#i feel like intrusive thoughts as a vampire????

[mercymaker]

also, thanks to the chat with @tadpole-apocalypse we had at like.. 3am, my mind's been absolutely infested by thoughts of feral astarion

his vampirism showing its claws when he just.. relaxes and forgets about the need to pretend. when he's just being a lil undead freak. super still. eyes like two beads glimmering in the dark, focused solely on his beloved. on their blood.

no thoughts in his head, just the instinct. to bite and tear and feed. to feel the warmth of the blood against his cool skin, against his tongue. to feel it rush down his esophagus to fill his belly. warm and tasty and full of life.

how he lies awake at night, listening to his lover's heartbeat, focuses on their pulse. how sweet it would be to feel it against his skin. as he wraps his arms around them, the predator instinct kicking in, restraining, holding, suffocating...

how he clings to the last traces of his humanity, but the temptation to give in is always there. and how it goes hand in hand with his insatiable hunger. the gnawing deep within his stomach. the endless pursuit of relief.

and when mal stands at the side of the bed at night, washing her face in the basin of water, her back turned against him.. astarion watches her naked form in the dark. her skin seems so pale against the darkness of the room. except for a little line, a black snake slithering its way down her inner thigh. she's unaware of it just yet, but astarion? it's all that exists in that moment. the smell, the sight, the temptation of her moonblood... the unexpected reminder of that sweet blood that she's full of. the blood he could spill and release and bathe him. how all it would take is one pounce. catching her unawares. he could tear her neck right open, just this one time. a prize he's been denied for so so long. or maybe he could wait? let her drift back into slumber, right next to him. watch the calm rise and fall of her chest before he brings his fangs to her throat. maybe she wouldn't even wake..

[eldrichfuck666]

THIS. THIS FUCKING SONG RIGHT HERE. IT'S- I FEEL LIKE IT ABSOLUTELY SAVED MY MOOD AHHH

[feyascorner]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

[cece693]

Touch Starved (Edward Cullen x M! Vamp Reader)

Summary: You were touch starved and didn't mind it. However, not everybody was fine with it. Your mate found it frustrating, especially when this distance caused rumors to swirl.

tags: reader doesn't care about touch, Edward does, rumors, students creating drama, needy Edward

Touch had never been a necessity for you. Even before you were turned, physical closeness felt redundant. You didn’t need to be held or touched to know you were cared for. Love, to you, was a state of being, a quiet understanding, not something proven through gestures or physical contact. The presence of someone you loved—just standing with them in comfortable silence—was enough.

When you became a vampire, this aspect of you didn’t just remain—it intensified. Your heightened senses transformed every little detail into something overwhelming. The smell of a distant forest, the vibrations of life beneath the ground, the heartbeat of a creature miles away, all became vivid. But touch? Touch became unnecessary, intrusive even. Feeling every texture, every pore, every slight imperfection was a reminder of how alien you’d become. Instead of comfort, it brought only awareness of your distance from the human experience.

For a long time, it didn’t matter. When you joined the Cullen family, they learned quickly that casual touch wasn’t your thing. You preferred your own space, your hands often resting quietly in your pockets or folded loosely in front of you. They respected that. Alice, of course, was the exception. Her constant, affectionate touches were something you tolerated, knowing it was how she expressed herself. You didn’t need it, but you didn’t mind it, either. It was Alice. That was different.

But Edward was different too.

Edward was tactile, always reaching out to touch you, needing that physical connection to feel reassured. For him, it wasn’t just affection—it was an anchor, a way to feel grounded in your relationship. He needed the brush of your fingers, the warmth of your hand, the brief press of your shoulder against his. It was how he knew you still loved him, still wanted him. You understood that about Edward, and for the most part, you tried to accommodate him. Even if it didn’t come naturally to you, you wanted him to feel secure.

But over time, your calm detachment, your natural tendency to pull away from physical intimacy, began to stir whispers at school. You had always been composed, quiet, and serene—never one to make a fuss or draw attention to yourself. To the students, your cool distance with Edward was misread as disinterest, something they couldn’t help but gossip about.

"He doesn’t even look at Edward anymore."

"They’re never together—he’s always with Alice. Have you noticed that?"

"I don’t think he’s into him anymore. Relationships fall apart, you know?"

And those whispers, those rumors, fed into something larger. It didn’t take long for people to start trying to test the waters to see if maybe there was truth to the rumors. Jessica Stanley was the first.

"Hey," she had said one afternoon, leaning against your locker, flashing you an overly friendly smile. "If you ever need someone new to talk to, I’m always here."

Her words didn’t register much with you; you'd barely glanced at her. You weren’t irritated or amused—just indifferent. Jessica, like the others, was human. Temporary. It was a passing moment, one that would dissolve as quickly as it came. You saw no need to correct her or give her a second thought. You knew the truth, and that was enough.

But Edward, standing across the hallway, heard everything. He heard the thoughts that accompanied Jessica’s smile, her hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could wedge herself between the two of you. He heard the other students, too—the boys who lingered near you, the girls who whispered when you walked past. It weighed on him more than you realized.

He never let it show but you could feel it. Even if you weren’t one for touch, you could sense the quiet tension building in Edward. He wasn’t just hearing the rumors; he was internalizing them, letting them feed into his own insecurities. His need for physical closeness became a silent plea, something you recognized but didn’t fully understand until much later.

That night, Edward finally spoke.

"Doesn’t it bother you?" he asked, his voice calm, but edged with frustration. You were in your shared room, the darkness outside framing him as he stood by the window, his hands fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt.

You looked up from your book, your expression placid, as always. "What do you mean?"

"The students," Edward continued, pacing slowly. "The rumors. They think we’re falling apart, that you don’t care about me anymore."

You tilted your head. "They’re just rumors. Why do they matter?"

Edward’s golden eyes flashed with a frustration you weren’t used to seeing in him. "It’s not about them. It’s about us. They think I’m losing you. That I’m not enough. And then, when I see them trying to—”

"You know that’s not true," you interrupted, your voice soft. "You know how I feel."

"I do," Edward murmured, running a hand through his hair, his movements sharp with tension. "But hearing it—hearing them think about taking you, seeing how you pull away when I reach out—it’s like I’m losing you. Like you don’t need me."

You exhaled slowly, realizing how deeply this had been bothering him. You loved Edward deeply, more than anyone else, and you believed that your bond would be enough. Hell, he could read your thoughts—how they never strayed far from him—and yet, even that wasn’t enough. He needed to feel it, to experience it in a way you had always found unnecessary.

"I don’t need touch to feel close to you," you said gently. "But I understand that you do. And that matters to me."

Edward’s shoulders loosened slightly, but you could see the residual tension in his posture. "It’s just…I need to know that you still want me. That I’m still important to you."

"I’ve never stopped wanting you," you replied, stepping closer, your calm, steady presence meeting Edward’s anxious energy. You slowly reached out, brushing your fingers along his arm, letting the touch linger, even though it wasn’t something you needed. But you knew Edward did. His eyes closed for a brief moment, and you could see him relax under your touch.

"I’ll try," you said softly. "I’ll try for you."

The next day, at school, you made an effort. You didn’t flinch or pull away when Edward’s hand brushed yours in the hallway. At lunch, when your shoulders touched, you didn’t lean away. It wasn’t dramatic, just subtle adjustments. But Edward noticed, and so did the students. Jessica’s glances faded, and the other boys who had started to hover around you backed off.

For you, the need for touch would always be secondary. It wasn’t how you measured your love, and it never would be. But for Edward, it was everything. And for that reason alone, you would keep trying.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[awakenedsalamander]

Thinking about how vampirism in the World of Darkness isn’t just dehumanizing in the sense that it makes you a literal monster but also how the Embrace quite directly rips away some of the most meaningful parts of someone’s identity to make room for the Beast.

Like, the obvious examples here are Garou and mages, given that the former, when Embraced, become the aptly-named Abominations, who lose their connection to Gaia and the Umbra and find themselves forcibly aligned with the Wyrm, the force that they view as the most horrific and destructive thing in the world; and the latter have their Avatar, their connection to magic and possibility and understanding, utterly annihilated— their one guiding light extinguished and replace with an entity that is (except for probably in the case of widderslainte) more vicious and cruel than even the most harrowing Avatar.

It’s telling that the Embrace is thus reflective of something each group considers to be one of the worst fates imaginable: dancing the Black Spiral and undergoing Gilgul, respectively.

But that’s a lot of jargon and doesn’t really hit if you don’t know the details of those game lines— the haunting part is that the basic idea remains the same even for mortals.

I mean, it’s true that everyone, mortal or otherwise, has some degree of intrusive urges toward malicious behavior, but the Beast is just so much worse than that. To be Embraced is to straightforwardly die, to lose the essence that keeps you alive, and have it brought back in this twisted form— from now on, to live is to kill and the Beast will never let you forget it.

Sure, vampires still retain their old interests and passions. I’m personally not keen on the interpretation of Kindred as inherently not having things like empathy, creativity, or grief. I think they still feel compassion and curiosity and tranquility and love and all that… but always, lurking behind them, is the Beast.

And maybe I’m just being a self-serious edge-boi but that’s such an unnerving thought. To still care about the people around you, but never without something whispering about how much you need— deserve— their loyalty, their service, their deaths.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: big smut - oral (fem receiving), rough sex, PinV, angst, Dean being cute

Chapter Word Count: 3158

—-MDNI—-

A/N: ahhhh so back to the normal shenanigans. Nil this chapter is loosely inspired by the song ‘Fuck Away The Pain’ by Divide the Day. Also I’m making some changes to how I link in my chapters, because I have quite a few now and it takes fucking ages. Also it’s 1:30AM and I’m tired so I’ve proof read as best as I can, let me know if you see any errors.

——————————————————————

New readers start here: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 11

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 12

At some point during the quiet ride home I had fallen asleep, because when I woke up I was in my bed atop the covers, still fully dressed. Not knowing what hour it was I rummaged around for my phone, finding it placed carefully next to my books on my bedside table. The brightness from the screen made me wince, my sensitive eyes finally adjusting after a few moments to read 4:17AM. I couldn’t stop the groan from slipping out and I flopped back onto my pillow. I lay there, listening to the humming vents in the bunker, taking in the deafening silence as I took long, slow breaths. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Daniel. Just not the Daniel I knew. Not the boy who lived in band t-shirts and scruffy jeans, but the strange man who wore a three piece suit and sprouted fangs from his jaw. I didn't know that person, and I'm glad I never would. My mind then drifted to Dean; seeing his confused face and shocked expression towards the revelation that I KNEW the vampire about to be killed. My face scrunched like I'd tasted something sour at the thought. I couldn't place my finger on it, but the whole situation felt wrong - uncomfortable. Like I'd been unfaithful even though I'm technically not tied to anyone. It felt like I'd been unfaithful to Dean, and we all knew the last thing he wanted was commitment. Is that what I wanted? Dean? Something more than just carnal desire? A relationship? Security? Someone to call mine? My head felt like it was starting to spin as I spiralled down a rabbit hole I had no intention of venturing down. I shook the intrusive thoughts from my head, deciding that it was the very last thing I needed to be thinking about right now. Sitting up slowly I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, my socked-feet gently connecting with the floor as I quietly left my room, heading down towards the kitchen. The grumbling of my stomach reminding me that I've not eaten for about twelve hours.

My arrival to the kitchen turned heads. More heads than I anticipated being there. In all honesty, I thought everyone would have been in bed at this hour. Apparently not. Of course there was Sam and Dean, Charlie, and that strange angel - what was his name? Castiel? But there was also a woman who I’d never seen before. She had short dark hair and a kind face, but there was something sad and sorrowful about her smile. The five pairs of eyes scorched my skin and I stopped in my tracks, taking a tentative step backwards. The only thing stopping me from turning tail and running out of there was the soothing voice calling my name that somehow instantly calmed my nerves. It was like molasses; sweet and deep and as intoxicating as aged liquor. Before I even had a chance to change my mind about sticking around, Dean had swallowed the distance between us and enveloped me in a crushing embrace. A strange instinct took over and I buried my makeup-smeared face into his chest, feeling the devastatingly familiar burn of hot tears start to well up and spill over.

“Dean-” my voice was small and hoarse as I squeaked out his name, his arms tightening around me reflexively.

“It's ok sweetheart, you don't have to say anything.

I've got you.”

*

He'd walked me slowly back to my room, like I was something so fragile and the smallest knock would cause me to shatter. In all honesty it wouldn't be an incorrect statement - It felt like the softer Dean was with me the more delicate I became. My demeanour had the density of a feather and the brittleness of tempered glass; one wrong move and I'd burst into hundreds of little pieces that would have to be glued back together.

The door clicked shut behind us and he guided me to sit on the bed. I crawled into the middle and sat with my legs crossed, uncaring of the fact my micro skirt did little to cover what dignity I had left. The thin white petticoat tickled my thighs as Dean shuffled to sit in front of me, his large hands now resting face up in my lap, beckoning my small fingers to become entwined in his. We sat knee-to-knee, Dean's eyes tracking every movement I made - every breath, every blink, every nervous bite of my lip. He took a deep inhale and a slow exhale, like he was using those seconds to decide on what to say. His rough thumbs caressed my knuckles.

“Sweetheart; it's ok to cry.”

That softness radiating from him pulled a ragged sob from my chest, my bottom lip quivering as I made the bad decision to make eye contact with him. The tears started to stream again.

“D-Daniel- he- I s-saw him- he was hit b-by a f-fucking e-eighteen wheeler, D-Dean. H-he was on his motorbike and h-e was thrown a-bout ninety feet b-before h-he hit the g-ground. I went t-to get a FUCKING s-snack and t-the moment I-I came back o-outside he was- he was-”

Before I could carry on he had pulled me into another crushing embrace, my legs slipping over his as he pulled me to sit in his lap. Rough denim rubbed on my inner thighs as his arms tightened around me, my arms moving on their own to loop around his neck.

“We don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to.”

I sniffled.

“I just want to f-forget about him. I-I healed f-from this already. I don't w-want to h-have to do that a-again, Dean. I can’t. That person- th-that vamp- he wasn’t him. Please- I just- I just want to forget.”

I pulled back to look at him. I saw this way his eyes darted to my lips and I knew he tried to fight it, I knew he’d scold himself internally for thinking such thoughts in a moment like this. His evergreen gaze flitted across my face before my own eyes landed on his mouth. I saw the way his lips were parted. I saw how his pupils dilated and how his fingers tightened on the small amount of fabric at my hips. How he swallowed, almost nervously, when I moved my own fingers to tug on his hair - to glide over his scalp. I couldn't help but allow myself to sit heavier in his lap.

“(Y/n), sweetheart. We shouldn’t- I shouldn't - I don't want to take advantage of you. Not like this,” his voice was an unusual mixture of pained self-restraint and compassionate sympathy.

“Dean,” my own voice came out sterner than I intended and I felt him flinch beneath my fingertips. “I want to forget. Make me forget.”

It was like a spark had hit a lake of gasoline; one small thing had ignited us, and my face was still wet with tears when Dean threw me down onto the mattress, my head at the foot of the bed. Thick, slightly trembling fingers glided up my thighs and tugged down my underwear, throwing it into the depths of my room. Rough palms suddenly gripped the back of my thighs and pushed up, my knees almost touching my ears whilst he shuffled slightly, like he was getting comfortable. Right when I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, I felt it: A lick. A warm wetness that wasn’t my own. Precision and practice had made this appendage a dear friend of the night, which I realised when I felt my brows scrunch together shortly followed by a breathy moan.

“Fuck-”

His tongue went around and around and around, occasionally grazing over my clit but generally taking great care to avoid it; to pump up the agonising sensitivity and make me squirm. I felt his lips move against me, his words fanning hot breaths over my most intimate area as his voice rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, (Y/n) you're delicious.”

Dipping back down and tongue back at work, he continued his actions, starting slowly - oh so slowly - before speeding up, and up and up until he stopped. He stopped making little circles around my bundle of nerves, and before I could even whine about it he'd pressed the entirety of his tongue against my opening. I didn't think much of the hand releasing my thigh and dropping it on his shoulder until the pad of his thumb pressed on my buzzer, sending a singular shockwave through me whilst he continued to taste me. His thumb swirled again and again whilst his tongue carefully dipped in and out, seeming to know exactly where to press, when to do it and the amount of pressure needed. It had only been a few minutes but I already felt like a melting mess, my body starting to writhe as the pleasure started to build in the depths of my stomach. I felt like I was losing control of my thighs as Dean's fingers dug into the soft flesh of the one he was holding up, the side of his head leaning into the other one, stubble scratching at the soft skin on the inside of my thigh as his jaw flexed with every movement of his tongue. If he wasn't holding onto me like he was, I felt like I could crush him. Another moan passed through my lips when he sped up a little more, my fingers racing to tangle with his hair, pulling a satisfied noise from him.

“Dean- please- if you keep going like this I'm g’nna come-”

He ceased his actions and pushed up, leaning forwards so he was towering above me with my arousal practically dripping from his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and there was an almost primal glint in his eye.

“Do you wanna come?”

The sound of his voice could have snapped that coil inside me there and then. Instead I groaned quietly, watching the way he slowly wrapped his fingers around my calf that rested on his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my inner thigh just above my knee. His dark eyes never left mine.

“I wanna come s’bad, but…” I paused and felt my face heat up.

“But…?”

“But I want to feel you inside me when I do.”

His eyes looked like they were about to roll into the back of his head before he caught himself and stared back down at me, chewing on his bottom lip slightly.

“Fuck sweetheart, those are dangerous words.”

“You're a dangerous man…”

There were a few moments of silence, racing heartbeats almost audible from the other side of the room. I hooked my other leg over his shoulder and linked my ankles behind his back, pulling him further down towards me.

“Dean- please. I need you. I need you to fuck me.”

I'd barely finished my sentence when his mouth pressed to mine, hot and panting. I could taste the bite of the whiskey he'd drunk at the club, the richness of it still on his tongue after all these hours - he must've had more when we got back to the bunker. I stretched my hands down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, fingers frantically trying to undo everything just so I could feel him - touch him. Anything to focus on him and him alone.

