#nocturnality changed my life forever

[kibu-me]

Let me in.

Fuyushipweek2024 Day 5 - Azuma (Sunrise/Sunset)

[hyuckiefluff]

MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you. 

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom. 

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that…. 

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year. 

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find his black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “Couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly. 

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.  

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane. 

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve. 

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2024 - Proud Author Spotlights

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2024

Here are some recommendations from 2024 sent in by our fandom's authors themselves. Make sure to give them much love. PS: Authors, don't be shy! Submit more Proud Author Spotlights!

~*~

I published the latest extra off my dynasty fic in March 2024, and it might be my favourite so far! Feat a lot of politics in the Wen Sect, wwx being his badass self, some ocs and a lot of Yiling siblings feels.

💙 Hope is a discipline (Something you choose)

by One_eyed_God (@oneeyedoctogod)

T, 15k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Under the harsh and merciless sun of Nightless City, Wen Ruohan falls. But even with its leader is dead, the Wen Sect must live on, to avoid the dreaded future Wei Wuxian has already lived once. And though he never expected to be the one to lead them, he will carry this duty without fail. Or: The aftermath of Wen Ruohan's death.

~*~

Hello! ☺️ First of all, thank you for running this wonderful blog!!

This is for Rewind 2024 Proud Author Spotlight. It is a 29k story I recently finished translating (I'm also the author of the original version) and I'm really glad to have been able to do this within less than a year.

It will not please everyone as it is mostly CQL-based (CQL post-canon) but it is first person Wei Ying POV and I haven't read a lot of that in this fandom, so I hope maybe some people would enjoy it!

Thank you again for everything!

Léli.

The Unsung

by Leilwen (@leilwe)

E, 29k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Zhan... would you come over the mountain with me one day? … … I would have liked for him to give me a real answer and I cursed the Lans' nocturnal almost-hibernation. … … … When Yunshen Buzhichu no longer needs me, you will be my only horizon. When I returned and lay down beside him, the crescent moon no longer looked so sickly pale.

~*~

Hi ! This is for the remind 2024, I don't know if authors can boosted their own work. But I wrote this fic for my very first RBB, and even if it ins't perfect I am very proud of it.

Convergence

by Czeriahx (@czeriah) & Sirendipity (@lwjsbedtime)

M, 77k, Wangxian

Part of Yuyu Respectarium's Reverse Big Bang!

Summary: In a world governed by the Wen Empire, the Wei Coven's Oracle prophesize the coming of a new sun. Together with its moon counterpart, they are to bring back balance to the world. That is, until the Wen Emperor send assassins to take care of the threat against their rule. [Art by Siren, Embedded in the fic !!]

~*~

My submission to the TopXian RBB event that was boosted here a few months ago. I got a wonderful prompt and art piece to write for. Links in my fic!

An AU Canon Divergence where after the betrothal with JZX is broken off, JYL becomes betrothed to WWX. The plotline is retold with this twist, leading to events both familiar and not. JYL is the pov character, navigating her new life after devastation and war, with WWX at her side. But let no one forget LWJ - WWX and JYL certainly can't, though for very different reasons.

Come along for character study fix-it fic, with a happy ending for all the main characters!

Not Unwilling

by somevariationofgay (@somevariationofgay)

E, 48k, Wangxian & Xianli

Part of the TopXian RBB

Summary: The young mistress of Yunmeng Jiang clan, raised to marry out for the benefit of her family, dutifully waits for her parents to arrange another match after her troth with the young master of Lanling Jin clan is broken. When her father decides the new betrothal will be to their sect's head disciple, she finds herself not unwilling. But the ambitions of Qishan Wen clan surge and a bloody flood overtakes Lotus Pier, changing the course of her life forever.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[pseudoquiddity]

Here is my radical "The Nocturnal Ending is Bad for the Kin" take because I feel the need to write it down.

As I see it, the Diurnal and Nocturnal ending are equally as bad/good for the people of the Kin (to modify the statement I just made above). It's Artemy's miserable job to choose which part of the Kin is "most" Kin to him, based on his lived experiences the past two weeks.

Oyun and several other NPCs state multiple times that the Kin are a single-headed beast. If you kill the worms in the Termitary, Artemy can also believe that the Kin are a hivemind. If this is what you and/or your Artemy believes, then so be it, but there is evidence to the contrary. Aspity has a different take on this, Isidor has a different take on this, you can have a different take on this, and you're all undeniably Kin. The Kin members you meet in Aspity's place asking for her advice all come to her with different problems representational of the factions the Kin are splitting into. Should they rebel violently? Should they learn Russian? Is there a point passing down their values when their values have no purpose in this settler society? Var, too, "looks" Kin but claims he isn't. But the Worms attack you and help you "as one" in the Abattoir. Taya believes they're all fingers on a hand and inseparable. There is no "alone." So which is it? Well, Artemy, you choose ...

The "Kin hivemind" is an objectively fantastical concept that may or may not exist in the Kin, the same way that massive aurochs maybe did, maybe didn't roam the Earth at one point.

During the plague, massive numbers of the Kin die. In the Termitary, for one, but also people on the street. We know this is because they're "too individualistic." They're too integrated into the town and have strayed too far. It's a kind of internal diaspora. Artemy, who leaves the town and is himself half Kin, and so grapples with whether he has the right to make massive decisions for the Kin or not, whether he's really Kin enough, is like these people. These people have never left the town but they have left behind part of their Kin identity. These are the "average" people, people who aren't fantastical, who need to work jobs to feed their families, who make mistakes and, like Artemy, struggle to fit in a world that at its convenience, sees them as a member of the town or not.

During the Nocturnal ending, the members of the internal Kin diaspora will probably die to the plague. They never had the chance to prove themselves, like Artemy did, that they're still connected to the Earth. What's preserved is the fantastical. Murky, Grace, Taya and Clara get to live because they are also partly embedded in the idea that they are pieces of a whole, and they're also little miracles themselves with their latent abilities tied to the Earth.

So, here, Artemy makes the decision that to him, the Kin is miracles; it's all of the myths he heard, they're a hivemind, they're magical, they're suprahuman. There's no room for the mundane, disconnected members of the Kin, who are long-since discarded victims.

In the Diurnal ending, the miracles die. In the Diurnal ending, to this Artemy, the Kin are the everyday people who are caught up in this settler colonialism system like he is. There are no more strange Worms, or Herb Brides, but there is a little steppe encampment outside the town for anyone who considers themself Kin and that might be good enough for Artemy. This ending, though, is a deeply conservative one where things won't change. Conditions will modernize as Vlad improves quality of life for the workers, but members of the Kin who join him again and decide to live in the town will drift farther away from their heritage, further churned up in the system.

So, it really is an impossible decision ... for Artemy to not quite feel like he belongs himself, who is passably European but is also interpreted as Kin when people want to mark him an outcast, and then he ultimately has to sever one aspect of the Kin forever. And neither decision is "good," but he has to make it, so neither decision is "bad," too. Ultimately, like the Bachelor, in the Haruspex's P2 ending, the "system" wins. For the Bachelor, it's a new oligarchical system spearheaded by the willfully corrupt Kains, and for Artemy, it's the system he struggles with since day one when he was hunted in the streets.

[zapreportsblog]

❝my child❞

✭ pairing : poly lost boys x reader

✭ fandom : the lost boys

✭ summary : (y/n) is a vampire and a member of the Lost Boys, a powerful gang of biker vampires who control Santa Carla's boardwalk. Despite her immortal nature, Y/N yearns for the impossible dream of having children, much like human women. Her fixation shifts to a lone traveler, whom she believes is destined to be the child of her and the Lost Boys, setting the stage for a unique and unconventional tale of desire and destiny in the vampire underworld.

✭ authors note : ooh aged down star here and I think ima start writing for something other then twilight because no offense twilights taking up my page 😂 I’m not just a twilight franchise writer, I write for various movies, tv shows and series

✭ the lost boys masterlist

The Santa Carla boardwalk was bustling with life as (Y/N) walked hand in hand with her four vampire companions: Marko, Paul, Dwayne, and David. They were known as the Lost Boys, the notorious group of nocturnal creatures that ruled the night in this coastal town. For (Y/N), they were more than just companions; they were her mates, her official but unofficial husbands in the eyes of their vampiric society.

As they strolled among the neon lights, a sense of melancholy crept over her. Children ran by, laughter and joy emanating from their every move. Parents watched over them with love and pride, and the longing in (Y/N)'s heart deepened. She knew that as a vampire, she could never experience the joy of parenthood. Vampires couldn't reproduce, and that realization weighed heavily on her.

(Y/N) glanced at her boys beside her, their immortal beauty accentuated by the boardwalk lights. Their existence was eternal, but it was also devoid of the simple pleasures of human life. While they didn't age, they were forever frozen in time, unable to grow, change, or have children of their own. A pang of sadness washed over her as she wished for something she could never have.

Later that night, as they returned to their hidden lair deep in the cliffs overlooking the Pacific, (Y/N) nestled herself in the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. She was wrapped up tightly, seeking comfort from the emotional storm brewing within her. Unbeknownst to her, the Lost Boys could feel her emotions, her sadness radiating like a palpable energy in the room.

Dwayne, always the most observant of the group, spoke up. "Did anyone else notice (Y/N) unusual behavior today on the boardwalk?" His voice was soft but laced with concern.

David, the leader of the Lost Boys, nodded. "Yes, I did. She seemed...distressed."

Marko and Paul exchanged glances, equally troubled by the apparent sadness in their mate's heart. "You think she's craving something?" Paul asked, voicing the thought that lingered in all their minds.

Dwayne sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's possible. She was watching the children and their families."

David's eyes darkened as he considered the implications. They all knew that satisfying this desire wouldn't be easy. They couldn't simply snatch a random child, not only because it would be cruel but also because it would anger (Y/N) beyond measure.

"We need to find a way to make her happy," David said finally. "We owe it to her. She's given up so much to be with us."

Marko nodded in agreement. "Let's figure this out, together. (Y/N) deserves our best efforts."

Paul chimed in, determination in his voice. "We can't give her a child, but maybe we can find something else that will fill that void in her heart."

