

“And yet, here you stand.” He softens his frustrated voice, leaning comfortably against a wooden desk behind him. “The human brain truly is fascinating.” 

“Human brain.” You repeat his words to him in an attempt to process them.

“Yes, of course. Yours in particular.” The priest, in his night clothes of a loosened white shirt and long pants makes his way to a bookcase. You watch his slender fingers pull a ratty old book out before he flip through the pages. “I’ve heard about people like you.” 

You pause as you watch him push a pair of gold-trimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, a memory flooding to the forefront of your mind as you recall last night to your best ability. 

Again, red. 

“I used to be like you.” He just talks, offering no context but keeping his sharp gaze on you despite having the book open in his hands. 

You find yourself nodding as you listen, feeling your hand raise to your heart as you try to ignore the way the priest, Sunghoon, takes a deep inhale. 

There’s nothing that follows his inhale. He doesn’t release that breath as he stares at you and instead just…smirks.

“Last night, you believed me to be god.” He smiles wider now. “You stood in that very spot and undressed  yourself.” He takes a step closer to you now, tilting his head with his words. “Do you know what you did next?” 

A shaky breath leaves your lips and a shiver runs through you again and again as you shake your head at him. Forgetting just for a moment how to speak. 

“You got on your knees and you prayed.”

You drink the thick air in the room like a glass of wine, swallowing harshly, struggling to maintain any type of steady heart beat. You feel allured, aroused, mesmerized, embarrassed. 

“What–” Inhale. “Did I pray for?” 

Exhale. 

“Me.” 

Inhale.

Within a split second all the memories come crashing through your skull. Rattling images of that very instance where you were on your knees, right here, fucking praying. Your hand instinctively shoots up to your neck, and there, you feel the drainage points. Two small pricks, just like in all of those movies you watched growing up. Sore, swollen, hot to the touch. 

Well, goddamn. 

There goes your balance. Your eyes start to blur and you feel yourself fall. Only, you don’t. You can’t when you hear him drop the book to the floor and feel his cold body shoot up and against you to hold you up. 

He says nothing at first as he looks down at you, and you couldn’t say anything if you wanted to. You look up at him in a daze, trying to focus, trying to think, but all you can process is the way he inhales again, deeply.

“You ran.” He whispers to you, studying your face and the way your body went from limp to almost holding up on its own in a shorter time than he expected. So strong, you are. Such a fighter.

He inhales again, seemingly drowning in the smell of you before rolling his eyes up and closing them just for a moment. Then, he groans before looking back down at you with eyes almost as dazed as yours.

“You didn’t run away, though.” He adds.

Even as he releases his hold on you, he smiles and inches his face closer and closer to yours. Almost as if he’s making an attempt to stare straight through you. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped you, love.” 

Your body feels weak as you soak in the truth of last night, your lips instinctively wanting to kiss him. No longer do you feel the need to run away, or to find Jungwon. You’re no longer afraid, even. 

Words can’t explain how you feel right now.

“Why didn’t you leave?” 

You have no answers for him when you hum out as a response. In fact, you’re not sure if you’ve ever had the ability to answer questions in the first place. 

All you feel is euphoria as he continues to talk to you, sweetly smiling and lowering his voice to something that drips like thick syrup down the walls of your brain. 

“I can trust you’ll be back then?” He hovers his lips over yours, watching you pucker them for him before backing away with another deep inhale of your scent. “Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?”

You find yourself laughing at that, smiling as you blink at him. 

God, he’s so charming. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon had shoo’d you away shortly after, and you managed to make it home in a daze of sunlight and uncanny admiration.

You’re not sure if you can ever feel normal again after that. In fact, you’re quite dissociated and disconnected to the world until you find Jungwon slumped at the entrance of your apartment, sound asleep. 

Like a guiding light, his presence grounds you so fast that you feel more dizzy than you did in Sunghoon’s arms. Like your spirit is slammed back into your body and reality is hitting you again. You crouch down in a rush with light taps to Jungwon’s face, those bright eyes widening the moment he realizes that you’re here. 

“Where were you?”  He whispered drowsily, his dry throat forcing his voice to crack as he shifts his body comfortably against your door. 

Immediately, your face is apologetic and your voice is soothing in repeated apologies. 

“I’m sorry, Wonnie–” You hiccup, nearly wanting to cry. “I ended up going home with someone, I didn’t mean to leave you there alone.” You continue, pushing your hands under his arms and hoisting him up to stand. “I’m sorry.” You continue, and continue. “I should have left my keys with you, or–”

“Hey,” He whispers sweetly, finally standing on his own and stretching his arms out with an even drier sound. “It’s okay, you’re the one who missed out.” 

You tilt your head in question as you reach for your shoulder bag, the one Sunghoon had tucked within his desk drawer, and pull out your keys. 

“Oh?” You smile at his lack of care, but part of you kind of shatters at it. 

What if you really needed help? How long would it have taken Jungwon to see the red flags? Then again, how long is it going to take for you to see the red flags?

“Oh yeah.” He nods to you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you push open your door and push him inside. “Jay brought me here, he stayed for a little while, even offered to bring me back to his place.”

You’re a little jealous. You did miss out, it seems. Still, you feel…fond of what you went through last night. Despite the feeling of rot within you when you think about it. Knowing it’s weird. Strange. Unnatural.

A vampire? Really? Surely not. 

“Why didn’t you go home with him?” You ask, making your way to your room right behind Jungwon, paying no mind to him as you undress and throw on a t-shirt. “Why’d you sleep at my door?” 

Jungwon shrugs, now taking his own outfit off while rummaging through your closet for a shirt you probably got from an ex boyfriend. 

“Well,” He looks at you now, really looks at you. “I’m fine if you wanna go home with people but I was a little worried, wanted to make sure you’d actually make it home.”

You pause as you dress yourself for a second sleep, feeling something in your chest flutter out of you at his worry. So he did see the color red. 

Not as brightly as you did, but he still saw it. 

“I really am sorry.” You furrow your brows as you watch him put that over-sized shirt on and lay on your bed. “I promise, I won’t do that again.” 

“You’d better not.” He chuckles, blinking at you and waiting for you to come lay with him. 

“Let me go get us some water first, I think we have a lot to sleep off.” 

He nods happily to you, only one dimple peeking out at you when you turn to head for the kitchen.

And after that, it’s nice. Not much sleep happened though, mostly just a lot of water chugging and pillow talk before Jungwon shifts with a gasp.

“What the fuck is that?” He bolts up, hovering over you and practically pinning you to the bed as he forces your face to the side. 

You know exactly what he’s looking at and explaining it isn’t the hardest thing in the world. After all, you were very drunk last night. So drunk that you’re sure you woke up today still drunk. 

A vampire? Hah. There’s no way. You were right to think Sunghoon is just like, really goth. Embarrassingly so. Probably thinks he’s a vampire lord or something. 

That pull in your chest? The inhales with no exhales? 

It’s all an act and, well, you’re kinda into it if you’re being honest, being hunted and all. The dude is hot as hell, and you don’t mind exploring a little bit of his world. 

“Well…” You trail off, lending your looming friend with the smeared eyes an embarrassed smile. 

“Those look deep.” His voice drips in concern as he keeps your face turned. “Did it hurt?”

You feel his fingers touching the two puncture wounds. Gentle, warm fingers. They pulse at the touch and sting when he pulls them away to let you turn your face back to him.

“To be honest, I don’t remember feeling it.” You think he’d probably panic if you told the truth right now. About how you were clearly too drunk when it happened. About how you prayed to a man only for him to pierce your neck and drink you up like you did to the drinks just hours prior. You aren’t even sure if you had sex with the guy.

To you though, sober or not, you probably would have still left with Sunghoon last night. With that flawless skin and those dark eyes. Sober or not, if he’s into biting and blood, you’re into it too. More than willing to play his victim. 

The fact that you were probably far too drunk at the time doesn’t bother you much because even now, with a grasp on reality, you’d like to think you’d let him do it again. If anything, just to feed your own curiosity.

“Wow, you really are into some freaky stuff–” Jungwon comments playfully, rolling back off of you and then taking a breath. “Make sure you clean them. Who knows where the mouth that did it has been.”

All smiles when you’re with Jungwon, honestly. So much comfort and concern, so much laughing and safety. If it weren’t for him, you honestly wouldn’t know how you’d be feeling right now. And it’s nice knowing that he opts to sleep over with you again. Seemingly preferring your apartment over the home he dropped a hefty wad of cash on for a two month stay. 

The feeling of having a best friend swells inside of you with each passing day, and his presence here allows you to go to work and sleep through the night without much more thought to Sunghoon. You love this city and you love the little artist that found himself at your doorstep even more. 

Hopefully he meant it when he said he’d come visit you all the time once his time here is over. Unlike you, who changed your mind the moment you saw Jungwon asleep at your door. 

“I can trust you’ll be back then? Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?” Sunghoon had said to you. You remember it despite the state of your mind at the time, and you also remember nodding to him. 

He seemed satisfied with your confirmation, yet since then you’ve felt no push or pull. No need to have him sucking on your neck or making you feel like he’s a demon wearing the skin of an angel. 

Perhaps you’ll just need to be sure you don’t find yourself drunk and alone on the sidewalk again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By mid-week, Jungwon looks sad to know he needs to go back to his respective space for a little while. Not because he wants to, and not even because you want him to. 

It’s simply because you need to be alone. You’ve always needed to be in your own space when this happens anyway. 

Month after month after month. For years and years. 

It never gets comfortable and you’ll never understand why you’re fated to hurt so badly every twenty two days. 

Going to work is already difficult enough, bloated in your quirky outfits and smiling through the twisting knots in your gut. Having Jungwon in your space when you very nearly want to strangle every person who asks you how your day has been would only lead to more owed apologies. 

“It’s not forever, Wonnie.” You genuinely smile through the pain at his narrowed eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” He throws his arms up and motions at you. “You just told me you need a few days to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” 

“Well, yeah...” You laugh and he frowns. 

“I have a sister, you know.” He rolls his eyes. “Who’s gonna buy you snacks and bring you microwaved water bottles?”

“Jungwon.” You land your hands on his shoulders and force him to look at you. “I really just don’t like when people are around me when I'm on my period.” 

He blows a strand of his hair up before pursing his lips, accepting the fact that maybe he’s a bit too clingy. Then again, you’re the only person in this city he knows and arguably the only person in this world he’s managed to grow so close with.

Given the fact that the two of you only met like, what? Two weeks ago? He should probably tone it down and not make an attempt to change your lifestyle just so he can sleep next to someone. 

“Fine.” He huffs, frowning harder. “But if you need snacks or–”

“I’ll call you.” You shake his shoulders before forcing him into a bear hug. “Thanks though.” 

And with that, you go your separate ways at the end of the work day and try to ignore how the pain medicine did close to nothing all day to help with the twisting in your abdomen. 

Still, you’re relieved to know you can tough out the next few days in silence due to Jungwon backing you up on your false-sickness nonsense nearing the end of your shift. 

“I feel like I’m coming down with a fever.” You whined to your boss, happy that the first day cold-sweats from your period makes it appear as just that. A fever. 

“She’s been a bit out of it all day. If you need me to help out on the down-low while she’s recovering, I don’t mind.” Jungwon had added, smiling at your boss and not at all bothered by the unpaid work he’ll probably have to do for your sake. 

A great friend he is. You’re lucky to have met him. 

An amazing friend, really. For helping you find space for yourself in crowded clubs and within your own bed. For lending a hand at work and showing up every day for your shifts despite simply being an artist that’s presenting his work there. No where is he needed within that museum outside of, well, you. 

And he’s always there. So for him to not be here now, when you’re making your way to your apartment door? It feels...wrong. Mostly because, as alone as you are when you walk inside and as silent as it is, you don’t entirely feel as alone like you once did here. 

Still, you go about your nightly routine and fall into bed with those same cramps in your gut. It’s not long before you’re drifting off, pleased to know that at least when you’re sleeping, there’s no pain in your body. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A strong scent wakes you, forcing your eyes open in the darkness of your room. 

Familiar. Warm. Spicy.

Cinnamon.

A tug, just a little pull inside of you brings you to your feet as you wander through your apartment. Straight to the front door. Straight out of the front door. 

“You know where I live?” You whisper drowsily, rubbing your eyes and walking straight into his grasp, ignoring the feeling of sticky blood leaking out of you just from getting out of bed alone.

“No.” Sunghoon speaks against your hair, rubbing your arms as he holds you against him. 

“Oh.” You accept his answer with a nonchalant feeling inside of you. Who even cares how he ended up here? 

“Come back with me?” He whispers, already taking a step back and smiling wickedly when you instantly follow, forcing your nose further against his chest and up to his neck. “I hear it dripping, love, come.”

And you do. All the way downstairs and into a car with heavily tinted windows. 

You feel comfortable, safe. 

The cramps in your belly are nowhere near as you slowly but surely come to your senses. Half-awake but feeling buzzed next to him. Still, you smile while keeping your nose planted up and against his neck even as he drives. 

You like the sound of his little laughs each time he tries to push you back to your seat, and you like even more the way he mutters to himself through it when he relents and lets you do as you please. The short drive in the dead of night doesn’t offer much in terms of danger anyway. 

And slowly still, your mind clears. Breaking out of the buzzed fog when he brings you through the cathedral

 silently. Past the pale-eyed nuns with pursed smiling lips, past the windows and hallways. 

No longer are you buzzed by the time you make it through those heavy doors of the extravagant room. The same one you prayed in. The same one you nearly fainted in. The same one you tried to forget. 

“How do you feel?” He asks just moments after the doors close. 

You can sense the slightest bit of hesitation in his voice when he asks you that, only now realizing that you’re in your pajamas and fucking staining them.

“What do you mean?” You ask, squeezing your legs together in an uncomfortable show of what’s happening between them. 

“Are you awake?” He asks now, still slightly hesitant in front of you. You can almost see him hold himself back. 

From something.

“As far as I know.” You tilt your head, glancing around the room. “Um, can I go to the bathro–”

“Can you read that clock?” He interrupts you and points to the candle-lit wall. 

“Three thirty–” You pause, squinting to make sense of the exact minute. “three.” 

He smiles at the fact that you’re entirely awake with him this time, despite the drowsy lure he had you in when he appeared at your door. 

You’re here of your own free will, and you’re not running. 

“Do you want to go home?” 

You’re confused by the questions. As confused and drunk as you felt upon stumbling out your apartment door, you very much came here willingly. If anything, you’re just a little weirded out by the fact that you were paying such close attention to him that you missed the way blood seeped through your clothes. 

“No?” You offer back to him before taking a deep breath. “Can you show me where the bathroom is though?” 

And before you can even comprehend it, Sunghoon is right up against you. Looming and staring down as his hands rest on your shoulders before sliding down to your waist. 

“Now, now.” He chuckles, lowering his face just an inch, resting his lips on your forehead. “Why would I want to do that?” 

“Because I’m gross right now?” You laugh awkwardly, trying to take a step back but realizing that his grip on you tightens. 

“Oh, have you forgotten?” He laughs out, lowering himself more, dragging his lips all the way down your face, neck, chest. 

“Ah, wait–” You panic when you feel his nose against your stomach, threatening to go lower. “I’m like…” You’re embarrassed to say it now. 

After all, you came here with the clear indication of fucking. Period or not, you’re not afraid of a little bit of blood but…this.

“Sunghoon, I’m on my period.” You finally speak into the room, trying to push his face from your stomach. 

“I know.” He smiles, pressing his nose harder against your stomach. “Drove me crazy all day.” He dips his face down instantly, inhaling deeply between your legs.

Something inside of you is insanely turned on by his blatant interest in you. 

“All day?” You ask, hands reaching for his hair as he drags his nose straight through the mess you’ve made. 

“Could smell it, darling.” He laughs, pulling back and looking up at you. “Smells so sweet, not gross. Delicious.”

Why the fuck is the blood smeared against the tip of his nose so alluring? Jungwon was right, you really are into some freaky shit. Then again, it’s not so weird considering you’ve never done this before. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere when it comes to kinks, right? 

“Can smell something else too.” He looks back between your legs, ignoring that you are trying to act like you don’t want to let him. “You’re aroused.” 

Oh. 

And just as you’re preparing for some sort of pressure between your thighs, you feel a waft of cold air rush up your body when he stands and grabs your face with both hands. 

“You never came back.” He hisses against your lips, dragging you back and further into the room with him. “I had to sniff you out like a fucking dog.” 

Your mouth falls open at the spiteful shift in his voice, following his movements all the way into the room until he’s spinning around and pushing you from his hold. You fall back against something insanely soft, and instantly you moan at the feeling of silk against you. 

Barely able to catch your breath, he’s over you. He’s on you. Tucking his face into the crook of your neck with a low rumbled growl in his throat and inhaling over and over again. 

Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. 

And you can feel him nose his way all the way up to your face, opening his eyes and staring straight through you with slack lips just over yours. 

You’re mesmerized by him at this moment. Never has a man acted this way with you and it’s insane to think you’d ever be satisfied with someone who wouldn’t. You almost strain your neck to kiss him, and you truly would have if it weren’t for the fact that you feel him sink his hand into your shorts.

Not even a second to truly comprehend how ice-cold his fingers feel when he slips them down and slides two of them into you. He watches your face when he does it, his own slack lips turning to a smile when you moan out at the smallest of pleasure he wants to offer you. 

“Oh, look at you,” He coos, feeling your arms shoot around his shoulders when he continues to slide the digits in and out of you. “So sticky, what a pretty little mess.” 

You groan in embarrassment at the act, knowing full well that you’ll have to face the fact that you like it at some point after he’s finished with you. You don’t mind admitting it so much now though. The way his fingers slide through the thick mess, forcing the scent of brass to mix with his own cinnamon aroma? To die for, truly. 

“I could just eat you up–” He chokes in a whisper this time, struggling to maintain his composure from the sickening sweet smell of your blood. “Would you like that?”

You lift up instantly, kissing against his slackened smile. It’s one sided, as he simply lets you do it and nothing more. Mostly because he, himself, is spiraling into a frenzy of what he needs more than what you want. It’s all pleasure the same though, as he feels your tongue trace against one of his sharpened teeth.

Just a small bite. Just a taste.

“Ah–” You pull back in a wince, the flavor of blood hitting the back of your taste buds as you look up at him with confusion.

He doesn’t allow much looking though, as you hear that same rumble from his throat right up against your lips. You feel his tongue lick you up, slurping the blood straight from your new wound and moaning through the flavor of it. 

His eyes flutter closed as he tries to hold down his thirst, knowing that his fingers are fucking dripping with this same sweet, red slick. It wouldn’t take much now for him to break and let it all drip down his throat. He could end this now if he’s not careful.

And when he opens his eyes again as he pulls back from your sweet tongue, he notes the look of confusion still on your face. His eyes roll in fond annoyance at you for that, only because you have this stubborn need to question despite having the clear answer bleeding from your mouth. 

“You’re still trying to pretend you don’t realize?” He asks, whispering real close to your lips, darting his tongue out and offering a small kitten lick as he buries his fingers deep. 

Your lips open for him in a moan and he licks into it again. Your still bleeding tongue only drives him further and further from a stable mindset. No one, not in hundreds of years, has tasted this fucking sweet. He almost can’t savor it with the way his body rises from slumber at the mere fucking scent of you from ten blocks away. 

His cock pulses for the first time in decades for you. God, he feels more alive than he did when he was actually cycling blood through his veins. 

“You just sliced open that pretty tongue on my teeth.” He chuckles, basking in the warmth he can only feel with you beneath him. “My fangs, love.” His fingers continue their slide all the while, the sounds of squelching blood filling his ears more than your soft groans for more. “Still, you seem to deny what this is and what I am.” 

You can hear his words, but comprehending them isn't quite as easy. Like, yes, he’s got a vampire kink. Whatever. 

“I get it, you’re kinky.” You huff out, missing the way he stifles a laugh at your denial of the truth. 

“You’re a stubborn one–” He smiles, flashing the same fang that sliced through your tongue. “It’s a bit frustrating. Perhaps even endearing.” 

And then, suddenly, his fingers come to a halt and he waits for you to look at him. Just as you go to speak, he’s sliding his fingers out of your mess so quickly, shushing you with his red stained digits. 

“Now, listen.” 