“Do you still want to forget, darlin’?”

I nodded.

“And you’re sure you’re ok with this? I don’t want you to reg-“

“I won’t, I promise. I just need you to make my mind go blank; I need the… pain to go away.”

He pulled his T-shirt off in one swift movement before lowering himself to mere centimetres above me, our lips practically touching.

“Then use me however you need to.”

His words were electric. I didn’t give him a chance to pull away, my hands cupping the sides of his face and dragging his mouth down to mine in a frenzied kiss. I was starting to become familiar with how he kissed me - with how he moved his mouth; how he tasted. I was starting to get used to him. You could almost say that I was starting to crave him. With his intoxicating scent and how he tasted when we practically devoured each other. He was becoming my lifeline, somehow, and that thought alone made my heart race.

I thrust my hands down between us to finish what I started before with unbuckling his belt and jeans, eventually dipping a hand into his underwear and feeling him hot, hard, and heavy in my palm. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, unwilling to break away from my lips. I only pushed his clothing as far as I needed to before pulling him out, wiping my thumb over his tip to gather as much precum as I could before smearing it up and down his length in gentle strokes. I started to play him at his own game by starting tantalisingly slow, speeding up over time before he was grasping at my wrist and halting my actions.

“Please-” he almost begged, pulling away from me slightly, “please don’t make me come yet.”

“Then fuck me and we can come together.”

He didn’t waste another second as he lined himself up to my entrance and pushed in, getting lost in my comforting warmth as he groaned into the crook of my neck. I gasped at the stretch, a high-note moan slipping out as he barely waited two seconds before rolling his hips back and forth. Aside from heavy breathing and uncontrolled moans, the only other thing to be heard was the wetness between our bodies and the unmistakable sound of skin-on-skin.

“I wasn’t going to say anything because the timing was never right, but holy fuck (Y/n), your outfit is killing me,” he somehow managed to form a sentence between the panting, the almost crude compliment bringing a blissed out smile to my lips, my mind incapable of forming a coherrant reply.

My ankles unlocked from around his back as his thrusting became more erratic and my legs dropped from his shoulders. Dean took this as a cue to change positions as he grasped my ass and lifted it off the mattress, pulling my body on and off his cock over and over and over again, like I was his own personal toy to use. And the whore that lived deep in my soul loved every second of it. My eyes focused on Deans face, noting how his jaw clenched as his eyes constantly moved up and down my body - taking in every curve of soft skin and ruffle of my outfit. The occasional stutter of his hips was the tell that he was nearing his end, so I traced my hands up my body and pulled the front of my top down, letting my tits bounce free. I pinched and twisted my nipples between my fingers, biting my bottom lip as I felt my sex flutter at the extra stimulation. If Dean wasn’t salivating before, he certainly was now. Keeping one hand on my breast I moved the other one down. Down over the softness of my stomach and to the soaking wetness between my legs, my fingers pressing soft circles around my clit and making me clench even harder around Dean. I swirled and swirled whilst still playing with my nipples, bringing that ever-nearing storm closer to home. I know Dean could feel it too, because his grip on my ass was slipping and he didn’t seem to care; gripping me so tight I was certain I’d see bruises in the afternoon. Letting go of my tit I brought my other hand between us, feeling where Dean and I joined together; feeling how intimate it felt. I could feeling myself tipping over the edge as the noises tumbling from my lips kept coming, urging Dean to somehow fuck me harder and deeper than he already was.

“Sh-shit sweetheart, if you keep making noises like that I won’t be able to go on any longer.”

“Fuck - Dean please- please-”

It was when his eyes met mine, those mossy-green irises clouded with lust and desire, that the storm came crashing in and my euphoria struck me like white hot lightning. My own orgasm pulled Dean into his own one as a string of unintelligible curses fell from his lips before his thrusting ceased and he set me down gently on the bed. No words spoken, no movements made; just his eyes piercing mine as the sound of heavy breaths filled the room. I wasn’t sure how long we sat there for, not making a single move whilst regaining our composure. That was, until I reached out, unthinking, and traced my thumb over Deans bottom lip. My palm rested softly on his cheek and he allowed his eyes to flutter closed for a few short moments before opening them again. When I finally spoke, my voice was barely above a whisper.

“Dean I…I’m sorry.”

He looked puzzled.

“What for? I mean if anything, it should be me apologising.”

I shook my head, a few aches starting to settle over my body already.

“I feel like I’ve used you.”

He chuckled slightly, planting his hands either side of my head and leaning in slightly.

“I told you to.”

“No, like, today was rough, emotionally. It was my baggage and I feel like you’re the one I’ve forced to carry it.”

It was his turn to shake his head.

“Don’t be stupid. You think I’m here, helping you to forget two different versions of the same person against my will? Sweetheart, I want to be here, making you feel better anyway I can,” he smiled a boyish smile, “hell, I’d’ve made you hot chocolate with cream and frickin marshmallows if that would’ve helped. Or watched some dumb ass chick-flick. Maybe even both.”

I couldn’t stop the schoolgirl grin from blooming as I fought every urge to pull him down to me and kiss him. Kiss him like I fucking meant it.

“Could we still do that?”

He chuckled, the sound causing the butterflies in my chest to flutter.

“You bet you’re perfect ass we can,” he punctuated with a light slap to my rear. “What do you wanna watch?”

I pondered for a moment, wondering what DVDs the boys would have laying around in the bunker. In all honesty though, I had one box set to my name that Bobby bought me many moons ago.

“Is Lord of the Rings good with you?”

He looked up for a moment and I’m convinced I saw him mouth ‘thank you’ to the ceiling. But that would be absurd, right?

“Darlin’ it’s perfect. But first let’s get you cleaned up.”

——————————————————————

Up Next: Chapter 13

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[chaoticbardlady99]

Could I request a fluff fic for Astarion falling for a tav reader who's a bard and an amazing singer? Maybe he can't sleep, so he goes for a walk and finds reader singing to themselves, and he sits and listens, slowly realizing how hard he's fallen for them?

Thank you so much for putting this in my inbox! I hope you enjoy!

Astarion x GN! Bard Reader

I used the songs Nobody Knows Me At All by the Weepies and Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls because I am a cliche.

  The moon glows brilliantly throughout the night sky and the stars don’t seem to realize how lucky they are that they don’t have to deal with feelings and masters and all the other terrible side effects of being a person. 

 In spite of his name sake, Astarion does not have the luxury of being blissfully unaware of the horrors life has to offer. It didn't bother him so much- he took each terrible thing as it came and rolled with the punches. Whatever it takes to keep him alive until the next day- it’s essentially his life motto. 

  Another thing stars aren’t burdened with- the need for rest. 

 Traversing into the Shadow Cursed Lands is the last thing Astarion wants to be doing and while he was already worried for himself, he found he has an entirely other worry weighing heavily on him. 

 Where in the hells are they? He thinks, its been an hour and a half now since they wandered off! 

 He is trying to not be so clingy and weird- you don’t seem to mind his company and his overbearing ness, but the others had been teasing him and he was rather sore about it. 

 They called him a lovesick bat amongst other things and he is not lovesick. You are a means to an end, nothing more and nothing less. Granted, no one else needs to know that.

 Sleep continues to elude him as he waits impatiently to hear your footsteps walking back into camp or your scent to come rolling over him from the breeze.

  It’s probably only been 30-45 minutes- realistically- but Astarion has found himself becoming very preoccupied and aware of your safety. 

 You are a squishy mortal- your heart needs to beat and you need to breathe or he will lose you and he can’t fathom the idea of not having you by his side.

 His idle feet drag him to the forest, no longer able to sit and wait for you to make a reappearance.

 I just need to make sure they are safe, he thinks, because otherwise I am not sure they would keep me in the group- yeah! That’s why I’m doing this. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

 While most feel terrified of the darkness of the wilderness at night, he feels comforted and engulfed in it. He loves the sun, but unfortunately, at the end of the day, he is still a creature of the night and that is where he technically belongs.

 He supposes that’s another worry he’s had lately- an intrusive thought really- but what happens when this journey ends? You and the others assured him that they will free him from Cazador forever- Astarion even became a bit emotional when Gale said, “and he won’t find you alone!” when Astarion brought up the dangers of keeping him in the group. 

 You have rallied around him this whole time and stuck your neck out for him more often than not. The two of you have indulged in each other and been enjoying each other’s company, but right now he’s here and you may just not be attracted to the others.

 What happens when everyone gets back to Baldur’s Gate? He’s seen you in pubs before and playing so the bar goers can stay on tune with the singer. You have your own little following of people who crave your attention and while you have told him it all makes you uncomfortable- those people would be a far more appropriate life match for you than a Vampire. 

 Astarion’s ears droop on their own at the thought. He thought he got out of the childish elven habit of slouching his ears long ago when Cazador beat it out of him- you seemed to have brushed off some of the vines. It’s like old parts of a factory are slowly being restored and as it is, he finds pieces of himself he subconsciously knew were there, but are new to him again. 

 For example- he loves a good practical joke just for good fun. He bought a cushion of sorts from Mol and put it where Lae’zel sits- covered with a blanket. She sat down on the log for her watch as quite literally everyone was sitting down to eat dinner. He fell off his seat he was laughing so hard- it was worth being chased up and down a few trees. 

 He also enjoys dancing for fun- you dragged him around the fire during the night of the Tiefling party and taught him more informal dancing and less of the stuffy shit Cazador forces him to partake in. You growled at anyone who tried to cut in- it was rather funny.

 You are also quite the fan of the occasional shenanigan and he finds himself smiling at the memory of your baby hairs stuck to your sweat slicked skin as he kept watch for guards while you graffitied Vlaakith’s painting or when you waved at her instead of bowing.

 Life is fun with you- he forgot why people enjoy being alive so much outside of not feeling ravenous all the time. He feels alive with you and the idea of you and him never seeing each other again for your entire life scares him. He doesn’t want to stumble upon an obituary some time in the future and ‘remember’ the person who saved him.

 He wants to be at your side and it terrifies him, but it would be worse to be away from you.

 Feelings- it’s disgusting and he does not like it. 

 Your scent becomes stronger on a more beaten path and he feels his alarm bells going off- jolting in the direction he believes you are and praying that every God actually hears him as he silently begs for you to be safe. 

  Your melodic voice and the sound of the babbling brook melts the worry in his body. Astarion’s pace slows slightly and he feels that annoying warm glow spread through his body. 

  You are sitting near the bank with your laundry in hand- Scratch and the Owlbear cub are laying down together nearby, one of the pup’s ears upright to hear any intruders. 

 It brings him some comfort that you have Scratch and the little cub- he isn’t sure he would fuck with an Owlbear Cub or approach a Bard with a bewitching voice calling out into the night like a Harpy’s song.

 “When I was a child

 Everybody smiled

No-body knows me at allllll

 Very late at night and in the morning light

  Nobody knows me at all

 I got lots of friends, yes, but then again- nobody knows me at all-“

 You stop suddenly and stare up at the moon and Astarion is completely enraptured with you and your singing. He feels charmed and he is entirely okay with it. 

“I suppose that’s not necessarily true,” you say softly, picking at the grass and smiling to yourself. 

 Oh your smile- he feels himself slowly melt into the grass like a smitten school boy and his own grin dances across his lips. 

 They are talking about you, the thoughts sends shocks of happiness and twinges of guilt, your plan worked.

 He should be thrilled, but he could honestly give a shit less. He is too busy listening.

 “And I’d give up forever to touch you

 Cause I know that you feel me somehow

 You’re the closest to heaven, that I’ll ever be

And I don’t wanna go home right now.”

 If his heart beat it would be pounding in his chest right now. 

 Your face is so relaxed, but he adores the furrow of your brow as you concentrate on hitting all the right chords and remembering the lyrics.  The song is beautiful but he is certain it’s only because you are the one singing it. Anyone else singing a love song would make him feel nauseated. 

 Astarion feels centuries of heaviness roll off his body with every note and sweet omission of trust. 

 He is hypnotized by your lovely fingers plucking the chords and he feels the ghost of your hand in his- you had taken it in your hand while everyone walked through the forest. Your hand had felt perfect in his own and he felt like a young, giddy, new person again. You always make him feel like that though lately. 

 “And I don’t want the world to see me

 Cause I don’t think that they’d understand

When everything’s meant to be broken

 I just want you to know who I am.”

  Astarion had lost all hope- truly lost it all- before the Mindflayers had kidnapped him. He felt more hopeful once he landed on the beach, but that hope was also laced with overwhelming fear. 

 Lately, he has been more present in his day to day. He is happy and full most days. He wakes up near you or to the sound of your laugh instead of the screams of his siblings or angry commands from Cazador or being yanked out of bed by either Cazador or Godey to be dragged off to the Kennels or Gods only knows where. 

 Astarion has actually been trancing for four hours straight without interruption these days and he even fell asleep a couple of times- his body finally feeling safe enough to completely shut down for a while. He woke up feeling stronger than ever and your heartbeat echoing through his ribs. 

 You had been more than happy to let him share your tent at night after he had barged into your tent after a particularly bad trance. It had been shortly after killing Nere in the Underdark and before entering the Crèche. He has basically been sleeping there every night since and he gets to enjoy your company- and all to himself!

 You with your wild morning hair and sleep ridden breath- it’s a gift he has never been given before. Astarion is grateful for every morning he has gotten to wake up next to you and you are alive- so vulnerable and warm with sleep. 

 He adores the way you tiredly blink at him as you become more aware of the world. You have begun to leave a sleepy kiss on his lips in the morning and he finds himself looking forward to it; and the mornings you forget, he steals a lazy morning kiss from you. It’s like Gale and his coffee, he can’t start his day anymore without that first kiss in the mornings. 

 You continue to sing- your voice strong and full of passion. Happy tears make your eyes glimmer and sparkle under the moonlight and for once, he doesn’t hate being a creature of the night because you make nighttime seem ethereal and lovely; enchanting and whimsical; a luxury to witness. Astarion is positive you could make even the most dingy corners of the world look beautiful from blessing it with your presence alone. 

 You finish your song and he decides he cannot take being away from you for another moment longer so he backtracks just a bit.

“Darling?” He calls out with a fake worried voice, “are you okay?”

“I’m over here!”

 With a big, stupid grin on his face, he half skips half walks over to your spot under the tree.

 You are delightfully rosy with blush and your eyes light up upon seeing him- Astarion doesn’t think that will ever get old. You are the first person to ever genuinely be happy to see him and he laps it up like Scratch drinks water after he has a fit of zoomies. 

“I am so grateful it’s you singing- I began to feel charmed and feared the worst!”

 You roll your eyes at his comment, but smile widely anyway and put your luteto the side, taking his outstretched hand. 

“I am so glad you find my singing appealing,” you say breathlessly, “I will have to work harder to truly charm you next time.” 

“Oh- you may consider me thoroughly charmed, my Sweet,” he presses a kiss to your forehead and you giggle, “anymore and I might become your Thraul.”

“That wouldn’t be good at all!” You exclaim, “you would agree with me on everything and it would be terrible!”

 Astarion throws his head back with laughter- it’s not even all that funny, but the way you embrace his personality and find it enjoyable fills him with so much joy. 

 You pull him out under the moonlight and he cocks an eyebrow at you- you respond with a cheeky grin.

 “Magistrate Ancunín,” you say sweetly with a bow, “I thought I might have seen you across the dance floor this evening.”

 Astarion smiles, “Ah! Your highness- how lovely it is to see you, my Dear. I was so hoping you may be here tonight- everyone else is so dreadfully dull, as you already know.”

“Believe me,” you roll your eyes and wave your hand, “none of them find my jokes or my stories entertaining.”

“Perish the thought!” He puts a hand to his chest in faux surprise, “They should all be sentenced to death!”

 Your eyes widen for a moment before you snort and join in.

“I so agree,” you snap your fingers, “there- it’s all been magically taken care of. I am the most powerful Highness known to the realms, after all.”

“Oh your majesty,” he pretends to be on the verge of feinting, “no one has ever done something so wonderfully romantic like this for me before- however can I repay you?”

“You could repay me by giving me this dance?”

 He hears your heartbeat race slightly and you look a bit nervous. It’s such a bizarre thing for you to feel. Of course he will dance with you. It would be criminal not to.

 Taking your hand- he pulls you to him and wraps your arms around his neck. His fingers greedily cling to your hips as you sway together back and forth. 

 You hum as the two of you have your foreheads pressed together and your eyes closed- the only individuals privy to the moment being the moon and the sleeping animals. 

 Astarion appreciates how your voice always reflects your feelings- the happiness in your tune is pleasant to his sensitive ears. 

 Eventually it’s the sound of the river that you both sway to and he barely catches your sentence.

“I am surprised you came looking for me,” you say with a yawn, “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

 He shakes his head, “I couldn’t.”

“Bad trance?”

“Something like that,” he quickly tries to change the subject, “why are you still awake?”

“I wasn’t able to sleep and decided I wanted to enjoy the moon and the ability to sing so freely,” you sigh, “Gods only knows when we’ll see it again.”

 Astarion hums in agreement- taking your callused hands in his and tracing the line of your hands. This seems to help you relax and it does bring him quite a bit of happiness to be able to help you relax as much as you help him. 

“I- I am really scared,” you look up at him with tears in your eyes, “I’m scared to go into the Shadow Cursed Lands. I have heard the stories and the lands are haunted by the cursed dead- people who had lives- who had stories.

“I am scared I could end up joining them,” your lower lip quivers so adorably, but he doesn’t like the words you are saying at all, “if I make one wrong move or we all get separated-“

“Stop,” he says, his voice thick and his chest heavy with an emotion he can’t identify, “I won’t allow that to happen. I can assure you that you will be rather irritated with me by the time we kill Ketheric- I don’t think I will be able to allow you to be out of arm’s reach.”

 He says it, but the actual reality of the comment doesn’t hit him until a couple seconds later. 