As the boys huddled together, their bond as strong as ever, they were united by a single goal: to bring happiness to the woman they cherished above all else, even if it meant navigating the complex emotions of parenthood they could never truly understand.

The night was still young, and only a few hours remained until the dreaded sunrise. The boys knew they had to act quickly to address the longing that had gripped their mate, (Y/N). With determined hearts, they mounted their motorcycles and rode down to Max's store on the boardwalk. The neon lights of Santa Carla painted the night in an eerie glow as they approached the familiar establishment.

Maria, Max's human employee, greeted them with a warm smile as they entered the store. "Hey, boys. Max is in his office."

The boys nodded in thanks and headed toward Max's office. They didn't waste any time with pleasantries when they walked in, their faces etched with worry and anxiety.

Max, reclined in his office chair, raised an eyebrow at their seemingly disrespectful entrance. "What's got you all so riled up?" he asked, his tone tinged with annoyance.

David stepped forward, his voice steady but full of concern. "Max, we need your advice and assistance. (Y/N) is going through something, and we don't know how to help her."

Max leaned back, his curiosity piqued. "Go on."

David took a deep breath and explained the situation. "Our mate wants a baby, Max. She's been feeling this emptiness, a desire that we can't fulfill. We can't just take someone's child; that's not who we are."

Max nodded thoughtfully, steepling his fingers. "It's not uncommon for a female vampire to experience these feelings from time to time," he mused. "Left unchecked, it can become problematic."

Marko, his anxiety growing, couldn't help but speak up. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Max regarded them with a knowing look. "Santa Carla is teeming with runaways and lost souls, boys. Finding an unsuspecting victim on the streets should not be a challenge. It would be a temporary solution to ease her pain."

The boys shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the weight of Max's suggestion settling on their consciences. It was a dark and morally questionable path, one they had always tried to avoid.

But as the seconds ticked away, they realized they were running out of time to make a decision. The coming dawn reminded them of their own immortality and the fleeting nature of the night.

"Thank you, Max," David said, gratitude in his eyes. "We'll consider it."

Max nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Remember, boys, sometimes the choices we make for the ones we love aren't easy."

With that, the boys left Max's office, the weight of their decision heavy on their shoulders. They knew they had to find a way to bring happiness to (Y/N), but at what cost? The night held its secrets, and they had a long, dark road ahead of them.

The next night, the boys and their mate, (Y/N), found themselves once again on the bustling Santa Carla boardwalk. (Y/N) leaned against Dwayne, her head resting on his shoulder, as they walked in sync with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the crowd.

David, always watchful, scanned the surroundings, his eyes darting from person to person. (Y/N) noticed his vigilant demeanor and furrowed her brows. "Is everything okay, David?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

Paul, never one to hide the truth from (Y/N), stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "We need to tell you something, (Y/N). Max suggested a solution to your...desires. David is likely keeping an eye out for a child."

(Y/N)'s expression shifted from curiosity to a deep frown. She gave Paul a sad smile and shook her head. "You don't have to do that, boys. I appreciate your efforts, but we don't need to..."

Her words were cut short as she suddenly stopped walking. A bewildered look crossed the faces of the boys as they watched her go silent. Concern etched lines into their brows as they approached her.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" Dwayne asked softly.

Her gaze was distant, her senses focused on something they couldn't perceive. "Do you hear that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the boardwalk.

The boys exchanged puzzled glances. "Hear what?" Marko questioned.

"My child," (Y/N) said, her voice quivering with emotion. "It's calling out to me."

With newfound determination, (Y/N) moved quickly through the crowd, following an invisible pull that only she could sense. The boys exchanged glances again, realization dawning upon them.

"Guess the hunt's on," David remarked, and they followed her, careful not to lose sight of her in the bustling crowd.

As they ventured deeper into the night, they lost sight of (Y/N) for a moment. Anxiety gripped them until, finally, she reappeared with a bright smile that illuminated her face. She held the hand of a young girl, no more than seven or eight years old, with big, innocent eyes.

"Boys, meet Star," (Y/N) said, her eyes shining with happiness. "She wants to hang with us tonight. Is that alright?"

The boys gazed at the child, their hearts heavy with the weight of their decision. But when they saw the genuine joy in (Y/N)'s eyes, they couldn't deny her this moment of happiness.

"Yeah, baby, she can hang," Paul said with a reassuring smile, and then the rest of the boys welcomed Star into their nocturnal world, hoping that this newfound connection would bring solace to (Y/N) and fill the void that had haunted her for so long.

[pink-slay]

I hate the games life plays with me, and I hate how I play along. I hate that the music to this song sounds good, and I hate playing catch-up for my classes. I hate being nocturnal during the summer and having painsomnia, and I hate being smart enough to get by but too disabled to function independently. I hate that being severely disabled causes me pains and makes me confront evil twisted systems, and I hate that I can't shower independently anymore. I hate that my decisions seem to be much more life or death than the disabled people around me, and I hate that damaged spinal cords are seen as more benign than internal bleeding. I hate having common and rare diseases and being medically known and mysterious all at once. I hate how life seems to pick at me like vultures at the dead, and I hate how someone commented on my view of the hospital when they saw what room I lived in. I hate that I can't write with my hands more than a few words, and I hate that I don't know if someday I'll die by respiratory failure, y'know that thing people without amygdalas fear. I hate that I have gender dysphoria, and I hate that it confuses people why I need my hair to be pink because of it. I hate that I have a bad relationship with my mom, and I hate that it's because I've been so disabled all my life. I hate that I was a sick child and that they prayed over me with oil. I hate the way my name sounds in my mothers mouth, and I hate the way that I never seem to write prose because I put far too much emphasis on each word like they matter more than me and I hate that I think they do. I hate the consequences of being born marginalized and becoming moreso as time has passed and the way the B12 I take tastes. I hate that my stomach doesn't work, and I hate that my disability and my troubled mind gets in the way of all the sacred things. I hate writing the word hate, and I hate my poems when they're fresh.

I want a custom manual tilt-in-space wheelchair that my friends can push me in and put in their cars and a ceiling lift so I don't have to stay in my chair or avoid drinking water because of the exhaustion of transfers. I want more tattoos and a better relationship with my mother. I want my iron sucrose infusion and my neurosurgeon to tell me everything wrong with me and then some geneticist or some ortho. I want more posters on my walls, and I want more walls, more space, enough space to not run over all I own. I want more caregiver hours and I want my mom to be able to take back the harm she is done. I want to die like Ophelia, and I want to read hamlet so I truly understand what that means. I want to get a PhD, and I want to live past the age of 40. I want to have a lesbian lover and a corner apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows in Boston, and I want the sun to hit me just right, and I want to stay outside long enough, tolerate enough heat, just to get a sunburn on my shoulders. I want to change the past and I want to change the future. I want to live long enough to make a difference, and I want to have never made any difference in the first place. I want to publish a memoir and I don't think mine is worth even the fifty pages I have right now. I want to stop doing chemistry and I want to do it forever. I want to be more trans as I want to be less trans, whatever that even fucking means. I want a new Lorde album and to be torn apart. I want to be know, truly known. I may be already, but I want someone to fall in love with me. I want to be fluent in sign language, and I want to sleep for hours. I want to know life without pain, and I want to feel safe, stable.

Maybe if my disability finally stagnated, or I had like five of the above things, many of which are unmet needs, fulfilled, maybe I could feel a bit of peace--- see the world in a way that so many around me do.

I fear life and death both so much, and I fear respiratory failure due to lack of medical treatment, not catching it all soon enough, not knowing, not seeing, not having any warning even though I have them all. I fear life will end in nothingness and I fear eternal afterlife of any sort.

Life exists in billions of billions of iterations, and I experience my small sliver of that.

But...

sometimes...

I'd like to experience it like other people do, easier, not so saturated with legitimate fears, freer.

I long to stop trying to rid myself of each part of myself, to honor myself, see them (me) as something worth living for, but tonight I listen to plane crash in c by rilo kiley, trying to work out complex feelings and stopping points over which I have no control in regard to pain and fatigue. Maybe soon I'll sleep instead of forcing myself to do complex mathematics, overworking the tragedy in my soul with my beloved academic muse. Eventually, too, maybe I'll deconstruct the self-loathing in each choice I make, but not tonight. Too much looms, eyes closing--- pain or exhaustion? Both. Enough. If only it'd all end. Here's to living on borrowed time and confronting death. Here's to clean kitchens (not tidy, something else entirely) in a way that means as much as the day september 16th does to any of you. Here's to pushing past your limits, just a bit too much. I'll try not to hate myself in both directions all at once, to listen to the goosebumps and eyelids and collapse.

[queerprayers]

Hello! I'm a genderfluid Christian and I'm currently trying to discern whether going on HRT would be a good idea, both in terms of whether it would be worth the inconvenience and whether it would be glorifying to God. Do you have any recommendations?

(For a long time, I was comfortable in my gender without it, but a few months ago something shifted and now I can't stop thinking about it. I would ask a pastor, but I'm between churches at the moment; the Baptist church I went to for many years, despite its many good qualities, is not at all affirming, and I'm still in the process of finding a better spiritual home, which is further complicated by the fact that I am nocturnal.)

Thank you for running this blog, by the way. It means a lot to me.

Hello, beloved! I will do my best and I'm so glad you're here.

I hope you've heard this quote from Daniel M. Lavery, but just in case you haven't: "As my friend Julian puts it, only half winkingly: 'God blessed me by making me transsexual for the same reason God made wheat but not bread and fruit but not wine, so that humanity might share in the act of creation.'"

Another quote from that book (Something That May Shock and Discredit You, which I highly recommend) that comes to mind is “Trying not to transition was the hardest work in the world. The nicest thing about transition was letting go.” I believe you that you're unsure, and I'm not trying to make your decision for you, but on the off chance that any of your discerning has taken the form of trying to convince yourself not to transition in this way, or downplaying your current discomfort, or not trusting yourself out of fear, I'd say that being trans in this world is hard enough without being on your own side.

Ultimately, you know yourself and your experience, and I'd hazard a guess that you've already decided more than you think. Often by the time I'm reaching out about a life change, I'm asking permission more than advice. If that rings true, here's your permission (not that you need it from me).