It’s silent. More silent than you ever thought the world could be. 

“Do you hear it?” 

You shake your head, feeling his fingers leave a trail of your blood against your lips as he drags them away and up to his own mouth. 

There, he hangs his fingers from his mouth, licking gently and tasting thoughtfully before sliding them further in. He sucks them clean in an erotic show of his blood-lust before letting them fall from his still licking tongue. Then, he’s slotting them right back between your legs, wanting more to taste. 

“No? You don’t hear how loud it is?” He asks now in a lower tone, still thirsty, still in need, dipping down to lick the blood from your face. “All that blood in you, bundled up right–” His fingers press hard against your clit. “Here.”

Your body jolts in pleasure, eyes rolling back at the mere sensitivity he forces your body into. God, kinky is right. He knows how to use words. His voice is so elegant while spewing the filth, so proper.

“Ahh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He questions you in a moan that mimicked your own, now lowering himself from your face and kissing down your clothed chest. Down, down, down. “Do you think you’ll believe me when you feel the blood drain out of you?” His voice echoes in your ears, reminding you of the vampire-like thirst he’s trying to act upon. 

And when he slips your shorts down your legs, you don’t even protest. Which at this point isn’t weird at all. The dude is insanely into it and you can’t help but feel like you can vibe with it if he keeps acting like this. He’s good at roleplaying. 

Instead of an embarrassed protest, you respond to him by spreading your legs and presenting the red mess he’s smeared all over you. Inviting him.

He glances up at you as he watches, saying nothing, thinking nothing except for the fact that– you are perfect. 

In every way, spread out and dripping blood, perfect.

You feel an intense jolt of pain shoot through your body just seconds later, followed by a loud and almost animalistic moan from the man between your legs. You lift slightly as you try to look down at him, witnessing the way he sucks the flesh of your thigh into his mouth, blood weeping from the new wounds his teeth create.

So much blood. He’s the one drunk now, utterly fucking mesmerized by the amount of it you pour for him. Your fleshy thighs offer the freshest, he couldn’t help but take a sip before giving you what your quivering body is truly begging for. He has to quench the genuine thirst before playing with his food, at least. 

And as you watch him it’s like you’re nothing but a piece of meat at this moment. He’s sucking and sucking against your thigh until you’re sure your toes are numb. They’re tingling, and you can physically feel the blood being pulled from you. As if his teeth are two syringes seeping it out of you. 

Af if they are. Not because they actually are, right?

And by the time your toes are effectively filled with static, he finally releases the fleshy bite on your thigh. You stare down, listening to him smack his lips and lick the corners of his mouth, seeing the way he doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he’s turning his attention and burying his tongue into your crimson coated cunt. Without warning, but with so much eagerness with his tasting lips. 

Your eyes flutter with a loud and strained gasp, eliciting a groan of his own to bubble into the blood that falls against his tongue with each passing pulse of you. He licks in time with your heartbeat, which is fucking insane that you can tell he does it. Never before now have you heard your heart beat so loudly, so frantically in your ears. 

And you would be embarrassed, perhaps even worried that the taste is awful. Maybe it’s too much for him, maybe this kink is all just for show and this is a limit he’s only willing to try once before realizing himself that he doesn’t necessarily like drinking the blood from a woman’s pussy…except– Sunghoon gives you no reason to feel like any of that is true. 

No, no. Oh no. He’s fucking relishing in it and you can tell by the way he moans and skews his head to dig his tongue deeper. You can tell by the way he smothers himself, not coming up for air for even a second of the time he’s spending down there. 

And god, you can feel the mess of it all. Sticky, smearing all over your thighs when his fingers trace you mindlessly before gripping your thighs just to pull you down the bed, closer against his face, sliding his tongue ever deeper.

Moaning, fucking slurping it out of you without so much as a breath. 

He’s not breathing.

And now? You panic, focusing more on the time he’s spending burying his mouth and nose into you than the feeling of it. Your hand shoots down into his hair, pulling his head back and away from you. 

Then your breath is caught in your throat at the sharp image. His eyes blown out, widened at you. Nose, cheeks, chin, tongue all glistening with sticky crimson slick, and a smile.

He smiles at you. 

At least before his tongue is clicking and he’s poking it into the side of his cheek before reaching back, grabbing your hand, and shoving it out of his hair before sinking his face right back between your legs. As if to show you that he was annoyed by that. 

You don’t get to think about it though, because this time he’s licking you more frantically than he already was. Fast tongue flicking and fucking you, his teeth dragging against your pussy lips, refusing to let you believe that he wants to breathe fresh air right now. 

Your hands find purchase in his hair yet again though, and you feel him grip your legs and stiffen his shoulders to keep his head in place just in case you try to pull him from you again. You hear the deep growl. You feel it rumble against you as if to warn you to keep your hands to yourself if you’re not going to let him do exactly what he said he would fucking do. 

So, you don’t pull him away. Instead, you play in his hair with your weak hands. Twisting and twirling strands of it between your fingers until he’s pulling his tongue back on his own. 

A shock to you, truly, that he does it at all. But you guess it makes sense when you feel another sharp pain in your thigh, right below the preview bite he had given you. 

Just when you were gaining feeling back in your toes too. 

And he goes back and forth like that for a while, until his face is utterly soaked in diluted blood and pussy-slick. Until he needs to look at it pulse, and watch how beautiful you still, fucking still, have more to pour out for him. 

He’s amazed, really. Never has he served himself a woman that’s openly bleeding for him like this. After all, he prefers to drink his dinner from the carotid artery and be done with it. He was far more creative back in the day though, you know, when his cock still worked. 

Most of his sexual pleasure came from drinking alone. Never getting hard but always reaching climax in one way or another when he gets that last, delicious drop of blood from his victims. But now? Oh, now. You’ve stirred his arousal back to life. Not from pure hunger, but lust.

It’s been so long that he’s lusted. So, so fucking long since he’s cared enough to fuck his prey or give in to the temptation of menstrual blood. In fact, he can’t even recall ever allowing his victims to fall away from the drowsy lure he puts them in. Many of them didn’t know what was happening to them before death and he preferred it that way. 

Until you. An average looking commoner with insane fucking blood. Devilish blood. Divine, demonic, angelic, fucking celestial tasting blood. 

After all this time, he’s had beautiful face after beautiful face. He’s had men, women, celebrities, false-prophets, and even purely divine bodies.. But you…oh no, he can’t simply kill you like those utter throw-aways.

There was a reason he didn’t end you the first night. Something in him caught fire on the taste of your drunken blood. The alcohol you had ran through his veins along with a taste he’s never once fathomed existing. It was the first time in hundreds of years where he forced himself to let you walk out of his quarters. 

Blood with no comparison. So thick, so sweet, so…damning. How could he have just killed you there? How could he pretend like it’s not addicting? Like he didn’t want you to continue producing more and more of it, all for him to drink up?

Of course he wants all of it. He wants to drain you to your last fucking drop, but then he’d never taste it again. Not in thousands of years, at least. So now, as his cock pulses awake and your heavy flow only produces more and more for his hungry mouth to lick up– fuck.

It’s been so long since he’s felt something for a victim like this, and even longer since he’s wanted to use his cock. No, needing to use it. It feels almost foreign to him now after so many centuries, to fuck and eat at the same time. To indulge in all the pleasure, and not just the one that keeps him alive. To want you to feel the pleasure too, to need you to want him without the false sleep forcing it.

You. 

You’re the one. You’re the one he’s going to keep. For as long as you’ll let him, and when you stop letting him, he’ll have no choice but to lure you again. Forever. All for him. 

“Love,” He rasps out, staring at the way your pussy shines so prettily in front of him, the pulse drawing him to near starvation despite being drenched in his meal. “Never have I wanted to fuck before I–” 

Kill, is the word he almost used. It’s instinctual, but instead he releases a moan from his throat at the mere thought ignoring that instinct. Drinking, sipping. Forever just a fucking appetizer and never the full meal. He can settle. He will settle.

Never. Truly never has he wanted to stop himself from drinking just to fuck and he needs you to know that. The feeling is too erotic for even him to comprehend right now, meshing with his hunger and making him feel –-

Gods be damned, he could kill you. 

He should kill you. Given the fact that he has never let a meal leave this room without being drained entirely. Never while they’re awake and fully aware anyway. Insanity. You’ve made him go insane, losing his wits enough to treat you as something more than a victim.

Despite hunting you as one. Despite never having to hunt anyone like he has you. Wanting you to be here willingly. Wanting you to love the feeling of his thirst. Wanting you to learn how good the drain feels. Wanting you to know what he is and needing you to love it. 

Needing you to stay alive. 

Insane. 

He’s fucking losing it.

He knows that if he can never smell this scent again, if he can never taste it, or have your fingers in his hair, if he can never want to fuck again? Oh, he’d crumble. 

He’d take a walk at noon.

You’re not dying tonight. In fact, never shall you feel the cold slab of a morgue freezer if he has anything to do with it. No blood wasted when it comes time for you, and no life truly lost either. 

If just for the sex. If just to quench a never ending thirst. 

If just to live in insanity.

“Before you–” You release in a breath that he chases. As if craving the life under him like an animal. “Before you, what?”

“Kill.” He whispers as he swallows each breath of yours, tasting the sweet sleep that you once held in your body. His own eyes feeling drowsy as if you have your own lure on him now. 

Even the panicked gasp you release at his choice of word there, he swallows it, kissing you hard in a drowsy groan and smearing the blood all through the kiss, letting your breath rumble out of his mouth as if the moan were from his own lungs. 

“So vacuous.” He chuckles now, feeling the pleasure of his cock jolt through his body. He presses himself between your legs, relishing in the sticky blood seeping straight through his sleep pants. “Do you feel that?” He continues, rutting against you as if he’s a virgin of all that he’s experiencing right now, licking each smear of blood from your cheeks and chin. 

“Ah, Sunghoon,” You groan, but you try to be serious in your tone. Feeling the orgasm that once was bubbling up settle back in your stomach. “You’re making a mess.” 

“Mm, I am.” He mutters mindlessly, pressing harder against you now as the taste settles in his throat. “Love, tell me. You feel it?” 

Of course you fucking feel it. 

The nod you lend pleases him, knowing that it’s not just his imagination. Finally, he can feel the warmth of a living being wrapped around him. Finally, he doesn’t feel so cold. 

“You can’t fathom what it is that you do to me,” He continues his sweet talk, running his lips down to your neck, leaving trails of that blood all the way before immediately piercing his teeth into the same wounds he left on you already. He feels your pulse against his teeth when he sucks and only groans weaker against you as he ruts. 

“Ah–” You wince in pain again, feeling the wound reopen with a cold and sharp prick. The pain ignites something inside of you to press your hips up, sliding yourself against his red-drenched pants. 

He chuckles into his bite at your willingness, his hands reaching straight down to shove his pants down in one movement. Euphoria runs through him at the feeling of your warm blood against him when he presses back against you.

Really, the feeling alone paired with the taste of your fresh blood yet again only drives him to keep going. After all, he has all the time in the world. His intention to keep you here only lends him the ability to press his length straight into that bloody, sopping wet hole of yours. The one pulsing for him, the one that lends his favorite smell, taste, and feeling in the world. 

His teeth are forced to retract when he throws his head back at the sensation of sinking deep into your cunt, one fluid motion reminding him of how much he loved this feeling before. How often he’d fuck, and fuck, and fuck until suddenly, he just– couldnt. 

You’ve ignited so much life within him, even while doing nothing more than lying here bleeding. No longer does he feel bored with the world considering he’s managed to find you in it. He could possibly even love you if you let him.

Especially with the way you react nearly the same as he does. As if you haven’t fucked before. As if you’ve never mixed scents with another being before ever coming to this city to chase your own demise. The little sounds you make could be so much more than what you think they are. 

They’re so similar to the ones you make when he bites, when he sucks, oh, so so similar. So deeply seeped in pleasure, pain, hesitation.

“Darling, are you afraid?” Sunghoon manages to say as he feels himself warm from inside of your tense body. “Do you believe me now? Do you understand now?”

You frantically shake your head at the tear of his cock spreading your walls open around it. That one slide rendering you near faint considering the amount of blood he’s taken from you already. The feeling of…ice. It’s in you, running from your veins all throughout your body. So, so, fucking cold. 

No, no, no. No living being on this earth could feel this hard inside of you while being this…oh. His hands have been cold on you too. Always. His scalp under your fingernails as you scratched. His lips, his tongue, all of it was freezing until your blood was coating him. Everything about him is ice.

Still, you shake your head through the pleasure, cock warming him both literally and unintentionally. He just sits inside of you, feeling the beat of your heart gush that same blood past his length and out of you. Your eyes slightly open to look at him, afraid of what you’ll see. 

He’s smiling. His eyes are…brighter.

“C–cold.” You manage to stutter out, nearly feeling brain freeze from the way he pulls his hips back and plunges into you again, warm blood splashing out and against his pelvis, coating your thighs more. And oh, that bite on your thigh, it’s dripping again. 

“So cold, yes?” He chuckles when he dips down, moving his hips steadily in and out of your sticky mess. No longer thirsty, just…aroused. “Do you understand?” 

You frantically shake your head again, grabbing onto him from over his shirt. You’re panicking inside, your fingers gripping so tight, trying to find heat. Needing heat. 

How did you not think about this more? It took this to recognize that he never warms? And he’s smiling at your panic? 

God, but it feels so, so fucking good. 

“Love,” He coos at your panic, pistoning his hips easily with the slide, bringing both of his hands to your face and forcing you to look at him. “I’m dead.”

Ah. 

So he is. 

Yet, the feeling of him inside of you feels better than you’ve ever had. The way his hands hold your face, the way his eyes blow out for you, the way his entire face is tinted in red. He’s so alive yet…

Entirely dead. 

“You’re afraid?” He asks through his own forgotten pleasure, wanting you to stay but entirely willing to put you to sleep so this doesn’t have to end. 

“Sunghoon,” You interrupt any words he’s about to give you, opting to continue fighting the truth when you note the softer tone of voice he uses despite the quickening pace of his hips. “Harder.”

Oh, the fire within burns colder than it ever has at those words. He doesn't even need to pull you? You don’t want to pretend this isn’t happening? You’re accepting him? 

If you want him to go harder, he’ll make you feel like no other. Harder he goes, using all of his pent up frustration of not being able to drain you fucking dead, all of his strength, all of everything he’s missed out for the past centuries– all of it. It’s behind his thrusts now as he slams into you. The blood that splatters out only makes the moment all the more grand to him. 

Breaths leave you with each slam, the sticky sound from below being drowned out by the sheer sound your heart rate in your ear. You’re still panicking, but you can’t help but want more. After all, surely what’s left for you after he’s done is….no, it’s not real.

He feels the fear pulse around his cock and moans out at it, the squeeze so tight, the gush so delicious. This entire room smells of you, and he wants it to be fucking drenched in you. The fear inside of you right now only intensifies the pleasure, and he knows he should be calming you through it, he knows he should tell you that you’re making out of this alive, but–

The way the heart beats so frantically when one is terrified. You’re dripping with fear, the smell of your blood intensifies with each petrifying pulse squeezing his cock to the point he feels his own heart make an attempt to pulse. Your life runs through him entirely out of fear that you’ll lose it. 

He can’t tell you, not when your body reacts so flawlessly. Exactly how it’s supposed to react. So delicious is that fear, he wonders if it makes your blood taste any hotter. He dips down, sinking his teeth into your neck once again and confirms his suspicions. It does taste hotter, sweeter, and it pumps itself so beautifully against his eager fangs. Almost as if you truly bleed for him, because he’s not even needing to suck for it at this point. 

It just drips, and pours, and bubbles out all for him to swallow up. 

You push through it though, the pain is so good, and if this is what it’s like to die, perhaps you’ve found yourself in a lucky position. At least you’re not being ripped to pieces by a stranger, or crushed beneath your own car on a highway. At least this way, you’re being held and seemingly adored.

And the fear, excitement, and pure adrenaline in your body forces it out of you. A rush of heat slamming Sunghoon right in his gut when you convulse under him. Legs shaking as you moan out both in disbelief and intense ecstasy. The blood tastes even sweeter now for him, so sweet that he has to pull back in a guttural and demonic growl.

It’s been so, so long since he’s felt a woman cum around him. His own body reacts in an instant, releasing his own thick secretion into you as you shake through it. Sweating, panting, drooling, crying, bleeding. All for him. 

And the explosion behind his eyes is a reminder to keep you alive. He forces himself to keep the inhale from happening as he plunges into you one last time, coating the inside of your bloody walls with a flurry of freezing ropes. Amazed at the feeling he has long forgotten, his body shakes through it and renders him near psychotic for the release. 

You continue to shake with him, shivering at how the man makes you feel as if you’ve been lying in snow for days, but you keep your eyes closed. 

You’re terrified of him, of this, of the truth hitting you square between the eyes as if it wasn’t obvious all along. Fantasies, legends, fairy tales. How many of them are based in reality? 

You know what’s coming now, based on those same stories. 

The last bite, the drain, fuzzy images, death.

And you embrace for it, trying to relish in the post-orgasm bliss before it happens because you know there’s no way to run from him. If he’s truly what he says he is, there’s no chance in this world that you can stop him. You’re going to die, and the strange way in which your brain accepts the inevitable is more calming than petrifying. 

You never knew you’d be able to prepare for it like this, but here you are. Waiting for it. Accepting it. And when you feel the air of his body shift down to you, right up against your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath.

His cold hand tilts your face and all you can do is anticipate as you feel his teeth graze the abused and swollen marks there. 

Here it is. 

You inhale deeply, hoping that if there’s an afterlife, this last breath will be a good memory for you until–

A kiss.

He kisses the wounds. He licks them. He nuzzles his cold nose against them, and then he pulls out of you and lays directly on top of you. 

It’s silent as you lay here, still trying to prepare to fucking die and he’s just prolonging it? 

“Get it over with.” You gripe, frustration dripping out in your weak voice. 

It’s laughable, really, that you’ll sound so argumentative and petty over the loss of your life. So laughable that even he’s chuckling about it, right against your ear with no breath fanning against your skin. 

“Get what over with, darling?” He asks, not having felt this drowsy drained state in so long. 

Your mind is racing though, seemingly trying to think of everything that has ever happened in your life onto everything you wish still could happen, only to consistently land on the fact that you don’t want to believe what’s happening. 

You know very well the denial you’re forcing yourself into, even in the face of demise, you don’t want to believe any of this. 

“I still can’t believe that you’re— No,” You dead-pan before taking in a terrified breath, still keeping your eyes closed. “They’re not real.”

“I’m very, very real.” Sunghoon argues back, infatuated with the denial you try to keep. “You know that I am.” 

“So, you have to kill me then?” Your voice gets smaller as you accept the truth little by little, your breath shakier. “Fucking get it over with then, stop trying to savor it, it’s not like I can run now, right?” 

You still like the way he laughs, so breathy despite having no breath of his own. And through that laugh, he lends another kiss before you feel all of that weight lift from you and dip onto the bed next to you instead. 

“Don’t beg for it.” Sunghoon warns, pulling away from you and forcing his instinct to remember the release of the orgasm he just had. “I won’t be able to stop myself if you ask me so prettily.” 

You pause, your eyes opening against your will as you look at him. He’s facing away from you, but you can see the damp blood drying in the strands of his hair. Your eyes trail down, a puddle of blood staining nearly the entire lower half of the bed and it’s still dripping out of you. 

Or perhaps, that’s whatever it is he fucking shoved into you and fucked out of himself. 

“None of this is happening.” You say to yourself. “I did not just fuck a vampire.” 

“You’re right.” He comments with another laugh. “A vampire just fucked you.” 

Well. You’re still not ready to believe that. Even with the absence of heat, even with the lack of breathing. 

“Prove it.” You ask, unsure as to why you’re wanting it both to be real and just a dream.

You back away when he immediately does as he’s asked. Turning to you and crawling over you. There, he lowers his body, chest to your cheek. 

“Listen.” He says, reaching to hold your face and press it up and against his chest. “Anything?”

You wait, listening for a thump, anything to prove he’s wrong. Fucking any sound at all to blow his cover. 

You’re frozen as you listen, your body going into fight or flight as the seconds turn to minutes. Unfortunately, your body is not a fighter, nor a flier. You’re stuck with his hand on your cheek, holding you so tightly against something you wish was alive. 