 Fuck.

 You smile brilliantly at him, “I hope you are ready for the same treatment.”

“I would be offended if you didn’t!”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that!”

 You lean forward and leave a kiss on his lips that takes his breath away- he follows you as you pull away, not ready to be without your lips on his. Astarion smiles against your mouth when your breath hitches- he loves that sound.

 And he is terrified to lose you.  

 Astarion fucked up his own plan- well okay, not really, but he did kind of. You have fallen for him, that much is obvious, but he was never supposed to fall for you! 

  The swaying continues- even as your body becomes heavier and heavier with sleepiness, Astarion feels like he’s dreaming and also simultaneously having a nightmare.

 He needs to rid himself of these feelings before they become all consuming- before he goes and does something stupid. 

 Maybe I give myself some space- sleep in my tent tonight? His chest tightens and he cannot breathe,  no, that won’t work. I- I don’t want to do that. I could push them away- get them to break things off with me.

 That thought makes him feel even more ill. Being near you brings happiness, comfort, and warmth- even when he is feeling extremely confused and uncomfortable with his feelings towards you. 

 You see the pieces of him he doesn’t often let others see and instead of despising him, you smile at his jokes. You laugh the loudest out of everyone- even at the jokes that maybe don’t deserve it. You are patient when he is grumpy, unreasonable, and rude. 

 You have become important to him- more important than he ever intended for you to be.

“Let’s go back to camp,” you say with a large yawn, “I need a little bit of sleep- we have a hell of a journey ahead.”

 Astarion helps you pick up your things and he carries your bag for you. You hold his other hand and you both chat as if you have spent years together rather than mere weeks- both of you grinning from ear to ear.

 You eventually wind up in each other’s embrace in your tent and you are snoring softly. Always making music as he likes to say. 

 The nighttime eventually pulls him back into his own trance, but this time, his trance is filled with happy memories of your adventures together with every melody you have ever sung prancing through his head.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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First Chapter

4. 𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼

(Y/n) stirred in her bed, a faint smile of contentment gracing her lips as she slowly awoke from a restful slumber. However, as her eyes fluttered open, she realized she was in an entirely unfamiliar room.

The lavish bedroom enveloped her, featuring a grand bed adorned with light burgundy covers. Towering windows, concealed by beautiful curtains of the same hue, blocked any intrusion of sunlight. The walls bore intricate woodwork painted black, while an imposing black chandelier dangled from the ceiling. To her left, a set of shelves displayed a collection of exquisite porcelain dolls, the kind she only saw in the exclusive toy shops of the city.

Startled by the sound of a creaking door, (Y/n) snapped her head in its direction, memories of the horrifying events flooding her mind. She rapidly propelled herself out of the bed, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the approaching figure. Her back met the cold, unforgiving wall, and her eyes remained locked on the intruder, a monster wearing the guise of a man, who strode into the room.

"You're awake," the vampire noted, and she whimpered, her fear of a repeat of the brutality she had witnessed overwhelming her.

"Please," she implored, her voice but a whisper as she hugged herself for comfort. "Don't hurt me."

The duke halted in his advance, his face marked by a perplexed frown. "Hurting you, starshine ? That is ludicrous," he objected, almost horrified at the thought.

Unable to contain her fear, (Y/n) broke down. Hugging her knees to her chest, she wept. "You slaughtered my parents," she cried, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "I will be the next, won't I?"

It was only when the vampire placed a gentle hand on her shoulder that she noticed his proximity. "Never," the monster replied, his tone far gentler now. "Do you not understand, doll? I took you in. You are my child now."

With uncertainty and fear etched into her expression, (Y/n) raised her head. "My parents..."

"Don't matter," he curtly interjected, his eyes narrowing as a possessive glint emerged in his eyes. "I shall be your father now."

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

It had only been a few hours since she had woken up in this manor. (Y/n) had slightly calmed down, but the presence of the vampire, always somewhere next to her, was suffocating. The nobleman was delusional. In his delusion, he wished her to see him as her father, the very same father he had so brutally taken from her.

Her heart thumped as he brushed her hair with a sickeningly tender care. She sat before a black vanity, and he loomed behind her, treating her as if she were some doll to be played with.

In this moment, the vampire held the upper hand, his immortal capabilities making him the dominant figure. But (Y/n) understood that she had to bide her time, to either wait for him to grow tired of her or for an opportunity to escape. The being wanted a child, a girl to pamper, yet (Y/n) was eleven, and she knew that he would eventually tire of her. He would either let her go or kill her. She gulped as she thought about that alternative. The girl would have to behave, so that the duke would like her enough to not end her life.

"I cannot wait until your twelfth birthday," announced the man with a soft smile.

"What will happen on my birthday ?" She asked with uncertainty.

"Your turning," he replied with an unsettling excitement.

A chill ran down (Y/n)'s back. "Turning ?" She repeated. She wasn’t sure of what he meant by that, but she had a feeling this was anything but good for her.

"You will be turned into a vampire once you reach the age of twelve," he declared matter of factly. "I would have turned you now, but laws are unfortunately against it."

The human shook her head, and he tutted, his dissatisfaction palpable. "I don't want to be a vampire," she urgently protested.

"This is a gift, starshine," the man rebutted with insistence. Steadily, she stood up, and he sighed in frustration. Catching her wrist, he prevented her from getting away from him. "This matter isn't debatable," he hissed, his eyes narrowing in a display of authority.

His grip on her wrist tightened and she felt as if a coldness emanated from his hand, freezing the girl's hand. She cried out when she saw ice encasing her wrist and tried to free herself, her struggles a futile effort against his supernatural strength and abilities.

"You will stop your little fuss at once and will behave," he growled with fury, and she flinched at the dangerous look in his eyes. "Understood?"

With a slow nod, she reluctantly acknowledged his dominance, her gaze lowered in fear as she withdrew her hand and settled back into her seat, her trembling hands resting on her lap. The ice forming on it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"You foolish child," he hissed, continuing to brush her hair with increasing force, bordering on painful. "You don't understand the gift I'm offering you. Immortality, power, and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. You would never have to suffer or feel pain again."

The girl recoiled slightly as his voice grew more menacing, but she refused to give in to his words. "I don't want any of those things if it means becoming a monster like you," she said firmly, looking him straight in the eye through the mirror.

He used more strength and she winced in pain. "You're being ungrateful," he snarled. "You don't understand the power and freedom that comes with being a vampire. You'll never have to worry about death or weakness again." He leaned in closer, his breath cold against her ear. "And you'll never be alone. I'll always be there for you, to guide and protect you."

Trembling with fear, (Y/n) was repulsed by the idea of being eternally bound to this monster. "I don't want your guidance or protection," she stated firmly, her resolve unbroken.

"You are but a mere child," he scoffed dismissively. "You don't know what is best for you. You shall thank me for this one day."

The girl continued to tremble in fear, but she remained steadfast, determined to find a way to escape his grasp and safeguard herself from the monstrous creature before her. She knew little about vampires, but she was aware of their inability to withstand the sun.

Soon though, a crease formed on her forehead as she muttered to herself, "Vampires can't withstand the sun."

The duke's gaze locked onto her, acknowledging her statement. "Indeed," he confirmed.

Biting her lip, she continued, "But you can walk in the sun. I saw you do so before."

He acquiesced, lips quirked up with amusement, his eyes shimmering. His left hand rose, unveiling a ring adorned with a small orange gemstone. "This is a chevalier ring, an expensive and sought-after artifact that shields vampires from the sun's harsh glare."

"The ring protects you from the sun ?"she inquired further, wanting to know more about this item.

"More accurately, the carnelian within," he clarified with a nod. "Few possess the ability to craft them."

Tilting her head, she pondered, "So not many vampires have them?"

He nodded solemnly. "It is reserved for the more respectable ones. But worry not; I shall have one crafted for you upon your turning."

Fear took hold and her body went cold with dread once again.

“Smile, dear,” he urged, as if what he planned to do to her was something to celebrate. “This is for the best.”

[kingtomura]

Vitality | 2

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home.  Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni wc: 3.2k | prev | chapter 3 | m. list | read on ao3

There are tunnels under the bar. They wind and they twist and they are very easy to get lost in. 

That’s the point, Shigaraki tells you when you ask about the arrangement the next day. It had been a struggle to keep up with Kurogiri as he led you to your new living quarters for the first time – now you were able to get away with asking him to teleport you there instead. 

But you agree. 

They should be confusing so no one can easily find where you sleep. 

But not only are they confusing, they are dark, dusty and kind of spooky. Like an ancient vampire's lair or something silly like that. The rooms however, are not so creepy. They are oddly normal and have everything you need. 

Your room contains a desk, bed and empty shelves — ready and waiting to be filled with books. 

The sheets were neatly made and there was a small rug near your bed. You assume it's to break up the bland look of the concrete, but it's fine. For some reason it feels safer than what you've had before. 

A bed, desk and a door with a lock. Yeah, much safer.

There isn’t much time to dwell on the interior design of your new room because a knock at your door shakes you from your thoughts. 

It’s a little late at night for a visitor, but you push past the feeling, spouting a firm come in and waiting on the guest to make themselves known.

You have to will your face to stay neutral as Tomura Shigaraki walks into your room, absently closing the door behind him. He’s wearing the hand-mask, but you can still make out the carmine red of his eyes in the dim lighting of your room.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he starts, voice sounding anything but apologetic, “but there are a few things I need to know.”

You watch as he stands by the door, hands in his pockets as he goes on, wasting no time questioning you. And you should answer him, especially if you are going to be staying here with them, but your mind cannot process whatever it is he’s saying. 

Everything around you seemed to come to a stop as your eyes and focus pinpointed on the closed door behind him. The feeling of being shut in with another person, another man, makes your throat feel dry and your hands shake. 

Shigaraki is watching, waiting for an answer but you’re frozen — stuck as the walls suffocate your words.

He tilts his head, another question ready to be fired off, maybe to ask about your lack of response, but you beat him to it.

“Could you… open the door? Please.” 

It catches him off guard, but his eyes never leave yours. “Why?”

There is no bite to the question, no malice. Just curious. 

“I just don’t like when doors are closed.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. Desperate to keep some of your diffidence inside, “makes me feel claustrophobic.” 

Shigaraki hums, answer seemingly good enough for him as he turns back to open your door, wide enough that you feel comfortable, but still enough to give you privacy. You feel like you can breathe again.

“Like I was saying,” he picks up again, not missing a beat and pulling out your desk chair to take a seat. “I need a little more information. You say that you stumbled upon Giran, but how? What were you doing before?”

There’s an odd feeling in your chest. One of solid dread that weighed more than a thousand pounds. It made your eyes water and your chest tight, but you willed it all away. You would not break down here in front of a man you knew next to nothing about.

You clench your fists and meet his eyes, there was a decision to be made right now. If this place were to house you then you must do what you could to be honest. Not completely, but enough. 

“I… hurt someone. And I ran away before anyone could find me.”

“And who was the unlucky fellow?” His words are light and dripping with a sarcasm that made you feel like you were walking on eggshells.

“It was,” you stall, pondering if giving him the information would backfire. You decide that it is not something you should hide. There was no erasing the past. “My father.”

There’s a chill that passes through your body as the words leave your lips. The sticky sweet falsehood of the name makes you nauseous. That man is not your father, but it is all you know him as — and who were you to challenge that? Even without his presence. 

Tomura says nothing for a while, drowning the room in a still quiet so thick you almost think he hadn’t heard you. 

“Is he dead?” He asks, raspy voice finally breaking through the quiet. 

“What?” You ask, confusion lining your features. 

“Did you kill him?”

You shake your head, and it feels like you're in the moment again — shattering glass, splash of blood and then silence. The memory of him laying out on the living room floor, blood beginning to pool under his head sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I don't know.” And it's the truth, he could very well be dead, “and I couldn’t risk sticking around to find out. But I didn't mean to–”

“Can you defend yourself?” Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat, unphased by the possibility of you murdering your father and undeterred by your obvious incoming breakdown. 

You look to the floor, eyes focused on the rug below your bed, its curving patterns and the difference of its color against the gray cement floor. “Why?”

“If he’s not dead, if he looks for you — are you able to fight if it comes down to it?”

You can’t. You know that you can’t. You’ve never been able to hold your own against him and it eats you alive every night. So, reluctantly, you shake your head. “No.”

Tomura watches you, it feels like he’s analyzing you with every passing second. He hums, taking your answer in and standing up. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” You question, thinking there would be more to his questions. You may have killed someone and he doesn’t seem to care. Just who was this guy?

Shigaraki turns back to you, feet stopping just before your door, “Oh, yeah. We’ll get you a phone in the morning. Business only. Also, there’s a meeting tomorrow around three. Try not to be late, I hate when people are tardy.” 

You can only nod, watching as he turns away from you and leaves the room. Silence falls in his absence, a thick and loaded tension as you are left with your thoughts.

The idea of your father still being out there, alive and waiting for you makes you feel restless. Your mind races as you curl up under the sheets that were newly yours and pray sleep finds you sooner rather than later. 

—-----------

The meeting is uneventful.

It was a basic introduction, while discussing the plans and next moves for the League of Villains.

All of it feels surreal. One day you’re home wondering if the hell you lived was all your life had in store for you, and the next day you’re free. 

As free as one can be with a group of villains. 

You notice a few things in your first week amongst this new group you’ve joined. 

The first being that the league can be noisy.

It’s all you can think about as you take your place on a vacant barstool in front of the counter. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Kurogiri wastes no time, glass already prepped and ready, with two cubes of ice waiting. 

You shake your head, politely declining, “No, thank you. Alcohol’s not really my thing.” 

“Understood.” The man responds, shadows flaring around his figure like whips, “we also have nonalcoholic drinks.”

You give him a short sure and he pours you a glass of fizzy, clear soda. 

Shigaraki is a few seats down, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the obituaries of a newspaper — easily ignoring the commotion behind you both. 

It’s hard to tune out the noise, but you try. You’ve been caught up in your thoughts all day, in the idea of your future. There is no guarantee you will be safe amongst villains, but there is nowhere else for you to go. And then there is your father. 

What really came of him? You’ve searched on the new phone Shigaraki gave you, but there are no news articles and no public meetings. If you really did kill him, if you really are free — just what does that mean for you?

“Bullshit!” 

You turn back to the group playing a game of cards. Spinner is losing against Mr. Compress for what he claims is the third time in a row. 

“C’mon Spinner, it's the rules! No, he’s cheating!” Twice and his two-toned persona calls out. The noise in the room was beginning to rise, bringing your anxiety with it. You can’t focus in here, but you don’t really know your way back to your room. 

Someone slams their hand onto the table and the sound makes you jolt, spilling a bit of your drink onto the table. 

You curse under your breath, grabbing a few napkins and cleaning the area. It’s a decent distraction and with it you try to calm your breathing down. Maybe getting lost in the depths of the hideout wouldn’t be so bad. At least no one would notice your absence. 

But someone would. 

“Hey, now,” Shigaraki starts, not taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him. “Are you trying to give our location away? Lower your voices.”

And just like that, the tension in the room dissipates — taking your brain fog with it. 

Your shoulders relax and the group is now being subjected to Mr. Compress and his never-ending magic tricks. 

By the time night fell you were more than ready to retire to your room. 

“Kurogiri,” you start, hoping to keep your voice low enough to not draw attention. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me to my room again? The tunnels have still got me beat.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki raises a hand to stop Kurogiri's response. “Ah, Kurogiri, she’ll never learn if you just do it for her every time. Let me.” He offers, tone a little too flippant for something that should be an inconvenience. It feels like a trap.

You go to refuse, tell him you really don't need the help and you could probably find your own way, but he stops you — one hand held up and waving you off. You swear you could see the hint of a smile underneath the mask. 

“Don’t worry about it. We want you to feel welcomed here in the league.” He goes to stand and you follow, knowing it’s best to go along with it and not against. 

The walk is quiet and the tunnels are long. 

It's dark and decrepit while the cold air makes goosebumps spread across your skin like wildfire. 

Although, you could probably owe some of your unease to your unlikely walking partner. 

You did a little bit of research on your new phone that was given to you. A little deep dive on your new leader, Tomura Shigaraki, and just who he is. For starters, he is a villain who has one of the most destructive quirks you’ve ever seen. 

Decay. 

Tomura Shigaraki is a man with many dreams, those of which supposedly align with another villain — Hero Killer Stain. You don’t know how much of that is true, but you do know that he is dangerous, volatile and not afraid to kill to carry out his dreams.  

It's odd how fate brought you together. All you’ve known is to heal others while he seems to be a professional in death and destruction. Polar opposites. 

In your research you came across an article of the USJ incident, how the Symbol of Peace had been targeted. Shigaraki was the mastermind behind it all. 

It’s almost impressive how he seems to have captivated the attention of the public.

And now the very same Shigaraki is walking you to your room, insisting it is to make sure you don't get lost. Apparently that’s what a good leader would do. 

But there is no such thing as a free lunch. 

“You know,” he starts, interrupting your trail of thoughts, the never ending loop coming to a halt at his words. “There's something about you that's really gotten under my skin.”

Your breath hitches and you wait for him to elaborate. The quiet stretches thin between you both as your steps echo along the tunnels. 

“What’s your purpose here?”

It catches you off guard. “What?”

“Everyone in the league has a goal that they are fighting towards. The goals are like power-ups. I can't figure out yours.”

He’s got you. You don't have a goal, unless he counts survival. But they’re all just trying to survive aren't they?

“We’re all fighting for something or another. Money, freedom, revenge. Those are all important things that will drive you the extra mile in a pinch.” He keeps his tone leveled, innocuous. But you knew better. This is to gauge your resolve and you weren't sure what would come of you if you failed this test.

“What are you getting at Shigaraki?” You can't help the way your eyes narrow, waiting and watching as he brings a hand to the mask on his face. 

“I’m only asking to help you out. You can’t just go with the motions forever, you know.”

This guy thinks he’s so smart, like he’s got you all figured out. It’s irritating. “I’m not!”