I hope you don't mind, but I checked in with my partner (a certified Transgender) while answering this, and I'll paraphrase what they had to say about HRT and inconvenience: Is the travel time to see a loved one worth the inconvenience? Ultimately, you are worth dealing with inconvenience. The happiness you could have is worth the inconvenience. Being trans is hard with or without medical transition. But sharing in the act of creation is worth it. We are all worth doing hard things for, and for some that includes fighting to get on HRT and being visibly trans in public.

You can't know until you begin a journey if it will be "worth it"—but I would imagine answering this for yourself, giving this instinct inside you a chance, would be worth it even if it's not forever. There are people who start HRT and decide it's not for them—and their lives aren't ruined. Their lives are fuller for honoring what they wanted at that point in time. Obviously regret happens—but we cannot refrain from living because of that. Your gender identity and your relationship with your body may change and grow, and all parts of that change are worth of honoring.

As to whether this would glorify God—are you honoring the person God created? If (to paraphrase St. Teresa of Ávila) Christ has no body now on earth but yours, if yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world, the feet with which he walks to do good, the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world —what body are you moving through this world with, and how will you care for it? What will enable you to live out Christ? Jesus calls us to meet every stranger as himself—what would happen if you met yourself as such, too? If everything we do to another is what we do to Christ—feed, clothe, honor—why would you be any less? Why would your body not be worthy of existence, of shelter?

If our bodies are temples to God, are they not places of worship? Of course my journey with accepting my body has shown me that we can be faithful Christians before accepting ourselves, and as we learn to care for ourselves. I don't mean to imply we cannot. But our peaceful existence in these places of worship takes work, and just as we work to make our churches more accessible and accepting, so must we work to care for our bodies and fully inhabit them as prayer. My work of love to my body was accepting it as it is, welcoming its change and faults, and also taking psychiatric medication so that I could function better. It was prayer for me, the journey to find a medication that worked and paying attention to how it was changing me, how it enabled me to better serve as a child of God.

Every trans person I know has been more fully able to love when they live as themselves—when they've had access to transition care, when they've been respected and affirmed. These were not selfish choices, they were self-honoring choices which have shone outward ever since. We can look to the Bible to see name changes at moments of God-glorifying change, and we can also see physical change—the shining face of Moses, the woman who only seeks to grasp the hem of Jesus's clothing to be healed, Paul going temporarily blind, Jesus himself at his transfiguration. We cannot serve God and stay the same.

Romans 12 tells us to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice—living. Yes, we are called to be willing to die for love, but also to live for it. Preventing your flourishing because it would be scary, or inconvenient, or misunderstood, or because it may not be where your flourishing lies forever, is not a sacrifice for love. Transition, the way I've seen it in the people around me, is.

I also want to point out that you've done the work—you introduced yourself as a genderfluid Christian. I don't know your story, but I know the years of reconciling saying those words can take. You have the language for yourself. You know who you are. HRT can be a huge first step for some, but it can also be just the next part of that work. It doesn't have to be huge. For some it is simply bringing things more in line with the self they've known all along. Make it a big deal if that feels true (and it is a big deal in terms of bravery and access), but it may become just one of many ways you care for yourself. You don't have to cater to those who see it as drastic or an emergency, those who fearmonger or want you to prove you need it. You've done the work, so trust that you are capable of making this decision.

It is your God-given right to make decisions about your body. As Christians, we believe we are called to serve God with those decisions. But God gave us the reins. God gave us all different skills and stories and paths. It is not easy or obvious and sometimes we circle back or regret or repent. God gave us the capacity for those kinds of stories, too. Be human with God—our God who entered into time and space, who participated in our having-a-body-ness, who reconciled the ways his body held him back and the ways he could serve with it. Jesus's relationship with his gender/body/health is not something we're privy to but from other parts of his life we can assume it was a participation in his time and place—a 1st century Jewish man. In the communities you're a part of, with the resources you have, with the identities you have welcomed, how will you be human with him?

I don't know what healthcare is available to you where you are, but a good doctor can tell you the side effects, refer you to counseling as you make choices, give you dose and timeline options. Even if you don't end up going on HRT, seeking out trans-inclusive healthcare and community is a good choice, and I would recommend learning your options. If you can't stop thinking about this, trust that it's worth taking seriously.

I wish you all the best in finding a church/community—there are people equipped to love all of you, and you deserve to find them. I relate with the nocturnal bit—I know Catholics usually have a Saturday night service, and every so often another kind of church will. Online community can fill gaps and give us other ways of connection as we look for physical communion. I wish I could promise affirming religious spaces in every place, but I can only pray and work for that to someday be the case.

So, to answer my lover's question, the travel time to see a loved one is worth it. The journey to the you more full of love is worth it, and the journey to find a spiritual home is worth it. If we are pilgrims on this earth, may the things in our control be done with love, may our journeys be faithful, may our bodies be Christ's body, trusting in the Love greater than anything we can do. How you will be a steward of God's creation is not something I can answer for you, but I believe in your ability to sow the seeds within you. HRT may be the next part of your creation—you can give yourself some time, talk to some people, sit with the idea, consider how you would handle regret, and don't let me tell you what to do, but ultimately there is only one way to know, and waiting until we're sure is stagnation if it is not an active waiting.

To quote my Easter/TDOV post: Come to life, beloved. God sees you. The first steps out of the tomb may be stumbling, the dawn too bright, but we will meet you in the garden, where you were first created. Bring with you whatever is still bleeding—Jesus believes in you, touches the ache in your ribs. Mistake him for a gardener; let him plant you anew. Look to the wound in his side, see how it births the Church, and continues to until there is room for you. Look through the holes in his hands and see the world you were redeemed for, the self that you have already found or may only imagine. God made the grapes, and Christ stands in the winepress with you. Trample out your wine.

And lastly, to turn the patron saint of receiving sacraments presenting as God calls, even unto death, Joan of Arc's affirmation into a command (and purposely quoting an angel in the process): Be not afraid. You were born to do this.

<3 Johanna

[stvrdrops]

eternal eclipse ☆ | drolta x fem!reader (castlevania;nocturne)

to share only night together was not enough, only an eternity could quench your thirst for drolta.

warnings : talk of death, kissing, vampire stuff

word count : 1.5k+

note : soooo, it's been a while since i've posted any fanfic. not gonna lie life been really kicking ass and i struggled to write for my normal shuri stuff cause i lost my fixation. but i hope this little niche fanfic finds those who enjoy it :)

.

p.s. i recommend listening to "no ordinary love" by sade :)

"why don't you ever stay the night?"

"i stay every night." drolta says to you, licking her lips and recalling the fresh taste of your magnificent blood.

"or rather, morning." you whisper out, finding yourself a little too frail to sit up all the way. your dress falls as you sit up slightly. an exposed bite causing blood to run down your chest. drolta watched through pink eyes. the dark surrounding them was something so hypnotizing that you always found yourself falling into it. it was like some kind of inviting abyss.

"mortals and their silly questions. how you grovel for my touch and teeth among your skin is ever so amusing."

"i grow older drolta!" you weakly yell out to her. this grabs her attention, not once have you ever yelled at the higher powered being. you shed a single tear, letting out a sigh of utter desperation. "i age with every sunrise and dawn. my bones grow weaker and some day you will come to see me only to find an old woman in my place. i know i am young now, but i've aged over the last couple years and nothing about you changes. you're still as beautiful as the day we met and you will forever remain this way."

drolta's eyes drop away from yours, taking in your words of anguish. she knew you were right, because she'd have other companions before. she had bed women and men far before you were ever born. she'd watch them go and come, their children or grandchildren sometimes even becoming her next fling. it was a cycle she had grown oddly accustomed to, not feeling any certain emotion for one or the next. she liked the fact that she aged and grew more powerful in the search of the vessel for her goddess while others perished. it made her feel the power she knew she had within her.

your hand finds her exposed arm. she turns to look at you.

"drolta, i envy that some day i will be too old for you and yet someone will be just young enough. it is not fair that you help me to discover such deep emotions. not ever will i feel for someone the way i feel for you. all this feeling, just for it to one day end once i can no longer serve you."

"there have been some before you and there will be many after you. i am a soul that walks this earth with no true claim anymore. you have a purpose, and warm blood to keep you living in the way your story speaks."

"what if my story is simply for me to serve you? i want to be your companion in this feeble mortal life that i share with my human counterparts. then, have that companionship follow into a new world my soul can not comprehend. i do not want to age among the rest, i want to have a face that is young but a mind that is aged by love. your love."

drolta had heard many a confession, but this one did something different to her. she swore that if she had a heartbeat she could feel it perhaps skip a beat.

"do you know exactly what it is that you're asking of me? what that means to be my partner eternally?" drolta asks, clearly enticed by the idea.

"i don't now what all it means, but i'd have an eternity to learn. i want to devour the sunlight with you, devour the world alongside you. what if i am the vessel that you desire?"

drolta's pink eyes lock onto your dark ones. for the first time she thinks she can feel a devotion to someone other than her goddess. or, perhaps, for her goddess in a new twisted discovery. this shocks her, renders her unable to think properly. she had spent so long devoting her life to a woman that she didn't know what it meant to have true devotion back. her body tingled, and her pink hair began to flame up from the idea.

you were the vessel for her messiah.

"you will devour the sun, me alongside you. first, i shall devour you."

the word devour sent chills through your body.

she extends a hand out to you. you gracefully accept the invite. she uses her enhanced strength to pull you up, your warm body next to her cold one as she spreads out her wings. the two of your exit out of the french doors and onto the balcony that your family's wealth had graciously provided for you. it was where you first met drolta.

her wings flap and for the first time you find yourself floating in the air. your eyes grow wide and a childlike smile spreads across your face. drolta gives you a devilish smile in return.

oh, to be in love with something so unholy as she.

no angel could ever look this beautiful.

"romantic, isn't it?" she asks, licking over the neck wound. it sends you into a euphoria, as your blood sends her into a similar one. you can feel the heat from her inflamed pink hair grazing your skin.