A little thump, thump, thump could be the most relieving sound to you, but no. There’s nothing. 

You pull away from him now, body still frozen but head running a mile a minute. How many proofs does he need to provide for you to understand that it’s not fantasy? 

And finally, you feel your body jerk away from him on its own. He’s startled by the movement and you use that short second to roll off of the bed. You do your best to stand, but your brain immediately pulses in pain. Your vision goes fuzzy, dizzy.

Right, you’ve lost a lot of blood tonight. To think your toes aren’t still numb, to think you’d be able to stand without dropping to the ground.

“Thousands of years.” Sunghoon stands quickly, stalking over you and wrapping his arms around you. There, he presses you back on the bed and straddles your hips. “I’ve never told another soul and let them live to remember it– until you.”

You shake under him, the weight feeling more dead now than it ever has. He’s heavy as he holds you down, but somehow his grip on you is gentle. His voice is soft. His eyes are hesitant. He’s not holding you here to hurt you, it seems.

“My love, I told you time and time again,” He glances away from you, feeling something within him shrivel at the thought that now you’re unwilling. “Is it different now? To find that I’ve told no lies to you?” 

Still, he soothes you as you try to comprehend reality. You think hard through the dizzy fog of blood-loss, running more with your mind than your body. He did tell you. And you’re still alive. He just drank and drank from you, and you’re still alive. 

He came to your apartment, he told you he smelled you. 

He’s never lied. 

You just refused to listen. 

He drank you, he fucked you, he held you, and now he’s holding you. 

“I don’t want you to fear me.” Sunghoon admits with sad eyes, trying to ignore how long it’s been since he’s felt sad at all. 

So many emotions you force him to feel, this was not one he was looking forward to. 

“How can I not be afraid?” You breathe out in slurred speech, as if to mock him, because you now know that he truly can’t do it himself. 

“It’s too late to be afraid.” He says apologetically. “You’d have died weeks ago had I wanted it.” 

Why are you still falling in love with his voice? With his stupid grammar, and his horrifying dead-skin? Even with the fear in your stomach, why does this make your heart flutter?

“I’ve never felt so full,” He admits now, releasing his grip on you slowly. He can smell your heart slow, knowing you’re starting to calm now. “Until now.” 

You stare up at him as your eyes recover back to clear vision, in awe of how gentle a killer is being with you. Inspecting the way he’s drenched in your blood, yet you truly still are breathing. He could have killed you time and time again. 

But he didn’t. 

He’s never once lied to you about what he is, and still you struggle to believe what he says. Even when his words match his actions. Sure, he’s a vampire, but he’s not going to kill you? 

What reason do you have to believe him save for the blatant truth behind it? Do you want to believe him? Would you rather be dead?

He knows you can’t fathom the truth so quickly though, and that’s why he’s being gentle. He has nothing more than patience to give to you, if it’ll end in your acceptance anyway. The fact that he can hear your heart beating correctly again only gives him hope that he’s right about not having killed you on the first night.

After all, he truly hasn’t lied to you. Never has he felt full, even after killing several a night. Always hungry, always thirsty, always needing more and more of the syrupy life strangers offer to him under his lure. But you. Entirely aware, flowing with blood that drives him crazy…you’ve managed to fill that desire in him. 

Why should he lie to you? Why would he kill you if there is no need? Despite fighting the instinct, he’s satiated by you. His cold body warms with yours. He will never get enough of you, so how on earth could he just…take that away from himself?

And you do stop fighting. In fact, you lay with him in a bloodied mess and sleep. Despite wanting to ask questions, wondering if he can even sleep at all. Your body is tired, your mind is still petrified, and your hands still cling to the source of it, unsure if you’ll make it to morning at all.

Still, somehow, this feels holy. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

PART TWO Fanart by @a-the-na 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[brain-rot-central]

Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide

A/N: This is exactly what you think it is. Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.

Rating: E, a very hard E Words: 5.3k Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning

Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.

“Darling?”

A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home. 

“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.

Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.

“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.

You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself. 

“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.

He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.

In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”

You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”

Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.

“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”

You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.

“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”

Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”

He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”

It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”

Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”

You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”

He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”

You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”

Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”

“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.

He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”

You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”

“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”

Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.

“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”

“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?” 

Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”

Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.

Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”

You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”

Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”

“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand. 

You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.

As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.

“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”

Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.

“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”

Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”

You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.

He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”

Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.

Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”

You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.

“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”

“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”

Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.

“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.

Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”

Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”

You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.

His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.

Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck. 

You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”

Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”

You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs. 

“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.

Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.

Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs. 

He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.

You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.

Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland. 

It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.

Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.

“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”

His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip. 

“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.

With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”

“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.

Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.

A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.

Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.

“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.

As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”

With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.

“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.” 

He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”

Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”

Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.

“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”

His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.” 

You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.

“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”

Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.

Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”

You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.

His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you. 

There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you. 

It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.

Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.

Something majorly delicate, knowing his past. 

You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission. 

The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.

“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.

True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.

You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”

A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”

Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.

“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”

Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.

You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.

Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”

Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock. 

You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.

You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.

“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.

Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.

“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”

He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock. 

To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.

Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.

Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.

With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.

“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.

Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.

Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.

“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel. 

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”

He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips. 

Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”

You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.

“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.

You're not going to last much longer.

“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”

Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.

I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.

His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.

Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.

You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.

“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.

He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool. 

It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.

As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.

Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.

Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”

Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.

With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”

You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.

Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”

I love this, he thinks.

I love us.

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 3

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this took a while but here it is!

part 1 part 2

...

It almost feels impossible.

Agatha without magic.

But you know the truth as if it were engraved into your very soul. She is powerless.

The knowledge leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This is so much more than a binding. At least that would still leave the lifeblood of a witch's magic alone even if unreachable.

But Agatha's powers aren't bound. They're missing. 

With furrowed brows, you glance back up at her. She's not looking at you, her posture rigid as she studies the polish of the piano. A single painted nail drags against the paint as if she wants to peel it away to see what's underneath. 

Something happened to her. Something chased her to the road.

This is a witch's last resort after all.

You want to ask. The question is on the tip of your tongue but you hesitate.

If this conversation continues all that will be returned is insults and profane remarks. You don't want to argue, not like this.

Not when her emotions simmer just underneath your own. Her anger, her pain, her grief. It would be too much when added with your own.

You close your eyes, lower your head and force out a slow breath. You need to think; you need to find Rio.

You need answers that Agatha won't give.

The feeling of your fingers brushing over the delicate skin of your wrist is grounding, calming. There is no physical mark from her touch. She hasn't intended to hurt you, at least not like that. 

Yet, the soft pulse of your magic as it comes to the surface feels like relief. The way it dances along your fingers is familiar as the sight of falling stars.

Your emotions turn bittersweet when you remember how Agatha loved mixing magic with you. Seeing her purple and your white dancing together was always a sight. 

It was breathtaking when Rio joined in, that subtle smile on her face.

She always said it was for research. Was her magic untouchable to others, was she just a siphon? She had so many questions and you were never one to deny her. 

That first time she asked is a memory you will never forget. 

Agatha laying in bed next to you, heavy with sleep, daring to ask the question fully conscious Agatha wouldn't dream of. 

She was curious; she was terrified. And still you held little hesitation as you reached out to the fire-lit ceiling above and pulled your magic to the surface. 

The wisps of white magic danced around like a small cloud, lighting the room with its glow.

The look on her face when she overcame her hesitation and matched your movement was worth everything. The astonishment, the relief.

Agatha's magic isn't volatile by nature. Sure it's unchecked, wild even, but it doesn't lash out first. It doesn't take until there is no choice.

To be able to see the swirls of white and purple magic dancing together, to know that it was possible. You know those moments were special to her. Even after she learned someone had to blast her to activate that pull.

With a very subtle glance up you can see that you're not the only one thinking about that time long ago. Her gaze is lowered to your wrist, a pinch in her brow as she watches silently.

The twitch of her fingers tell you enough. That subtle reflex to bring her purple to her fingers and reach out for you, the muscle memory of moments long gone.

When she steps back you let her. The notion is clear she will walk away if you will.

You flex your fingers, letting your magic settle as it's pulled back from the surface. You decide that this trial is more important than shared history and pain. If you focus on the goal here you don't have to look at you, you don't have to notice her.

When you glance up you see her watching you. Those baby blue eyes of hers are looking at you with a coldness that's familiar. 

No more vulnerability between the two of you. You can’t help but wonder if there was ever a chance this wasn’t doomed from the start.

You don't say anything as you turn and walk away. This middle ground is fragile, to speak now would break it so you don't.

When you turn the corner you find Alice. She's looking at a picture with a sense of recognition. She glances at you when you step closer, giving you a fleeting smile. 

As you look at the picture you can see the resemblance Alice shares with the woman. “Your mother?” You question with a glance at her.

She gives a small nod.

“She loved singing. It was her passion, right after showing me how to play soccer.” Alice smiles and you watch her closely.

“She died when I was sixteen. There was a fire, her hotel room. They said it was a freak accident but it felt like more."

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable but you feel the need to continue on if only to give the protection witch some privacy to wrestle her own emotions down.

With a quick glance around your eyes land on a single ajar door. You walk over and step through with ease, this room is still part of the trial. 

It's a sound booth, you conclude as you glance around. The wide expansion of glass at the front of the room shows off the lounge. The witches scattered as they look for a clue they don't know what is.

“Boring isn't it?” 

You glance back at her and scoff. It is boring, that you can't argue with but you have other concerns at the moment. 

“Rio,” you say her name with a warning, turn to lean back against the soundboard that sits below the window. 

The green witch gives you a dangerous smile as she stands from the rolling chair she was just in and walks to you. When she's close enough to touch you reach out, brush a hand over the exposed skin of her chest, fingers dancing up her sternum. 

As she leans closer, places her hands on either side of you, it's easy to slip out the knife from it's holding at her hip. 

The moment you have it in hand she moves. Not away, no that would be too easy. She pushes into your space like a cat caging a mouse.

You feel her hand on your neck seconds after she closes the distance. Everything becomes an afterthought, the knife, your questions, the witches on the other side of the glass. The second hand emotions from Agatha fade like a breeze.

Rio kisses you with a hunger you know runs deep. She pulls you into her with a growl that makes you yield. Her touch feels like the first sparks of a dragon’s fire, it's intoxicating and she knows you love it. 

When her fingers brush against the nape of your neck, scratching lightly you swear she's trying to make you melt like a puddle. The sensation almost makes you drop the knife, makes you moan into the kiss.

When she pulls away her eyes are bright with satisfaction when you need a moment. You spread your fingers out over the place where her heart is buried, close your eyes and bask in the feeling of her fingers brushing through your hair.

“You are cruel.” You mutter under your breath when you finally see what she’s done. She’s distracted you from those racing thoughts, the assumptions and questions. 

“You looked like you wanted to argue.” She says, states a fact really because she was right. She saw right through you and decided to play her game. 

With a soft sigh as she runs her hands down your arms you twist the knife in hand when she pushes closer. Giving you no room to breathe around her, there is only Rio and god do you love it. 

“You know me too well.” You raise your chin and she smirks. When her fingers encircle your wrist, the subtle tell of her knowing what you did, you let your hand go limp. There was never a question about if you were going to use it, she never would have let it get that far. 

But those few seconds of thinking you got away with it makes you grin at her. You tap a rhythm against her chest, hum softly when she pulls her knife away and puts it back where it was. Her dark eyes never leave your gaze. 

“I know you better than the stars know the moon.” Her little proud smile makes you chuckle, you drag your hand down her chest to fiddle with the end of the gap. 

With a glance at the window, the sight of a witch looking at the decorated walls, you have to remind yourself to focus. “I do have a question.” You look at Rio who merely raises her brow and waits. 

The subtle exploration of her hands at your waist, fingers fiddling with the embroidery of your clothes distracts you just a bit but not enough to derail your thoughts. “Agatha,” She frowns as the name falls from your lips but lets you continue. “Do you know why she’s here?”

The question isn’t even a question, not really. You know Rio’s always kept tabs on Agatha, even when she got a hold of that damned book Rio never stopped looking, never stopped trying to find her. 

If something as drastic as Agatha losing her magic wasn’t enough to draw Death’s gaze then you don’t know what could. There is no darkhold this time, there is no magic, only a broken woman still running from her pain and her past. 

When Rio bites her lip, glances away, her hands on your waist halting, you know the answer without a doubt. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? What happened to her? Who is chasing her?” You try to catch her eyes but Rio refuses, she looks tired. You don’t like it. 

“Rio,” Her name on your lips is a plea, soft and gentle. You reach out for her, brush your hands along her jaw and guide her to look at you. She doesn’t want to fight, you know this so you bury down the betrayal you feel. You can feel it later but right now you need answers. 

With a defeated sigh she gives in. Explains what she knows happened, what she had to figure out afterwards. Why Agatha is here is only a suspicion, she knows along with you that Agatha doesn’t need the road, she never did.

And finally, who is after her. The Salem Seven. The name makes you groan in annoyance, everywhere they travel destruction seems to follow. The fact that they have a vendetta against Agatha is only personal. 

“So you pulled me here with you because…” You don’t finish what you were going to say. This entire situation is like a spark to a wildfire, everything can go wrong with just a snap of a finger. 

“She needs us right now. Both of us.” Rio looks you in the eyes when she says the words you don’t want to hear. When silence follows, when it is you who looks away, your touch falling to her shoulders, Rio tilts her head to find your gaze. 

The moment she whispers your name as softly as you said hers, you give. You look at her and she softens, gives you a reassuring smile that does nothing of the sort.  

“She doesn’t want us.” You tell her. Agatha's screams echo in your mind, she hates both of you for what happened. The memory drowns out everything about what's going on around you. The danger everyone is in. 

“And still she needs us.” Rio reminds you gently. You hate that she’s right.

Whatever Agatha is trying to do she can't do it alone. Not like this, not when she's a witch with no magic. 

Not when she's on a road that only takes and hardly gives in return. She’s not going to find what she wants here, not in the way she’s imagining. Trick and trials alike, right? The road is famous for not playing fair.

And still, you wont leave. Not when Rio is here, not when Agatha is here.

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day twenty one: Genies!Kalim and Jamil deceiving their darling

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: This idea seemed to be living rent-free in my head for a few months now, so ofc I had to write. I actually wanted to write more about it but decided against; all the fics on the halloween had to be easy to write and faster. Writing 30 fics in the span of two weeks was certainly something but tbh i was stress writing lol. Either way, I'm rambling now, good read, darlings!

The lamp felt heavier in your hands than it should have. Its ornate metalwork was intricate, with delicate filigree and worn engravings that hinted at centuries of history, a history long lost - now preserved as a legend.

The lamp gift from a friend, they had laughed when they handed it to you, suggesting the possibility of a genie inside. It was, of course, just a joke — something fun, a relic from a forgotten time. But as you sat alone in your quiet room, you couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't true.

Turning it over, you traced the smooth surface of the metal. The dim light of the room glinted off its curves.

“What’s the harm?” you muttered to yourself, half-smiling at the absurdity of it all. "Nothing will happen."

And yet, curiosity urged you on. You gently rubbed the side of the lamp, not expecting anything beyond perhaps the sound of metal against your skin.

At first, nothing.

You giggled, setting the lamp down on the table beside your bed. Wishing for something like that work was futile; you had to make your future happen with your own hands.

Yet, one could hope.

As you turned around to open another birthday gift, a faint warmth spread through your body, like a blanketbeing wrapped around you so gently and softly. The lamp vibrated slightly, a low hum echoing from its core. You froze, eyes wide as thin wisps of golden smoke curled from the spout, swirling and expanding until the room was filled with it.

You blinked, heart pounding as two figures emerged from the mist.

One stood tall and composed, his dark hair framing a serious face, sharp eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His clothes were regal but foreign, a blend of deep colors and shimmering gold that seemed almost alive.

Beside him was another figure, smaller and brighter, with an infectious smile that lit up the space around him. His pale hair glowed under the lamplight, his eyes full of excitement and warmth, and he was holding the lamp on both his hands.

Both of them stood before you, impossibly real and tangible. If you reached out, you knew you could feel them there.

The taller one regarded you with mild interest. “I see… a new master,” he said smoothly, his voice soft and rich, like velvet. “I am Jamil and this beside me is Kalim. We're pleased to meet you.”

Kalim beamed at you. “Wow! It’s been forever since someone summoned us. You must be really lucky!” His enthusiasm was infectious, but you remained frozen, trying to process what was happening.

Was the legend real? They would grant you three wishes right here and now? Do you have any wishes? You can't think straight.

Jamil’s gaze didn’t waver. Soon enough, the famous words left his mouth as he almost purred the syllables. “You rubbed the lamp, which means you’re entitled to three wishes.”

You stared at them both, still struggling to wrap your mind around the situation. “Wait, what… this is real?” you stammered.

Kalim laughed for a long time, the sound light and cheerful. There were little tears forming on his eyes, but he wiped them. “We're as real as you are, habibi! You summoned us, so we’re here to grant your wishes!” He leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Go on, ask for anything.”

Your heart raced as you tried to gather your thoughts. Wishes… real wishes. The possibilities swirled in your mind, but the disbelief kept you from speaking right away or remembering what you truly wanted.

The two genies stood patiently, Jamil’s eyes narrowing slightly as he waited, while Kalim watched with a wide, eager smile.

Tentatively, you spoke. “I wish for… I wish to have plenty of money.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than the room shifted around you. You gasped as money started to appeared out of nowhere, everything felt too much like a fever dream, but this also meant you could finally treat yourself to some nice things, as you wouldn't struggle anymore.

Kalim danced around, his laughter filling the air. “Look at it! Isn’t it amazing?” he exclaimed, summoning a flower of thin air and handing it to you with a grin. “You can have anything you want.”

Jamil’s gaze never left you. He didn’t smile, but there was something satisfied in his eyes, as though your first wish had confirmed something for him.

“One wish down,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Two more to go.”

“What happens after I make all three wishes?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You held the flower in your hand, feeling its soft petals brush against your skin. But deep inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface. There was something too perfect about it all, too controlled.

Too much like a dream.

Kalim’s smile faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered. “You’ll be happy! That’s what matters, right?” He twirled around, his carefree nature pulling at you like a warm summer breeze. “We’ll make sure of it!”

Jamil, however, met your question with a deeper, knowing gaze. “All you need to worry about is the next wish,” he said, his voice almost hypnotic. “Whatever your heart desires.”

The unease in your chest grew. You looked down at the flower in your hand, feeling the weight of their stares on you. Could you trust them? The money spilled on your floor wasn’t what you had imagined. It felt… artificial, like it existed solely to please you, the perfect amount to pay your bills and live comfortably, it seems.

“I wish for…” You hesitated, trying to find something more meaningful. “I wish to see the most breathtaking sunset, something that can’t be replicated.”

The sunset felt eternal, like time itself had stopped for you to watch. You stood in awe, the sight so beautiful it was almost painful. Yet, even as you admired it, you could feel the weight of Jamil’s eyes on you.

This time, Kalim’s expression brightened, as though he had been waiting for something grand like this. “Oh, I can do that!” he exclaimed, raising his arms toward the sky.

The sun lowered on the horizon, its light turning the garden into a canvas of fiery oranges and soft purples. The colors spilled across the sky, streaking it with brilliance that took your breath away.

“Your last wish,” he prompted, stepping closer. “Choose wisely.”

You took a deep breath, the air thick with magic and the overwhelming pressure of their presence. “What if… I don’t want to make a third wish yet?”

Kalim’s smile didn’t waver, but there was an edge to it now. “But don’t you want more? You can have anything!”

Jamil’s eyes darkened, his voice a quiet whisper. “You can’t stop now."

The air around you shifted, growing heavier as the two genies loomed closer. The carefree atmosphere that Kalim had created melted away, revealing something darker, more insistent.

Before you could speak, Jamil raised a hand, his expression cold and determined. “We’ll make it for you.”

Kalim’s grin grew wider, but it no longer felt warm. It was possessive, unsettling. The golden mist from the lamp began to rise again, swirling around you. “We’ll make sure you’re with us forever, litte master.” Kalim said cheerfully, his voice sounding almost detached from reality.

You tried to step back, but the smoke wrapped around you like tendrils, pulling you closer to the lamp. “Wait— what are you doing?” Panic surged through you as you struggled to break free, but their magic was too strong, too consuming.