Your eyes are glued to him as you both come to a stop. Your hands tremble as you watch him remove the hand from his face. The abrupt action makes you falter and you absently wonder if he’s shown anyone else in the league his face. 

Even in the dim lighting of the tunnels you could still see Shigaraki’s red gaze. 

His eyes consumed you so much that you had to take a step back. And he followed — close, but far enough away. 

“You are. You did what you had to do back then, but what will you do when you’re forced to make a choice like that again?”

The chill air of the tunnels do nothing to calm the heat you feel in your body. The fear and anxiety within your mind manifesting before you in its form of trembling fingers and labored breaths. 

What would you do if you needed to choose again? 

This situation could be over just as much as it could still be lingering. Watching and waiting for you. What would you do then? 

You hate how his tone makes you sweat. 

You hate the way his words make sense.

“An animal backed into a corner has no choice but to fight.” He continues, and you stare — taking in his features in the low light. His skin is pale and there’s something about the scars on his face that make you want to reach out. To see if you could heal them.

To see if he would let you.

You don’t. All you can do is stand before him, dumbfounded and speechless as he tells you the reality you face.  

“There will come a time when your ideals are challenged. What lengths are you willing to go to maintain that freedom? How hard would you strike at those who want to keep you down and dirty like a dog?” Shigaraki tilts his head, hint of a smile gracing his features but it is not one of joy. 

“This is your life. You are the one in control. Not me, not your father — you. I don't expect you to have all the answers now, but never regret making a choice that granted you freedom.” The words make you swallow, how someone could see right through you so easily… It felt absurd.  “And don’t underestimate the lengths you should go to maintain that.”

Shigaraki looks at you for a moment — as if to make sure you’ve taken his words in and then turns away. The silence was thick as he continued his route down the hallway. You drag your feet along to follow, unable to find the words to respond.

You're both arriving in the hall where your room awaits and you bite back a sigh of relief. This trip feels like it took years. 

You both pause in front of the door, staring each other down. It's like you're on another planet completely. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, voice low as if there were others around to wake. 

Shigaraki places the hand back on his face and brushes by your side, his steps echoing in the vacancy of the tunnel as his words reverberate in your mind.

Tomura Shigaraki is right about one thing. 

You would do anything to keep your freedom.

—------------------

The following days within the league have been mellow. 

As the resident healer you come across all kinds of injuries and scratches that don’t take much effort to heal. It gets you into a routine of some kind. 

Toga, with her minor cuts and bruises, to Spinner who had a massive gash in his arm from lack of practice with his katana. It’s all simple and easy. 

Your current patient, however, is not simple and easy.

Dabi is someone you have had little to no interaction with, the man choosing to spend his time elsewhere and makes his stance with the league known.

He couldn’t care less for any of it. 

Far too focused on his own goals and motives, Dabi tended to be out and about on his own business. 

Your hands tremble as they hover over his bloody arm. Apparently there was a fight and one of the guys caught Dabi off guard. He only managed to cut his arm before being incinerated. 

The heat of his quirk lingers before your hand as you focus your energy into restoring his arm. It was hot and you could only imagine the waves of his flames. 

He says nothing as you work, opting for a comfortable silence in the air of your room. The door is cracked allowing more light of the hallway to bleed into the space. His body is not one that you could ever fully heal. 

The burns were permanent, and with his constant quirk use you don’t think he would stay healed if you tried.

Your eyes trail up his arm and you notice the glint of the silver staples along his body. Then up towards the silver lining his face. You can't imagine how painful something like that must feel. 

Your eyes trail further up until you meet the cerulean blue of his. The sudden contact makes you instantly dart your gaze to the floor and the realization of being caught staring leaves you feeling unsettled. You’re not sure how long he’s been watching you, but it makes your stomach turn.  

Shigaraki has no use for harming you, but you didn’t know Dabi. 

You finish healing him and he stands, boots loud against the cement as he makes his way to the door. 

He pauses, opting to give you one last look. “You should really work on that.”

You know he’s not talking about your abilities. Your demeanor could use a lot of work.

You can’t help but agree.

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ i drink your blood and i eat your skin, part seven.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

genre: vampire au

word count: 5,8k

warnings: angst

masterlist

playlist

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It was another day and as more time passed by, spending it only in your room, the more the boredom creeped up on you. Even the books you took with you from the library started to get boring, words on pages blending together and creating just a bunch of nonsense. The delicious food turned as bland as your world. The known unpleasant feelings started to show and not even the beautiful house could not keep you away from embracing them. You haven’t seen Hyunjin after the dinner and in some way it bothered you. Loneliness, feeling you knew all too well, quickly joined the party and now it felt way stronger, even deeper. You didn’t even realized that his presence was effecting you in some way…

More like his absence. You however knew better than let your intrusive thoughts win. It is so wrong to want his attention, him. It was so wrong that it felt good…right. You don’t know if he truly was a bad person, maybe it’s just your own head playing tricks on you. Or maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was keeping you safe from him. He is a predator and you were his chosen type of prey after all. He told you that he wouldn’t hurt you but you both know that in some way or another he already did. You weren’t in the wrong to think like this.

You are just careful around him, because you still fear him in some way. Even if you get to know him, will you ever not be afraid? You knew what power he holds and that scares you. He could snap your neck by a blink of an eye.

But…wasn’t that also so exciting?

Hyunjin is so strong, a creature created from the darkness. A vampire that walks with an aura so menacing but also so alluring. It makes you want to have just a little taste of it and before you would know it, you would be already drowning in it. And it would taste even better because his deepest desire.

You really should sort out your feelings. You wished for Mia right now. You missed her, even if it were just days but being ripped away from her like that — you didn’t like it. You choose to stay, you have to remember that.

As you were gazing through the closed windows, you wondered if you could go there. You needed some fresh air and the slightly open window in the bathroom wasn’t enough anymore. After you went to the library the door to your bedroom was mysteriously left unlocked, maybe he knows that you won’t try to run away again. For one you are sure that you wouldn’t be able to, even if you tried your hardest and second of all you don’t really want to….but maybe a walk outside wouldn’t hurt anyone.

To your surprise you found a long, warm coat for you in the closet and also some boots. Every time you had opened it, you always found new things for you. It was endless and you couldn’t help yourself from going over the multiple boxes of shoes. He really does have a taste but being alive for God knows how long, it should come naturally.

It felt wrong going out of your room like this or was it just in your head? You weren’t really a prisoner but still everyone was so careful around — with you. You weren’t that sure which way lead to the back of this place but you were definitely familiar with which way was the main entrance. You calmly made your way to the big staircase and you momentarily stopped, gripping the railing with your hand. You glance into the dark hallway just few steps away from you, you haven’t been there before. There is still so much for you to explore but your lungs really call for the fresh air you promised yourself.

As you made your way down, you noticed that you weren’t alone at all to your surprise. The house looked like it was finally waking up. Two guards were standing at each side of the main door, dressed neatly, bodies pin straight and eyes hard, it made a lump form in your throat. Maybe it’s not going to be so easy.

They didn’t spare you a glance first, even if you now stood right in front of them and you were a little thankful for that. You clear your throat, clasping your hands before you. “Ehm — hello, may I go outside?” Even by clearing your throat, you still sounded like a hurt kitten. ‘Even my voice is not on your side.’

Finally they take a glance at you briefly, before giving each other looks that you couldn’t quite place. You stood there for a while, swinging on your feet slightly. The one on your right with fair hair and looking a little older than you sighed. You weren’t so sure about his age, after all you feel like this house only reeks of the undead but this man didn’t look like it. He doesn’t have the aura around him, the different eyes or anything. He looked like you, human. His company however didn’t. He was more like your age, tall and skinny with dark curly hair and light eyes which for a second reminded you of him. This was interesting. Were there many like you here?

The older man step out, unblocking the view of the door. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said. At that excitement pumped through your veins, finally feeling some kind of relievement in these past days.

You shake your hand, waving him of, making your way to the door. “You don’t have to.”

Before you could wrap your hand around the handle, he put his hand on it, again blocking the entry with his body. You look up at him at that. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said slowly, not that sternly but letting you know that you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay.” You replied. The prices you have to pay to just get a whiff of fresh air…

The other man step aside as well, probably to not get hit with a stream of light that might shine through the now open door. You are curious about what is and what is not true about these creatures but you can tell for sure that they did not like the sun. It wasn’t that sunny outside however but you could smell the warm spring peaking around the color. The sky was still grey, maybe it was because of where you are, middle of the woods and cut from any other people that weren’t residents of this house. But is it really a house? It looked like a mansion, mixed with cathedral, you couldn’t quite place it. At least you now had time to fully analyze it.

The man walked few feet behind you and you find yourself not minding it that much, maybe because he was like you. Did he knew about who — what he was working for or was he compelled? That question ran through your head while you walk around the building, however you didn’t ask. It was none of your business but you hope that they did not keep him, like a alive blood bag…

Tracing your fingers over one of the statues, you wondered again where this marvelous place was located or more like where you were right now. You remind yourself that they had the power to do everything and more, you almost scoffed how easy it must be for them to live. The nicer weather even made the bushes bloom, you remembered that they were empty just days ago but now red roses peaked out from them.

You touched one of the roses softly, it wouldn’t propably hurt anyone to pick one up but you still glance back at your company that watched you silently the whole time. “Can I have one?” He raised his eyebrow, looking confused to why you would ask permission for that but still nodded nevertheless.

You snap the stem then, careful not to cut your finger because that definitely wouldn’t end well if you did. Twirling it between your fingers, you decided to go around, to the direction where you would look out of your window. Just as you wanted to cut the corner you suddenly appeared somewhere else.

The smell hit your nose, just as well the noises of the animals in the stables. Your mouth opened slightly. The stables were right at the edge of the mansion, so there was no way for you to ever guess to be meet with horses. You thought that vampires enjoyed more of dead company than anything. Glancing back momentarily at the guard, seeing that he doesn’t have anything against you to you going there, you pick the end of your long coat and step inside.

The heads of the horses peak out at you and you immediately went to pet each and every one of them, still careful because there wasn’t certitude that they would like you but to your surprise they did. The second your hand touch the soft skin of their neck, it seemed that almost a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Petting an animal really does help with nerves. As you passed through them, giving them each enough pets for them and for you to be satisfied, you came across a one horse that had its back to you. It probably could sense your presence, turning to finally walk up to you and have a look and you gasp softly at the beautiful white color and the black spot at it’s back.

Your lips after so long lift softly at the corners as it leaned into your open hand. You really don’t want to pick and choose favorites but this one surely speak out to you and it definitely liked you the most so far out of everyone. The stables were big, bigger than you expected, this place sure has it’s secrets and surprises.

A loud noise startled you, hand jumping away from the neighing horse to whip your head to the direction. There at one of the stalls stood a man, leaning on the wood, looking you over and you wondered if he’s been there the whole time. Your body stiffened at his dark eyes and matching black hair.

“H-Hello.” You greeted, unsure, looking back your company that to your surprise kept his distance, standing at the entrance to the stables. Looking back to meet the eyes of the lean, tall man, you don’t receive any answer. He looked like one of those statues in the gardens, the aura and his unraising chest giving you the answer about who — what this man truly is.

The horse you were just petting nudge the back of your head, making you jump before your focus was back on the still silent vampire who was still sizing you up. You cleared your throat, straightening your back, suddenly feeling insecure under his gaze. “I am–“ Before you could finish introducing yourself he beat you to it.

“I know who you are.” He said.

“Oh…”

A small smirk appears on his face at your response. “My brother can’t shut his mouth about you.”

‘Really’ You thought. You weren’t so sure what to say to that so you kept quiet. The silence however made you feel uncomfortable, turning around to continue at your petting of the horse. As you do that you could feel him getting closer, you couldn’t hear his footsteps but the burning stare at the back of your head gave him away. You turned back to him, his gaze hard but not looking so unwelcoming, maybe it was just his natural expression and also he was much closer to you that you thought. Basically right next to you

“I’m sorry for asking this but…” You begin. “–are you all…following me?” The question was answered by silence, his face unmoving. “I feel like you are…”

He hummed almost like in thought, his own attention falling to the animal before you two. “Just keeping an eye on you, like everyone.” The vampire answered. ‘What does he mean by everyone?’ Your eyes briefly flicker to the guard.

“Hyunjin likes his sleep…” He continued, making you snap out of your thoughts to look at him as he nodded his head to the direction of the horse. “You ride?”

You shook your head widely, still slightly stuck at his statement. “Oh n-no, but I for sure always wanted to try.” You careased the soft skin of the horse, smiling at it’s noises of contentment.

The vampire watch you in silence, petting the happy animal. The news of your existence shocked everyone, it was such a crazy theory that even he didn’t know what to think. He, like everyone else didn’t want to give Hyunjin the satisfaction that maybe he was right about you. The fact that this animal, your so called soulmate’s untenable horse let you pet him so freely was for sure a little significant. All eight of them had their own look at you at some point, peaking from behind corners in curiosity. Their brother was so mesmerized by you that they just had to have a look themselves. They however didn’t expect you to be like this — look like this. Such a beautiful soul but also so sad, wide eyed like you finally opened your eyes after years of living. Walking amongst the living but so close to the dead. Still you looked and smelled so sweet, like a flower, maybe you were just tormented, lost soul like them. Maybe you are more enchanting than you think…

The black haired man startles you as he suddenly opened the gate to let the horse out. “What are doing?” You asked in wonder. The question only made him roll his eyes in annoyance. He was only doing this for him. Maybe if you saw kindest in others, you could finally start seeing it in him.

You watched the vampire as he put the saddle on the horse. “We are going for a ride.” He stated casually, making you choke on your spit. Because of the gate now being open you could fully see how magnificent this animal is and it made you nervous to even approach it now.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He again rolls his eyes. If this bordered him so much, why was he even doing it then? Your body froze slightly as he suddenly made his way up to you, so quickly that you didn’t even have time to react. One second you were on the ground and now you were being picked up by your waist like you weighed nothing. A small gasp leaves you. “Wait! Wait, I don’t even know your name…”

“Seungmin.” He answered simply, while helping you up on the horse’s back and if you weren’t so focused on balancing yourself you would’ve seen the small amused smile.

The vampire walked with you in his arms, before helping you to get fully seated. “Wait! Aren’t you not supposed to be able to go outside.” You stated, clutching the leather of the saddle tightly as the animal moves under your weight.

A sigh, almost like a laugh comes through his nose at your words. “I appreciate your concern but however the sun can’t harm me from here.” You opened your mouth in realization.

You were know seated on the horse, body so rigid that now you were the one looking like a statue. The vampire still had his arms stretched out, like you were going to fall at any second into them but you were basically frozen at your spot. The animal moved a little, making you grip the saddle even tighter.

“Do you want to go down?” Your company asked softly. You didn’t say anything because you simply didn’t know the answer but as seconds passed by you started to not mind your position. Maybe the whiplash from how quickly you were put so high up was wearing out. “Or do you fancy a walk around the castle?”

Your head snapped to his direction. “Can I?” You asked softly.

“What do you think.”

You sighed through your nose, body not so tense anymore. “I would love to.” You really would.

His lips formed into a small smirk and not because of your words but from the annoyed sigh coming from inside the house that only he was able to hear. His hand then wrapped around the reins, making the horse move from it’s spot, you immediately tensing up again. But after some few steps as you walked your way to the direction of the guard who you almost forgot about, you found the hang of it.

“Accompany her, make sure she doesn’t get hurt on my brother’s behalf and sanity.” Said Seungmin and you couldn’t miss the difference of the tone of his voice nor the way he looked into the man’s eyes.

The guard nodded, blinking away rapidly and grabbing the reins to the horse. “Yes, sir.”

Seungmin turned to you, even if you had the higher ground, you couldn’t possible share the same authority as him. “For my well being I won’t be the one to give you the tour.” ‘Oh? So direct sunlight was the enemy.’ Your eyes then fell on the two man again.

“Just around the forest.”

“Yes, sir.”

You felt a little bad for this unknown man but there was nothing to do. You simply don’t have the power to even have a say about who or who not should be compelled. The way Seungmin now was looking at you, made you think that he could read your thoughts. This intense glare probably came with every vampire though.

You smiled briefly at him. “Thank you, Seungmin.”

He waved you off, looking into the distance. “I did this for myself because I can’t tolerate my brother’s whining any longer.”

“Huh…” You frowned because you couldn’t imagine him doing that, eyes traveling back again at the vampire who stood under you.

“You made a choice to stay.” He stated. “So at least try to enjoy it and stop your own whining.”

“Excuse me?” Flies out your mouth because you had nothing other than that to say at the moment but he just ignored your question, turning around to make his way back inside, exactly as the sun appeared on the exact spot he stood second ago.

“Goodbye miss Y/N.”

‘Vampires are going to be the death of you.’

────

It was a cold night, so cold that even Hyunjin shivered. Though was it really the breeze, coming from behind the closed door that made goosebumps appear on his skin, perhaps it was the unsettling feeling bubbling inside his chest, ready to burst at any moment. He stood behind the closed door to your bedroom, silently getting over the words inside his head. His thoughts were so loud that he didn’t even have time to listen. Hyunjin listened to the sound of your beating heart every second, since you’ve been here, even the many walls separating you apart couldn’t safe you from his ears. The thumbing soothes his soul, like a lullaby but now the sound makes his ears ring. The sound…so close yet so far.

He wanted you to know that yours made his own beat again. There’s no way for him to express his emotions throughout words. He tried plenty of different ways to show his devotion to you but you dodged every one of them like a bullet. Did you even know that every second without you made him mad? It made his skin crawl, itching, burning and fangs hurting and wanting nothing more than to pierce the soft skin of your neck and make you his. Hyunjin wanted to mark you so bad that he had to bite his own lips to ease the temptation, while imagining they were yours instead.