"i love you, drolta."

your lips find hers as you're both suspended in the air over a lake. your eyes are closed but you can still see the pink hues from among your eyelids. as if you were stuck in a trance, she kisses you harder and faster. you can taste your own blood in her mouth, ever so addicting. now you can see why she can't seem to leave you alone.

a moan escapes from inside of you, one out of the millions drolta had heard before. she had come to see you every night since you met, which was three years ago. some nights she'd stay for a chat or a simple couple of minutes. others she would ravage you and drink you almost dry just to do it again the next night.

"take me!" you beg to her, causing her flame to grow bigger and eyes to grow wider. god, how she craved your mortal being. your naivety and free outlook. anyone else feared death, and yet you welcomed it, knowing the transformation may not even work with how powerful drolta's blood truly was. she had turned others before. you were just the first in a very long time.

she stops her feverish and hungered kisses, diving for your neck. sharp teeth overtake you, a pain echoing from your neck to the rest of your body. it was a familiar pain, but it never got any easier to get accustomed to. you welcomed the pain and the feeling of being drained entirely. you enjoyed the feeling of her tongue sweeping over the blood seeping from your neck. just as you loved the way her tongue swept over your feminine autonomy. the devil was draining you and you desired it to never end.

it didn't matter that you were losing the color in your body. nothing mattered anymore. as you could feel your life force being drained from your very being. she was bringing you death, but she was also bringing you to a new life. an eternal one.

your hand fell from her neck, losing all of its feeling. drolta senses that you're near the end and rips her teeth away from you, finding it hard to control herself. your blood was unlike any other that she'd ever tasted. it was blood good enough to compare to the likes of her messiah.

the moonlight shone on the two of you, bouncing off of the tiny ripples that existed among the waters below you. it was beautiful, a perfect end to a beginning. your eyes closing slightly, drolta being the last thing you see. she was smiling at you, but not out of love, more out of accomplishment.

"drink." the words slither out of her mouth. she rips into her own wrist, causing a new blood to seep from within her.

surprised in yourself, you don't waste any time reaching fervently for the blood of your lover. your mouth clings onto her wrist and suckles in any blood she can spare for you. your eyes are closed as you fall into a bliss. her moans filled your ears every so pleasantly.

she pulls you away from her wrist, knowing that if you get any more you may kill her.

when she sees your face again it is still the same shade she's always adorned. yet, your eyes are different this time. no longer a dark brown, but a light one, almost a shade of gold. it reminds her of egypt.

it reminds her of sekhmet.

your fangs are dripping with her blood.

"my bringer of death!" she shouts out to you. you don't register what she's saying due to the unfamiliar new being you seem to find yourself as.

her lips once again collide with yours. there's a newfound hunger shared between the two of you. something much deeper than anything ever felt before. drolta did not know what it meant to love, you did. yet, somehow this seemed like something so unfamiliar to the both of you. was it lust? or was it something much deeper that transcends both vampire and human?

it didn't matter, as the two of you kissed deeply and passionately in the air above the lake. the sight so beautiful that even the sun not dared to come up in fear of interrupting the moment. for a second, it seemed as if the night would be eternal, just you and drolta suspended in the air for an eternity.

an eternity you were sure to bring, as the vessel for the new messiah.

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°✩☼⋆｡°✩☽

[dervampireprince]

Will You Join Me Once Again?

[18+, minors dni] Pairing: Leon Belmont/Vlad 'Dracula Tepes (Mathias Cronqvist) Words: 6,532 Rating: Explicit Read on Ao3 Tags: Dracula Vlad Tepes (Mathias Cronqvist)/Lisa (Mentioned) | Leon Belmont/Dracula Vlad Tepes (Mathias Cronqvist)/Lisa (Mentioned) | Polyamory | Polyamorous Dracula & Lisa - theres no cheating here | Trans Man Leon Belmont | Love Confessions | Getting Together | Reunions | Vaginal Penetration | Fingering | Oral | Multiple Orgasms | First Time | Virgin Leon Belmont | Internal Conflict | Happy Ending | Mirror Sex | Praise Kink | Voice Kink | Size Difference | Dom Top Vlad | Sub Bottom Leon Summary: Grass. Wet grass. That was the first thing Leon felt. His fingers twitched against soil, dirt creeping under his fingernails. He breathed. He breathed. And then he opened his eyes. Set after the finale of Castlevania season 4; What if Leon Belmont also woke up naked in a field, somehow revived. And what if he found his old friend and they talked (amongst other things). Combines Castlevania Lament of Innocence and the Castlevania animated series lore. Notes: my first writing in two and a half years huh. i started writing this after rewatching castlevania season 1 back in september 2024 and had the urge to finally write something for these two, who i adore together so much. but i started getting a headache and it was late and i went to bed instead of finishing the fic. which was the right thing to do for my health, but it did mean because i took a break i never picked up the fic again. until today. i binged all of castlevania nocturne yesterday and randomly today i just thought 'hey i reckon i could finish that fic' and i did.

Grass. Wet grass. That was the first thing Leon felt. His fingers twitched against soil, dirt creeping under his fingernails. He breathed. He breathed. And then he opened his eyes.

Waking up naked and alone in a forest wasn't the typical start to Leon Belmont's day. Especially since he hadn't gotten to start a day in over four hundred years. Wherever he had been since his death, he wasn't sure. Time passed strangely, and at times he could almost reach out and see what happening to his descenders. Centuries of Belmonts fighting vampires, that's what his legacy had become. And all of it stemming from one man.

He hadn't seen Mathias in the spirit world, or hell or whatever that place had been. Perhaps their souls had both gone to very different places. And yet despite how he had cursed Mathias, he had been... Well at first he had been angry, angry that he could not confront him, that he could now ask him if his betrayal had been worth it... and then he'd been... alone. Sara's soul was forever floating on Earth, unable to be with him. And by the end of his life, he had no other friends left, pushing them all away, scared to trust anyone... scared to trust himself. He had failed. Walter was dead, but so was Sara... and then Mathias took Walter's place. He had changed nothing. If he hadn't gone to the castle, if he hadn't killed Walter, maybe Mathias would have never become... him...

Mathias. No. Dracula.

And perhaps all the people killed in his wake would still be alive. How much suffering would be undone if he had never killed Water. Or if he'd been able to kill Mathias... But he couldn't do it. Even after everything Mathias had done, Leon was too soft, couldn't stop his damn heart from loving him. Hell, sometimes he'd wondered if he'd confessed how he felt, maybe Mathias would had never become so desperate to have gone searching for Walter in the first place.

But that was long ago. That's what he told himself. He couldn't change it. That didn't stop him from eternally thinking about it. Feeling guilty for not saving enough people, for not stopping Mathias... and sometimes, when low enough, he felt guilty for not going with Mathias in the end. Maybe he could have changed him, made him see sense, maybe he didn't try hard enough to save his friend.

He had to steal some clothes. Whoever or whatever resurrected him could have at least provided that. Though perhaps Leon was brought back just to suffer some more, humiliate himself for whatever god was watching.

At least it was night. That made it easier to sneak around the outskirts of a nearby village, watching for movement in windows, until he braved sneaking into a house and stealing some clothes. He swiped a knife from their kitchen on the way out. Unsure of what he was supposed to do with this new life, but sure that wasn't going to have any luck. That danger was probably going to find him.

That was the thought he had when he them. A couple. They were walking towards what seemed to be an inn. They had their hoods up but despite being out of practise, Leon knew a vampire when he saw one. Times had changed. Dracula was dead. Perhaps he should leave them alone.

The vampire turned, as if sensing Leon was watching him, and Leon saw his face. Older and harsher and with a beard and a moustache but those eyes were as red as they were the last time Leon saw them but he was dead he knew he was dead, he felt it and felt it again as something on his said on the veil shifted and then he was dead again wasn't he, wasn't he-

The vampire turned back, ushered his companion inside, and Leon struggled to breath.

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

When the vampire's companion came down to the pub attached to the inn, Leon was there. He watched and waited while she asked for some wine and food, and while the innkeeper turned and left to gather what she'd asked for, he approached.

She turned her head to meet his eyes. She was blonde. Her eyes were blue. Leon tried to think that could mean nothing.

And then he pieced together glimpses of this world, of Dracula's revenge statement of revenge that seeped through the cracks of the Earth and out into elsewhere.

His wife. This was his wife. They were both alive. Somehow. And they were together. Leon should leave them be. But he had so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to hear.

"Can I help you?"

He was staring. He had been staring. What do you say to the wife of your best friend turned enemy when all three of you are supposed to be dead? When the last thing you said to her husband was swearing that you'd kill him. When the last time you saw him he looked down at you as though you'd broken his heart-

"Do I know you?" She tilted her head and stared as though she could possibly know there was any sort of connection here. "You look... I swear I've seen your face before."

He was never any good at beating around the bush and being subtle anyway.

"My name is Leon."

Her eyes widened, she sucked in a breath and then... her shoulders dropped. "Oh," she said. "That explains that then."

It explains what? Had... Had Mathias talked about him? Probably gloated about how naive Leon had been but... She didn't look at him with disdain. Could... did Mathias feel guilty too?

"Would you like a drink?"

He blinked, dumbfounded. "With you?"

"Yes. Why not. I think... we have a lot we could talk about."

"You want to talk with me?"

"Yes. Especially if it could help you not try and kill my husband."

Leon nodded. Unable to think of anything to say as she asked for another drink and moved to sit at a table in the corner.

"I don't... I don't think I plan on killing him," Leon said as he sat across from her.

"You 'don't think'," She raised an eyebrow, looking down at him with as though she knew the conflict inside him, as though she could possibly know anything about him.

"I want to talk to him."

"About what?"

"About us," Leon regretted his phrasing the moment he said it.

"Us? You and Vlad?" She teased. She was teasing. He had accidentally implied a closer connection with her husband and she wasn't offended, she was teasing?

"I didn't mean it like, that is we weren't, well I don't know what you know about-"

"He's told me far more about you than I think you expect, Leon Belmont." He was cut off by her laughter, then she looked sad. "He wasn't proud of it, you know. What he did. He wondered if we'd see you in the afterlife, and how he would apologise, and how he thought nothing he could say would be enough. That you would never forgive him."