"Master, we've been watching you." Jamil’s voice echoed in your ears as the smoke tightened its grip, dragging you toward the lamp’s spout. “You’re ours now. You can't escape.”

The last thing you saw was Kalim’s glowing smile and Jamil’s cold, satisfied gaze before everything went dark, the world collapsing into the endless void of the lamp.

And there, in the heart of the lamp, you realized with a sinking dread that you were never meant to leave.

[dollya-robinprotector]

Outside of your dol ocs do you have ocs for other fandoms?

I have many!

Warning: LOTS of old drawings

The first one with ears and a tail, and the two girls beside him are my first OCs. They're independent OCs and have many AUs together.

This big girl was a roleplay mascot for Hetalia fandom and later for other roleplay pj as well. She's based on Jeanne's reincarnated "Lisa"

The little cheeb she's holding is Amber, for Houseki no Kuni fandom

Their hair is ref from Kaine (NieR) and my old mascot hair style. Now you see that "Flower with two antennas" everywhere on my other OCs

These four are my Tarot spirits. I have two Tarot decks: Shadowscape and Ostara, both have twin spirits. Guess who is who!

This girl is an OC for a closed species my friend created - CIST. They only have 4 fingers, are born from and live at the cemetery, have a will-o'-the-wisp flame in their eye socket, and each one has a unique voice that fits in an orchestra. Mine is named Ilyia, a Mezzo/Soprano type girl.

I also have two Vietnamese mystical creatures - girls. One white snake and one white catfish. I intended to write a story for them, but hahaha....

And not to mention my mascot, my old sona, now an OC, joined many fandoms. Kimetsu no Yaiba:

Cookie run: Red Velvet cookie

Also I have other Cookie OCs: Lotus Cookie and Religieuse Cookie, based on how France invaded Vietnam in the history UwU

Genshin: Old -> Now

Also lots of Vietnamese cultural fandoms and gacha games fandom

Even Papa is originally Doctor from Arknights

Heh, hope u had fun scrolling to this far :D

[capuccinodoll]

The Invitation

Before the sun hits (chapter one)

Hi there, this is the first time I post something here, so I hope you like it! It's defenitely going to be a fun story to write. This is going to be a Joel series, so feel free to send any ideas and suggestions, as english is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes (if there are, don't hesitate to let me know so I can correct them), x.

DECEMBER 15th.

The window was misted over, softening the pale, nocturnal landscape outside. Winter had started creeping in, slowly but unmistakably. The asphalt below gleamed, slick from the recent rain, and a thin wisp of smog slipped through the narrow crack in the window that your mother had just opened.

"The heat is suffocating me," she murmured, and you nodded, understanding. You couldn’t really blame her; she'd spent the first twenty years of her life far away from Austin's warmth.

Inside, the living room felt warm and inviting. Soft, golden light illuminated the white walls, which were lined with family photos, each one a little piece of your history. In the corner by the window, the Christmas tree stood, decorated with a quaint charm that somehow stole the room’s attention.

Your father stepped into the room behind you, his smile wide and content. He wore a green sweater dotted with white stars and red hearts, holding his phone against his ear with exaggerated enthusiasm, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

"Like a kid at Christmas," your mother observed, and she wasn’t wrong.

The holidays hadn't been your favorite for the past few years. They’d been tangled up with messy breakups, the stress of school and work, and a handful of regretful decisions. Like last Christmas, when you decided to leave early for New York instead of staying with family, and ended up drinking cheap wine on the cold floor of your new, empty apartment—far from home, and even closer to a personal catastrophe. Not that you could have known that at the time, of course. 

"Joel is coming," your father announced suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie. "And Sarah too. Remember her, honey? She was this tall the last time we saw her," he said, holding his hand at his waist.

Of course you remembered Sarah. She had stayed with you for a weekend when you were twelve, while her father took care of her brother Tommy in the hospital. She’d been eight then—funny, wide-eyed, a little whirlwind of curiosity. The two of you had spent the weekend browsing your local library, eating far too many sweet treats, and giggling over childhood crushes on the Twilight cast.

"Of course I remember her," you replied, feeling the weight of those intervening years. "It’s been a while, though. She must be an adult by now."

"She turned twenty-one last July. I saw it on Tommy’s Facebook," your father added.

"He’s not coming?" your mother asked, but before you could catch the answer, you found yourself slipping out of the room, seeking a moment of solitude.

Upstairs, your old bedroom welcomed you with silence as you shut the door, muffling the voices from downstairs. You let yourself collapse onto the soft bed, feeling a heavy weariness seep into your bones. You hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with everything yet, but you kept promising yourself that you’d sort it out after the holidays. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling covered with old movie stills and band posters, Eddie Vedder’s frowning face seemed to stare back at you, almost judgmental. 

You’d made a mistake. That was it. You hated your job, and you’d made a mistake. New York wasn’t what you thought it would be—at least, the people in it weren’t. The city had chewed you up, spat you out, and left you feeling raw and disillusioned. But your parents couldn’t know that, not yet. It would break their hearts to learn that their only daughter hated her career and needed a fresh start. They’d worked so hard to make this holiday special. Your mother had even won the family bet on Halloween, the one they did every year, where the winner got to choose the Christmas and New Year’s destination. She’d picked Canmore—her hometown in Canada—where she promised a true winter wonderland that would let everyone leave their troubles behind, if only for a little while.

Leave everyday life behind, you thought. It was exactly what you needed: three weeks away from New York, away from Austin, away from anywhere that already knew you. Maybe the snow would help wash it all away.

*

"Sweetie, it’s time for dinner," your mother’s voice interrupted your thoughts. She stood at the door, her smile tender, with Eddie Vedder’s glowering face staring over her shoulder from the poster on your wall.

"What time is it?" you asked groggily.

"Quarter past eight. We’re waiting for you downstairs. Fix your hair a little, Joel and Sarah are here. You should see her, she’s gorgeous!"

"I’ll be down in a minute," you mumbled, your eyes already sliding shut again.

"No, you won’t," she said knowingly. "I know you too well. You’ll fall back asleep the second I walk away." She perched at the foot of the bed, pressing down on your feet, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

With a resigned groan, you forced your eyes open and sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. She waited, watching until you were fully upright before finally leaving. 

In the bathroom, you saw what she meant about your hair—a mess of tangled strands falling around your face, the braid you’d done earlier completely undone. You quickly brushed it out, splashed some cold water on your face, and tried to shake off the haze of sleep. When you stepped back out, your mother was gone, but you could hear the voices from downstairs—Sarah’s laugh, bright and familiar, followed by your father’s. And then another voice, deeper and more reserved. That must be Joel, you thought.

You remembered him vaguely. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a serious expression that never seemed to soften. He was always in a hurry, rarely stopping to chat, always working to keep things afloat while raising Sarah on his own. Your dad used to talk about their childhood, how he and Joel and your Uncle Luke had grown up in the same neighborhood, the four of them inseparable as teenagers. For some reason, you lingered a moment longer in front of the mirror, fixing stray hairs, before heading downstairs to face whatever awaited you.

*

Before you even stepped onto the first stair, you paused, tugging at the off-the-shoulder black dress you’d chosen on instinct—or maybe not. Oh, of course you knew why you’d picked it. How long had it been since Sarah had last seen you? Back then, you’d been the effortlessly cool older daughter of her dad’s best friend. Now, you were twenty-four, slightly adrift, but she didn’t need to know that.

Still, you’d pulled yourself together in record time. Your skin had a soft glow, your cheeks rosy, your lips glossed with a shade of red that wasn’t too loud but just right. Your eyes, framed by delicate makeup, carried an understated glamour. And you’d even worn the choker your mother had given you three birthdays ago, a beautiful piece that added a touch of sophistication. Yes, you looked good.

As you descended the stairs, the murmur of voices grew louder, the conversation below taking shape. In the living room, your father was enthusiastically recounting a recent match, and your mother kept interrupting him, correcting his version of events with affectionate precision. Sarah’s laughter rang out, bright and easy, clearly entertained by their dynamic. Though you tried to make your footsteps light, they were quickly noticed.

“Sweetheart! Finally, come join us!” your mother called, her face lighting up with a wide smile. She was seated on the couch by the window, your dad beside her. Across from them, with their backs to you, sat Sarah and Joel. Sarah turned as soon as she saw you. Joel didn’t.

“I was just asking Sarah if she remembered that weekend,” your dad said, shifting to make room for you beside him, “She was so small back then! This small!” He held his hand out at the level of his face to demonstrate.

As you sat down, you caught your breath. Sarah wasn’t just grown up—she was stunning. Her smile was warm and playful, though her hands rested a little nervously in her lap. But her eyes were the same, wide and full of light.

“Of course I remember! It was such a fun weekend. You were like the big sister I never had,” Sarah said, her voice warm and nostalgic.

“Really? I’m so glad to hear that. I had a great time, too. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” you admitted, laughing. “God, I sound so old saying that.”

“At least someone had fun that weekend, huh, Joel?” your father joked, and it was then that your eyes finally found Joel for the first time that evening.

Maybe it was nerves that kept you from looking sooner, or maybe it was something else. But Joel was different—very different. Or had he always looked like this? You weren’t sure if you were about to laugh or choke. The transformation felt seismic.

“Don’t remind me,” Joel said, his voice deep, vibrating in the room. He turned to you then, his gaze locking onto yours for just a moment too long before he added, “Kid.”

During that weekend, twelve years ago, you saw Joel two times max; once when he dropped Sarah home, and again when he came back for her. He looked stressed and mainly angry. But you didn't remembered exactly why. Pretty sure it had to do with Tommy having a fall somewhere. 

“Too bad he didn't come to dinner. I haven't seen the bastard in months, though I must say far fewer months than I haven't seen you,” your father added. 

Joel leaned back on the couch, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his dark jeans fitting snugly. His hair was streaked with gray, messy in that deliberate way, and God, he was massive. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt, every subtle movement revealing the strength beneath.

Your dad had mentioned Joel was a contractor, and now it made perfect sense. That kind of body was built through hard labor, hours spent lifting, hammering, doing things that required strength and grit. His eyes, though, were what drew you in—dark, a little tired, but still sharp, with the lights of the Christmas tree flickering softly in their depths.

“He’s becoming a bit of a hermit,” Sarah teased, her voice lilting with affection.

Joel smiled then, his whole face softening. “Tommy’s with his in-laws this Christmas,” he explained.

“You owe me a couple of beers, Miller,” your dad teased, and Joel shot him a sideways grin.

“For now, be happy with dinner,” your mother interrupted, her voice brimming with excitement. “I’m sure we’re all starving!”

You couldn’t help but glance at Joel one more time as everyone began moving toward the dining room. There was something about him now, and as he rose from the couch, towering over you, you couldn’t shake the thought.

*

He sat across from you, elbows propped on the table, his focus fixed on your father, who was gesturing animatedly from his spot in the left corner. In this softer, golden light, his face appeared more open, less stern. You let your gaze linger over his features, taking advantage of the fact that he seemed wholly absorbed in your father's story. His eyes, which you remembered as dark and unreadable, now looked a little lighter, a warm honey hue emerging beneath the shadows. Faint lines etched the corners of his eyes and mouth, traces of a life well-worn, and you found it unsettling—indecent, even—how much you liked the way they shaped his face. He looked... you didn’t quite know how to put it. Weathered, maybe. But in a good way, like something that had been around long enough to carry a few secrets.

It wasn’t that you were into older men. You’d never been that girl. Your exes had all been within a reasonable margin of your age, maybe three years older, max. But Joel... well, Joel was looking at you now. And you, with your head tilted slightly and your lips just barely parted, were looking right back at him. Like he was a puzzle, a rare artifact you couldn’t help but analyze. Then reality caught up to you, and you straightened abruptly, trying to regain your composure, your face heating up with the embarrassment of being caught. 

You shifted in your chair, trying to steady yourself, but your foot—unsettled by the awkwardness—stretched out a little too quickly, bumping against his under the table. You froze as heat flushed your cheeks, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But Joel's eyes flashed with a brief moment of surprise, which he smoothed over quickly, turning back to your dad. 

He probably thought you were being clumsy, which, in fairness, you were. You glanced over at Sarah, who sat beside Joel, mirroring her father’s posture, absorbed in whatever they were saying. But then you caught the tail end of their conversation and realized they were talking about you.

“We’ve got to make the most of our time with her,” your dad was saying. “She’s a big city girl now. Since she’s been home, she’s been sleeping like the dead. Completely exhausted, isn’t that right, honey?”

“True, true,” your mom chimed in, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “We’ve barely had the chance to chat about her life. I bet you understand that feeling, don’t you, Joel?”

“Mom,” you cut in, a twinge of discomfort in your voice, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, his curiosity finally directed your way.

“What do you do?” he asked, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering.

You hesitated, feeling strangely self-conscious under his attention. “I’m in marketing area, in Arcor, uh, in New York.”

“The candy company?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded quickly, like you wanted to get past it.

“Yeah, that one.”

“And she’s been doing very well. We almost didn’t get her to come home for the holidays,” your mom said, eager to emphasize your success.

The truth was, you had been busy—insanely, overwhelmingly busy. The holiday season meant one of the biggest sales periods at the company, and even though your salary didn’t quite justify it, you’d spent countless late nights at the office, dealing with the endless pressure from above. Or at least, that’s what you’d told them. They bought it, of course. You were the golden child—never rebellious, never a troublemaker. So they believed every word you said. But when they offered to visit you in New York, you’d panicked. Somehow, returning home to Canmore seemed like the lesser of two anxieties.

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” Sarah piped up, her voice carrying a wistful tone. “I bet you never get bored there.”

No, you didn’t get bored. That much was true. Even though the city had left you feeling a little bruised, there was something undeniably captivating about it. The bustling streets, the ever-present hum of life, the art and culture pouring out of every corner—it was beautiful, in its own overwhelming way. If only you had more time, maybe you’d have enjoyed it more.

“You don’t, and it’s stunning, especially at Christmas,” you admitted. “The snow can be a mess, but it’s part of the charm.”

“You say that because you’ve never spent Christmas in Canmore,” your mom interrupted with a knowing smile. “Now that’s as magical as it gets.”

“What’s it like?” Sarah asked, her curiosity making your mom’s eyes light up.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, leaning in with enthusiasm. “The snow-covered mountains, the twinkling lights, tourists bustling through the shops—it’s like a postcard. And there’s so much to do. I was there just last October, and it was lovely then, too. Are you a Halloween fan, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded eagerly, and your mom nodded back, feeding off her energy. “You’d love it in the fall, then. Canmore is perfect for any holiday.”

Your dad chimed in, a twinkle in his eye. “Speaking of the holidays, what about you, Joel? Got any plans?” His smile was wide, as if he’d just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world.

“He doesn’t,” Sarah cut in before Joel could speak, and he shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

Your mom’s brow furrowed. “How’s that?”

“I’m spending Christmas and New Year’s out of town,” Sarah explained. “I invited him to join me, but he doesn’t want to spend that much time with my boyfriend’s family. Right, Dad?”

“That’s not true,” Joel objected, sounding almost wounded, like he’d been caught in an unflattering light.

“Well then, you should come with us,” your dad suggested with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “We’ve rented a great cabin, and there’s plenty of room. Sarah can join us later. It’ll be fun.”

“I’d love to,” Joel replied, but there was a touch of restraint in his voice, enough to make your dad frown. “But I was hoping to use the time to catch up on some work.”

“Joel, you can’t spend the holidays alone,” your mom pressed, sounding like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “We’d love to have you with us. Really, it’s a beautiful place.”

“We’re leaving next Monday and we’ll be back by January seventh,” your dad added for good measure.

“I’ll drive to the airport with Dean and then head to Canmore myself after New Year’s,” Sarah said, giving Joel a pointed look. “Come on, Dad, don’t be a Grinch.”

Your dad chuckled, taking the opportunity to refill his glass. After a quick sip, he leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Look, Joel, Tommy’s out of town, Sarah’s leaving, so what’s your excuse? And don’t give me that ‘work’ line—it’s the holidays! If you turn me down, I’ll just assume you don’t want to spend time with an old friend who’s missed you.”

Ah, classic Dad, turning everything into a guilt trip. But now, instead of rolling your eyes, you found it amusing, watching Joel squirm a little, unsure how to respond. Even Sarah seemed to enjoy the show.

“Alright, alright,” Joel said, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Let me think about it, okay? And don’t try to manipulate me, Evans, you know that never worked on me.”

*

Dinner continued in a comfortably chaotic way, with your dad peppering Joel with jokes and playful nudges about the Canmore trip. Each time, Joel responded with a small, almost imperceptible smile, offering vague, evasive replies that left you wondering if your dad's persistent charm was working on him or not. You caught yourself studying the little shifts in Joel's expression, trying to decipher if he was actually considering the invitation or just humoring your dad.

Soon, your mother reappeared from the kitchen, carrying her signature apple pie, its golden crust steaming. She served it alongside cups of coffee, each in a mug sporting a different Christmas design. When Sarah mentioned how adorable the mugs were, your mother didn't hesitate to gift her one on the spot, complete with a matching saucer, her face lighting up as she watched Sarah’s delight.

But as the conversation continued, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Joel had begun talking about recent renovations around his house, and your mind kept drifting. You imagined him on a ladder, paintbrush in hand, or lugging a heavy toolbox. How would he look after an afternoon of hard work—sweaty, hair tousled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows? A warmth spread through you at the thought, but then Joel's gaze flicked toward you, as if sensing your thoughts. Caught, you forced a smile and looked away, focusing on your pie as the heat crept up your neck.

After everyone had finished eating, you busied yourself with gathering the cups and plates, carrying them into the kitchen in a self-imposed silence. As you placed them on the counter, a sudden hollowness settled in your chest. It was the kind of feeling that made you realize just how out of place you were—how far you’d strayed from the person your parents thought you were. How long could you keep up this act, pretending that everything was fine when, in reality, your life had unraveled months ago?

You found your phone sitting on top of the refrigerator, where your mom must have left it earlier. You’d been avoiding checking it, afraid of what you might find, but now you unlocked it and scrolled through the notifications: three messages from Ally, your only real friend in New York, and a random email from an old forum. You made a mental note to unsubscribe, then opened Ally’s texts.

Have you seen his Instagram?

He’s a jerk. I’m sorry.

Are you okay?

Your heart clenched, and you hesitated before searching for what would surely hurt. There it was—a photo of Liam, your ex-coworker, arm wrapped around a woman’s waist as she flaunted a ring on her left hand. You shut your phone with a sharp breath, the realization hitting hard. How could you have been so naïve? Tears pricked at your eyes as your mother’s voice drew nearer, drifting through the door from the dining room. You panicked, ducking out the back door into the hallway. No one could see you like this, not when you’d worked so hard to keep up the illusion. If your mom saw you, the whole truth would tumble out.

You made it to the small bathroom under the stairs, and just as you reached for the handle, the door swung open, making you lurch forward. Joel stood on the other side.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, keeping your eyes down. “I didn’t know it was occupied.”

You turned quickly, ready to retreat, but his voice stopped you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You turned back to him, forcing a smile. “Yeah, yes, I’m fine.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it.”

“I... I just had a long day, that’s all,” you muttered, but you could feel your composure slipping. Your eyes were fixed on a button of his shirt, trying desperately not to meet his gaze. But then, without warning, your tears broke free. A soft sob escaped, and Joel’s expression softened as he pulled the door open wider.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but the tears kept coming. Joel placed a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of it anchoring you even as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of losing control completely. He glanced down the hallway, then back at you with a furrowed brow.

“I’ll get your parents,” he offered.

“No!” You reached out, gripping his arm too tightly. “Please don’t.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, and for a moment, you both stood there, your grip firm on his forearm. You knew you were making him uncomfortable, but you couldn’t seem to care. You could see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to make sense of your desperation.

"You sure?" you asked, swearing you could read an expression on his face that screamed 'Do I really have a choice?'

Determined, you stepped between him and the door and into the bathroom. Joel turned around in confusion, but quickly understood and closed the door behind him.  The moment felt strange, and it was. The room was cramped and the walls enclosed you in a non-existent, completely unfamiliar intimacy. You looked at him nervously and realized that you were on the verge of doing something irresponsable; of course he would tell your parents, of course he wouldn't keep your secret, why should he? If you had to be rational, you'll do the same thing. At the end of the day, they were best friends.   But it didn't matter. The was no space for consideration as the verbal vomit was about to come out.