The vampire didn’t want to say this but your rejections were so confusing to him. He knew how and what he could evoke in humans, he was the creature that trilled on the seduction and the pleasure after all. You however didn’t return it. Or did you? He would like to say that he could see in the depths of the soul that people try so desperately to keep hidden and you weren’t really good at hiding yours. Your eyes gave you away every time he would look into them. The desire, the desperation they held, the wanting and longing to be finally seen. ‘Why won’t you let me in, Y/N?’ Let him in and he promises to ravish every corner of your heart, every piece of your untouched skin and lips…

Hyunjin has to contain himself a little but how when you were the reason and also the answer to his suffering and redemption?

He finally found the courage to knock on the door. The sound echoed through the old mansion, like the creaking wood under his feet and yet he didn’t hear anything from the other side. He waited a little bit for an answer but every moment made his suffering even worse. Hyunjin knew you were in there…so he let himself in. He hopes you won’t be angry with him.

His eyes traveled over the room. From the unmade bed, to the multiple books on one of the nightstands. They stopped at the open window to the balcony, the very reason of the cold seeping inside the room. The strong wind made the heavy curtains float but the smell of your sweet scent didn’t immediately hit his nose, like he expected. Sense of panic washed over him, making him take quick steps to the balcony. ‘Have you ran away, jumping from the balcony and running for freedom through the forest? What if you were injured?’

Just as quickly as the panic had reached him, it flew away through the wind as a gasp ringed in the air. He turned around, coming face to face with your shocked expression and he had to slightly sigh in relief, taking in the smell of your skin.

One moment you were enjoying your bath in silence, washing away the smell of the animal you spent your whole day with and then there was a vampire standing inside your bedroom. You didn’t expect him to visit you at all and definitely not so soon after the horrible dinner and also not so late but what seemed like late to you was the beginning of the day for him. Your white nightgown gave you little to no coverage, wrapping your arm around your chest, the man following your action before quickly everting them. “May I ask what are you doing here unannounced?” You spoke up, eyes glancing at how the moonlight casted shadows on his face.

Hyunjin look up at your words, glancing over your figure so quickly that you didn’t even catch it. He had to licked his lips to ease the thirst. ‘God what are you doing to me?’

“I did.” He said. “I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“Alright.” You said, nodding not really sure what to say to that. You again watched each other in silence for a while. These moments were making you unsure if they made you uncomfortable or…comfortable. His presence doesn’t brother you that much anymore but you still haven’t got used to it.

Pressing your lips together, you walked to your bed, passing by him shifty. He had to take a deep breath as the wind blew your hair away from your neck. You knew exactly what he was doing as there was no need for him to breathe at all, however you tried to ignore it. You climbed into the bed, taking the duvet closer to your chest. It created a small imaginary distance from him, shielding you from his glaring eyes but you knew that if he wanted to he would tear it apart together with you.

You gave him a look of wonder because for what was he exactly here for? The expression made the vampire snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “I came here to talk to you.” Hyunjin answered simply.

You frown. “Talk to me?” You quoted. “About what?”

He gave a weird look, almost like in thought, before he sighed. “Anything…” He walked up at you, stopping just at the end of the bed. “I just want your company.” Hyunjin almost sounded desperate and how he towered over you, it reminded you of something.

How he looked at you that night and how he made you feel. You knew that it was just your imagination, a dream and it didn’t particularly ended well for you but the way he made almost everything look so appealing…His sultry voice and his eyes, lips, hands — your eyes flicker to his rings, wrapped around his long fingers.

Looking up from the dark color of the duvet, you could see that he had moved a little closer to you with just a moment of your unawareness. He leaned his weight on the column of the bed’s canopy, just where your legs were. “Minho said you enjoy reading.”

“Yes.” You said carefully. How can you be surprised?

He hummed at your answer, warmness spreading inside his chest because you shared something in common — and of course he couldn’t forget about your love for animals…

Glancing momentarily at the one book on the nightstand, he could see bookmark peaking out from it. “What book did you picked?”

Biting your lip, you also look at the book before placing your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “Would it be bad if I said Dracula?”

Hyunjin laughs, genuine smile on his lips and you couldn’t help yourself but marveling over it. “Interesting, I wonder why the sudden interest in vampires.” There was still the same smile on his face, though now teasing you.

You were so taken back by his reaction that your own lips started to tug at the corners. “Hey, don’t laugh.” You tsked, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s more interesting to why you even have this book in your library.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, still amused.

A sudden big gush of cold air flew from the still open balcony inside the room. It made goosebumps appear on your skin and just as quickly as your reaction to the sudden cold appeared on your body, the man before you took action upon seeing it. “Are you cold? I will close it.” Hyunjin didn’t even give you time to answer, walking to the windows to close it.

Your hungry eyes stared at his back and even from here you could see the muscles underneath the tight shirt. If only he knew that the shivers weren’t only from the cold. The vampire turn around slowly after closing the balcony, looking right at your laying figure. There was so much to say but neither of you knew where to start.

But you however had enough of this killing silence, feeling the way your heart skipped a beat after glancing at him. “I’m sorry but I was just going to bed and —“

“I understand.” He didn’t even look angry nor sad with your words, not like at the dinner. “I will talk to you some other time…”

You nodded again, still being slightly tongue tied. Again watching him walk away from you made you feel empty. Why were there so many mixed feelings? You really don’t know what you want from him…maybe the truth.

Just as walked pass your bed you stopped him with your hand raised. “Wait!” He immediately turned around, almost like waiting for you to say that. “Can I ask you something?” The man in question kept quiet, giving you room to speak.

You also went quiet, basking in the silence. The only noises being the wind banging on the closed windows and you could even hear the frequent dripping of water coming from the bathroom. To your surprise he still kept quiet and unknowingly to you also enjoying this moment. Maybe it was just because he could look at your figure so freely as you were to occupied with your thoughts. You always have to be the one to destroy every pleasant moments like these…

“That night if those men didn’t appear what would you truly do…I know that you already answered but—“

“I am failing to understand…”

Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You were watching me before, syzing me up…” God, what are you doing, you two were doing so good and now you are messing it all up…

Your mouth was open still, both of you waiting for the million dollar question. But you couldn’t immediately form it, the glare he was giving you made you scared to even think about it. He was giving you a warning look but you still said it anyway.

“Were you going to drink my blood?”

A sneer falls over his features and you wondered how this same face could even form a smile minutes ago. “Why are you asking such question?” He tried to warn you to not go further but the damage was already done. Why can’t you leave things in the past? Was it because you were human that you couldn’t let go so easily?

You watch how his knuckles turned white around the column and you were afraid that he might crush it into pieces. What if that was your throat instead? “I just want to know…did you really have no intention of drinking from me?” You can’t be in the wrong for asking this…

“I can’t answer that.” Whispered Hyunjin, head hanging low and praying that you would just let this go for his and your own sake.

“Yes, you can.” You declared slowly, duvet falling over your body as you sit up to get closer to him. Was he shaking?

“No…”

Your scoff rings inside the room next, head shaking at his stubbornness. You both know the answer already but you need to hear it from him. Maybe it could finally make you hate him…He on the other hand had a really hard time to contain himself. You don’t even know that you were playing with fire right now. Someone so afraid yet blindly teasing the snake with a bare foot at the same time.

“Just tell me damn it! Would you kill me if they didn’t showed up?”

“No! I was just—“

“Just what?” The question comes out sharper than you intended.

Finally Hyunjin look at you. Long hair covered his eyes, shielding the vibrant color dancing in them. The silence now didn’t sound the same as before. It was exactly the silence before a storm. You suddenly realized what you had done but it was too late now. You completely turned him around. The way he looked right now, perfectly mirrored the way he had looked at you the very first night you met. “You’re—your blood.” He pulled his hand away from the column and even in the darkness you could see the dents in it from his fingers. “I’ve never smelled someone so delicious as you before.” Closing his eyes, a sigh dangerously close to a growl left him. “And you were just in the perfect position — all alone and oh so mesmerized.” Opening his eyes again, he listened to your loudly beating heart. “If they didn’t come…if you wouldn’t scream for help.” He stopped himself from going further, you both know that this confession is all you need. “I couldn’t kill you after that because it was the first time I have felt bad about my possible victim…and also seeing you in such pain — I couldn’t possibly continue it.”

Your face crunched up, his raw words bringing out the mentioned pain to the surface but you decided to stay strong for a little longer. “So you would’ve just killed your soulmate or whatever you call this and you wouldn’t even know.”

Next, so quickly that you even had time to blink, he was on you. From the end of the bed, he suddenly appeared before you. His body covered yours and you couldn’t do anything but look into his wild eyes. He was so so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he spoke up. “Be quiet.” He growled, his red eyes glaring into yours and after a long time you felt like fainting from fear again. Was this how his victims felt? Your chest that raised with your every breath, touching briefly his but you were too afraid to move away.

“You’re not listening, I said vampires can sense the bond easily. So I apologize that your fucking warm fresh—“ His tongue trailed over his bottom lip slightly, glancing at the noticeable vein on your neck. “— pulsing blood pumping inside you is in the way, hypnotizing me so much that I wouldn’t even mind sucking every last drop.” He tilts his head at you. “You wouldn’t even mind…would you, Y/N?” His teasing tone was gone just as soon as it appeared and because of his words you didn’t even feel the hand bruising the skin of your leg.

The tears in your eyes couldn’t be contained anymore. “Sorry for not letting go of the past so easily, sorry for not forgetting that I met my so called soulmate the night I was almost raped and then killed by — you…” Spitting out the word, a pathetic whimper comes out next from you and not because of your crying but by the immense pain in your leg. His left hand gripped your right thigh so hard, that you couldn’t even find the will to fix the skirt of your nightgown that was now bunched up at your waist.

Something in him broke at your tears. What did he do? ‘What have I done’, you thought. The irises around his pupils cleared, face falling into shock. You have never seen such a raw emotion from him before. His now blue eyes glance at his hand. He never meant to bring you pain by his touch but the way your skin spilled over his fingers from how much he gripped it, made him sick to his stomach. He withdrew his hand, like you’ve been the one to burn him and when you sob out in relief he thought he will die again just by that godawful noise.

Both of you could see the obvious handprint on your skin, making you grasp the skirt of your nightgown, letting it fall over your exposed legs. “Get out…” You whispered, his eyes as wide as yours. “Get out!” Screaming the words at him, made Hyunjin almost fall to his feet before you and he had no other choice but to follow your orders.

‘What have I done?’, you thought again, swallowing your sobs. Maybe you really don’t deserve to be loved…

──────────────────────

author’s note:

for my lovey right here: @hanonlymeuu

[scrapsovereign]

“I Have Standards”: A Choose Your Own Adventure Smut Fic

Description: NSFW. Astarion rejects you after defeating the Goblin Camp, so you seek out a certain wizard to make him realize what he's missing out on...

Pairings: Astarion x F!Tav, Gale x F!Tav, Astarion x Gale x F!Tav

Trigger warnings/tags: Very NSFW/18+, breeding, predator/prey, knife play, vampire sex, noncon/dubcon elements, Possessive Astarion, Manipulative Astarion

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

(Choice: Let Astarion wreck you after hunting you as his prey)

(Go Back!)

After Astarion’s proposition of claiming you, you want him so badly you can barely see straight. You need to know he means what he says, that he’s willing to show you by taking what’s his. His hand has left your neck in anticipation of your answer, and with great reluctance, you take your hand off of him.

“I don’t believe you…yet. You’ve turned me down once, you’ll have to chase me if you want me,” you challenge him, looking him dead in his gorgeous, ruby eyes.

“Is that so? You want me to hunt you, to hold you down and prove it to you?” He clarifies, tilting his head in curiosity.

“If you can catch me, I’ll be yours- only yours. For long as you’ll have me, even if it’s only tonight,” you promise him, reaching up to brush your fingers against the flushed crest of his ears. You trace a fingertip up and around the pointy ends, admiring how beautiful he is as he bites his lip, your center aching as he moans softly for you. 

Astarion licks his lips, staring at your wet heat as if he can see right through your clothes. “Very well. I’ll allow you a moment before I give pursuit. Starting…now.”

You turn on the balls of your feet and launch yourself out of your tent, clearing the canvas threshold, making a beeline for the path that leads into the forest.

The only word you can think of that describes how you feel is exhilarating. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you’ve never felt so free. Dashing through the woods at night is something your elders told you never to do, and you wonder if it was because they wanted to keep this secret all to themselves. You dodge roots and rocks alike, navigating the landscape with as much ease as if you were back home. 

The burn in your lungs and legs can’t keep up with the compulsion of your feet to keep moving forward. A lucky thing you’ve happened upon a clearing in the wood by a stream. It’s the perfect place for a lover’s tryst, and by the looks of it, someone’s already intended to use it as such. There’s a nest made with a large linen thatched rug, a basket full of food and beverage, with pillows and folded blankets. 

Seems like a thoughtful setup. You should probably keep moving on before whoever’s planning to use it shows up.

That is, if you didn’t feel the bite of cold steel pressed against your throat. 

“Does this seem familiar, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your ear, pressing his body against yours. You feel the intrusion of his rock-hard length concealed by his trousers pressing against the curve of your lower back, the puff of his cool breath against your neck. 

“Not really, I don’t think we’ve been here before,” you state, knowing full well he means the knife at your throat.

He laughs at your obtuse remark, his other hand working at the back of your garments. “You’re delightfully amusing, my sweet.”

The blade’s edge is close enough to slice your skin open like butter if you so much as breathe too deeply. You stay still for him while he makes work of the lacings at your skirt, following the fabric’s movement with your eyes to the ground below. Your inebriated state does you no favors, making you forget you have a razor-sharp dagger at your neck. You hiss with pain as it slices a shallow line across your skin, just enough to draw blood.

Astarion stashes his weapon with a flourish, whipping you around to face him. He is no longer the snarky, pompous, high Elven noble he pretends to be.

The shirtless man before you has embraced his full vampiric nature as a monster, a creature of the night. His typically sultry crimson gaze has an odd glow to it as he watches the blood ooze down over your clavicle, between your breasts. He drags his tongue in an unnecessarily lewd fashion over his front teeth with a smack, revealing canines that have grown to twice their normal size. You’ve never seen him so wild and unhinged outside of combat.

You should be terrified.

Except that you’re not. You like him like this- the tug low in your belly and the wetness that is ruining your undergarments being the most obvious signs. 

A thrill goes through you as Astarion advances on you, stalking you as he drives you backwards. Your foot catches on the corner of the blanket that is laid out and you lose your balance. You gaze upwards in awe at the predator who has caught you in his clutches. His arms hold you in a lover’s embrace before he lays you down gently on the spread out fabric.

Astarion takes his place on top of you to admire how good you look underneath him, illuminated in shades of blue and silver underneath the moonlight. His vampiric strength steals your breath as he grasps both sides of your stays, ripping them along with your chemise clean down the middle. You stare up at him, your heart hammering in the cage of your bared chest, stunned and aroused he's torn the clothing right off you. 

His mouth falls open, elongated fangs visible as he takes in your flushed, almost-naked body. You can’t help but meet his eyes, your thighs still quivering with anticipation, your breasts splayed to the side and jiggling with each shaky breath. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he groans, utterly besotted, as he leans down to finally take possession of your lips with his. 

He’s not nice about it, nor would you want him to be. It’s sloppy, open-mouthed, and ravenous. You kiss each other like you’re both starving for the air that passes between your shared bodies. His fangs catch on the vermillion border of your lips, groaning sinfully as he sucks and laps up the crimson that dribbles down your chin, moving down to the horizontal laceration at your neck.

“Now darling, what did you say to describe what I could do if I caught you?” he wonders aloud, noisily slurping up the blood that drips down as he palms your breasts. “Ah, yes. That I could use your body for my pleasure? For the evening, or as long as I’ll have you?”

“Word for word,” you confirm, gasping when he rolls the bud of your nipple between his blood-stained fingers. 

He hums with a condescending smile, gathering the front of your panties in his fist.

“And what if I want more?” He questions you tersely, licking his lips. 

A passing cloud obscures the moon above you, shrouding your forms in darkness. His beauty, which shone like an ethereal beacon in the moonlight, undergoes a transformation into a terrifying, hungry creature of shadow. 

“I’ll give it to you,” you whisper with a trembling voice, “Name it and it’s yours.”

He rips the flimsy fabric of your undergarments off your body, eyeing the slick that got on his hands with fascination. He licks his palm to sample your essence, groaning like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

“Divine. Simply…divine,” he notes, laying atop you, hooking his leg underneath yours. “And naïve, you’ve agreed to my terms before I’ve stated them. What if I want your heart, as well as your body and your blood? Would you give your love only to me?”

Your heart pounds in your ears. You’d been a fool for him since the day he held you to the ground with a dagger to your neck, unrequited love at first sight. The more you learned about him, the harder you fell. Sure, you thought Gale was hot, and it made your botched seduction of the wizard easier. But Astarion?

“You’ve been the only one from the start. I made a mistake going to Gale to make you jealous,” you admit, your dry voice wobbling with the truth. 

Astarion chuckles darkly at your confession. “My foolish, sweet thing. A mistake you won’t repeat after I’ve had my wicked way with you.”

He frees himself from his pants, rubbing his erection against your folds to tease you and gather your copious arousal. “Nevertheless, I hope you’re ready for me… darling.”

You gasp as he thrusts inside you forcefully, meeting no resistance as his cock plunges all the way to the smooth cap of your cervix. Your back arches and you tip your head up to the stars as he enters you, delighted at how well he slots into your warm and wet channel.

“Sweet hells, you feel good Tav…you fit me like a glove,” he groans, shivering as he pulls back and thrusts into you again. “Like your cunt was made for me alone.”

He forces your arms above your head, pinning them down with a clenched fist after hearing you whimper at his words. “Do you like that, pet? Knowing the gods made you to ruin me?”

Cheesy lines like this make you laugh or roll your eyes normally, but right now you’re spellbound and cock-drunk and you love it. “Yes, Astarion,” you gasp, “I’m yours, only yours. Take me…please.”

Astarion growls at your surrender, snapping his hips roughly against your pelvis. You cry out loud with every wave of pleasure it brings, each thrust pushing against a nerve bundle deep in your channel that sends you up towards your peak. 