"And he'd have been right," Leon sighed. "For a time, at least."

"And now?"

"And now... And now I don't know what I'm doing here, how I'm here, how either of you are here, and I have no one and nothing and..."

"And?"

Leon couldn't get the words out. They burned in his throat. He thought of Sara, he thought of all humans that must have been killed by Mathias after he turned, and he felt guilty because despite all that all he wanted made him feel evil. Tears welled in his eyes.

"I just want to see my friend."

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

He'd gotten his own room at the inn. Felt awful as he picked someone's pocket for the money, but now at least he had somewhere to sleep.

And somewhere to wait.

Lisa, that was her name, had listened, and they'd talked and fuck she'd placed her hand on his as he'd cried. She should hate him for turning up here. For threatening to ruin their lives, this peace they were trying to make for themselves.

But she'd been kind. She'd been unashamed of Leon and his actions, and unashamed of Mathias. Vlad, she called him, that's what he went by now. And she told him of their lives, of the monster Mathias had become and then stopped being, how they'd fallen in love, of their son, and then of her death and everything that followed.

And after Leon was finished saying everything he needed too, she promised she'd go and tell Vlad, Mathias, him, everything and try and convince him to come to Leon's room so they could talk. Well actually she didn't say 'try', she said she would convince him. She seemed very sure of that. Leon thought he was starting to like her.

There was no creaking of floorboards, no footsteps. Only a cold chill seeping in from under the door.

"It's open," Leon said before anyone could knock.

The handle turned behind him. A footstep, then another, then the door closed.

"Finally have the courage to face me, old friend?"

"You visited my wife." His voice, Christ, Leon had almost forgotten what it was like. Smooth and dark and all caressing.

"I did. I wanted to talk. To understand. And I wanted you to understand that I merely want to talk"

"Hmmm, so she said."

Silence. It was Leon's turn to speak and he... He breathed, tried not to shudder, knew the damn vampire could hear it in his lungs.

"You speak of me facing you, yet you do not turn to face me. Are you frightened of what you might see? Or are you a mere trick after all. Lisa has heard stories of you, seen your face, but I would know you anywhere, little lion-"

"You do not get to call me that!" Leon whirled around, hands clenching, tears stinging his eyes and...

And there he was. Tall. Taller than Leon remembered. Perhaps the vampirism had added to his already stupid height. There were lines under his eyes, around his mouth. He had never had facial hair when he'd been Mathias. His once green eyes still that crimson red and wide, wide open as if he too was in shock.

"It really is you..." Vlad said as if in wonder. Leon could not fathom how he could be wondrous any more.

"And it really is you," And because sarcasm and stubborn was in his blood. "Nice beard."

Vlad laughed. Actually laughed. As if Leon's remark had cut through all the insanity of what had happened over the last twenty-four hours. And Leon's lips quirked up as he fought against the contagious laughter.

"Well," Vlad said. "I was never good at growing any when I was human. But..."

"Things changed. You changed."

"You haven't," Vlad took a step closer. "Leon you look... It's as if not a single day has passed. You look... perfect."

Leon drew in a breath, stepped backwards to keep distance between them and hoped by doing that he could ignore the beating of his heart. But he knew Vlad couldn't.

"Don't pity me."

"Leon, that's not... I'm not-"

"I know what I did, alright. I fucked up, I ruined everything. I couldn't save Sarah, couldn't defeat you, couldn't see that it was all one big trap, and despite all of that you know what also won't leave me? That I couldn't see that my best friend, the person I loved most in this world, was in so much pain that he'd go and turn himself into a fucking vampire so he didn't have to feel any more and try and claim some stupid revenge as if he could kill God himself, as if God even gives a fuck about any of us, after everything I gave and the world still becomes this mess, ridden with monsters and I couldn't stop any of it Mathias, I couldn't stop it, I couldn't stop..."

Leon was sobbing. He could hear it in his voice, the way it slid up in pitch made him feel sick. And Vlad was just watching, hands clenching, one arm stretching out as if he wanted to reach out to comfort him like old times. But this wasn't old times any more.

"None of it was your fault, Leon."

"Why? Because you're too damn smart I never stood a chance?" Leon spat.

"No... No... Because it wasn't your job to take care of me. It wasn't your job to track anyone down or defeat monsters. You took that upon yourself because you're good, Leon," Vlad shook his head. "You know I was jealous of you?"

"No you weren't."

"Oh, but I was. Not of your stubbornness, or impatience, or how you'd fall asleep during the Commander's lectures and I'd have to wake you up every time you were almost caught... But of your light. Your kindness. Your willingness to help others. If you are at fault for anything it's caring too much, and I would not fault you for that. And then I infected your light, with my darkness. And for that, and all the pain I have ever caused you, I am sorry."

Silence stretched between them. Leon heaved and tried to control himself, shuffling back every time Vlad tried to get any closer. Hating himself for how much he wanted to allow Vlad to touch him.

"Why are you here Leon?" Vlad said, eventually. "Why did you come to me? What do you want?"

"I... I don't know. I don't know what I expected. Probably that I wouldn't believe any apology if you gave one... but now... I don't believe you're lying and I don't know what to do with that. I spent so long being angry at you. And... I'm tired, Mathias."

"I know. I am too," A pause. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth, Leon. You were never a coward. Don't start being one now." He stepped closer again. "Lisa gave her blessing for me, for us, to do whatever we want in here. So I ask you again, what do you want? Why would she say that? Unless she knows something about you that I don't."

Another step closer.

"I've confided in her about everything. She knows our history. She knows what you look like because I still have an old painting of you. Did you know I never thought it out? I couldn't. Do you know why, Leon? Did you ever wonder why I asked you to join me? Do you need it spelled out for you, little lion?"

Leon was backed up against the window now. He could run. If he ran maybe Vlad would let him go and he could start a new life, no vampires, no fucking Dracula.

"I can feel your heart race, Leon. I'd beg you to not hide your truth from me. Not now we're getting this second chance."

Leon scoffed. "As if you'd ever beg."

"You wouldn't know, would you?"

Images raced across Leon's mind. His breathed hitched.

"Why do you want to hear it? So you can gloat? That after all this time, I'm so pathetic that after everything you've done I am still in love with you."

"...All this time?"

Leon winced. "You didn't know?"

"Catching you staring back then, and hearing your heart racing now... Attraction is different from love, Leon."

"Would it have changed anything? If I'd told you back then?"

"...I don't know," Vlad shifted, his hand brushed Leon's arm and when Leon didn't flinch he grew bolder. "And I don't know how we're here now, alive once more, and next to each other. It is almost as if we were fated to find each other again. And despite your... feelings, if you wish me to leave and never come near you again, I will do so. I don't wish to cause you any further pain, Leon, but..."

Vlad towered over Leon, nails scraping over his neck, his chin, tiling his head up. Leon should be afraid.

He wasn't.

"Should you want otherwise..."

Vlad leaned in, slowly, slow enough to allow Leon to back out. He wasn't caged. He could leave.

He placed his hands against Vlad's chest, holding him there.

"Leon?" Fuck his voice sounded wrecked. As if merely being this close was ruining him. As if he was possibly even scared that Leon was rejecting him once more.

But Leon wasn't going to make a mistake twice.

"I need to know this is real, that you're real, that you... That you really want me."

"Sweet boy, I have always wanted you, even when I didn't realise or accept it. I was so blinded by rage and grief, as seems to be my continuous folly. But don't think I didn't see you. That I didn't want. When I offered you a place by my side, I meant it in every way. As my friend, and as my consort. Did you not realise that?"

"It... it wouldn't have mattered, it couldn't have mattered. I would have never joined your crusade against humanity."

"I know. But that's not what I asked."

Leon tried to laugh. "Did I notice that you liked me in return? No. How could I? You were... everything, Mathias. I never thought I could be... enough."

"Oh, Leon," Vlad forced him to meet his gaze once more. "You were always enough."

His warm hands clenched the dark grey tunic as he pushed himself up onto his toes and he sobbed as Vlad's mouth met his.

He'd imagined how his first kiss with Mathias might go many times. Whether he would shyly confess his feelings and Mathias would take him into his arms, or Mathias would come into Leon's tent already knowing what Leon wanted and finally doing something about it, or whether before one last battle Leon would throw caution to the wind.

Being pressed up against a wall by a vampire almost twice his size being kissed as though he might disappear at any moment had never once been one of those fantasies. But Leon was not complaining.

He whimpered and clawed at Vlad, until the other pulled away, letting him breathe.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to shut you up by doing that," Vlad rumbled.

"No," Leon panted. "I don't. I still don't know if I believe all of this is real but, if it is... Perhaps you should show me?"

"Leon... I have to know exactly what you want. I won't hurt you again."

"Anything. Everything. All of you," And then he added. "Please."

Vlad made a noise at the back of his throat and then he was kissing Leon again and picking up him off the ground into his arms. Or at least he tried too, but Leon was already pawing at his belt, his tunic, trying to push everything off him.

They broke away laughing.

"Always too eager and impatient, Leon. Hush. We're both here. Somehow. And after all this time I am going to take my time and enjoy you."

Slower than before, belts were unfastened, boots were kicked, and shirts were pushed off each other's shoulders.

Leon felt unsure of himself for a moment, nervous under Vlad's gaze. But Vlad simply trailed a thumb down Leon's throat, his chest, and curled his hand where it rested around his hip.

"Gorgeous," Vlad murmured, and then his lips were back on Leon's and Leon hadn't really registered they'd moved until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

He braced himself as he expected to be pushed down, but no such push came. Instead, Vlad's hands slid down over his hips, and the rest of his giant body went down with them, kissing his way down Leon's chest until he was kneeling at Leon's feet.

"How would you let me have you?"

Leon shuddered as Vlad looked up at him. Having this powerful creature on his knees before him, asking what he wanted, asking how he was allowed to have him... it made Leon's head spin.

"I already said. I want anything, everything. Place me how you want me."

"I want you to feel good, Leon."

"Yes, and," Leon cut himself off, realising he sounded irritated as if Vlad should know, as if he could guess. "I, I like, that is I would like, I... It would feel good for you to place me how you want me."