“I quit my job, and my ex-boyfriend—who also happens to be my former co-worker—is marrying the woman he cheated on me with. I’ve been pretending like everything’s fine, but I’m probably going to have to move back to Austin because I hate how everything turned out.”

Joel's eyes widened slightly as he took in your confession. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, seeming at a loss for words, and you couldn’t blame him. It was a mess, and you’d just thrown it all in his lap. Finally, he let out a deep sigh.

“So your parents have no idea.”

“No,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he asked, surprised. “Why would you apologize?”

“Because... I don’t know. It’s not your problem.”

“Alright, don’t apologize,” he replied, sounding unsure of himself. “What’s your plan, then?”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the uncertainty you’d been carrying. “I’m not sure. I thought maybe I’d figure it out over the holidays.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on your face, as if searching for something. Then, with another sigh, he leaned back against the door. “You think you can do it?”

The question stung more than you expected. “You mean, solve my life?”

He quickly clarified. “I mean, keep the secret. Pretending everything’s fine.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll try.”

Joel nodded slowly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Just... don’t push yourself too hard, alright? It’s not the end of the world. Trust me, I know.”

He turned to leave, reaching for the doorknob, but you couldn’t let him go just yet. “Joel,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Please don’t say anything to my parents.”

He studied your face for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with, then finally nodded. “I won’t.”

Relief washed over you, loosening the tightness in your chest. At least one secret would stay safe, for now.

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Part 1]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: Events take place after episode 8 of the acolyte. You are Qimirs new acolyte after agreeing to train under him. But, first you both must escape to the outer rim and outrun the Jedi who now hunts you. A precarious situation arises when you suddenly owe a debt to the local gunrunner... but it could be just the opportunity you've been hoping for. Now you have to break the news to Qimir... Shit. Warnings: Angst, Angry Qimir, cursing Notes: I plan for this to be a slow burn story between you and Qimir. Haven't officially decided on a permanent title yet. And yes there will be plenty of future smut but I wanna do this right!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1] She's Mine [Part 2]

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

The Republic's influence and reach were stronger than ever, and with that came the ever-present shadow of the Jedi. Since narrowly escaping Vernestra on Brandok, the last few months had been a blur. You were never truly safe. Settling down had been more a matter of necessity than comfort, and even then, "settling" was a stretch.

You were still trapped within the confines of Republic space. Your ship's transponder was a liability, a beacon that couldn’t slip past any checkpoints unnoticed. The only real refuge was the Outer Rim, far from the vigilant eyes of the Jedi and the ever-watchful Republic. But the closest jump to Hutt space was out of reach, forcing you to land on the barren sands of Jakart.

The Jedi were already scouring the galaxy for any sign of force discrepancies, even in the most remote backwater planets. And you both couldn't very well lead them back to Qimirs home. So, you made the choice to hide in plain sight, settling in a place where the noise of a thousand other lives could drown out your presence. Jakart, with its swarms of thugs, scavengers, and criminals, was the perfect cover. Here, you could disappear into the crowd, becoming just another face. But you knew that this was a temporary solution; the longer you stayed, the more you pushed your luck, and the longer you went without proper training.

You didn’t know when—or if—another opportunity like Ian’s would come along. Passage to the Outer Rim on a ship that could evade Republic scouts was a rare gift, one that you couldn’t afford to lose But now, you had to face the hard part: breaking the news to Qimir.

As you scanned into the small, cramped building you and Qimir now called home, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The door slid open with a hiss, and you stepped inside, the faint hum of the city’s underbelly muffled by the walls. You pulled off your cloak, shaking off the fine layer of dust that clung to it, a grim reminder of the harsh environment outside. Your eyes stung from the grit of the sand, and you rubbed them wearily. It had been a long, grueling day.

The dimly lit room felt stifling, the walls pressing in with the weight of the choices you had to make. You tossed the cloak aside and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before the inevitable conversation. Qimir wasn’t going to like what you had to say, but there was no other option.

The sound of Qimir moving around in the next room broke your train of thought. You squared your shoulders, pushing down the fatigue, and stepped forward.

There he stood. Looking at you through wisps of black hair, slick with sweat. His eyes, which you once thought were brown, seemed almost black now, with a sharpness that felt more predatory than human.

"You're back." He exclaimed.

"I picked up some Jogans." You tilted your head in the direction of the small table in the corner.

"Feeling hungry after that mug today?"

You only sighed in response.

"That thug tried to take my shit... Would you have rather I just let him walk away?"

He tilted his head back in frustration, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed whatever distaste was rising in his throat.

"How many times do I have to remind you that our survival here banks on our ability to lay low."

"About that..."

His eyes locked on you, demanding an explanation.

"I found a ship that can take us to the outer rim, under the radar."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise "the pilot you found wasn't a bust after all."

You bristled at his tone, almost offended by his doubt. These past few months had shown how strained the relationship could become. It felt more like a game of cat and mouse, and you hated losing.

"Not exactly."

He continued to stare at you through his eyebrows. Why did he always have to stare at you like that.

"A smuggler can get us there."

"who's the smuggler."

He didn't waste any time. You tensed. Ian was the last name you wanted to give. But thats where this was headed anyways. You just had to bite the bullet.

"Ian Skynyr."

Even the name tasted bad on your tongue.

His jaw twitched.

Jeez this was gonna a difficult one to swallow.

"Skynyr." He repeated.

He took a long pause before continuing. "No."

"This is our only shot. You know as well as I do that a freighter like his could secure us both passage safely off of Jakart. I just have to help him out then we can---"

"Help him with what exactly." He cut you off.

You froze.

"Its just a job." You stated casually.

"What kind of job."

"Obtaining and transporting cargo to some client." You brushed it off as if it were a mere fly buzzing past your ear.

"What else."

"Thats all he told me."

"Details matter y/n."

"No they don't matter... because this might be our only chance to get to the outer rim."

"Whatever debt he thinks you owe him... forget it. Skynyr is an idiot. Wherever he goes a blaster target follows him."

"I know, I know. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. But he's all we've got. So, I'm doing it."

"And the deal we made?"

"What about it? I'm not going back on anything. So being your acolyte is following whatever you say regardless? Can you not trust me on this?"

He grimaced.

"No. It means don't fall into a mess I have to pull you out of."

"I can handle myself just fine. I thought Brandok proved that."

"Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now."

Did the death of your old master, at your own hands, prove nothing to him?

No.

You were bartering with a man that had no interest with the rest of what you had to say. But no matter how much he disliked this plan or how much of a headache your existence seemed to him at this moment... he couldn't resist the appeal of Ians secure passage through Republic space.

"Do you have any better ideas then?"

He sighed, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor. His posture slumped as he leaned against the wall, just as exhausted as you were.

"If you can come up with one, I wont take Ians offer. Otherwise we should take this deal."

You didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, you walked into the next room, slumping onto the small cot that had been your bed for the past few weeks.

You imagined that the only reason he didn't follow was because he knew the truth, which was that you both had no idea when another chance like this would arise. He was just angry it involved working for Ian.

You replayed what Qimir had said to you.

Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now.

You realized that killing your old master did prove your commitment. But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him.

Good.

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

You basically had to drag Qimir to the landing platform where Ians team was meeting. The air was filled with hyper fluid and gases that singed your nostrils. It reminded you of your old post fixing up freighters like the one that now towered before you. Although, that life now felt like it belonged to someone else.

Ian practically beamed when he saw you both approach, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the buzzing platform. "Glad to see you made it."

You only gave him a small nod in return face remaining neutral.

The rest of the crew were people you recognized from around the bazaar.

The Transdoshan known as Kiro. His presence was intimidating, standing at an imposing 6'7", with a build that suggested he could break bones as easily as he could snap his scaly talons.

Next to him was Shaun, a grizzled sharpshooter. He gave you a curt nod, acknowledging your presence with the little care.

A droid, its model old but well-maintained, stood quietly beside them. You couldn’t quite place its make, but it looked functional and that’s all that mattered.

And Ian. Your point of contact - begrudgingly so.

"Our buyer is interested in a rarity being sold at auction tomorrow on Carinth. Job is to secure the cargo and transport it. We'll rendezvous with him on Canto Bight."

"how do you intend to secure the bid. I'm guessing you don't have nearly enough credits to bid on something that an anonymous buyer wants"

Your skeptic tone was thinly veiled.

"Who said anything about bidding with actual credits."

"So what, you yell fire and then grab it in the chaos?"

"Our operation is a little more refined than that."

Qimir scoffed earning a frown from Ian.

Kiro growled, lacing his arms together in a tight cross obviously put off by Qimirs severe lack of respect for any of them.

"The buyer is willing to pay whatever sum for the item plus our services. But he doesn't want to be tied to the acquisition of the aforementioned cargo. So we're going to act as his ambassador of sorts"

"And how do you intend to make the highest bid."

"Rod here is going to take care of that." He gestured to the droid. "So no matter what you have the highest bid."

"Wait, that I have the highest bid?"

"Well Yord was supposed to be the stand in for the auction and canto bight but he's kinda occupied right now."

It took everything in you to bite your tongue.

"You said this was a simple job." You bristled.

"It is."

"You never said anything about impersonating a bidder."

"You didn't ask sweetheart."

Qimir clenched his jaw.

"Yord normally keeps a low profile which made him the best suited for the stand in. Unlucky that he broke his streak on trying to rob you"

"I'll be recognized."

"Where we'll be, no one is going to give two bactas about who you are. These aren't the type of joints where saints congregate. Jedi will be the least of your worries."

"Why are the Jedi looking for you two anyways." Shaun questioned suddenly very interested in the conversation.

"Thats none of your concern."

Shaun put his hands up realizing that you weren't one to answer pointed questions.

"Whats the item I'll be bidding on."

"that also happens to be none of your concern either."

"If we're doing this job I need more information to make sure were not walking into anything we can't walk out of."

"Even if I wanted to I couldn't tell you. The item only goes by its bidding number and the client wont share beyond that. Also I don't really care what it is... as long as I get paid. You're now the stand in on Carinth and Canto Bight, and thats all I'll hear of it."

"Why was it Yord? why me?"

"There's a strong likelihood that the rest of us aren't exactly on the best terms with some of the attendees frequenting the auction, especially not in Canto Bight. We need someone who’s not a big player—or better yet, someone who’s completely unknown. The client insists on absolute secrecy. The fewer issues we encounter and questions we face, the better."

You couldn't deny that everything he stated made sense for a job such as this.

"So what happens when they find out the credits being transferred are fake?"

"Thats when we blast out of there like a bat out of hell."

You almost smirked. You hated to admit it but the chase excited you.

"So you're what is considered a big player?" You replied mockingly.

"Ouch." He pretended to take a knife to the heart.

"Fine."

"And just because I like you so very much y/n I'll let the two of you split Yords share."

"How generous of you, Ian." You swallowed your words with disdain.

"I like to think so." he smiled with great satisfaction. "Be here at 05:00."

Before you could nod your head, Qimir had already turned on his heal heading towards the exit.

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

"Whatever you have to say, go ahead. Get it out."

Qimir said nothing as you followed him down the ally. Though you could almost read the back of his head.

"Well if you're going to brood about it at least -"

Before you could get your next words out, you were slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you barely had time to react before his hands pinned your arms to your sides, his grip like iron.

"This isn’t my fault," you gasped.

"Of course it isn’t," his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

You could feel the anger radiating off him. He continued.

"Skynyr is trouble, and nothing but. That makes him dangerous."

"And what are we exactly?" you shot back, your voice tinged with defiance. "What are we?"

"You know what we are," he replied. His tone was cold, as if stating an undeniable truth.

"So when did smugglers become the biggest, baddest thing in the galaxy? In the dark, there’s nothing to fear but us."

"Maker, you’re naive," he spat. "He’s more trouble than he’s worth."

"You’re right," you conceded, though your voice was steady with what you said next. "The sooner we leave the sooner we can continue training. And he’s our best shot out of here."

His jaw clenched, and his teeth bared in a snarl. The rage in his eyes was palpable, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against the cold, unforgiving wall. The proximity, the force, everything about the moment screamed danger, yet you held your ground.

"The only reason I’m willing to go along with this little drama," he whispered, a lethal calm overtaking him, his face inches from yours, "is because of that damn republic transponder. Maker knows who else has one... Maybe this trip will teach you a valuable lesson, my young apprentice."

Those last three words hung in the air like dead bodies.

Ghosts.

Ones that constantly haunted you.

My young apprentice.

It wasn’t just a title; it was a reminder of everything you had left behind when you walked away from the Order. He was asserting his authority, reminding you of what you were to him—and more importantly, what he was to you. The unspoken command was clear: Don’t forget it.

You could see the words of warning in his eyes.

"Yes, Master," you whispered.

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if to ensure you truly grasped the gravity of your position. He loosened his grip and pushed himself away from you, storming off toward the compound.

You remained against the wall for a few seconds longer, the echoes of the encounter still reverberating through your mind. The word “Master” clung to you like a weight.

The next morning you both had packed everything you owned... which was very little. But it wasn't the material things that weighed you down. Qimir lashed out at you for a good reason. It was the uncertainty, the sense that you were stepping into something that could very well get you both killed.

Or worst captured.

Maker help me. You whispered.

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

Thats it for today! Hope you liked it! If your feeling it, let me know what you think in the comments.

[shewhowas39]

some very important Mystra context

all right, i'm back on my forgotten realms lore bullshit again. this time about Mystra, because i see a lot of misunderstanding around her (and for good reason, there have been MULTIPLE Mystras.) but also because there's a narrative that Gale was groomed that i'd like to gently push back against.

so, very condensed history here, but the first goddess of magic was Mystryl. she was replaced by the first Mystra in like the -300s DR (BG3 takes place in 1492DR, this will come up later.) the new Mystra was goddess of magic until the Time of troubles (1358 DR, i believe), when Ao (big powerful god) got real pissy because the Dead Three stole the Tablets of Fate in order to try and take on more power. as a result, Ao forced all the gods to walk among mortals in their avatar forms. this was a huge event in forgotten realms history.

so Mystra was like "this is bullshit" and tried to go back to the heavens. Helm, serving Ao, ended up killing her to stop her from doing this.

meanwhile, there's a human mortal who calls herself Midnight who is essentially an adventurer. Midnight ended up killing Myrkul, and Ao was like "nice work, you're the new Mystra" and Midnight ascended to godhood.

when she ascended, Midnight also inherited the essences of the old Mystra AND Mystryl. (if this sounds confusing, that's because it is. forgotten realms lore gets wild.)

so Midnight, now also called Mystra, is the new goddess of magic. but in 1385DR, not even 30 years after ascending, Shar gets pissed becasue she wants to control the weave, so she tasks Cyric, another recently ascended god who used to be mortal, to go kill New Mystra. he does so, and this causes the spellplague, a 10 year long event in which a bunch of awful shit happened with magic and tons of wizards died.

but New Mystra wasn't entirely dead. her faint essence still existed. so in like 1479 DR (13 years before BG3 takes place) Elminster senses her presence. she's possessing a bear, it's all she's capable of at this time. she tasks Elminster with finding mages to be her Chosen, so that they can help her get stronger again. this is probably when Elminster was like "so i know this guy named Gale." at this point int ime, Gale would have been an adult most likely, because i think we can all agree he's in his 30s in BG3.

still, even with Elminster's help and her new Chosen, New Mystra didn't become a fully revived goddess until 1487 DR (5 years before BG3 takes place.)

and this is why the "Gale was groomed" narrative doesn't quite work for me. now, let me be clear, i'm not saying their relationship was healthy. there was an obvious power dynamic problem, and her telling him to blow himself up is objectively shitty. however, Gale would have been an adult when they met, even if he met her when she was still too weak toeven have a body beyond that of a bear.

i know there's a letter from Elminster to god Gale that says soemthing about fidning Gale as a child, but Mystra would have been essentially a wisp on the wind at this time. Elminster may have already been looking for talented wizards to help bring her back, but he dind't even have the ability to connect with her until he sensed her as a bear in 1479 DR, at which point - again - Gale was an adult.

but, moving away from that narrative, i also wanted to bring this up becuse it makes Gale's possible outcome of ascending VERY interesting, becuse the current Mystra, formerly Midnight, was also a human who ascended. however, in her case, this was bestowed on her by a very powerful god as a "reward" for killing Myrkul. (i say "reward" in quotes because it also put a target on her back with Shar and got her killed not too long after so you know....ascension ain't all that pretty.)

anyway, i thought this might be of interest to some of y'all, because reading up on Mystra lore can be confusing as hell since there have been multiple Mystras, but that context does really make her relationship with Gale way more complicated and (to me) way more interesting.

tl;dr - the Mystra that is Gale's ex is not the same Mystra who has been a god for thousands of years. she has her essence and the essence of Mystryl, the first goddess of magic, but was originally a human woman who ascended and then got murdered real bad and then came back only VERY recently thanks to Elminister.

[tsunami-of-tears]

Iris

Azriel x Rhys’s Sister Reader

Summary: Reader has been struggling with her inner demons ever since her brother went Under The Mountain.

A/N: This is really dark. Please, please read the warnings before clicking read more.

To preface: I’m okay, just tired and was pre-menstrual when I started this. I haven’t been in this dark of a place in a very long time, but I wanted to write this for 15-year-old Shelby who thought no one saw her. I haven’t talked about my history of self-harm much and it’s hard to reopen those wounds, but it’s therapeutic. 

If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I’ve also included a few resources at the end of this fic.

Wordcount: 1.2K

Warnings: ANGST!!; major depression; disordered eating (binging); graphic self-harm; Rhys UTM

Reader

Things were bad. 

Really bad.

You had completely withdrawn from your family in the months since Rhys had gone Under The Mountain. 

Rhys - your idiot older brother - had sacrificed himself to protect you and your people; leaving you in charge of his court. 

Ruling had always come easy to him, he was born to do it whereas you struggled to switch between the required masks.

These days, the only mask you wore was one of cold indifference. 

As the shield fell into place around Velaris, trapping you inside, a wall of adamant rose around you, keeping everyone around from seeing the war raging inside your mind. 

Most of your time was spent in your bedroom with the curtains drawn, unable to look at the sleeping city below your window. 

Velaris, the city of Starlight, had lost its sparkle. 

The first week after Rhys left, not a single light could be seen. The once lustrous city had gone into mourning. The Sidra, usually glimmering like liquid night, now reflected only the deepest black. 

You only dared to leave your room during the night when you were less likely to be spotted, not wanting anyone to see the ghost you’d become.

You float down the stone hallway, robes billowing as you walk to the kitchen. 

You’d taken to eating late at night. Food, usually sweets, was the only comfort you could find.

You’re rummaging in the larder when you feel a familiar sensation around your bare ankles, the cold shadow wisping over your skin.

“Y/N,” you hear a deep voice say behind you. 

You turn, blocks of chocolate in hand, to face the one person you love more than your brother. 

“Azriel,” you reply, taking in his appearance. 

He looked terrible.

His hair was dishevelled, his jet-black curls in dire need of a comb, and his once warm hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them were deep violet bruises, clearly he wasn’t sleeping much. 

You can feel his gaze on you, and wonder what he thought of the shadow of life you’d become. 

You watch his nostrils flare. “Y/N, are you hurt? I can smell blood.”

You feign a laugh, “I’m on my cycle.” You hold up the chocolate as evidence. “Cravings.” 

Azriel narrows his eyes but doesn’t push you. “I… We miss you,” he says.

You turn away from him, unable to voice how broken you feel. 

“Please, I can’t lose you too,” he pleads. 

“Goodnight Azriel,” you whisper, slipping out the door into the dark hallway. 

Neither Azriel nor his shadows follow you. 

————

You step out of the shower and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinising your reflection. 

You pinch at the skin on your hips and stomach, scowling at the growing curves, before turning to the side to inspect your full breasts and butt. 

Facing forward again, your eyes fall upon the ladders of scars across your thighs and forearms. 

Angry red and purple lines jutting between faint silver. 

You started again after losing Rhys. You hadn’t done it since losing your mother. It was the only way you knew to reflect your inner turmoil. 