He knows you’re close by the way your walls tighten around him. “Coming undone for me so soon?” He mocks you, licking a stripe up your neck, over the cut from his blade as you moan and shudder underneath him. He adjusts the angle at which he pounds into you as he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, the new position stimulating the pink pearl of your erect, exposed clit.

“Ahh! Can’t help it…you feel so good…I’m gonna, Astarion-I’m gonna,” you pant as he brings you to the edge of bliss, only after a few minutes of having his cock inside of you. Your eyes flutter to the back of your head as a wave of pleasure overwhelms you and crests. 

Astarion knows. “Look at me, I want to see you when you unravel for me,” he commands in a harsh tone. Your eyes fly open and snap to his, unable to deny your magnetic pull to him. “Who do you belong to, Tav? Say it!”

“You, Astarion!” Your vision goes white with your climax, causing you to briefly lose sight of him as you keen. You feel as if a lightning bolt had hit you with the way your orgasm rips through your body, your hips convulsing as your muscles contract around him.

He’s not too far behind you. You can feel him harden and twitch, hear his ragged moans, see the change in his ruby eyes as pleasure takes over. Your womb aches to accept him, your sex fluttering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, encouraging him to go deeper.

“Fill me, I’m yours…use me, claim me, breed me.”

Right after you say “breed”, Astarion makes a noise you’re certain you’ve never heard before. It’s a groaning exhale that turns to a whimper as he pounds into you once, twice, then stilling as he thrusts home. You welcome the teeth that sink deep into your shoulder, the pain translating to pure pleasure. His cock pulses and twitches, buried as deep within your channel as your bodies will allow, painting your walls with ropes of his hot spend.

Astarion filling your pussy with his cum sends you over the edge again. “Astarion.. I’m gonna…I’m…oh Gods,” you shudder and sigh, your second orgasm not as intense as the first. He seems proud of himself that you’ve had another one so soon, still buried in the proof spasming and throbbing around him.

He brings you down from your shared high, winding down to a languid pace before he stops. You push up on your elbows, trying to catch your breath and kiss him all at once.

Astarion shoves you back down to the ground before your lips touch. “And where do you think you’re going? We’re far from done here.” 

You stare back at him while you process his words, your mind slowed by the wine you’ve consumed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, darling. You’re the one who asked me to breed you, and I don’t intend to disappoint.”

The length that had gone soft inside of you inflates with your blood. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, make that sweet little cunt of yours milk my cock for every…” Astarion kisses you tenderly on the lips.

“Last,” he sinks his teeth into the buttery smooth flesh of your breast, sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Drop.” He flips you over, positioning you with your ass in the air, your face down on the ground. 

The new angle feels incredible. You’re not sure how he’s stayed inside you, and you don’t care. You wish that the evening could stretch on for eternity, your bodies joined as one. His cock jumps and you take that as your cue to move back and forth, drooling at how well it massages your walls. 

Astarion’s hands clutch at the flesh of your backside, guiding the motion of your hips. “Yes, that’s it, that’s a good girl,” he groans. 

You clench and flutter around him when praises you. He thrusts into you while you work his length, moaning for him with abandon when his scrotum slaps at your erect clit. 

“Mmm Tav,” he moans obscenely, his fingernails digging into your skin. “If only you knew how much…I wanted to take you just like this. Naughty little minx, walking past me in those tight leather britches of yours…Gods, how I wanted to rip them away… fuck you senseless.”

“Just like this?” You pant out, so overwhelming by your impending climax, you can barely speak. 

“Like this,” he explains with his hand by wrapping your long hair around it, pressing down on the small of your back. 

The change in angle is all your bodies need to let go. Your simultaneous orgasms draw out the addictive bliss of your coupling, unsure of where it starts or ends. Astarion’s cock jerks and pulses as he empties his seed into you again with a grunt, collapsing over the top of you to catch a breath he doesn’t need. 

“You’ll give me one more,” he pants, pressing a kiss to the nape of your sweaty neck. He pulls out of your spasming cunt and rests his entire body weight on your back. You whimper at the loss of him, your arms and legs quivering from the aftershocks, on the verge of collapsing at any moment.

“I…I don’t know if I can,” you gasp out as you try to catch your breath. You’re shocked you had more than one orgasm during partnered sex. Then again, you’ve never been so thoroughly wrecked like this by anyone before. 

“Really, now? Make that two,” he clips, rolling you on to your back. You comply, half out of exhaustion and half out of your desire to embody the obedient plaything you promised to be for him.

Astarion eyes the pearly white liquid that seeps out of your abused hole, tsking in disapproval. He grabs a folded blanket in one hand and your ankles with another, shoving the blanket underneath your lower back as he lifts you up by your feet.

“That’s better. We don’t want to waste a single drop, now do we?” he drawls out his rhetorical question, gathering the cum that has spilled from you on his fingers and stuffing it back into you. Your hips buck upward with the intrusion, clenching around his digits as he pushes his seed back inside your entrance with a squelch.

Being fingered was never your favorite because your partners were too fast or too rough, but the way Astarion strokes your channel is just right. You moan wantonly for him as he fucks you with his elegant digits, brushing against a spot yours can never quite reach. You can’t believe it, but you feel your center winding tight again, clenching around him, feeling the cum spill from your core faster than he can plunge it back inside you. 

“That’s it, yes, cum for me darling,” he commands, fastening his mouth to your clit, hastening your climax with his teeth and tongue. It feels good, but you want to reach your peak stuffed with his cock, to feel his essence spill inside you.

“I want…I want you inside of me…want all of your cum in me…want you to get me pregnant,” you struggle to speak, your throat dry from all the noises of pleasure you’ve made for him.

You’re certain your request broke him when he stares back at you, his mouth agape. His fingers are stilled on the outside of your soaking wet pussy. You worry for a moment that you went too far until he throws your legs over his shoulders, his steel-hard cock spearing your entrance. 

“I’m going to spill inside you…every single day…until your body accepts the gift I’ve given it,” he snarls, an eerie fluorescent light shining in his eyes. You imagine him making good on his promise, endless nights together in the wilderness blended into a haze of shared ecstasy. 

Astarion forces your legs to meet your chest, drawing out a noise you didn’t know you could make. “Flood your cunt with my seed every night, until you swell with my claim on you…showing the world who you belong to,” he grits out, displaying sharp, vicious canines. 

You think about his possessive hands caressing a small bump on your belly, pressing an adoring kiss to where the life you both created would continue to grow in your womb.

It makes you fall apart with a shout, his name on your lips. 

“Please fill me! I want this…want you, I love you,” you beg him, the four letter word spilling from your lips by accident in your reverie. 

Astarion’s cock jerks inside you as he registers your confession, a chill rippling across his moonlit, shimmering, sweat-drenched skin. His entire body tenses and quivers, his hands clutching at the linen blanket below. 

“Bite me,” you whisper to him, your vocal cords dry and hoarse. “Take my blood, love...put a baby in me,” you plead as you roll your head to the side, an invitation to re-open the wound from last night’s feeding.

Astarion’s teeth latch on to your neck without hesitation. With the first pull of your blood, his hips stutter and spasm, cumming inside you with a muffled sob. You’re right behind him, the exquisite pleasure and pain rocketing you up to heights unknown. 

You must have blacked out, because the next thing you know you’re laying on your side with him still twitching inside of you, held so tightly in his arms you can barely breathe. You can feel the vibrations of his velvety soft baritone rumbling something to you, but you aren’t able to hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

Astarion buries his head on your shoulder, unable to finish his sentence. You press a kiss to the sweaty silver curls at his temples and his ears fall flat as he looks at you, his expression as vulnerable as you’ve ever seen him.

“Did you mean it, Tav? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” 

Your stomach lurches up to your throat, your heart skips a beat. Out of all the crazy shit you’ve said to each other tonight, of course this would be the one he wanted to talk about. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for another rejection.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you. I fought it, because I didn’t want to believe it, but I love yo-“ 

Astarion’s sensual lips steal your words, kissing you with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s soaring from the relief you feel. 

“For the last two hundred years, I’ve never had a single thing to call my own. That is, until now,” he leans in to kiss you again and you pull away in panic.

“A lover? Or…a…uhm,” you stutter, flustered by the things you said to him in the heat of passion. He squeezes you with arms that glimmer in the moonlight, kissing the top of your scalp. 

“A family? No, well- maybe someday? I don’t know for certain, but not while Cazador’s alive,” he shudders. “Gods, can you imagine? At any rate, I didn’t expect you to bring out such a beast in me. I rather liked it, you know,” he murmurs into your hair, carding his fingers through your satin locks.

Astarion stills as if he’d remembered something, grasping your chin to look up at him. “Speaking of things I’m not ready for. I want you to be mine, and yet I cannot honestly say tonight was anything more than a bit of carnal fun,” he admits, his eyes flickering back and forth as he gazes into yours. “Is that alright, Tav? To allow only me to take what I want from your body? Can you live with the uncertainty that your feelings may never be returned?”

Your chest swells with the possibility of sharing his bed again, tears flooding your eyes. “We can take it day by day.”

“Good, just like I thought,” Astarion murmurs to you with a sinister edge to his sultry voice, alarming you. 

He chuckles and kisses your forehead, all of your worries washed away when he resumes his comforting touch. You sigh with contentment, drifting off to sleep against your lover’s chest, unwitting and unaware of the secret almost revealed to you.

[olderthannetfic]

I recently read one of those fantasy novels where the love interest can read minds, and the MC feels really positive about it, and not really creeped out at all, esp since the LI is very mindful and mentions that it isn't a constant thing. ANYWAY, regardless of it being an ON/OFF thing, reading minds sounds like the worst kinda superpower both for the person having it, and anyone they listen to esp their partner. Like ok, it's cool to know if someone is lying, and it's a good way to communicate in dangerous situations.

But am I the only one who just imagines all the awkward stuff I think about in a day? Not even specifically bad thoughts, but like, imagine how often your mind reading partner would have to hear "God damn I need to piss." or some other bathroom related shit, or all the weird thoughts and jumbled messes that come together in a day. Even with people I care deeply for I've had some of the most fucked up evil thoughts in moments of extreme stress. Imagine having a fight with your partner, and all you hear in their mind if "God I hope you get hit by a buss and never come back." Even if that's just a thought thought in anger or an intrusive thought, imagine how much that'd fuck you up?

--

The Southern Vampire Mysteries were a sack of steaming shit when I tried to read them back in the day, but the one great part was the lead being like "It's a turn off when they're distracted during sex or thinking your boobs look bad from this angle" and then she finally meets some supernatural guys she cannot read and is like "THANK GOD".

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

A Love Beyond Time.

fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!

word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)

in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.

trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.

trope: vampire!harry

The year was 1864.

You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.

The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.

With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.

Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.

The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.

The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.

Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.

The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.

Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.

In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.

Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.

The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.

Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.

A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.

Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.

He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.

Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.

Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.

As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.

Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.

Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.

You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.

Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.

The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.

You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.

"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.

His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.

"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.

Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.

Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.

"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.

Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.

The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.

Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.

You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.

With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.

His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.

The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.

Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.

Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.

You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.

As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.

But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.

In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.

You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.

As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.

The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.

you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.

The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,

𝐻.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.

𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.

𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,

𝐻.

With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.

𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,

𝐻.

The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.

His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.

Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.

Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.

He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.

You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.

The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.

He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.

You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.

Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.

As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.

The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.

Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.

He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.

"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.

You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."

Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"

He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.

Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"

Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.

"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.

In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."

His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.

You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.

Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.

Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.

As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.

The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.

In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.

You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.

As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.

Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.

He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.

The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.

The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.

In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.

It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.

Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.

The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.

Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.

As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.

When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.

You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.

Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.

The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.

The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.

The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.

You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.

Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.

His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.

He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.

The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.

Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.

Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.

"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."

Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.

In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.

Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.

Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.

It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.

At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.

The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.

The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.

Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.

The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.

Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.

The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.

The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.

In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.

Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.

A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.

His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.

His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.

The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.

Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.

Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.

They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.

Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.

"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"

The Chapel Grove.

A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.

Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."

Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."

His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.

Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.

It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.

Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.

It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.

The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.

Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.

He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.

He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.

As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.

As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.

In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.

He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.

With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.

You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.

It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.

The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.

Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.

Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.

Rookie mistake on your part.

And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.

The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.

In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.

The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.

The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.

You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.

And so, you continue your journey.

The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.

Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.

The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.

As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.

The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.

Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.

It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.

For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.

The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.

The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.

The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.

As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.

The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.

You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.

You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.

The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.

The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.

Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.

On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.

The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.

Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.

The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.

The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.

The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.

It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.

The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.

The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.

You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.

It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.

The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.

Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.

You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.

The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.

The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.

The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.

As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.

The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.

The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.

You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.

"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.

She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.

Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"

He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”

You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.

With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.

“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.

There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.

Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.

"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.

You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.

A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.

"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.

With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.

You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.

After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.

It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.

The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.

He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.

Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.

As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.

It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.

He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.

His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.

They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.

Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.

And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.

Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.

As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them

You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.

Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.

It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.

The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.

The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.

The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.

The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.

It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.

As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.

As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.

You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.

You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.

Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.

A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.

He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.

You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.

"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.

Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.

"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."

You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.

As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.

You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.

The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.

You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.

He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.

Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.

His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.

As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.

The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.

His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.

The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.

It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.

February 1, 2023.

The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.

The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.

His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.

For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.

Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.

As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.

They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.

Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.

As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.

Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.

His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.

Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.

"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.

He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.

Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.

"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.

Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.

Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"

Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.

"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.

After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.

He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.

Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.

With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.

The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.

As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.

Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.

The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.

Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.

The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.

He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.

In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.

Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."

Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.

Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."

The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.

"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."

With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.

"The signing of the Magna Carta?"

"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.

"The American Declaration of Independence?"

"1776."

The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.

Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.

As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.

Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.

Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.

He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.

You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.

The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.

You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.

It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.

Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.

"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."

He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.

Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.

"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."

You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."

He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."

You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.

You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.

Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.

Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.

The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.

Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.

The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.

The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.

Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.

As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.

The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.

Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.

The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.

You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.

The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.

Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.

She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."

Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.

You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.

You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.

That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.

A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.

Her ancestor was someone you once knew.

Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.

A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.

As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.

Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.

The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.

You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.

As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.

Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.

"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.

You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."

Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."

A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.

You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.

Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.

For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.

Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.

With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.

You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.

As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.

Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.

The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.

Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.

With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.

As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.

As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.

All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.

The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.

Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"

Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."

Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."

Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."

Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."

Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."

With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."

As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.

The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.

Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."

Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.

He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."

Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."

Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."

Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."

Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."

As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.

Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.

The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.

Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.

His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.

He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.

A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.

Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.

Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.

He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.

A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.

The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.

Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.

With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.

He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.

Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.

The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.

Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.

He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.

You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.

Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.

The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.

The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.

As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.

The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.

As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.

But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.

Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.

"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.

Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."

Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.

"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.

You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.

It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."

You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.

He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.

As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.

The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.

Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.

Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.

You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.

The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.

You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.

You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."

He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."

As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.

The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.

But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.

The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.

You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.

Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.

Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.

"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."

He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"

The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.

Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.

His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."

But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.

His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.

As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.

You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.

"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.

As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.

Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.

The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.

The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.

Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.

Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.

But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.

As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,

"He'll come back, he has to."

It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.

In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.

Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.

"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.

You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."

His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."

But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.

"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."

His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.

As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.

"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."

With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.

Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."

As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.

Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.

In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.

You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.

Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.

It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.

You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.

It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.

As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.

The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.

You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.

With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,

"I'm going outside for a smoke."

It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.

Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.

He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.

As you turned to leave, he called after you,

"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.

You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.

"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.

You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.

The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.

With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.

Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.

In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."

The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."

In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.

With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."

As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.

It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.

The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."

But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.

Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.

The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."

As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.

The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.

You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.

Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.

"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.

"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.

As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"

You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.

"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."

Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"

You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."

Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."

You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."

Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."

As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.

Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.

"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."

Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."

Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."

You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."

Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.

Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."

He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.

You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."

As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.

As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.

Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.

The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.

They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.

Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.

You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.

As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.

Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"

For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.

A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.

They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.

You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.

With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.

You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.

Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.

Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.

On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.

Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.

If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.

Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.

He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.

As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.

Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.

Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.

But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.

Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.

Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.

He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.

His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"

A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.

Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.

He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."

The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.

The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.

She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."

Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.

She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."

Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."

Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."

The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.

Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."

The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"

Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "

Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.

Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."

Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.

The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.

With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.

In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.

"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."

He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."

He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."

The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."

He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."

Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."

Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."

With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.

Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"

Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."

He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.

Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."

Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.

Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.

As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.

His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.

Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.

Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"

You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.

In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.

These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.

The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.

They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.

And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.

The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.

Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.

The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.

The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.

𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈

𝙾𝙵

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.

𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳

𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,

𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).

Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.

The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.

The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.

The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.

His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.

The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.

You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."

Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.

He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.

The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."

The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.

"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."

As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.

It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.

With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.

The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.

With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.

It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.

The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.

The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.

Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.

His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.

He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.

His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

He had fantasised this moment countless times.

As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.

What if you were really there?

His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.

He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.

The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.

With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.

Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.

He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.

Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.

His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.

“(Y/N)?”

Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.

But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.

Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.

At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.

And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.

The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.

You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.

The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.

He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.

Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.

As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.

The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.

You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.

Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.

You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.

You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.

You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.

Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.

Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.

Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.

The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.

Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.

You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.

Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.

"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."

Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."

You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."

He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."

Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.

Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.

With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"

You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.

Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.

You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.

The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.

Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,

"Can I kiss ‘ye?"

You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.

With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.

The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.

Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.

Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.

The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.

“M’love you, m’sun.”

That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.

You were his sun, and he was your light.

You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.

And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.

“I love you, my light, always and forever.”

Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

vampire!Baekhyun x Reader: enough, love.

Date of release: 7th December, 2024

Word count: 1 696

Genre: Steamy, suggestive... fluff nonetheless

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence

„How does it feel?”

You caressed the bruised-up skin above his eyebrow with a wet cloth, gently scrubbing away at the dried out blood.