"Oh," Vlad raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Leon raised a hand to his face, but Vlad snatched it and pinned it to his hip.

"Is that what you enjoy Leon? Is that what you've thought about? Me taking what I want from you? Ravishing you in any way I see fit? Telling you what to do for me?"

Leon moaned. Vlad hadn't touched him and he'd moaned. The urge to crawl into a hole and hide flew from his mind as Vlad smiled. Leon wanted Vlad in control, and Vlad wanted Leon to want him in control.

All Leon had to do was nod his head and Vlad was pushing him onto the bed, moving him, positioning him up on his knees, his back pressed against Vlad's cold chest. Like this, Vlad could run his hands over Leon's body, peer down over Leon's shoulder to see the flush spreading down his chest. But that's not why he'd chosen this position.

"You are a vision, Leon," Vlad signed into neck. "Don't you see?"

He didn't know how he was supposed to see, and whether he was anything special at all in the eyes of someone who had lived long enough to see countless beauties. But a hand grabbed his chin and forced his gaze across the room.

Oh.

His cheeks were red, hair starting to matt against his forehead, thighs shaking, his, fuck, his thighs were slick. He must have already been wet and then pressed his legs together while they were moving. And he could see all of this because there was a mirror in the corner of the room.

He watched, transfixed and embarrassed, as Vlad's hand reached down between his legs.

"You will tell me if I do anything you dislike?"

Leon nodded and that's all the warning he got before a finger dipped down and swirled against his cock.

It was cold. Leon knew it would be cold, but that didn't prepare him. But it wasn't bad. Fuck, it wasn't bad. The finger gently moved in circles, around and around his cock. Leon cried. He bucked his hips but Vlad tutted and held their bodies together with his other hand. That didn't help Leon's want to squirm as now he could feel it. Doubts he had about Vlad's want for him were dripping away as he felt Vlad's cock pressing into the base of his spine.

Vlad teased him like that for a while, drawing circles around his cock until Leon was babbling, begging for more and calling him a fucking tease. Vlad laughed before finally sliding two fingers between his folds and pressing them against his hole.

"Leon," Vlad shuddered as though he could still breathe. "Already this wet for me. I really have kept you waiting, haven't I, little one?"

"Please," Was all Leon could gasp out as he fought uselessly to be able to rock his hips against Vlad's.

Leon cried and his hold body went taught as one of Vlad's fingers pushed inside. He clawed at Vlad's arms, scratching him, head throwing itself back against his shoulder. All the while Vlad hushed him, praised him, while he slid his finger back and forth until a second one joined it.

Vlad's lips mouthed at where Leon's neck met his shoulder, sensitive skin that Leon had exposed by turning his head away, trying to hide his face away in his hair. If he let his eyes wander up without moving his head, he could see his toes curling against the crimson sheets, his calves shaking, his thighs-

He averted his eyes, suddenly scared he would become too overwhelmed if he saw Vlad's fingers thrusting in and out.

Nails scratched at his cheek before Vlad's left hand snaked around them and fingers dug into Leon's cheeks. His eyes half-lidded as his vision shifted, Vlad's hand pushing his head backwards.

"Look."

Vlad's voice had always been beautiful. How many times had Leon's mind wandered whilst Mathias gave some lecture about their next movements, his next plans? How many times had Leon received an order and flushed? How many times had he gone back to his tent, imagining what other orders would sound like in that voice?

It was too easy to obey.

"That's it, Leon. Look at what you've become for me. The proud lion turning into my wanton whore," Vlad's voice was right in his ear, if he could breathe Leon would have felt it. "Were you always like this, underneath? When you would retire to your tent in the camp early, would you put a hand over your mouth while you played with your cock? Would you cry out over having nothing big enough to fill your dripping cunt? Did you imagine any of your knights coming to your aid, I wonder."

"No!" The volume of his own voice shocked Leon. "No, no, I, you have to have... you have to know that it was you, it was always you. Couldn't- Couldn't think straight during briefings, you, you, God, Mathias, it was always you."

He couldn't see Vlad in the mirror, couldn't know if he was shocked, if he was pleased. He couldn't hear his breath hitch. But he could feel Vlad's grip tighten.

"And what would you have done, little lion, if I had heard your muffled moans? If I had heard you crying out my name? If I'd stepped into your tent?"

"Anything. I, I would been embarrassed but if you'd shown any interest, if you'd asked... I would have done anything you asked. Anything, Mathias please."

Leon's hand scrambled and clasped itself around Vlad's arm as the fingers continued to pump in and out of him. It looked obscene, seeing himself stretched out in the mirror, clenching down on seemingly nothing.

"Please, Mathias, I want to see you," He tugged on Vlad's arm, tried to turn his head towards the other man. "I need to see you, need to see you, to know you're real, Mathias please."

Vlad sighed and his fingers pulled out and for a moment Leon was worried he'd ruined everything. But then Vlad was pressing him back into the bed and kissing him. Hands that could crush him were carefully cupping his face.

He'd always been the taller of the two, but whether through his own will or not Vlad had definitely added to his height and Leon and never felt how vastly different their bodies were until now. With a thrill, he realised he was caged.

"Need you," Leon mumbled between kisses.

"You were never good at being patient" Vlad chuckled. "Though I suppose in a way I've made you wait far longer than you should have had too."

"Indeed you have. So will you get on with it?"

One of Vlad's nails flicked against his cock and Leon yelped.

"Imprudence must surely be inherited in you Belmonts. I thought I taught you manners years ago. You were so prettily begging me a second ago and you've already forgotten how to say please," Vlad slunk down the bed until his face was between Leon's legs.

Leon gulped.

"Please."

One long, slow swipe of his tongue over Leon's cunt was enough to have him already wailing. His hips fought to stutter and arch off the bed, but Vlad's hands had him pinned by the hips.

Leon's hand came to his mouth on instinct, embarrassed at how easily he fell apart, afraid he'd give away how touch-starved he was down there.

"None of that, little lion," Vlad growled. "I want to hear every noise I wring out of you, you sweet oversensitive thing. No one has touched you since you've been reborn, hm?"

"Half-right," And this was exactly why Leon wanted to cover his mouth, lest it speak without asking his brain for advice first.

"Half?" Nails dug into hips as Vlad's voice darkened. "Leon..."

"You could call me an old romantic and say I was waiting for you?" Leon's shoulders tensed awkwardly. "It really doesn't need to a huge issue, I don't want you thinking you can't do anything to me, or that I don't know what I want just because I haven't... Just because I'm..."

"A virgin? You didn't think to mention-"

"I wanted you to still want to do this."

"-that I'd get the pleasure of being the first to touch you here? The first to taste you? The first to take you? You thought that would lessen my pleasure?"

"I..."

"You want to put that hand of yours somewhere? Here."

And with that Vlad dove back down, thumbs, pulling apart Leon's labia, spreading him open. One of his hands grabbed Leon's wrist and pulled it down, pulled Leon's hand onto his head. Leon's fingers trembled.

"Take from me, Leon. Take your pleasure, use me to make you come. And only after that shall I fill you like you need."

Well, Leon had never been one to refuse a challenge. Though this was out of his usual area of expertise and was uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

All it took was Vlad wrapping his lips around his cock and sucking to charge Leon into action.

Gasping, he grabbed onto Vlad's hair and started rocking his hips. Vlad moaned at every tug of Leon's hand, and that only made Leon grow bolder. He relished in Vlad's muffled noises as starting grinding into his face, pressing desperately as if he could fuck his cock down Vlad's throat if he tried hard enough.

His reborn body not having even been touched by himself, and how long it had been since he had slid his hand between his legs meant he was never going to last long. He curled inwards, stomach tensing, hardly able to get out any words but Vlad understood. And all it made him do was grab Leon's hips and pull them against his face, mouth opening as wide as it could, tongue breaching Leon's hole and Leon was arching against the bed and flooding Vlad's mouth.

Leon panted as he came down, whimpering as he pushed Vlad's head away from his oversensitive cock. From his lips down, Vlad's face was soaked, but he could not look as though he cared less.

Smirking and pressing a kiss to the inside of Leon's thigh, he asked. "Do you still wish to take me, Leon?"

And any tiredness from his orgasm left him as he remembered what he wanted, what he was finally going to have.

"Please, please," Leon's could hear how slurred his words sounded, as if he was drunk off the pleasure Vlad was giving too him. "Don't, don't fucking tease me anymore, I can take it, please let me take it."

Vlad crawled over him, making hushing noises and kissing his cheeks.

"I don't want to hurt you, Leon."

"You wont. Look at me," Leon pulled their foreheads together. "I want you to fuck me like we've been starved for it, I want you to stretch me open and ruin me for anyone else's cock, you understand?"

Vlad was silent for a moment, before groaning.

"Fuck."

And Leon yelped as he was grabbed, pushed up onto the pillow, legs pulled up into the air, knees trying to reach Vlad's shoulders, his body being bend over itself, as Vlad arranged him to his liking. He could feel Vlad's cock sliding against his hole, not pressing in yet, and fuck he wasn't sure he'd ever felt this desperate for anything in his life.

He reached a hand up, cupped Vlad's cheek, and simply said please once more.

The hand flew away as he gasped, arching, as Vlad's cock pushed inside of him. Vlad grabbed his hand and pressed it back against his cheek, nuzzling into it, kissing it.

"Fuck, Leon, so tight, so warm for me, so perfect," Vlad babbled that and other such praises as he sunk into Leon's welcoming body.

"Don't wait, I can take it, please move," Leon's hand slipped backwards, sliding into Vlad's hair and tugging once more.

Vlad growled, causing Leon to clench around him, before starting to fuck him like Leon had asked.

Leon had never felt this full. Shoving his fingers inside himself in his tent was nothing compared to this. Vlad's cock grazed over every sensitive spot, stretched him out like he'd begged, and he realised he'd been right. He was going to be ruined for anyone else. And fuck the thought only made him wetter. The idea that Vlad was making him take his cock, moulding his body into the perfect sheath. And Leon wanted it, he wanted to be used, he wanted to be useful, to do finally do something right.

"Oh Leon, little lion, my love."

He hadn't realised he was crying, until Vlad's face came down upon his, foreheads touching more move.