The day your mother was killed, you were meant to be with her. You should’ve been taken too. 

Rhys had helped you out of the pit of despair that time, but he was no longer here. Once again, you were saved while your loved ones were not. 

You towel off your skin before sitting down at your vanity. You pull out an ornate jewellery box and retrieve the ash dagger stashed inside. 

You weren’t sure why you harmed yourself. There was a part of you that felt you deserved it, that thought you were a wretch for allowing your brother to endure all that torment for you. Then there was a part that just wanted to feel something other than the numbness that ached to your core. 

You press the dagger against your skin. Not even the sting of the blade made you cry anymore. Your tears had long since dried up. 

With each slice, your self-hatred rings in your ears. 

Stupid – cut. 

Useless – cut. 

Waste of space – cut. 

You set the bloodied dagger down on the counter, feeling nothing but apathy. 

Morning starts to creep in when you finally make it to bed. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the little voice inside your head sneers at you. 

This was the life your brother sacrificed his for? Pathetic. 

————

Azriel

If Velaris has become a ghost town, the House of Wind was its crypt – haunted by devastation and grief.

Azriel leaned against the balcony railing, looking out on the once-shining city. 

How did it all go so wrong?

Not a day had gone by where he didn’t blame himself for everything. For Rhys. For Y/N.

Y/N. He could see the pain in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but Azriel knew better. He’d always been the one who could see through her masks. 

Azriel is pulled from his thoughts by his shadows, swarming around him in distress. 

“Y/N. Kitchen. Now.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Azriel tells them. 

“She’s hurt.”

Azriel winnows into the hallway, allowing his footsteps to be heard outside the door. He turns into the room and spots Y/N searching through the freezer. 

She slams it shut, jumping as she turns towards Azriel. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” she says. “We’re out of ice cream.” Y/N tries to step around Azriel but he blocks her path with his wing. He looks her over, not able to see anything visibly wrong. 

“I’ll get you some more, just please come to dinner,” Azriel pleads. “Or we can go flying together, anything you want. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Y/N shakes her head, looking at the floor.  

“He wouldn’t want you hiding away like this,” Azriel says.

“I don’t care what he would want. He obviously can’t think clearly or else he wouldn’t have left,” she seethes, pushing past Azriel. 

Azriel grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Please Y/N, you’ve…” he trails off, feeling something lumpy under her sleeve. “What is that?” 

Y/N tries to yank her arm back but Azriel’s grip is firm. 

“Let me see,” Azriel says quietly. Tears start to fall from her eyes as he gently lifts her sleeve, revealing the bloodied bandages. “Oh darling, what happened?” 

Y/N just shakes her head.

“Can I have a look?” he asks.

She bites down on her trembling lip, tears flowing freely

Azriel carefully unwinds the bandages revealing the stark, straight lines. His chest aches for her; as if the scars were etched into his heart.

Azriel always cared deeply for Y/N, offering her a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. A small part of him felt hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. 

He swallowed his pain, it didn’t matter. He was here now.

“Come here,” Azriel wraps his arms around her, stroking Y/N’s hair softly as she sobs in his arms. 

Azriel knew she was struggling, everyone could see it. But no one realised just how much losing Rhys broke her.

Azriel curses himself. 

He should’ve known. After her parents, Rhys was all she had. 

No that’s not true - she had Cassian. And Mor. And Amren… 

And him. 

And he wasn’t letting her go.

Mental Health Resources*:  If you’re in immediate danger please call your country’s emergency number. Australia: Beyond Blue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Mental Health Hotline: 1800 011 511 Lifeline: 13 11 14 USA:  Crisis Line (call or text): 988 UK:  Lifeline: 0808 808 8000 *If I have gotten anything wrong or if you have other resources to add, please let me know

[carmendeiact2whenplz]

Things we don’t know about Old Mondstadt (that Hoyoverse refuses to tell us)

Aka things that haunt me (and probably many other old mondstadt fans)

(keep in mind- not all of these may be entirely unanswerable as of now, some have partial/vague canon answers, while some may have completely canon yet relatively obscure answers)

(for the sake of making things easier to write, i will refer to venti’s dead friend/the nameless bard as “nb” and the red haired warrior as “rhw”, and specifically wisp venti as “wispti”, and i will be referring to the group of wispti, nb, rhw, gunnhildr, and amos (and maybe decarabian too if he’s relevant in that context) as the “old mond gang”)

Note- lots of paragraphs ahead

1- why is nb nameless? does he just… not have a name? does he have a name that he either intentionally or unintentionally kept secret? did he have a name that he used openly and oftenly, but it was forgotten by history as time went on? if anything, did he at least have some sort of nickname people used for him (so we can stop calling him “some nameless guy or smth idk”)?

2- While nb being, well, nameless, may be a bit more justified, what about rhw? did he also have some sort of name? would calling him “ragnvindr” (or similar) be entirely un-canon? did he at the very least have some sort of code name/nickname?

3- what is the timescale of the rebellion? did it take weeks, months, years? decades? how long ago did thoughts of revolution start in old mondstadt? were the people always unhappy, or did old mond use to be a better place?

4- what is nb’s role in the rebellion? did he start it? is he just a leader in general? or is he just there for the moral support? was he on the front lines or in the distance, playing his lyre to rally the troops? is he a strategist? has he ever directly fought anyone on the opposing side?

5- actually, how old is nb anyway? pretty sure most people agree that the rest of the old mond gang are adults (not wispti but like. i’ll touch more on that later), but i’ve seen stories/theories/headcanons about how old nb was (at the time of death) ranging from around 14 to 23 years old- that is not a small range by any means. (according to a poll i made a while ago, 16 was the most common answer on what people thought their age was (my headcanon too), but there was definitely a lot of range in the answers)

6- If Amos and Decarabian’s romantic relationship is so toxic (for lack of a better word), how any why did they get together in the first place? Did amos enter the relationship aware decarabian was against some of the things she wanted most in life? did she enter the relationship purely to try to “fix” him? was he abusive towards her, or was it just a lack of attention/affection/caring about other things more than her? or was it that he never loved her/was attracted to her romantically at all? were they still in a relationship even until the very end, or did they eventually split up when they both knew they would have to fight eachother and that things wouldn’t work out between them?

7- according to the “biography of gunnhildr” book (i think that’s the name), it says they worshipped the wind spirit barbatos and treated it like a deity, while other sources say wispti was nameless and was like. just kinda there. is one of them the truth, or both, or neither?

8- does wispti have arms and/or legs of any kind? can he talk/communicate with people? if so, how does he go about doing so?

9- it’s implied in “a drunkard’s tale” (an ingame book) that the wind spirit that transformed into a fox and helped create wine is the same wind spirit as well. wispti. if that means wispti can shapeshift, to what extent can he do it? can he even become a human/humanoid (not to the same detail and/or time extent that modern venti/barbatos can do so but still)? if so, how does that impact his relationship with nb and/or the rest of the old mond gang?

10- how long did the members of the old mond gang know eachother? did most of them meet in relation to the rebellion, or did some of them know eachother before they got to that point?

11- what is the order of events between amos dying, nb dying, decarabian dying, barbatos getting the gnosis, barbatos taking nb’s form, the end of the fighting, and rhw leaving/abandoning (for lack of better words) everyone? how much time took place between all those happening?

12- what exactly are the purposes of the tower? is it just a living space/government building for decarabian and amos, or is there more to it? did other people live in the tower too? if the circular ruins/symbols seen in the tower present-day were also there back then, why and how are they there? are the light actuators in the tower related to anything involving decarabian’s power/immortality and/or the storm wall?

13- how impenetrable is the storm wall, really? is everything restricted from going in or out, or are some people able to move freely? what is the immigration/emigration rate of the city? how often are things imported and exported? does the wall have any intended purpose other than for keeping the blizzard out?

14- how did amos get her bow? why is it so (hypothetically) powerful? where did she get it and how did it “retain its power” to this day?

15- how “old” is wispti? he could theoretically be any “age” between “manifesting into existence shortly before his first interaction with nb” and 14 billion years old/as old as time itself(and you thought nb’s theoretical age range was large.) how much did wispti truly know before getting involved with the rebellion? was he technically a toddler (in terms of knowledge/mentality), or does he actually have thousands of years of knowledge?

16- to what extent did the imunlaukr (i probably spelled that wrong) and lawrence clans participate in the old mondstadt rebellion? were they involved at all? should the old mond gang be eventually expanded to include more people? (lawrence, venerare, etc)

17- HOW DID DECARABIAN LOOK LIKE? HOYOVERSE PLEASE. IF YOU WONT GIVE US HIS FULLBODY DESIGN WITH MULTIPLE POSES AND FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AT LEAST GIVE US SOME CRUMBS ABOUT HIS APPEARANCE (how tall he was, hair color, outfit style, special accessories he wore, weapons he used, etc)

18- what is the relationship of the old mond game to eachother? were they friends? found family? or were things far more complicated than that? (and what was their reaction to knowing amos, one of their biggest allies, was also the lover/partner of their (the old mond gang’s) enemy?

19- did some of the genshin weapons with lore relations to old mondstadt actually get used during old mondstadt? (aka did nb get to use freedom-sworn as an actual combat weapon)

I probably left out a lot of things so i may go back later to edit, but there are just. SO many things hoyoverse keeps behind the lore basement. If anyone would like to add onto this list, or provide personal headcanons and/or canon answers to the things mentioned here, i highly reccomend doing so.

@honorary-fool @amarisrosalette @gierosajie @lanternlightss @arson-n-quwubilder @littleblueberryartist @lilyandthegenshinbrainrot @elysianheresy

@goyayato @lordofthetower @nellfe-the-feral-creature @thatonenerdinyourclassroom

@yume-shirokuro

(if anyone tagged would not like to be tagged, please let me know)

[skyfallscotland]

intertwining souls (we were never strangers) - ii

I’d tried to leave it well enough alone, tried to resist crossing the distance between the quadrant and the main campus where I knew I’d find her. Tried to stay far away from the infirmary and the healers’ purview where I knew she might linger. I’d tried a lot of things, before I’d realised I didn’t have to.  I can’t change Remi Sorrengail’s history by being here; that Remi Sorrengail is gone. The only thing I can change is this Remi’s future, and right now—listening to her cry quietly, my own heart twisting inexplicably in my chest—changing that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

She’s crying, my shadows tell me, her chin tucked down into her chest as she sobs quietly into her pillow, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. It’s gut-wrenching, the emotion contained in that small body and while I had some idea she wouldn’t be the same as she was that night on the flight field, I hadn’t quite been expecting this. It hurts. More than it should. 

I’d only known her—the other, future her—for a few days, just enough time to get to know her; enough time to know I wanted more…and I don’t want to wait. I’ve always been patient, calm, able to weather any storm while my mind plots and plans. Somehow though, this is the exception. I can’t wait. 

She—the other her—told me we’d meet on the parapet a year from now, that her whole world would be tossed upside down soon enough and she’d be forced to enter the Riders Quadrant, a fate she never planned on. She told me there’d be venom and harsh words, but that I’d fall for her—love her at first sight. 

She’d also said that she wouldn’t be the same, that her strength would not be obvious at first and that she’d need me to help her; to build her up, to protect her and hone all her sharp edges. She’d thought maybe I’d forget—that once she disappeared, returned to her own time, whatever signet or dragon magic had landed her here, would cease to exist as well and my memory might be erased.She’d been wrong. 

I’d tried to leave it well enough alone, tried to resist crossing the distance between the quadrant and the main campus where I knew I’d find her. Tried to stay far away from the infirmary and the healers’ purview where I knew she might linger. I’d tried a lot of things, before I’d realised I didn’t have to. 

I can’t change Remi Sorrengail’s history by being here; that Remi Sorrengail is gone. The only thing I can change is this Remi’s future, and right now—listening to her cry quietly, my own heart twisting inexplicably in my chest—changing that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

I close my eyes, leaning my temple against the cold, hard stone of the tower wall as I focus on my signet, letting my shadows stretch out to stroke gently over her hair. She startles a little, her hand whipping up as if to flick away a spider, or a bug. In the darkness, her lip trembles and I can’t resist stroking over it with a wisp of black. 

She jerks away, spooked, her hand swiping at the air and I let my shadows creep around her in their entirety, cradling her. She struggles for a moment, her pulse thrumming wildly, flickering visibly against the delicate skin of her throat before she settles, hugging herself inside the shadows’ embrace. Her tears still fall, her breathing ragged, and I let a wisp slide up to caress her face, tenderly wiping away her distress. 

“H-hello?” She whispers quietly into the dark, no doubt fearful of waking her sister who sleeps on obliviously in the bed on the other side of the room. The shadows curl around her, holding her tight before they slip away, a lone tendril reaching out to encircle her wrist, gliding over her skin in a forward motion; pulling, coaxing her. 

Slowly, she untangles her legs from her blankets and stands, wrapping her comforter around her shoulders like a layer of protection. She follows my shadows as they guide her toward the door. Carefully, with a single glance over her shoulder at her sleeping twin, she unlatches the lock and steps outside, squinting into the darkness. 

She closes the door silently and turns, positioning herself in front of it. “I know you’re there.” She whispers softly, the slight tremor to her voice matching the trembling of her fingers as they clutch the comforter around her. Her eyes narrow, sharpening as they adjust to the moonlight coming through the window, her attention catching on my shadows as they retreat. 

She adjusts herself accordingly, angling her body toward me, a solid obstacle between me—the threat—and the girl in the room behind her, sleeping soundly. She takes one step forward and then another. “What do you want from me, Xaden Riorson?” 

I jolt, surprise no doubt etching my features for a fraction of a second. For a moment, I think maybe she knows, that she has some idea of who I am—what we are to be to each other—but then my brain finally reconnects and I realise it’s not a difficult deduction to come to, there’s only one shadow-wielder alive at the moment and that’s me.

“Have you come to kill us?” She asks quietly, almost crooning. “Do you want revenge against my mother, for everything Navarre did to you? To your family?” She’s moving closer with every step, her tears forgotten in the face of what she perceives to be a threat, a threat against her life and her sister’s.

Slowly, I let my shadows dissipate, revealing my still form leaning against the stone wall of her quarters, a few feet from where she’s standing. As I watch her, she watches me, her eyes trailing over my black leathers, the shadows still curling around my hands and finally, my face, her attention catching on the scar bisecting my brow, the mark Sgaeyl left me.

“Yo—”

“Beautiful.” I murmur, halting her questions as I step in close, slipping a finger beneath her chin to tilt it upwards, the angle drawing her parted lips toward mine so temptingly. Oh how I’ve craved her since she left. Craved her touch, her warmth, the press of her lips against my own. My eyes trail over her now, taking in her natural beauty, her mussed hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, her wide, wet eyes. I want to kiss her. 

I want to kiss her. So I do. 

I lean down, slotting my lips against hers, my hands sliding down to her hips to haul her close. For a moment she’s frozen, unresponsive in my arms as I swipe my tongue along the seam of her lips, but then some level of instinct kicks in and she relaxes, tilting her head back even further as she opens her mouth to me. 

My heart slams against my ribcage as my hands hold her to me, my thumbs drawing circles on the bare skin of her hips where her sleep shirt has ridden up and at just the thought—the image of her tiny sleep shorts barely covering her thighs—I groan, panting against her mouth. I ache to flick my tongue out, to grasp her lower lip between my teeth. I dip my head, intent on doing just that, only to feel the press of something cold and sharp against my throat. It stings, a sudden burning pain flaring to life in an instant. 

“What the fuck?” There’s a low, guttural growl, the sound escaping her a complete, violent contrast against the soft press of her body against mine, my hands still palming her hips, grasping her to me. The furious sound is however, completely in line with the blade she has pressed to my throat, threatening to pierce my carotid. Clever, deadly, beautiful woman. 

“There you are.” I breathe, leaning in. A trickle of blood runs down my neck. “Hello, love.”

The comforter has fallen to the floor, of no use now it’s not concealing the blade grasped tightly in her hand. Her brow furrows, her eyes flicking over my face, taking in the curve of my lips. I wonder what she sees in my eyes as hers settle there, an unnerving intensity to them. “You just kissed me.” She whispers; like it’s a secret, something horrifying to be hidden between us in the dark. 

“Yes.” 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” 

My lips quirk up a little. “Did you enjoy it, angel?” I croon, watching her shiver as I slide my hands up further to cup her ribcage beneath the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. It’s familiar, the press of my fingers to her skin. Future Remi was not shy about her body. She’d considered me hers, time fluctuations be damned and she’d made that very clear by demanding my hands on her at all times—pressing her side to mine, twining our fingers together, enticing me to curl around her while she slept, her hands holding mine to the skin of her waist, my fingers just brushing the underside of her breasts. Yes, future Remi was anything but shy. 

This Remi however, doesn’t know me yet, doesn’t know the delight, the comfort of our bodies against each other in every possible way, doesn’t know our souls are somehow intertwined. Star-crossed. She holds the blade tighter to my throat. “Start. Talking.” She enunciates, a scowl on her face as I brush a thumb across her skin, too close to the curve of her breast to be accidental.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I laugh quietly, keeping voice low in the deserted corridor, moonlight streaming in from the solitary window.

Her fingers tighten on the blade. “Try me.” 

I decide enough is enough. I let my shadows curl around it, freezing her hand in place and pull the dagger from her immovable fingers. “I’ll take that.” I slide it into an empty sheath at my thigh, watching her scowl deepen, her eyes widening a little. A flicker of fear graces her features, only for a moment before her face smooths over in a mask of calm—but it’s enough. I don’t like that expression. I don’t like that I put it there. 

“Remi.” I coo gently, letting one hand slide up the side of her neck. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Not ever.

She breathes deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. “I don’t know you. Your promises mean nothing to me.” Her gaze falls to the shadows swirling around us, their movement calm and soothing as they slide over her arms.

I lean my head down, slowly bringing my forehead to rest against hers. “Yes, you do.” I murmur knowingly, tapping a single finger against her chest, above her heart. “You know me, here.” Just like somehow I’d known her. That night on the flight field and in every moment after. I’d known her. 

“Look at me.” I command, something soft and pleased curling through my chest as she does so immediately, her eyes meeting mine. “Kiss me.” I make sure it comes out as a request this time, rather than a demand. “Kiss me and you’ll know.”

Her eyes widen slightly, uncertainty and disbelief warring on her face. “There’s no way—”

“Your body knows mine.” I interrupt softly, my fingers tracing patterns on her skin. “All your quiet upset, all your hurt…it disappears in the face of my touch.” I slide a hand up to cup the back of her neck. “Close your eyes, Remi.” I command, my thumb pressing over her carotid as I walk her backwards, pushing insistently until her back is against the wall. “Close your eyes and feel.” 

I watch, silent and resolute, until her eyelids finally flutter, hiding away that beautiful hazel. My thumb brushes gently over her thrumming pulse. “Good girl.” She jolts slightly, her jaw clenching as a flush stains her cheeks red.

“You’re so beautiful.” I croon, lips pressing lightly against the skin just below her ear, the spot I'd quickly learned draws a quiet, pleasured sound from her every time. My breath skates over her ear and I let my thumbs return to brushing soft circles beneath the cotton of her sleep shirt, just barely grazing a nipple. Her breath hitches. 

“It’s just me.” I mouth against her, pressing my lips gently to her jawline. “You’d never let a stranger this close—let someone unknown this near to your throat.” My teeth graze over her artery as the words leave my mouth, my tongue flicking out to soothe her. “Only me.” 

Her chest heaves as she breathes faster, her head tilting back against the stone wall behind her. Her eyelids flutter for a moment and I make a sharp, insistent sound. They quickly close once more, her brow furrowing as she screws her face up, as if willing herself not to peek. That same pleased, dominant part of me rises in my chest again. “Good.” I praise, sliding a hand down to cup the curve of her ass. Her lips part. 

“Ri-Riorson—” She breathes quietly, “I don’t—”

“Xaden.” I interrupt, but don’t give her the chance to correct herself. I press our lips together adamantly, reaching down for her hands to guide them to my neck. Her fingers spasm for a moment, like she’s not sure what to do with them, completely overwhelmed by the feel of my body against hers, my teeth tugging softly at her lower lip as I try to make her feel a fraction of what I do—what I did, within moments of meeting her. 