Baekhyun sat in front of you on the old couch, patiently enduring the treatment with an undisturbed look on his face, while you stood between his legs. He was resting his elbows on his thighs and, as if thoughtlessly, brushing his hands against the exposed skin of your own legs. His touch was non-intrusive, but, once in a while, his eyes landed on your skin, slightly damp from sweat, as if he was pondering over something really hard. You wondered how could he be so calm despite what happened; on the other hand, bruises were only temporary, and they healed on him faster than on a human.

“It stings” he replied simply.

“No, not that” you frowned slightly, moving to wipe his forehead instead, stained with sweat and some dirt. “How does it feel when you bite someone?”

His eyebrow twitched with a display of annoyance – your words served to remind him of today’s failure.

“It’s… relieving” he explained slowly. “But it makes you want more, too.” He let out a resigned sigh. “I’m hungry.”

You chuckled, wiping the blood off the corner of his split lip, and he instantly licked over them to erase the sensation of dryness that followed. Although you were adamant on cleaning the blood off, the longer you stood in the hot room filled with stuffy summer air, the more you were sure that a proper shower was in order. Both you and him were covered in sweat, although there was something comforting about the feeling of his warm, damp skin against yours. His hair was wet from it as well, but his hideout that you were now in wasn’t the cleanest place at all, serving only temporarily whenever things went wrong during the hunt. Nonetheless, you were sentimental about the dusty bed, graffiti-covered walls and broken, matted glass of the narrow window right below the ceiling.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could utter a word of comfort, Baekhyun spoke up again.

“I really planned it well, but I didn’t expect him to see me from afar… It’s not even that good for him, if I enchanted him on time he wouldn’t remember a thing. I just didn’t know he’s a professional boxer…” The whining made you chuckle more than anything. “Like I can’t even be mad, it’s just the way things are, but really, it would have been better for the both of us if he didn’t fight me.”

“Maybe stop going for the muscular ones” you suggested with a knowing smirk.

He let out an annoyed whine in response, but quickly silenced to hold onto his bruised lip.

“I’m going for the healthy-looking ones” he specified quietly.

Satisfied cleaning him up, you folded the wet cloth and pressed it into his neck, earning a relieved sigh.

“You look rather healthy, too” you admitted playfully. Now that the act of cleaning up was completed, you were eager to comfort him in other ways – instead of standing between his thighs, you moved to straddle him instead, and he inhaled sharply, leaning back into the sofa to give you the space to sit comfortably.

“Do I?” he teased.

“Yeah, let me just…”

Without waiting for his approval, you opened your mouth and bit into his neck. The sweetest moan reached your ears and the boy’s fingers grabbed your hips.

“N… not fair” he muttered breathily.

The mark you left on would heal faster than you’d like. Even if you gave him a hickey, it would be a matter of a day or two at best before it would be completely gone.

If not for long, need to give him a lot, you thought, parting your lips from his skin and then gifting him with another bite right below. Now, expecting the pain to come, his reaction was much softer, much more relaxed. Your bites were nothing, really – a mere proxy of what he was capable of, not even strong enough to pierce his skin and only leaving lovely marks behind. But the sensation and pain were still material, and Baekhyun relished in it.

Another bite, on his shoulder, right above the collarbone. He let out a sigh and his arms wrapped around your waist, fingers lifting the back of your shirt and rubbing circles into the exposed skin.

“If you wanted to taste me, you should have cleaned me with your tongue” he suggested huskily.

You giggled. You would love for him to whisper such words when it was him on top of you, but now, melting under your touches, they sounded like a distant attempt on saving his grace, especially when the next words he was about to speak died out into another sinful, yet delicious moan.

“Enough, love…”

You parted your lips from his neck and moved up to his lips. He was about to steal a kiss when you leaned forward and bit his jaw. Baekhyun hissed in surprise.

“I said, enough.”

His fingers took a solid hold of your hair, right by the root, gently enough for the pain to be deliberate and not too much, but making his point very, very clear. You moaned gently when the hold strengthened for just a moment before releasing, but his hand moved down to the nape of your neck and held it in place when he dived into it with his own mouth, scratching the soft skin of your throat with his teeth in a wordless warning.

“How does it feel?” he mocked in an annoying, almost childish voice. “Does it sting?” You were about to scold him for talking this foolishly, but it was time for your words to die unspoken when he pulled you by your neck, sprawling you over his lap with your face pressed into the mattress next to him. The motion pushed the air out of your lungs and you gasped helplessly, pressing your hands into the mattress to balance yourself, because your head spun a little. “It is yet to start.”

His fingers dug into the soft skin of the back of your thighs and strengthened in force until you let out a hiss of pain and wriggled in an attempt to get off his lap, but his other hand kept you in place.

“B-Baek, it’s uncomfy…”

“Yeah, I know.”

The hold was strong, and you knew that there is no way through it other than to take it.

Once you stopped wriggling, his hand clasped around the nape of your neck yet again, pressing just slightly to make sure you didn’t think of moving away when he hoovered above your bum. Your realization lasted a second at best, before you felt the warm breath on the outer side of your thigh.

“Baek, wait…!”

His fangs pierced your soft skin without an ounce of mercy or hesitation. Deep into the flesh, as if it was an apple rather than your body. You choked on a whimper, hands reaching back to hold onto any bit of him that you could grasp, being it his shirt or jeans, but the position was too inconvenient to twist your limbs like that and you eventually let them lie limp by your face, breathing heavily when your body accommodated to the pain and intrusion.

Your blood ran slow and steady.

Baekhyun didn’t feed on you often – a human body would not be able to sustain feeding him as regularly as he needed, and so his dietary habits didn’t include you on a daily basis. Before you met him, you wouldn’t even think of accepting such a deal in the first place, not to mention enjoying it.

But it would be a lie to say it was not enjoyable now.

The pain dulled out quickly, and the blood loss was not sensible at all; Baekhyun was taking his time, making sure that you weakened as he wished – slowly, feeling every single bit of it.

By the time his lips parted from your flesh, you were completely at ease, putty in his hands when he maneuvered you back onto his lap, nudging you to rest against his chest. The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against the fresh wound, but you swallowed down the remains of pain, focusing on there new here and now.

Your rest was short-lived. His one arm was wrapped behind your back, supporting you and holding you against him securely, but the other reached to your hand and picked it up to his lips. Eyes meeting yours, satisfied with your ability to still keep them open rather than melting away completely, he slowly placed his lips against your wrist, leaving a single wet kiss before inhaling and biting into the new place with a hungry hiss and a clamp of teeth against your bone.

 You whimpered from pain – the bite was shallow, and Baekhyun pulled away almost instantly, making sure you watched as your own blood ran down your arm, down to your elbow, and dripped onto your legs.

With a hum, he stretched your arm forward and lapped the blood trail with his tongue, eventually reaching the wrist again and then wrapping his lips around it. His eyes closed in a silent focus, and your own followed the suit, but rather due to weakness and exhaustion.

“Enough, love~” you mocked in a lightweight voice.

His lips finally detached from your body in what would have been considered a seductive movement, was it not for the blood staining the man’s lips and teeth and running down his chin in a grotesque demonstration of greed. The lips curled into a smug smile as he tilted his head to the side, watching your delirious state with almost childlike curiosity.

“Oh, oh no…” you mumbled, reaching to his lips, and gently wiped his chin with your thumb. It was not very efficient, really, and just served to smudge the blood around. You were vaguely aware that you weren’t clean of it, either.

Baekhyun laughed softly.

“I don’t think that will do.”’

Maybe it meant that a shower was in order anyway.

[channieskies]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝕴𝕴: 𝕺𝖚𝖙𝖗𝖊́

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader, Jeong(Jung) Jaehyun x Reader (Fem/AFAB/Curvy/Plus sized)

Genre: Smut (eventual), Angst, Supernatural Romance, Urban Fantasy

AU: Supernatural AU, Vampire Au, Werewolf AU, Witch AU

Word count: 6520 [Reading time: 27 Minutes ]

Networks: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society

Synopsis: You get the shock of your life, finding out just who and what you are. The veil is peeled back and thing start to become a little too clear for you.

CHAPTER INDEX

The back patio door swung open hard, pulling you both from the intense staring contest you were unwittingly having to see who had barged into your space. You mom stood at the threshold, her eyes as wide as saucers. “What have you done?” She shook with something akin to both anger and disappointment. “Y/N! Why did you do it?? Why?” She yelled, shocking both you and Chris. You stood and backed away, walking further down the steps and away from her wrath. You’d never seen her this angry before. She was normally the calmest person you knew, easing her way through even the toughest situations. “Why didn’t you wait for me? It’s my duty to take care of them! Now you-” She heaved the heaviest frustrated sigh. “God, what have you done?!” She dropped her head, her fingers tangling in her rust colored hair. “I guess it’s time to give you the talk I’ve been dreading since the day you were born......"

A.N: Please reblog and leave a comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to @palindrome969 and @therhythmafterthesummer for reading over this for me. I could never thank you enough. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids or NCT. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. This chapter contains use of explicit language.

Last night felt like a fever dream. There was no way that your date-that-was-not-a-date with Chris unfolded like that. A kiss? A kiss shouldn’t have had that type of hold on you. The type of hold that had you touching your smiling lips just at the thought of it. You felt your bed dip ever so slightly, eyes traveling down to the intrusion. It was that damn cat again. What was it with that cat in your room? Did your mom make it chill in here while you were away or something? Socks came up to you, and put her paw on your hand, making you lower it. She then proceeded to boop your lips with her nose. “Was… was that a kiss?” She didn’t respond in the usual way she did, she just snuggled up to you, her cute face tucked into the crook of your arm. She must have really taken a liking to you, being that she was being affectionate with a complete stranger. Well, maybe not a complete stranger, you did introduce yourself yesterday. You stayed in bed, cuddled with your mother’s boss's cat, just petting her silky fur as she purred against you.

Just like the day before, there was a soft knock on your door before you mom peeked her head in. “Are you ready? I’ll be leaving in an hour or so for work.” She sighed looking at your form, still under the covers, still in pajamas. “You owe me, remember? You know this is important to me. So please, don’t disappoint me and say you aren’t going. ” Was it Sunday already? Gosh the weekend flew by in the blink of an eye. Your eyes flashed to the wolves you encountered the night before, your heartbeat quickening at the thought of the way it looked at you. You shuddered at the thought, wanting to push the memory as far down as you could get it. “You’re meeting my boss, so dress nice. Nothing with weird slogans or holes in it. Just.. just dress appropriately, okay?” She called for Socks, who quickly moved away from you and off the bed to your mom. “You've got an hour, young lady. Not a second more!” A hefty sigh passed your lips as you will yourself to get up and get out of bed. As a child, you would spend your weekends reading to other children in the pediatric ward of the hospital. You continued that tradition even in college, up until you left town abruptly.

It took you fifteen minutes less of the allotted time to get ready to go with your mother. You’d settled on just a plain, beige top and some army green cargo pants, so not to ‘embarrass’ your mother. As a matter of fact, she was the one cutting close to the hour she’d specifically told you that you had. “Okay, I know. I know.” Her large pink framed glasses sat on the edge of her nose as she searched the living room for something. Your mother was known around the hospital for her eccentricities. She kept her hair short and often colored a rusty color. Her glasses changed with whatever outfit she had on that day. So today they were pink, matching the yellow and pink Hello Kitty scrubs she planned for today, with her bright yellow crocs. She spoke, pulling her keys from the bowl she kept near the front door. “Grab Socks and let’s go, I don’t want to be late. Even though I’d blame it on you anyways.” All you could do was chuckle and shake your head, you knew she would absolutely blame it on you if she was late. She swung the door open and headed out to the car in her usual dramatic fashion, while you collected Socks from where she was lounging around. 

Your mother drove like a bat out of hell to make sure she could find a good parking space at the always crowded city hospital. The last time you were here, your grandfather took his last breath, leaving you with a small hole in your heart from losing him. Guess it goes to show that all the men in your life eventually leave. If not by death, then by peacing the fuck out like you were some kind of leper they didn’t want to catch a case of doom and gloom from. With Socks in her carrier, you followed your mom in. After getting your visitors pass, you made your rounds, saying hello to old faces you hadn’t seen in months, even meeting some people who were new to you, but seemed to know everything about you. Your mom really had a knack of talking a little too much about you. Especially when you received several, ‘I feel like I know you’s’ from people you’d never met. You and her would have to have a chat about that later. As per usual, you were on volunteer duty. Your mom had found the perfect job for you to do while she waited for ‘Dr. Jay’, as she affectionately called him, to finish his first set of rounds.

With Socks on her leash, you perused the pediatric ward, looking for any child that needed  ‘Kitty Care.’ According to one of the second-level nurses, Dr. Jay coined the phrase after Socks had made her first great escape from his office. She found her way to the playroom, where several children took turns playing with her. He noticed that after the kids spent time with Socks, some of their labs were better. So he brought her in twice a week to do her kitty nurse duties. Even when he was out of town, your mom took on the role of bringing Socks and taking her around. You guessed that it gave her something to do, other than work in her garden or do volunteer work. 

You swear those were the only things that woman did, besides gossip about you, of course. You sat in the much too small chair as the children gathered around to play with the sweet cat. She must’ve loved her job, you could feel her purring in your lap, vibrating her calm energy into both you and the kids. They had been telling you how long they had been in the hospital and what they were in for. Some even went as far as to tell you their favorite things, some of which you’d never heard of. But then again, you were probably old enough to be their mother at this point. Especially taking in consideration that your baby would be the same age as the youngest in the room if he or she would have survived.

You probably wouldn't admit it, but it was nice to be around people, albeit little people, who had such a positive outlook on life. They were happy, despite whatever circumstances put them in this awful place. “It’s Dr. Jay!” One of the little girls said, her perfectly round little cheeks tinting with blush. You and Socks’ captive audience dispersed one by one, each of them heading on the other side of the hand painted partition. You put Socks down, so she could run off and greet her owner and proceeded to follow behind closely. You heard his deep chuckles before you saw his face. You were expecting, hell, you didn’t know what exactly you were expecting, but it wasn’t the man who greeted you. He was kneeling, talking to the smallest of the children when his eyes met yours. He looked up slowly and you stopped in your tracks. 

This was Dr. Jay? You assumed he would be like any of the other bosses your mother had over the years. You thought he’d be some old man who had been a doctor for over half of his life. This man didn’t look a day over twenty-five, how the hell was he a practicing doctor? With his trendy gold rimless glasses, jeans far baggier than any doctor you'd ever seen before, and a graphic tee to blend his not a doctor look together under his white lab coat. This is the person your mom wanted you to dress up for? He ran his fingers through his thick hair, pushing it back just for it to fall back in his flawless face.“Dr. Jay, this lady had Socks with her! She's really nice! She's nurse Jenny's daughter.” He broke the searing eye contact he held with you for longer than he should have, with a chuckle, showing off his deep dimples.

Yes, that's what this man needed, dimples. He had to be God’s favorite, if you believed in that type of thing. He stood to his full height, which towered over both you and the children. “Ah, you must be Y/N. Your mother talks about you frequently. I feel as if I know you.” That makes him and everyone else in this damn hospital. His voice was unsuspectingly deep, and very smooth. You could listen to him talk in absolute gibberish or list off whatever medical jargon he knew and not have a problem with it. There was something about his eyes that pulled you towards him, you didn’t even notice you moved until one of the children pulled on your shirt. You looked down shocked, you could have sworn you were a few feet back from them and not in the little half circle they had formed around the doctor . “It’s nice to finally meet the woman behind all the stories your mother tells us.” 

You were enraptured by his stunning beauty. What was with this place importing all this beauty after you left town? Christopher was one of the few attractive men you knew. By few, you mean, just him. There weren’t too many other people you were physically attracted to. You fell for your exes because of personality, as hard as that was to believe now that things had ended horribly. “I’m Jaehyun, or Dr. Jay, whichever you want to call me, is fine.” He extended his hand for you to shake and that's when you noticed you hadn’t said a word to this poor man. So much for making a good impression on your mom’s boss. No wonder she told you not to embarrass her, you were downright shamefully staring at this man.

“Wait- You're her boss? I thought you’d be much… um… older and much less handsome. She really omitted that part entirely.” You laughed, feeling that embarrassing heat creep up your neck to your face. Smooth. Real smooth. Sometimes your thoughts escape their mind prison through your mouth, unfortunately. “I mean- It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Jay.” You took his warm hand in yours, trying to avoid speaking again. As soon as your fingers grazed him, you had this overwhelming feeling of deja vu, like being caught in a never ending knot, intertwined like the interlaced branches that held together your handed down, moonstone necklace. When his hand enveloped yours, scenes flashed past your briefly closed eyelids like someone fast forwarding through a movie. Cultures and languages you didn’t know or understand, moments you'd never been a part of, people you didn’t know, all of it was foreign to you, but you were seeing it as if it was through your own eyes. As if you were the main character of whatever period piece you were being compelled to witness.

Have you known this man? Tears lined your eyes as you watched all that could have been.  Or what was? You didn’t know, you didn’t remember any of this, this was the first time you were seeing anything of it. At least the first time in your lifetime. The last thing you saw was him crying at the bedside of whom you assumed was someone he deeply cared for, as the surroundings faded to darkness, dressed in clothes from a time period you didn’t recognize. You pulled your hand away quickly, rattled. What the fuck was that? You shook your head, trying to erase the fragmented realities that just passed your mind. But you felt dizzy with all of the information buzzing about in your brain. You felt lightheaded, overwhelmed with the information overload.

You snatched your hand back, afraid of what would come next if you continued skin to skin contact with the handsome doctor. “Are you okay?” He reached his hand out to check on you, but you quickly moved back. You couldn’t manage many of your mental faculties, so you just nodded in response. Did he see what you saw? Was he plagued with the same visions of what looked like the past as you had been? What in the empath hell had just happened to you?  You could have sworn shit like that only happens on Charmed. You wanted to know if he saw or felt the same things you did, but at the same time, you didn’t want to stick around and find out, just in case you were tangled in some weird destined red string of fate type situation. Fate was laughable, especially when it came to the love bit of it. You wanted no parts of that.