"Don't you dare stop," Leon choked out.

So Vlad didn't. He kissed Leon's wet cheeks, licked up his tears, and then licked his way into Leon's mouth.

Leon sobbed, hiccupped, and flung his arms around Vlad's back, trying to pull him closer, burying his face in Vlad's neck.

"Leon, I- Gorgeous boy, I won't last much longer. How many nights I'd thought about ordering you into my tent to have my way with you, having you on your knees like the loyal pup you are, you were always so eager to please, I wondered how pretty you'd look with my cock stuffed inside of you- Fuck- And if you keep clenching around me like that I'll-"

"Do it," Leon begged. "Please, Mathias, inside, come inside. I need it, I've needed it."

"Leon, fuck, I-"

"Please, Vlad."

Vlad's body caged in on Leon, his moan coming out through gritted teeth as he pressed his head down into the pillow beside Leon's. He picked Leon's hips up off the bed and he buried himself inside as he came. And Leon, crying underneath him, shook at the sensation of being filled and held and was so oversensitive, his cock brushing against Vlad's stomach, that he came again, leaking around Vlad's cock.

Time seemed to stop for a while. Leon gasped over and over, trying to regain a normal pattern of breathing. His body finally started to move when he willed it too, hands reaching for Vlad's face, coaxing him up from the pillow and peppering his face with kisses even as Vlad flinched and shook. Christ, Vlad was trembling.

Slowly, Leon rocked his body to the side until Vlad moved with him, the two of them rolling over, gasping as Vlad's cock slipped out of Leon.

Vlad seemed far away. Eyes unfocused, either lost in the haze of his orgasm or lost in thought. Leon pursed his lips, starting to worry. He wasn't regretting his actions. Maybe he should, but he wasn't. For the first time in a long time, he had felt wanted, and safe... and loved.

He traced the sharp lines of Vlad's cheekbones with his fingers.

"I don't know what happens now," Leon sighed. "I loved you for so long, and then I hated you for so long... but I never stopped loving you, even though all that hate. And I don't know this new world, I don't know how to start again."

"Come with us."

"What?" Leon would have sure he misheard but, Vlad was looking at him as though he was precious, as though he couldn't bear to have Leon say no to him again. "You're serious? What about..."

"Do you think I would have come here with discussing what happens next with my wife?" Leon flinched at her title, perhaps he was a little jealous, but more than that he didn't want to become some sort of homewrecker. "Cease your worrying, Leon. While it was not our original plan... Though none of this was our original plan, she does not view you as competition to my heart. She... understands, she always does. And she would like to know you better, and with that I suppose ask all manner of questions about my youth which will embarrass me, and you will tell her, and you will bond over whatever annoying habits I will carry out, and then, should you wish it, she may join us next time."

"She, she what, she, she would want...?"

"She said you looked 'quite adorable' when you got flustered."

"Oh God," Leon groaned, hiding his face in his hands as Vlad laughed.

"She is right of course. But then she is about all things."

"I can tell. She seems... Wonderful."

"She is... far more than I deserve."

"I think that's up for her to decide."

Vlad barked a laugh. "That's exactly what she would say."

"Well, it appears to me you have a thing for self-assured blondes."

Vlad's expression fell and Leon wondered if he'd crossed a line, but Vlad's mouth twisted and he wouldn't meet his gaze. Oh fuck he looked sheepish, almost embarrassed at having been called out.

Leon took pity on him and leant in to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, drifting across his lips.

"I would find it an honour to get to know her better. And I would... I don't think I have it in me to refuse you again."

"Truly?" Vlad's hand came to rest upon Leon's cheek, tentatively as though he was purposely trying to be gentle and feared he couldn't be.

"Ask me like you did back then."

It was a selfish request, a twisted fantasy Leon thought he should have felt wrong for, but he asked anyway. It made Vlad pause and furrow his brow.

"Leon," He hesitated. "Would you join me?"

He should feel wrong, it should feel wrong. But it didn't. And after everything, maybe he was allowed to be selfish.

"Yes," Leon breathed against Vlad's lips. "And I'll tell any god who tries to stop us to fuck off."

Vlad laughed as Leon kissed him. Tomorrow Leon and Lisa would gather whatever supplies and food they could carry, and find a place to stay that was further away from anyone who could potentially recognise Dracula. And they would talk, and eat, and Leon would share embarrassing stories about Vlad so that when he woke Lisa couldn't look at him without giggling. And Vlad would kiss her. And Leon would feel wrong for a moment, before Vlad called him over and kissed him as he blushed and stammered. And when they would part Leon would flush deeper at Lisa staring at them, having watched, as she smiled with ideas swirling in her eyes. And Leon would wonder what he was getting himself into.

But he wouldn't regret it.

[thalialunacy]

Thalia's Sherlock Recs pt 5

(back to rec index)

L

L'amour Toujours by stopthat

Lacuna by coloredink

Laid Bare by esplanade

Last Christmas by Mazarin221b

Learning Curve by thpontiacbandit

Leave the Signs and the Sirens by out_there

Left by lifeonmars

Lessons in Astronomy by CaitlinFairchild

Let You Kiss Me (So Sweet and So Soft) by out_there

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by Anonymous

Letting Go by SilendAuror

Licence to Kiss by fellshish

Lies of Omission by Breath4Soul

A Life Well-Lived by TakePenAndInk

A Lifetime Together by LondonSpirit

Light the fuse by elf_on_the_shelf

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour

Like Glue by goseaward

Lines in the Sand by JRow

Lines Written In Kensington Gardens by CaitlinFairchild

the lingering taste of orange juice by darcylindbergh

Live from the Morgue by disfinctional

The Logical Solution by ArabellaFaith

Love Is by SilentAuror

Love Like Ours by Berty

Luminosity by what_alchemy

M

Maintaining A Personal Life by AuburnRecluse

Man and Beast by Jupiter_Ash

The Man With the Cartier Frames by JRow

Manifest by causidicus

Matchmaking for Solitary Animals by ArwaMachine

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo

Maybe We Could Change His Mind by thalialunacy

The Measure of a Gentleman by i_ship_an_armada

Measuring Damage With the Fujita Scale by teahigh

The Meeting Place by standbygo

Mental by Boeshane42

Messy by pukajen

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction

Midnight Clear by khorazir

Midnight Plowboy by weeesi

Mightier Than by emmagrant01

Minds Like Ours Dream Up by BlackEyedGirl

Miscommunication by SrebrnaFH

Mise en Place by azriona

Missing the (Fixed) Point by DiscordantWords

The Moment Pleasantly Frightful by teahigh

moon earth sun by orphicsun

The Most Dangerous Thing is to Love by CorvidCordelia

most people start with ‘i love you’ by queerholmcs

Mountebank by Odamaki

Move in by Strange_johnlock

MR# 1430155 by blueink3

My Fingers Drip With Myrrh by songlin

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs

N

the napoleon by darcylindbergh

Never Have I Ever by hudders-and-hiddles

Never Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords

Nightjet by khorazir

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands by miss_frankenstein

Nocturn by Atiki

The Norwood Love Builders by flawedamythyst

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria

Not Always 1895 by esplanade

Notes by Kryptaria

Nothing Else Matters by achray

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01

(back to rec index)

[insane-in-the-membranee]

Since I don't feel like studying rn (I have tests starting tomorrow but anw) I'mma make a list of all the webtoons I've read till now~ (feel free to recommend more :3)

My Deepest Secret (my 1st webtoon on the app) ✅

UnOrdinary (ongoing)

Freaking Romance ✅

Siren's Lament ✅

My dear cold-blooded king ✅

Age Matters ✅

Hello Baby (ongoing)

Let's Play (completed- gotta catch up)

I love Yoo (ongoing)

Eggnoid ✅

It's Mine ✅

The Remarried Empress (ongoing)

Your Throne (ongoing)

The Makeup Remover ✅

Rotten (paused)

Bastard (paused)

Sweet Home (paused)

My Daughter is a Zombie (paused)

CinnamonRoll ✅

I dropped Noblesse and Goh*

What you wish for (dropped)

Play Dead (Hiatus— last ch on Jul 17, 2020)

I'm the Grim Reaper (ongoing)

The Devil is a Handsome Man

Little Rain (Hiatus)

Her Mannequin (Hiatus)

To Love Your Enemy ✅

Reunion ✅ (by stephattyy)

The Male Lead's Girlfriend (completed- gotta catch up)

The Snake and the Flower (completed- gotta catch up)

So I married the Anti-Fan ✅

Secret Playlist ✅

True Beauty ✅

Beyond Virtual (completed- gotta catch up)

When Jasy Whistles (Hiatus)

LUMINE (Hiatus)

The Duke's Cursed Charm (completed- gotta catch up)

His Majesty's Proposal ✅

My Gently Raised Beast ✅

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me (Hiatus)

A Tail's Secret (Hiatus)

She's Hopeless ✅

Who's Mr. President? ✅

For My Derelict Favorite (Hiatus)

Take me, I'm Yours ✅

Daytime Star ✅

Play The Game (Hiatus)

The Dark Lord's Confession (Hiatus)

Forever After (Hiatus)

Maybe Meant To Be (Hiatus)

I'm Dating A Psychopath (Ongoing)

The Dragon King's Bride (ongoing)

Only Hope (ongoing)

Phase (ongoing)

Go Away Romeo (ongoing)

Omniscient Reader (ongoing)

Lookism (ongoing)

No Marriage Is Perfect (ongoing)

Trapped (ongoing)

Eaternal Nocturnal (ongoing)

Serena (ongoing)

Baby Tyrant (ongoing)

I am the Villain (ongoing)

Locked Onto You (ongoing)

Leveling Up My Husband To The Max (completed) ✅

Unlovable Replacement (ongoing)

Dreaming Freedom (ongoing)

Operation: True Love (ongoing)

The Guy Upstairs (ongoing)

Men of the Harem (ongoing)

Like Wind On A Dry Branch (ongoing)

Iseop's Romance (ongoing)

Perfect Marriage Revenge (completed) ✅

Marry My Husband ✅

Cry, or Better Yet, Beg (ongoing)

I'm the Queen in this Life (ongoing)

Wind Breaker (paused)

The Age of Arrogance (ongoing)

My Reason to Die (ongoing)

Hero Killer (ongoing)

Get Schooled (Webtoon removed it tho)

A good day to be a dog ✅

The mafia nanny (ongoing)

Following Eunju (completed) ✅

The Price Is Your Everything (ongoing)

Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story (ongoing)

Taming the corrupted (ongoing)

That's all I can remember for now. Remember some might have been completed but I am following the Webtoon so I went according to that. I have written Hiatus on "Will Return" Series as well, lmk if you want me to change it to 'ongoing' instead!