Finally, they curl inward, gripping the back of my neck as she kisses me in turn. My shoulders fall as I relax, leaning into her as she parts my lips with her tongue, kissing me slowly, explorative. Every nerve in my body lights up as if gravitating toward her and I don’t hesitate to wrap her in my arms, cradling her protectively as I respond in kind. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. The word runs on repeat inside my head. The Remi from before might have been mine too, in a way, but this one…she belongs with me. We’re going to grow together.

“Tell me you feel it.” I beg when she pulls back, gasping for air. Tell me I’m not crazy. That I’m not alone. 

“I don’t understand.” Her breath hitches, like she’s trying not to cry, but as she says it, she drops her head to my chest, curling into me like the only place she’ll ever be safe again is in my arms.

“It’s a long story.” I admit, a soft smile curving my lips, “but my dragon tells me we’re anam cara.” She looks up at me with tear-lined eyes, her gaze questioning. “Our souls are intertwined.” I elaborate with more care and gentleness than I think I’ve ever shown another human being, let alone the child of someone who—no, not going there. Not now. “Every life that we’re born into, we find each other. Again and again.” 

Her lip wobbles. “People say that I only have half a soul.” My brow furrows and I follow the flick of her eyes towards the door down the hall. A quiet laugh escapes me.

“Well that would certainly explain a few things.” I murmur, reaching up to cup the back of her head, pulling her close. I’m not willing to be separated from her just yet. 

She frowns, pulling back obstinately. “What does that mean?” I don’t answer, lips tipping upward in amusement as she tries to hide her annoyance. “Hey, I asked you a question.” She snaps, a fierce glare on her face, “tell me what you mean!” Her voice rises in volume. “We sure as hell aren’t soulmates if you think I’m going to fucking share—”

“Would you keep it down?” I hiss, covering her mouth with my hand. “Amari, you’re so fucking difficult, if I—” I snatch my hand back, gritting my teeth against the pain as I look down to find a perfect half-moon of teeth marks marring my skin. “You bit me? Seriously?” I ask, clenching my jaw. This woman—

“I’d have driven my knee into your balls, but I’m gathering they might be of use to me at some point.” She spits, venomous words every bit as cutting as I’d been warned about. “Wouldn’t want to damage them.” A sarcastic smile tilts her mouth and I want to be angry, I do, but somehow I find myself mirroring her, an identical smile on my face.

A smile. Gods. When was the last time I— “Never. Now hurry up and explain things to her before you ruin it.” I’m startled from my thoughts by Sgaeyl’s voice in my mind. Not one for patience, my girl. Neither is my woman it seems, judging by the look of growing irritation on her face. No wonder the pair of them apparently get along, they’re just as cutting and ruthless as each other. 

“Do you believe me?” I ask quietly, reaching out to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. 

“Not if you think—”

“I’m not interested in your sister.” I explain patiently, “but my dragon’s mate will be, just over a year from now, at your Threshing.” 

She swallows hard. “What?” She croaks. Before another word can leave my mouth, she’s shaking her head. “That’s…my sister’s going to be a scribe.” She denies. “They can’t bond scribes. So your dragon’s mate is just going to have to get over themselves.” 

I choke on a laugh. “I’ll let you tell him that—just over a year from now.” 

She fumes, gritting her teeth together. “I’ll tell him right now. He needs to—” 

I cut her off with a kiss. “No you won’t.” I murmur against her lips. “And are you being obtuse on purpose? I just told you, you time traveled.”

She gapes. “Uh…no. No you didn’t!” The words are hissed, low and quiet in the hallway. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Her hand grips my wrist with enough force to bruise. 

“You time-travelled.”

Remi blinks. “No. I didn’t.” 

I stare at her bemused. “I was there.” 

“And I wasn’t?” She arches a brow. “Logic would dictate that if I travelled back in time, I would approach myself to coach me on what to do.” 

“No.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I think I would know better than some…some rider, what I would do.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Apparently not.” I contest. “But don’t worry, I came prepared.” I pull a sealed piece of parchment from the interior pocket of my flight jacket, holding it out to her. “You wrote this, for yourself.” For emergencies only. In case I ever needed it. This counts as an emergency, right? “I assume it contains something only you would know.” And as desperate as I am to know what exactly that is, I’ve restrained myself every time my fingers have itched to open it. 

She frowns disbelievingly before cracking the seal, unfolding the missive. Her eyes flit from side to side, squinting in the dim light to read it. Slowly, they grow wider. Her gaze flits between reading each new paragraph and looking up at me. Again and again. Her lips have formed a small ‘o’ by the time she’s done and I tilt my head, reaching out for the letter. “What did she—”

“No!” Remi tears it away from me, folding it into the tiniest square she can, like it’s a knee-jerk reaction. “No, I…I believe you.” What the hell had been in that letter? I watch bemusedly as she shoves it into the waistband of her underwear. 

“That’s not a deterrent.” 

Her cheeks redden. “Shut up.” She snaps, kicking out at me with her foot. “She says you’re an idiot and this is not an emergency.” My eyebrows climb higher. 

“She does, ok.” I make it clear how little I believe that.

“She does!” Remi protests.

“Ok.” I smile slyly. “Why don’t you show me exactly where she said that?” I coax, brushing my hands over her ribs, skating them lower and lower. Before I can reach her waistband she squirms, catching my hands in her own. 

“Stop that.” She steps back a little, pressing my hands into my own chest, retreating as she reaches for the letter once more. She unfolds it slowly, looking from the parchment, to me, and back to the parchment once more, her teeth worrying her lower lip uncertainly. 

“Remi, you don’t have to.” I sigh softly, folding it back over with one hand, pushing it towards her. The expression on her face is achingly vulnerable. 

“I doesn’t exactly paint us in the best light.” She forces out.

“It’s ok.” I reassure her. “I was only joking.” She reads the lie on my face, that much is obvious, but given the lie is for her benefit…slowly, she passes it back toward me. “Are you sure?”

When she nods, she’s looking away, like she can’t bear to watch, to see any expression that might cross my face as I read it.

Xaden Riorson,—

I wonder if Remi recognised her own handwriting.

—you’re an idiot and so, so predictable. It’s like you think I don’t know you at all. This in no way constitutes an emergency. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d leave you to win her over your damn self. Grow a pair, would you? Honestly.

I stare, affronted at the words on the page. What the fuck? How is this helping me? For fuck’s sake. I keep reading, hoping that she’ll have changed her tune in the next few paragraphs, even if my Remi will have already seen it. 

Remi, hi, it’s me. You. Us. 

So this is fucking weird, huh? You didn’t have time travel on your bingo card. I know, because I didn’t and I’m you. 

Since you’re me, you probably aren’t convinced any of this is real. A guy like that, looking like…well him, showing up out of nowhere, claiming to be your future? Yeah, I’d have called bullshit too. Here’s the thing, I never had to, because I won him over. That’s right, I fought tooth and fucking nail for this guy and thanks to an unfortunate incident of time travel (dragon magic, don’t ask) and his indomitable stubbornness, you won’t have to. 

Still not convinced? Yeah, I wouldn’t be either. So let me convince you because that man, he’ll be the best thing to ever happen to you. Well, almost. It’s a tie for first place with a Green Daggertail. You’ll know her when you see her.

Anyway I know it’s hard. I could tell you any number of secrets, any number of things we keep to ourselves, that we’ve never told a soul—where the raunchiest of your books are kept, what really happened to that amphora of King Tauri’s, the events of that night when you were fifteen, when you thought about jumping from the turret—

My eyes flit up to her face in alarm. I force myself to glance back down at the page, swallowing hard. I know instinctively that this is what she never wanted me to read and I force myself not to react, to pretend I’m still reading calmly, while my eyes glaze over and my heart clenches in my chest. Eventually, I manage to decipher words once more. 

—none of that, even being known to few others, would convince you. Our logical mind could—will—wave all that away. We live in a world where information is more valuable than anything else, where there are people who can—and will—read your mind. The only thing I can tell you is this: Xaden Riorson will love you more than anyone on this planet. He’ll protect you, cherish you, and put you above all else. Repeatedly. It might take time, but eventually you’ll be his first priority. 

And you’ll love him that much in return. Listen to your heart, to the way you feel in his arms. Safe. Loved. What you could have is worth fighting for. Take the leap. 

Oh, and Remi? Keep trying to be kinder to your sister. She does love you, I promise.

There’s no signature—it hardly needs one. I take a moment to absorb everything, before finally looking up to where Remi is still facing away from me, focusing obstinately on the wall opposite. “She didn’t want to change things.” I say finally. “She said that’s why she wouldn’t come to you. She wanted things to remain as close to the original timeline as possible, I just stumbled upon her by accident.” 

Finally, she turns to face me. “I don’t think it was.” She offers, her voice hoarse. “Not if what you…and her…have to say is true.” 

“An accident?” I ask gently and she nods. 

“I…I could really use somewhere safe right now.” I’m across the hall in an instant, pulling her to me, tucking her head beneath my chin. 

“You’re mine, anam cara.” I murmur in the dragon-tongue. “You’re safe.” I hold her tight. “Tell me what made you sad—who made you cry.” And I’ll gut them like fish from the Iakobos.

She leans in. “Tell me about us, first. Everything she told you.” 

“Deal.” It’s an easy one to make. “Come on, grab your comforter and come with me. There’s a lake with our names all over it and a dragon who’d really like to meet you.”

[shxtodxroki]

𝙽𝚘𝚝-𝚂𝚘-𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊

Summary: Your past friendship with Satoru Gojo is ancient history by the time you’re both well into your teaching years, the man a mere memory from your past you can’t help but reminisce on more often than you should. But when Christmas-time rolls around and you get roped into a faculty Secret Santa event alongside your sister school, your not-so-secret Santa causes old, unresolved feelings to resurface, and gives you a chance to finally rehash and truly release them. 

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, this fic was written as a gift so it’s a fem reader instead of my usual gender neutral reader! There’s also a few small descriptive details of the reader’s personality/likes since it’s targeted towards the person I wrote it for, but there are NO physical descriptions of the reader! Geto, Nanami and Haibara are also all teachers in this! (Nanami and Geto work w/ Gojo in Tokyo, while Haibara works w/ reader and Utahime in Kyoto!)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Note: This fic is a gift that I wrote for @planetnini for this JJK secret santa event! :D Hi Nini, I was your secret santa! :D I had a lot of fun getting to know you and chatting with you through asks throughout this event, and I hope you like the final fic I made for you! I tried to take into account some of the things you told me and personalize it a bit, and I’d love to know what you think! <3 Happy holidays Nini and anyone else reading this, if you celebrate any holidays around this time of year then I hope you had a wonderful time, and even if not, I hope you’re having an amazing end of the year! :D

The scent of the town-famous bakery always managed to fill you with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia, memories flooding your senses as flashes of bright blue eyes and teasing grins flashed behind your eyelids in response to the familiar scent. It makes your stomach twist in mild discomfort, pushing the fond childhood memories that spring up back into the crevices of your mind where they belong as you feel a small, long-residing pang of longing.

He had always loved sweets.

Being friends with Satoru Gojo, the honored one who took Jujutsu society by storm from the very moment he was born, was an experience you reflected back on far more often than you’d ever admit out loud. Considering how long it had been since the two of you last had any significant contact, it would seem odd to admit just how often your mind still wandered to him, to the many soft moments and bright memories you shared in adolescence, and to the one true best friendship you had ever known. People have come and gone through your life in waves since then, and you’ve had dear friends who meant the world to you, but nobody could ever come close to the role Satoru had once filled, the way he made your heart feel so full of affection and love that it just might burst. It was the kind of friendship you felt you would only find once in a lifetime, and thus the kind you could never forget. Maybe it wouldn’t sound that ludicrous after all, but you still kept this longing to yourself, and most days, you managed to dull it to a gentle simmer beneath your ribcage as you went about your days.

You have other things to focus on now. A job and your loved ones and the upkeep of your home, all essential parts of your daily life that keep you from lamenting on the mere wisps of memory of the boy you knew. Knowing that he wasn’t far away, living a life far busier than your own but in the same profession at your sister school, did come with the occasional urge to reach out, to reminisce or catch up or ask why your whole friendship had fallen apart in the first place. But you’ve always managed to resist the urge, to fight back the desire to reach out and pry yourself away from the open yet long-ago unfollowed Instagram page on your phone (though not always without help, you had to thank Utahime for keeping you from your nostalgic urges every now and then). 

So with all the work you had put into moving on from a friendship you honestly should have long ago, you would admit (at least to yourself) that you were less than excited to find out that you’d be participating in a winter retreat with the sister school where Satoru now taught at. You were even less eager when it was revealed that there would be a staff-wide Secret Santa event between the two schools, and as the days counted down towards the trip, you found yourself wishing that the universe would cut you a break just this once and give you anyone else besides Satoru to buy a gift for. You knew so little about the person he was currently, now that so much time had passed between the two of you, and truthfully, you had no clue if he even remembered who you were at this point. The sting of realizing that he didn’t remember you was a pain you truly didn’t long to feel, and having to get a gift for your former best friend under such uncertain conditions was simply a fate you wished to avoid at all costs.

“Quit glaring, you’re drawing attention to you, and me by proxy.” You mutter to your best friend as she glares daggers into the back of the man you wished to avoid. Luckily for you, the interaction was anything but uncommon for the two, so it was unlikely to truly draw attention to either of you. Yet it still wasn’t a risk you wanted to take, not wanting to face even the slightest possibility of being forced to suffer through awkward small talk with the man who had once known all your deepest secrets.

“How did that idiot manage to become a teacher? His students would be better off with a fucking rock as an instructor, I swear to god.” Utahime grumbles back from beside you, paying no mind to your words as she continues glaring at the man from afar. Her disdain for the man was amplified when you told her of your shared past, but she had held a strong dislike for him from the moment the two had first interacted at school functions, leaving you hopeful that he wouldn’t be phased from the typical distant hostility and annoyance he received from your best friend. These days, Satoru Gojo rarely managed to spare you as much as a glance, and it had been years since he had uttered your name (a fact you were ashamed to admit you had been keeping track of, in the brief and meager conversations the two of you had shared over recent years). The feeling of being forgotten stung deep in your bones, but you outwardly portrayed the same level of unbotheredness and nonchalance he did whenever the two of you would be put in the position to briefly interact, so most of your colleagues (including Satoru himself) were hopefully none the wiser to your inner predicament.

“Alright, everyone come draw a name! And there’s no switching or re-draws unless you pick yourself!” You suddenly hear Suguru Geto’s voice echo through the room, sounding controlled and put-together as always as he drew you from your reverie and back into reality once more. It didn’t take long for the air to grow stuffy as all of the evening’s attendees crowded together around the bag of names, the small crowd still managing to tightly press together as everyone crowded in to select their recipients for this year’s secret santa event. 

Some were more eager than others, but the process was still able to remain somewhat orderly as everyone pressed together and took turns grabbing a folded up paper from the bag. The rotation went counter-clockwise, and you watched as your coworkers and fellow faculty went one-by-one until the line reached Utahime to your left. As she plucked a name from the bag, you blurted out a quip that wasn’t meant to particularly be hidden, but one which you really only intended for her ears as a small grin made its way across your face.

“Thank god Gakuganji’s off on business this year, imagine what a nightmare it would be to buy a gift for him.” You laugh at your own comment, watching your best friend’s face light up in acknowledgment of the joke before opening the slip of paper in her hand. The voice you hear responding to you, though, is much lower than that of your friend’s, and the sight of her mouth not moving causes your stomach to drop as you suddenly grow aware of the presence to your right.

“God, I think getting a gift from that geezer would be worse. He’d bring five dollar socks and expect ‘utmost gratitude’.” His voice felt like honey coating your ears, deep and smooth as the scent of his cologne suddenly engulfed your surroundings. You couldn’t believe you had let his presence slip out of your awareness, that you had been oblivious to him standing right beside you even if only for a few moments. You were so used to being tuned into his movements during gatherings like these, doing your best to avoid him whenever possible and to maneuver your way subtly through awkward small talk on the occasions where avoidance wasn’t possible. And yet here he was, appearing beside you without a shred of awareness on your part. And he was joking with you causally, as if the history between you meant nothing to him at all.

He may not remember your history at all at this point.

You could feel heat rising to your face at the thought, the painful stab of acknowledging that you may not have meant as much to him as he did to you causing your form to grow rigid where you stood. You knew you shouldn’t still be so affected by him, so in tune to everything he did and so easily reactive whenever he was near. His quick remark to you showed that he held no similar reservations when interacting with you, and it had been plenty of time to let go of the torch you had been carrying. But you were the one who left the friendship with unresolved feelings you never got the chance to express to him, with an attachment deeper than just friendship. And he obviously wasn’t, which was clearly why he had managed to move on so much faster than you had.

You were thankful as you realized it was your turn to pull from the bag, eager for a distraction so you wouldn’t have to think of a response to Satoru’s remark. You needed to calm down, and hopefully you could occupy yourself with thinking of potential gifts for your recipient through the rest of the night rather than putting so much energy into a man who wouldn’t reciprocate. Your hand plunged in and out of the bag in a flash, just desperate for any name that wasn’t Satoru’s, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as you read the name inscribed on the paper in your hand.

“Yu Haibara”. 

Thank god, fate seemed to be on your side this time. Not only did you not pull Satoru’s name, but you were close enough with Haibara, as you saw one another nearly every day, to comfortably pick out a gift you knew he’d enjoy even without the list provided to you. He was easily one of those you were closest to among the participants, second only to Utahime, and despite the melancholy that had been simmering within you throughout the evening as thoughts of Satoru filled your mind, you felt a sudden wave of confidence and excitement as you thought of what you could get him that you knew he’d love. Perhaps this was what you needed, to stop focusing so much on a long-dead friendship by instead putting that energy into pursuing closer friendships with those you cared about now. This was going to be the Christmas to turn around your attitude, you were sure of it.

And in the self-improvement spiral you sent yourself down in that moment, for once you missed the small, almost imperceptible yet genuine smile that crossed Satoru’s face as he pulled a name of his own from the bag.

The next morning, as you woke up and stepped out of your hotel room for the morning after dragging yourself out of bed at the sound of your alarm, you found yourself nearly falling face-first into the floor as you tripped on an unfortunately-placed object directly outside your doorway. The fall caused you to let out a shriek as you braced for impact, and though you were luckily able to catch yourself before you crashed, the event still left a small, tired scowl on your face as you pulled yourself up and took a glance at the item that had nearly left you bruised and sore first thing in the morning.

The sight in front of you, however, quickly melted your annoyance into curiosity as you saw a soft, pale yellow bag obstructing the walkway outside of your hotel door. Your mind was racing for a few moments as it tried to catch up with the morning’s events, and when you were eventually able to recall the secret santa exchange that you had signed up for the night prior, you felt a small giddiness bubbling within you as you grabbed the small bag by it’s handles and returned with it in hand to your room. Perhaps you could forgive whoever had left the bag in prime tripping position, as the excitement of receiving your first gift of the week outweighed any prior frustrations you held.

You opened the bag expecting a small gift to start off the exchange, maybe flowers or a nice snack. Your secret santa had only had hours between the choosing of the names and this morning, after all, and you would perfectly understand choosing to go light on most of the gifts even without the rushed nature of this first morning. So when you stripped the bag of its tissue paper only to be faced with a brand-new copy of a new game you had mentioned in your list of potential gifts, you couldn’t fight back the widening of your eyes in surprise. A brand new game surely wasn’t cheap, and to get it at such short notice felt like nothing short of a miracle. (Or incredible effort on your Secret Santa’s part). Taped onto the game was a note, short and simple:

“You’ve seemed extra stressed the past few days, so why don’t you take the day off and relax? Kick your feet up and have fun playing your new game ;)

- Secret Santa”

The note gave little away of the one who had left the gift, yet their kindness and effort was clear in both presentation and product as you grinned to yourself. Fate truly did seem to be on your side this holiday season, as you had seemingly been blessed with the loveliest secret santa in all existence. While the gift was much more than you had expected, and you had barely even gotten a chance to wake up that morning, you were quick to shoot a text over to Utahime telling her to come over to your room to share your excitement with someone. Though you unfortunately couldn’t play the game yet as your secret santa had advised, since you hadn’t brought your console with you on the trip to Tokyo, you still wanted to enjoy the gift in some way as you silently sent your gratitude towards your mystery gift-giver. You’d have to thank them when they finally revealed themself on Christmas eve, but for now you’d wait for your best friend to arrive so you could brag about your exceptionally generous secret santa and the gift you couldn’t wait to try out once you returned to your cozy home in Kyoto at the end of the week.