You said your goodbyes to the kids, telling them you’d come back another time and left both the doctor and Socks in there with them. You could feel eyes on you as you passed by the large windows that surrounded the playroom. But when you looked back, no one was watching you, they all seemed preoccupied with Socks to even notice your existence. You booked it to where you last saw your mother. You waited until she finished with a patient before you informed her that you weren’t feeling well and would head back home on your own. She didn’t argue, shockingly, and actually told you to take the car. You declined, you knew how late her shift ran, and didn’t want her stranded here until you came to get her. Plus, it was only a thirty minute walk back home.

An hour had passed and you still couldn’t shake the fragments of a past you shared with Dr. Jay. Or someone's past with Dr. Jay. The concept in itself was strange. Past lives? Your grandmother had mentioned it a few times, but you could have sworn that the lady was a little senile with the crazy things she used to say. Witches, vampires, werewolves, hybrids, magic, you name it, she believed in it. She once told you a tale of how your family came to be, that you were cursed to be the caretakers of mythical creatures. What a sham, right? Clearly that couldn't be true, you'd volunteered plenty of time throughout your life and never once met anyone out of the ordinary. 

Just regular people needing regular ass help. According to family lore, your ancestor, Enid something-another, was a witch. She owed a blood debt to someone who saved her from capture and a life of servitude. She’d told you that was the reason that the first born daughter was rooted and grounded to New Orleans once she inherited her powers and was taught how to wield them from her mother (or whatever power holder was before her). Your grandmother had broken the mold by having twin daughters, which was unheard of in your family, she often commented how she taught them both, but when the oldest twin died, she had to pass the torch to your mother.

Your mother. Your mother and all her Mrs. Frizzle like glory. That lady was many things, a witch she was not. Well, unless she cut you off in traffic, then yes, she was exactly that. No, your mother had been a mother, a nurse, a saint, a sister, a daughter, a lover, even a sort of botanist with her love of ugly plants. But there would never be a word that described her less. Witch. Ha, fat chance. Your grandmother, okay. Maybe you could justify that. With all her weird home remedies that she brewed over the open fire of your fireplace. The weird charms and crystals that decorated what is now your room. 

The strange incantations she would  say and the talismans she used to stuff in the seams of your clothes and other items to keep you safe, yes, your grandmother could have very well been a witch. But that's as far as you would have taken it in this family. So that bit of lore, you took with a grain of salt. You’d just chalk whatever you’d just experienced up to something weird going on with your hormones, and get past the weird feeling that lingered in your chest. You decided the best way to get over it would be to sleep yourself over it. You closed your eyes, hoping to drift off to lala land on a magic carpet or cloud, whatever got you there fast enough. But as soon as your eyes closed you started to hear the spookiest sound. It was like someone was scratching at the wall or the wood of a coffin.

Why was this happening to you all of a sudden? This town had its share of ghost stories, but why did it seem that you were being haunted? You closed your eyes tighter, straining to keep them that way. Gosh you wish you’d unpacked your white noise machine, you’d drown out that stupid sound with soothing rain at the highest volume. Then came the knocking. WTF? Your body shot up, glancing towards your door. The noise was inside the house. The noise was coming from outside your door. Was this how it ended for you? Being patient number two in the zombie apocalypse? You didn’t believe in vampires or werewolves, but zombies? Very plausible in your opinion. 

You couldn’t be concerned about how the thought of zombies made no sense, blood suckers and moonlight making humans change into wolves was something you couldn’t wrap your head around. It sounded chimerical, like some writer's delusions being taken seriously and spread all over the world. Against your better judgment, you climbed out of the comfort of your canopy bed and stalked over to the door. You didn’t dare open it, that would be full of stupidity on your part. Why risk getting your face bit off?

You sank to your knees, then laid on the floor. You peeped past the small gap under your door to see who or what was outside of your door, just to be greeted by white paws that looked like little socks. You opened the door to be greeted by the cutest little head tilt and meow from none other that Socks herself. “I left you with your papa, ho-how did you get all the way here?” You scooped her into your arms, and she nuzzled into your embrace. “Did you walk all the way here pretty girl?” She meows loudly, confirming. “You are brave, you know that right?” You stood to your feet and headed to the bed, laying across it and snuggling up to the cat. “I saw Something when I touched your papa. Like.. flashbacks? I guess- I honestly don't know what to call them.” You explained while she watched you and simultaneously groomed herself. “It was weird, honestly. I hope I didn’t freak him out. I was trying my best to remain at least kind of calm, but that was a hard ask…” You trailed off, wondering why the heck you were explaining all of this to a cat who just walked miles to get to your mom’s house of all places. Like she lived here and not in whatever expensive place the doctor lived in.

“You must really like it here with momma if you walked all the way here.” You laid on your arm as you stared at the beautifully unique black and white kitty with heterochromatic eyes. “Does momma treat you well?” You smiled, knowing that she did. She wasn’t unkind to anyone, that included animals just as much as humans. You always admired her love for people, knowing that you didn’t share the same love. Hurt and trauma tended to do that to a person. You used to be like her, but after your father’s tragic passing, and the way it was swept under the rug just because the person who caused that was in the mayor’s family, you’d lost faith in humanity. After falling in and out of love over and over, you’d lost faith in that as well. You were out here on this lonely island, expecting no one would ever find you and rescue you from the secluded hell you’d been living in for the last few months. Your phone buzzed on your bedside table, you turned around to answer the text that had come in.

|Christopher: You up for a late night drive or something, later?

Your brows creased. After last night? Did he forget the kiss you shared? It was still fresh on your mind as if it had been a few minutes and not almost a full twenty-four hours ago. You mustered up the courage to reply, you couldn't just leave him on read.

|You: Depends. Where do you plan on taking me and what are your intentions?

It took him a few minutes to reply, the chat bubble appearing and disappearing again and again.

|Christopher: Someplace I’ve never taken you before. And as for my intentions…… 

|I’ll pick you up around 9 pm

One thing a man would always have was the audacity. Even your dear friend Christopher at the end of the day, was a man. But you couldn’t help but smile at his obvious avoidance of your question. Guess you’d just have to wait and see.

You waited for Chris on your porch, taking in the sights and sounds of your street as it bathed in moonlight. The streetlight on the corner flickered on and off, it had been that way even before you left town. It’s amazing how some things change while others remain the same. You rocked on your great-grandmother's rocking chair, the one she had made herself. One that you hoped your mother would pass on to you, because of the beautiful marking she had all over it. Your mother had once told you they were protection runes. There were little things carved all over your house into the wood of the doors and windows. Apparently your great-grandmother was very paranoid when it came to demonic possession or something. Because what else would she need protection from? You checked your phone, it was well past nine and Christopher was nowhere to be found. That was unlike him in every sense of the word. He hated being a burden to people around him, so being on time was one way to make sure he wasn’t inconveniencing people. Even with all these years of knowing him, he was always either early or right on time, you don’t think he was ever late on his own accord.

You checked your phone again, to make sure he hadn’t called or text and you just missed it, but nothing. You were starting to get worried. What if something happened to him and he couldn’t call? You shook off sending yourself into a spiral and just called him. It rang and rang, before he picked up on the last of them. “Y/N, I-I’m so sorry..” His background sounded noisy, chaotic. People were yelling in what seemed to be panic. “I.. don’t think I’ll make it-” Someone shouted for him in the background, alarm was evident in their shaky voice. “Is your mom home?” He was apologizing for not being able to make the date that he planned, while also asking if your mom was home? What the entire fuck was going on with him? The hurt and disappointment that started to swirl in your chest was causing tears to brim your eyes. 

“You stood me up and you’re asking about my mom? Christopher- What the fuck?” He sighed, you could hear him shuffling, but he didn’t reply at first. You were starting to replace all the other feelings with anger. What was his problem? “I thought you were over me leaving… Why are you being like this to me? I apologized time and time again.. Why would you turn around-” He cut you off.

“Is she home? I need… we need her help.” His worry was evident and as sad as it was to say, but it helped to quell that anger that was starting to suffocate you slowly. “Jeongin.. He’s hurt and I don’t know who else to call, she said she’d always help-” Jeongin? The youngest of his roommates? The kind but blunt little cutie that you wanted to take for yourself? How was he hurt? Now your mind really started to wonder just what he had gotten into with his friend instead of getting ready for his planned late night drive with you. He choked out a sob and it was like your call to action. Hearing him this sad squeezed at something deep inside you, made you hate hearing him in pain.

“Where are you?” There was more shuffling, like he was looking for a street name or something.

“A few blocks from your place.”

“Bring him. I’ll see what I can do.” Your mom used to patch you, your neighborhood friends, and random strangers up. You had watched her so many times, you were sure you could recreate the steps with ease. Anything to help.

“Thank you…” He hung up and it only took a few minutes for your silent street to be drenched in the grumble of his truck. How eight people fit into the bed and cab of it, you had no clue. Must have been a magic trick or something. They were loud as they shuffled past the wrought iron gate that led to your porch. Christopher carried Jeongin in his arms bridal style. He was carrying a full grown man in his arms and making it look extremely easy. But you couldn’t focus on that right now, the boy's life was in danger. There was blood everywhere. You got a glimpse of the wounds as the street light flickered on in the distance. You gasped. He needed a hospital, not a nurse or the nurse's incompetent daughter. You opened the door to the house, letting them in. Crowding the small home, the boys rushed to toss all your mothers nicknacks off the table and Chris laid Jeongin down on it. Seeing the gaping hole in the boy's stomach made you freeze in place. How could someone do this to such a sweet boy? He groaned and writhed on the table in pain. It felt like the oxygen and sound had been sucked out of the room as well as the sound as you took in the sight of him. All of the boys were lined up around the table, looking at you expectantly. You could feel their panic and it caused you to do so in turn. You swallowed hard, your heart picking up its pace, palms getting sweaty from the thought of fucking the boy with the gaping wound even more. 

What if you couldn't help? What if your hands were connected to death instead of life like your mother’s? You had lost your baby. Clearly nurturing something to fruition wasn’t in the cards for you. Your vision blurred even more as someone stepped into your field of view. Warm hands settled on your shoulders before a forehead was pressed to your own. “Please, Y/N, just try. Please… I.. don’t want him to die. None of us do. We know you will try your best, yeah?” His muffled voice slowly brought the sound back with each word he spoke. You nodded, eyes focused on him as he looked down at you. He pressed his lips to your forehead in chaste kiss. “What do you need me to do?” Taking a deep breath in, you started to delegate things for each of them to do. You scrubbed your hands and found the closest thing to surgical gloves you could, black kitchen grade ones would have to do for now. Towels, several bottles of distilled water, saline solution, a pillow, and pain medication from the medicine cabinet. You, on the other hand, took to your mothers herbal cabinet where she kept all her home remedies. You’d seen her in here plenty of times, but being the one in here felt oddly familiar. It was like she was guiding you to grab the things that you’d need, sage, rosemary, thyme, cinnamon, calendula, centella asiatica, boswellia, manuka honey, and lamb ear. You grabbed the mortar and pestle and took it to the table, you began breaking and grinding the plants and herbs together into a paste. 

“Someone bring the palo santo candle off of the living room table, it will help to get rid of whatever bad energy is holding this wound.” You took a bottle of water and poured it over a towel, you handed it to Minho so that he could clean the space around Jeongin’s gaping wound. You were normally too scatterbrained to multitask, but you were doing it now as if it was second nature. Like you were born to handle situations like this. “Okay, some of you are going to have to leave. Sit in the backyard or on the front porch if you want. But I need space. Chris and Minho can stay.” You centered yourself in the moment as the rest of the boys reluctantly evacuated the tiny house with groans of disappointment. It was just you and your two helpers and a currently unconscious Jeongin. “Chris, hold his arms, Minho gets his legs. This might be unpleasant.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you gathered the macerated herbs, honey and flowerlet mixture into your hands. You were going to have to pack to wound with the mixture before placing the lamb ear over it and actual bandage wraps over that to keep everything in place. Minho and Chris shared a look and took their positions as told. “Ready?”

It was a fight to get Jeongin to stay still as you tried your hand at helping his wound. But miraculously, Chris and Minho did a fantastic job at keeping him stationary. He was now resting in your bed, while the rest of the boys were littered around your house, doing their own thing while they waited for him to come to. You were perched on the back steps, looking up at the waxing crescent moon, a glass of whiskey in your shaky hand to calm your very frazzled nerves. You just did dining room surgery without a medical license, and you had no idea if the boy would survive because of you or die because of you.  You raked your fingers through your hair and sighed. You needed a cigarette, just to take the edge off of these sharp ass feelings you were currently being overwhelmed with. You were even tolerating the cool night air, glad to be out of the suffocating house. How did he even end up like that? It wasn’t normal. His wound didn’t look like a knife made it, not even the most jagged of knives could have ripped him open like that. It looked like someone tore into him with… claws of all things. Your mind drifted back to that night on the road on the way back from Chris’s place and the large wolves that crossed the road that night. Could that have been what happened to Jeongin? Wolves got him? A shiver went down your spine, just to be replaced by the warmth of someone's hand. You startled. “My gosh- Christopher, you can’t sneak up on me like that!” He chuckled lightly, his feelings seeming a little lighter than they did earlier.

“I thought you would have heard the screen door.” He took a seat right next to you and pulled you into him for a comforting hug. His hand found yours, fingers wrapping around it, easing the tremors that caused it to quake. He was the epitome of comfort, always finding a way to give solace to your turbulent mind and heart. “Jeongin just woke up.” He kissed the top of your head as a way to express his gratitude. “Thank you for fighting for him so fiercely. I don’t think he could have waited for your mom’s shift to finish.” He sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. You could always tell when there was something on his mind, even now. “I think I should tell you what happened… I owe you that at least.” You pulled away to look at him, missing the warmth from his body almost immediately. You nodded for him to continue. “He was attacked. Hunted… really.” Your head snapped to his face to make sure you didn’t hear that wrong. “Jeongin and Seungmin went into town to see a movie.. But after it ended, they were confronted by this.. Pac- gang. They were asked to join them, but when they declined..” Your face morphed into one of horror while he remained calm. “They went for the one they knew would put up the biggest fight. They had more people than they boys thought… and they ended up pinning Seungmin while they.. Cl- cut into Jeongin. Telling them to take this as a message and a warning. Follow or die.” How could he be so calm about this? You had steam coming out of your ears. You were seeing red, Jeongin just wanted to see a movie with his friend and this is the outcome? You grit your teeth, trying to hold in your anger. “They beat Seungmin up after doing that to Innie. We found them in the alley behind the theater about an hour after they didn’t check in.”

You were seething. All this just because they wouldn’t join whatever gang of idiots did this to them? How was that even an incentive? That would make anyone more fearful of what they had in store for them if they did join. “Do I need to get my uncle to find out who they are? I can make a few calls and have their info to you within the hour or…” He stopped you, a soft smile facing his plump lips. 

“We’ll get it taken care of, don’t worry. Changbin is gathering intel as we speak.” You were glad that Christopher had finally found his people. He struggled after coming here from Australia, even with him being the friendliest person you’d ever met, he still had people that didn’t like him. (Shocking, I know.) He’d even had beef with a rugby player, a violent mother fucker who you also couldn’t stand, Vaiden. That dude always acted like he had the biggest cock known to man and anyone should be thankful he was offering it to them. When he pushed up on you at a party after you ignored his advances, Chris fought for your honor. It was brutal, they pummeled each other on the concrete of the fraternity row. You still to this day can’t tell who won, because they were equally matched despite Vaiden being much taller and having at least a good fifty pounds on your dear friend. If it wasn’t for the cops being called, you were sure they would have killed each other. Him and his friends tried their best to make it hard for Chris, but he always persevered somehow. So with him now finding some other friends, besides the likes of you, was nice to see. He seemed at home with the boys. Like he was finally able to be himself out in the open instead of in the confines of yours or his dorm room. “We’ll take him home tonight, to make sure both you and him get a good night's sleep. You worked hard and you deserve to sleep in your own bed, with clean sheets of course.” You shook your head. His hand found yours once again, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin. It was probably as comforting to him as it was soothing to you.

“Jeongin can stay as long as he needs to. I just want him to get better. Plus, he needs to get all the rest he can while he recovers. I can sleep with my mom or take the pullout if need be.” He smiled at you fondly for reasons you wouldn’t understand. “If you want, I have my old sleeping bag, you can stay and use that.” It wasn’t like it would have been the first time he’d used it, he’d slept over a few times for the holidays since traveling back to Australia was a big hassle. Plus there was almost never enough time in a holiday for him to get there, have a good time, and get back. So most of the time was spent with you and your mom in this cramped little house. You smiled thinking about all the good times you shared with Chris. It didn’t matter if you were both too broke to afford food and had to go halfsies on a meal from McDonalds, you had each other through the hard times. You missed being in the trenches with your best friend. “It’s up to you, Chris. I’ll go with whatever you want.” He looked at you then, only to notice your eyes were already on him. He looked at you deeply as if something in your eyes would give him the answers he needed.

The back patio door swung open hard, pulling you both from the intense staring contest you were unwittingly having to see who had barged into your space. You mom stood at the threshold, her eyes as wide as saucers. “What have you done?” She shook with something akin to both anger and disappointment. “Y/N! Why did you do it?? Why?” She yelled, shocking both you and Chris. You stood and backed away, walking further down the steps and away from her wrath. You’d never seen her this angry before. She was normally the calmest person you knew, easing her way through even the toughest situations. “Why didn’t you wait for me? It’s my duty to take care of them! Now you-” She heaved the heaviest frustrated sigh. “God, what have you done?!” She dropped her head, her fingers tangling in her rust colored hair. “I guess it’s time to give you the talk I’ve been dreading since the day you were born. Christopher, unless you want to be involved, I suggest you and your friends take your leave. Jeongin is up and walking around, so it’s safe for him to travel.” She turned her back to you, shaking her head, disappearing into the house leaving you there in awe of what just happened. 

“Wait- did she just say Jeongin was up and walking?” Your head snapped in Chris’ direction as he looked at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“About that…”

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