On the second day, you thankfully did not wake up to a tripping hazard outside of your door, leading you to assume your secret santa would drop off your gift later in the day. Honestly you were thankful that it wasn’t left first thing in the morning like the day prior, as you had accidentally overslept after staying out a bit later than usual picking out a gift and writing a fun note for Haibara for day one of your secret santa exchange. 

You had offered to chaperone a sightseeing day around Tokyo for the students (one the Tokyo students would also be attending, though more on the basis of shopping than sightseeing) alongside Utahime and two Tokyo instructors, and after sleeping through your alarm, you were already short on time as you scrambled to get ready and meet your students on time. Having a gift to open would have only added to your hassle, and now you could look forward to receiving one at the end of the day instead as you rushed to the meeting spot, just barely making it in time.

Utahime and all of your students were already waiting, and you watched as your best friend’s face drew into a small smile as she saw you approaching. Your eyes quickly caught sight of Satoru and Suguru standing beside her, seemingly the volunteers to chaperone the Tokyo students for the day, but you were determined to stick to your new outlook of no longer fixating on Satoru, so you forced yourself to brush past his presence even as he mocked and teased your best friend beside you. The four of you set out with the students in tow, allowing Suguru to lead the way as a Tokyo native (and out of a lack of trust in Satoru’s navigational skills), and you did your best to stop your mind from drifting to thoughts of Satoru as you tried to keep your students engaged and having fun, while also taking some time to chat with Utahime and scan the area for potential gifts for Haibara.

You made many stops throughout the day as you passed through various shopping districts and interesting stores, and it brought a smile to your face to watch your students interact and have fun with one another as well as their sister school peers as they spent the day shopping and chatting altogether. The poor kids were faced with the monstrosities of the Jujutsu world on a daily basis at such a young age, and it warmed your heart to at least be able to give them the chance to simply have fun and act like teenagers every once in a while. For today they weren’t Jujutsu sorcerers in training, they were just kids hanging out with their friends, and the thought made you smile as you, Utahime and Suguru hung back and watched the kids do their shopping and sightseeing (as Gojo had turned his attention from Utahime to Megumi Fushiguro for the time being, much to the young boy’s chagrin.

The day was long and covered quite a bit of land, taking you all through the streets of Tokyo as you reminisced on your youth and saw places you hadn’t visited in years, since leaving Tokyo for Kyoto to become a Jujutsu instructor and get away from your (admittedly not that dramatic) past. Sure, the nostalgia of it all did bring memories of your childhood with Satoru to the front of your mind on occasion as you passed a shop that the two of you used to always visit with your allowance money, or a favorite restaurant you would visit together on special occasions.

 But you managed to keep your focus on the students and enjoying the night out rather than letting yourself drown in the memories, and you were proud to say you even managed to be friendly and courteous to Suguru despite your usual awkwardness around your former other half’s new best friend. You were so focused, in fact, that you failed to notice when Satoru’s watchful eyes fell on you and refused to leave as he saw you interacting with his best friend with ease, or the way his expression faltered into an unreadable look at the sight.

As the sun begins to set, and all the adults begin to discuss plans to turn in for the evening, you catch a brief whiff of a scent that sends you hurdling back into your adolescence full-force, your common sense momentarily leaving you as you step out of the ongoing conversation and quickly make your way to a place which was once your sanctuary, your home away from home in your younger years.

Your favorite bakery, a small, family-owned shop whose delectable treats you hadn’t tasted in years was still standing in the same spot it always had been, and the scent of the pastry that had been your favorite since childhood made its way to you as your eyes widened at the sight. You were so caught up in trying to keep yourself from drooling at the delicious scent that you failed to hear your colleagues approaching behind you, nor the way Satoru’s eyes were trained on you once again with the slightest hint of guilt reflecting in them.

“Mmmm, looks yummy.” Utahime praises as her eye lands on the pastry you had been staring down, the two men beside her nodding in agreement. You allowed yourself another moment to stare at the delicacy inside of the shop before turning to face your comrades, though you felt your stomach do a small flip as you finally registered the way Satoru’s gaze seemed stuck on you, and the unreadable look on his face. 

“Yeah…. Sorry guys, I just got a bit distracted. We should be heading back to the hotel.” You mumbled out your apology as you returned to your spot beside Utahime, trying to ignore the way thoughts of Satoru once again flooded your mind as you tried to make sense of his strange expression, or the unusual silence he was now emitting. 

But there was no way that bakery brought back the same feelings for him that it did for you, and you weren’t even sure if he remembered the time the two of you spent there so long ago at all. You were sure he had long-forgotten your love of that specific pastry as the years had passed, or the way he used to always steal a bite from you whenever you bought one for yourself. Those days had long passed, and you forced yourself to shake off his sudden change in attitude and assume it was a coincidence as the four of you saw all of your students to their sleeping quarters for the evening, before parting ways to get ready for bed yourselves. 

Though you were a bit sad to see the sight of an empty doorway as you made your way back to your hotel room alone that evening, you felt your heart rate pick up a bit a your mood turned to something more hopeful when you heard a quick knocking on your door as you finished up your skincare routine for the evening. Of course, your elusive secret santa was gone by the time you opened the door, but the scent that practically smacked you in the face as you reached for another pale yellow bag suddenly had your stomach twisting and turning once more as you felt your suspicions begin to raise.

And as you suspected, inside of the bag you were met with the same pastry you had just been admiring less than an hour prior, the sight making you a bit less happy than it usually would despite your gratitude for the gift as you began to realize that your secret santa had to be one of the other three people you had spent the day with. And despite your hopes that things weren’t as they seemed, the note taped to the side of the bag only caused your heart to sink further as it practically spelled it out for you, so early into the week of secret santa exchanges.

“These have always been your favorite, and now you have a whole batch all to yourself, so you don’t have to share. Though, I wouldn’t mind if you’d be kind enough to slip me a piece ;)

- Secret Santa”

You spend most of the third day - another free day, thankfully - relaxing and trying to distract yourself watching all of your favorite movies and TV shows, doing practically anything to try and keep your mind away from your discovery last night. You did end up eating the pastry that you had received the night prior (at first the thought made you shiver, as the treat felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds with the loaded memories packed within, but the temptation had eventually been too strong to resist as it’s sweet scent bombarded your senses) but you were making it a point to stay in your room for the day unless one of your students needed you, determined to avoid Satoru as you ignored your emotions rather than attempt to process them.

The note he had left the night prior seemed to indicate that the self-depricating idea that you had clung onto for so many years of him forgetting your friendship was in fact false, and the thought alone had your head swimming with conflict and served to bring up more heartbreak than the reality you had created for the state of your relationship with him over the past ten years. 

If he had forgotten about you, drifted off to other friends and bigger responsibilities until your bond faded from his mind, it would at least be a pain you were used to. A pain you had desensitized yourself to through the years of pining and pondering of a friendship long lost within the seas of time. But the thought that he may still remember it all, could still recall the afternoons spent together and the secrets shared, seemed to hurt much deeper. Because that meant he had chosen something else over those memories, that they seemingly hadn’t meant as much to him even with the images still fresh in his mind.

It was a painful stab to the gut you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, so you were content to play the fool for now as you distracted and tried to deceive yourself.

When another swift knock sounded out from the end of your room, late in the evening once more (just after you had returned from your brief venture out of your room to deliver Haibara’s gift for the day), you were truthfully hesitant to open the door at all. You were currently clinging on to plausible deniability that the note from yesterday may have somehow been a coincidence, that Satoru may not be your secret santa after all. But given how willing he was to completely give himself away as early as day 2, you had a feeling that you wouldn’t be able to live in denial for much longer once you saw what your secret santa had left for the third day. 

Nonetheless, you eventually worked up the courage to rise to your feet and slowly make your way to the door, staring down the baby-blue bag standing in front of you as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. A few minutes of deep breaths and self affirmations later and you were slowly, carefully removing the tissue paper from the small bag, only to be faced with a sight that instantly caused your eyes to sting with fresh tears.

A mint green DSI, and a small collection of games. An artifact you thought you had lost long ago, likely forgotten amongst some move between houses.

You barely even noticed the tears falling down your cheeks or the way your heart seized in your chest as you reached for the note, hand over your mouth in both awe and devastation as you read the inscribed words.

“Sorry this one isn’t new, I wouldn’t mind spending thousands on you but I thought you’d prefer this. You left it behind, and I haven’t quite found the time to return it yet. Figured you’d enjoy ;)

- Secret Santa”

This was a confirmation of every thought that had been spinning within your head over the past 24 hours, and as you held one of your favorite childhood toys in your hands for the first time in over a decade, you felt more conflicted than ever on how to handle your relationship with Satoru, or what your feelings for the man were at all any more.

The following days went by in a similar rhythm, though the gifts thankfully became simpler and less nostalgic as time went on. (You weren’t sure if you could handle another late-night crying session as the result of any particularly thoughtful gifts).

Day four had left you with some typical teaching supplies, as Satoru had heard you complaining about the lack of traditional lesson plans within the Jujutsu education system and your desire to teach your students at least some of the things they’d learn in a typical Japanese high school environment over a faculty-wide dinner. 

Day five, he had gifted you with some skincare products he noticed were running low after showing up unexpectedly at your hotel room in the middle of the day, pleading with you to let him use your bathroom since he had forgotten his room key inside and Suguru was asleep. The two of you hadn’t spoken much, as he was quickly in and out of your room, but he breathed out a silent sigh of relief once he was securely outside your door as he thanked the universe that you hadn’t thought too deeply into his excuse. It would look pretty ridiculous of him to be insistent on the chance to see you for a moment if you had realized that he didn’t need to stay in a hotel in the city he lived in, after all.

Day six had been the most difficult for you to process since the emotional roller coaster of the third day, and it had been the catalyst for you to finally cave and explain to Utahime what you had discovered about your not-so-secret santa, and what he had done since your revelation. You had done your best to keep her out of it, as you knew she wasn’t particularly fond of Satoru on his best of days and had listened to many of your previous venting sessions about your forgotten friendship with Satoru prior to this exchange. But when you saw what awaited you in your bag on the second to last day of the exchange, and the note that accompanied the gift, you threw your efforts out the window as you finally sought advice from your best friend.

In the bag you were greeted with a complete collection of the Haikyuu manga and a small collection of high-quality lip balms (a collection you had been growing well before you lost touch with Satoru), along with a note much lengthier than the others.

“I don’t know if you’re still all that into this series, but I know how much you loved it when we were younger. Figured this would be better than that body pillow I always threatened to buy you, hopefully you’ll read through them and get to ‘experience the story all over again’ or whatever it is you nerds say.

The lip balms I remember you loving for some reason, but I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll give you a reason to use them. We’re supposed to reveal ourselves anyways, and I’ve got some things I’d like to say. So if you’re willing to listen to an idiot like me blab on about feelings and shit for a while, meet me at our favorite bakery tomorrow night at 7.

- Secret Santa”

You knew that you’d have to face him at some point, as you did eventually have to reveal yourself to your secret santa and exchange a final gift to one another. Yet you were unsure if you should go to this meeting or not, if you were ready to face Satoru’s feelings and demand the explanation you deserved for what had happened so long ago, especially in a place that held such sentimentality to each of you.

You had expected Utahime to talk you out of it, almost hoping she would as you went to here and finally explained to her what had been going on throughout this secret santa exchange. Truth be told, you were terrified at the thought of all your feelings for Satoru possibly being laid out in the open, and were hoping she would give you an excuse to bail.

Unfortunately, she did the exact opposite of what you had hoped, and encouraged you to meet with him in the hopes that you’d finally find some sort of resolution for the feelings you had been carrying in your soul for so long, and that they’d finally either be laid to rest or be given a chance to flourish into something much better for you. Curse her and her rationality, and the way she always had your best interests at heart.

It took nearly a full minute of standing outside the small bakery, your heartbeat ringing through your ears like timpanis ringing through your bones, for you to work up the courage to open the door and step inside, pulling off your winter attire as you glanced at the cozy Christmas eve decorations lining the walls. The bakery was quiet on such a late hour the day before a holiday, and it was easy to spot Satoru (early for once, a fact that made your heart flutter the slightest bit in your chest) at a cozy table in the corner, the same table the two of you frequented throughout your pre-teen years. He didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, overjoyed that you had actually shown up as he waved you over to your table. His greeting, however, was incredibly lacklustre compared to the week-long build up of tension and emotions between the two of you as an effortless grin spread across his lips.

“Hey.” Was the only word that fell from his lips as you sat down across from him in the booth, the same careless attitude that had always emanate from Satoru’s very being coming off of him now. But this time you refused to play along, refused to ignore the way he had tugged on your heart strings all week long and make casual, meaningless conversation the way you always did. 

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, Satoru. You know why I’m here.” You start, face fixed in a stern expression as you fought hard not to let your anxiety peek through onto your features. “Obviously I know you’re my secret santa, but I think we have bigger things to talk about here. Specifically, the way our friendship fell apart.”

Satoru wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the way you jumped straight into the heart of the conversation, he had seen the tension building on your face all week long as you received gift after gift from him. Hell, his own feelings had been much more difficult to contain than usual, with his desire to be close to you, to have you back in his life once more growing by the day. But Satoru was nothing if not unable to admit his emotions seriously, so his relaxed grin remained as he did his best not to let his heart get the best of it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I did say I had things I needed to tell you.” He ponders gently, taking a bite of a sugary cream puff laid on the plate in front of him before meeting your gaze with his aqua eyes. “Look, I was an asshole teen, and everything that happened was on me. None of it had anything to do with you.”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked, completely amazed that the Satoru Gojo who had never apologized once as a child was currently admitting complete fault. You were stunned into silence at his words, though your face suddenly showed a layer of openness to his explanation as he continued on.

“When we got to high school I got so wrapped up in making new friends and advancing my technique and all that shit. Honestly, I was a total jerk back then, I dunno if you’d have wanted to hang around me anyways.” He laughs at the remark, but you could tell that this was the real Satoru, briefly peeking through his walls that seemed to melt so easily whenever he was around you. “Plus I had always kinda liked you, but it never really seemed like you felt that way about me. So I used my new friends and my status as a way to not have to talk to you, I was just hoping that it would give me a chance to get over whatever weird crush I had because it would just be pathetic for you to find out about it. But then it went on for longer than I realized, and by the time I figured out how much we had drifted, my pride wouldn’t let me admit why I stopped hanging out with you in the first place. Dumb, I know, but that’s really all it was.”

Satoru seemed so casual throughout his entire explanation, as if he was simply recounting his work day rather than delving into the intricacies of his thoughts and feelings and the reasons why your friendship had fallen apart. And his reasons were stupid, a part of you loathed the way younger Satoru had been so stubborn in refusing to communicate his feelings that he split the two of you apart as a result. Yet another part of you felt so incredibly thankful that the split hadn’t been because of something you did, or because he had stopped caring. It was the most idiotic behavior you had ever heard of, yet you were quick to find it in your heart to forgive him when you heard the next words that fell from his lips.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, though it was clear enough for you to hear amongst the white noise of the bakery as he tried to hide the bashful look on his face at his words. It wasn’t often that Satoru Gojo apologized, and in fact it was a sight you had never seen from the man in all your time together, and it took everything in you not to interrupt him with words of forgiveness as he continued on. “I considered doing something lame, like pulling a “your gift is me” or some shit, but I got you a real gift instead. I’m just gonna say that I know for a fact that I loved you back then, and I’m pretty sure I do now. So take this gift, and I’m just the bonus, if you’re willing to take it.”

You were practically on autopilot as you took the final gift of the week straight from Satoru’s hands, no longer hidden beneath any bags or bows as your entire body felt as if it were on fire from within. You were completely unable to muster words at the moment as you took in everything you had just heard, trying to fit what he had said into the puzzle pieces of your own emotions as you glanced at the two tickets Satoru had given you, tickets to a concert for your favorite artist. 

“Hopefully you’ll let me go with you, but if you decide to kick my ass to the curb and never speak to me again, then you can at least bring a friend.” He told you as he carefully watched your reaction to your final gift, though Satoru was unable to fully hide the way panic spread throughout his entire body like a plague when he noticed tears streaming down your cheeks in waves. Before he could get another word in or even ask you what was going on, though, your eyes met his once more as your voice wavered with emotion.

“You are a complete idiot, Satoru. I spent years missing you and breaking my own heart thinking that you had just forgotten about me completely, that you didn’t remember out friendship at all. I thought my feelings would just be stuffed down and elft unsaid forever.” You chide him as your tears pour out, though the way your hand sets the tickets on the table before reaching out for his indicates that you have more yet to say. 

“You’re just lucky that those feelings hadn’t been stuffed down into nothing yet.” You continue as you sneak your hand over to interlink your fingers with his, relishing in the genuine surprise that took over Satoru’s face at the warm feeling. “And the fact that you actually apologized to me for the first time helped too.” You add on, squeezing his hand gently in yours in order to prompt him to look into your eyes.

“.....Does this mean you do want the bonus?” The man in front of you mutters out after a moment, clearly feeling overwhelmed with how emotionally charged the moment is as he tries to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. And it makes his heart sing in his chest when he hears your sweet laughter in response, a sound he had missed most in all the years apart as the both of you began leaning in from across the table.

“......Yes, I guess I do want the bonus. It’s Christmas eve, after all.” You respond with a smile, before taking charge of the moment as you press your lips into his. The kiss is short and sweet, and you know you’ll have to take the relationship slow as you re-learn each other’s personalities and quirks now that you’ve grown into adulthood. Its’ obvious that it won’t be an easy process, that you’ll both have to put in the work to make the relationship work and move past the mistakes of adolescence. But you also know that there will be plenty more kisses to come, because if your childhood friendship with Satoru and the torch you still carried for him left you with anything, it was the knowledge that, to you, Satoru Gojo was worth the work if you could wake up to that gorgeous, smiling face every morning.

A/N: It’s kind of crazy to believe that it’s already the end of the year, and that this will probably be the last thing I write and post this year. I’ll release a longer post being all sappy over the new year later, but for now I just want to say that I’m so happy I found the motivation and excitement to return to this blog this year and branch out into so many fandoms, I’ve had so much fun writing and posting here and I look forward to continuing in 2024! Thank you all for reading this and any of my other works you’ve read this year, I’ve really appreciated the support and I hope I can continue posting good writing in the future :> 

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[half-man-half-lime]

Listening to Arc 27. Damn if Shadow Stalker isn't a dark horse Blorbo for me. Just... first off, the endgame dynamics between her and Taylor (the conversation in prison) and Aisha (epilogue and "Your family loves you lots, Shady"), the "enemies teamed up against a greater threat" uncomfortable camaraderie and fun banter with Taylor's strike team and Lung, the violent history with Brian and Alec, and how cool and layered the intimacy of secret identity plays into their relationships (that's a concept I could talk at length about, it probably makes Batman villains like 40% better), the history of the bullying and her witnessing Taylor's rise to power and unmasking, obsessively following Taylor's career from prison, someone completely recontextualized as a person to her- also recontextualizing what Alec, Regent did to her- a very intimate form of cruelty, at that.

Then there's the fact that what Regent did to her was so fucked up, and I find the fandom support for torturing her so upsetting that I basically defaulted to sympathizing with her.

Plus she's just fascinating. She's a constant open wound. She is aggressively projecting strength every second of her life so she doesn't feel a trace of the weakness and victimhood she went through, while also in complete denial about being insecure.

I brought up the Wisp fic idea, and the reason I wish I or someone else were up to writing it is that on top of how fascinating she is, the notion of what it takes to rehabilitate her is fun to play with. In comparison to other villains who project strength like, I dunno, Lung, she's a relatable teen (for a weird definition of relatable), she's been involved enough in mundane society and rationalized her actions to herself enough that being a decent person or healing her issues isn't quite so alien, even if it's a steep uphill battle. She could become a better person, but it's contingent on facing herself and working on her trauma far more than it's about her growing a conscience and acknowledging her sins, which is a little counterintuitive.

I dunno, I just think she's neat.