[hyohaehyuk]

Variety - ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Finale: Show Creator, Stars Dissect That ‘Heartbreaking’ Change to Anne Rice’s Book and the Appearance of Armand

“I think he accepts that Louis is going to kill him, and understands, very much in that last moment, that he needs to do this,” Reid tells Variety. “Where he is right now is a very dark, fucked-up place, and you sort of need this iteration of him to die.”

Louis’ role in Lestat’s “death,” while small compared to Claudia’s expertly executed deception, marks a significant departure from Rice’s book. In the 1976 classic, Claudia carries out the entire plan, from tricking Lestat into ingesting blood laced with laudanum and arsenic to slicing his throat.

Series creator Rolin Jones says that by wholeheartedly embracing the undeniable romance between Louis and Lestat, it seemed only right that love would be what brings him down – for now.

“For Lestat, his love language is murder,” Jones says. “So who else should it be than [Louis]?”

But for all the tragic poetry of the moment, Louis’ move isn’t fatal. As he detailed for interviewer Molloy (Eric Bogosian) during his present-day conversation at the beginning of the episode, merely letting a vampire bleed out doesn’t kill them. They have to be beheaded, burned or drink the blood of the dead.

Anderson defends Louis’ restraint by acknowledging the plan was always to buy time for him and Claudia to escape. But he admits that buried under that justification is Louis’ unwillingness to accept what severing ties with his maker means.

“To kill him would be to kill a part of himself, and a significant part of who he has become,” Anderson says.

Luckily, the show doesn’t ask audiences to pretend Lestat is gone forever. Although lifeless, his body is disposed of in a landfill, where he is last seen feasting on rats to regain his strength.

“It would be sort of a boring cliffhanger to leave the show on, because you know Lestat is coming back,” Reid says.

Instead, the final twist unfolds in present-day Dubai, where Molloy calls into question his nocturnal interview subject’s version of Lestat’s death, choosing to poke at the still-raw nerve that is Louis’ guilt.

For a moment, Molloy believes he finally has the upper hand on Louis, until the vampire’s trusted right-hand man, Rashid (Assad Zaman), steps in and reveals himself to be Armand, the famous character from Rice’s books who plays a major role in the next part of the story.

Jones admits the show owes audiences answers to who Armand is, considering those unfamiliar with the books will likely not recognize the significance of the moment, other than the fact that Louis’ final words refer to the 514-year-old vampire as “the love of my life.”

“That story is owed, and it’s one we will tell,” Jones promises.

Until then, viewers are left to wonder what Louis has gotten himself into by seemingly trading one powerful partner for another — this one so advanced in age and power he can walk in the sun and fly.

For Anderson, the most intriguing question coming off the finale is what influence Armand has had on Louis between his time with Lestat until the man we see Molloy interviewing in 2022.

“They’ve been in a relationship for a long time, these two,” he says. “You have to assume the way Louis is now has a lot to do with his relationship with Armand, probably even more than his relationship with Lestat.”

Jones confirms the series will cover Rice’s book “Interview With the Vampire,” the first in the vast “Vampire Chronicles” series, across 15 episodes. The remaining eight episodes will comprise Part 2, which has already been ordered by AMC as part of its burgeoning Immortal Universe built around 18 of Rice’s acquired works. The franchise’s second series, “Mayfair Witches,” will premiere on AMC and AMC+ on Jan. 8.

“Going forward, we are going to do things that are wildly loyal, and really try to squeeze out every beautiful piece of prose in that second half of the book — and we are going to do some other things the book didn’t do, mostly based on where the books go from here,” Jones says. “Books 2, 3 and 6 really inform all the decisions we made in Season 1, and a lot of the decisions we are making in Season 2.”

No matter how divergent the series is from the source material, Lestat’s excision from Louis’ life is undeniably monumental and ushers in a new era for Part 2, as Louis and Claudia head for Paris.

For that reason, Anderson says he was overcome with emotion when it finally came time to film the pivotal death scene that kicks it all off.

“I was a mess,” he says. “I cried my eyes out… I’m not a method actor, I want to be conscious of what I’m doing. But I kind of lost myself in those scenes. I got very freaked out by the idea of it all ending, and also doing this to Sam — because it means this dynamic is going to change next year. It’s going to be different. It kind of had to be done at my hand, and that was heartbreaking.”

Before that moment, though, Anderson and Reid both say they had a blast filming the extended massacre sequence set during the feverish final hours of 1930s Mardi Gras. Shot over several weeks, they kept returning to the dizzying amount of death, and grew fond of the catharsis it unleashed in their characters and themselves — so much so that Reid took his blood-stained costume home.

“God knows why, maybe because I’m so attached to it,” he says. “I was constantly going back into it with the blood put all over me.”

Throughout the finale, audiences likely felt seduced into pondering whether Louis and Lestat could actually work after all, especially when they make a dangerously romantic public declaration of their love.

During the lavish masquerade ball the couple and Claudia use to recruit victims for their send-off slaying, Louis and Lestat decide to scandalize their city one final time by sharing a beautifully executed dance and a kiss in front of a shocked crowd.

“They are not outing themselves as vampires, but they are being open about their relationship,” Anderson says. “It is this grand pronouncement of love, but it is a mutual one. There are a lot of things going on underneath it. There’s Louis guilt, there’s Lestat knowing he’s going to die. But I think that, in this brief moment, it is just the two of them — and it feels like when it was good.”

With the series set in the first half of the 20th century rather than the book’s 1800s framework, Louis and Claudia are set to arrive in an Eastern Europe in the grip of World War II, a moment in history that demanded the world take stock of its humanity.

“That sets up what Paris is all about,” Jones says. “Remaking yourself, and a second — or, in this case — a third act for our vampires. Can you put behind you questionable decisions and start anew, and become the person that you want to be? They go through something in Eastern Europe that could — for vampires that aren’t as strong — have been the end.”

Whether Lestat will follow them is likely to loom large over Part 2, and Reid is confident the complicated vampire won’t have lost his edge when he does reappear.

“I will say, he’s still Lestat,” Reid says. “He still has a flair for the dramatics. Whether or not he will be as violent, he’s still about the drama and for making things feel very intense. But I think it is only the beginning of his suffering.”

[saritapaleo]

Patreon request for @/brittoniawhite (Instagram handle) - Thylacinus cynocephalus. I’ve drawn this guy already, but here’s a new pose AND a size chart, which the previous post didn’t have.

Known by several common names: the Tasmanian Tiger, Tasmanian Wolf, or simply the Thylacine, Thylacinus cynocephalus was neither canine nor feline, but instead a large carnivorous marsupial.

Being a marsupial, it had a pouch. Though it was unique in that both females and males had pouches: the males’ were used to protect their reproductive organs. Thylacine life expectancy was estimated to be between 5 and 7 years, though some captive specimens lived to 9 years. They were shy and nocturnal carnivores, likely eating other marsupials such as kangaroos, wallabies, wombats, and possums, as well as other small animals and birds, such as the similarly extinct Tasmanian Emu. However, it is a matter of dispute whether the thylacine would have been able to take on prey items as large or larger than itself. It is unknown whether they hunted alone or in small family groups, though captive thylacines did get along with each other.

Thylacinus cynocephalus was the last of the Thylacinids, a family of Dasyuromorph marsupials. It lived from the Pleistocene to the Holocene in Australia and New Guinea, driven to extinction in the 1930s by hunting, human encroachment, disease, and feral dogs. The thylacine was already extinct on the Australian mainland and New Guinea by the time British settlers arrived, with the island of Tasmania being its last stronghold. Settlers feared the marsupial would attack them and their livestock, demonizing it as a “blood drinker”, and bounties were put in place that drove the thylacine to be overhunted. As they became rarer, there was a push to capture thylacines and keep them alive in captivity, but unfortunately it was too little, too late. Conservation and animal welfare was not at the level it is today, not much was known about their behavior in the wild, and there was only one successful birth in captivity. Studies show that with continued successful breeding, a campaign to change public perception, and protections put into place much earlier, the thylacine could have been saved. But the last captive thylacine died in 1936, and official protection was not put in place until that year, 59 days before his death. Sightings continued into the 1980s, and even today some claim to see them, but all of these sightings are unconfirmed and unlikely. As are all the other animals on this account, the thylacine is definitively extinct.

Today, carnivores such as wolves and coyotes are demonized in the same way the thylacine was, and there are some who wish to also wipe them out entirely, even having succeeded in many places. While some of the thylacine’s closest relatives, like the Numbat and Tasmanian Devil, survived the European persecution which killed off the thylacines, they are still endangered today due to introduced predators and disease. Instead of continuing to search for, or trying to resurrect the lost thylacine, perhaps it is best we channel that attention, love, and regret on the species we still have. Extinction is forever, and it is easier to save those who are still alive.

This art may be used for educational purposes, with credit, but please contact me first for permission before using my art. I would like to know where and how it is being used. If you don’t have something to add that was not already addressed in this caption, please do not repost this art. Thank you!

[untitledmemes]

Castlevania: Nocturne Prompts

Part II An assortment of prompts taken from the show Castlevania: Nocturne on Netflix. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ We need to know the truth, don't we? ”

“ This time, I'm coming with you. ”

“ What do you think? Do you think he's right? ”

“ I don't know what you're talking about. ”

“ Are you sure this path is right? ”

“ Which demon will claim his price when all this is done? ”

“ And you think he can protect you? ”

“ You just happened to stumble upon it one day when you were picking flowers? ”

“ My soul is at peace. Which yours will never be. ”

“ Did you think we were flirting? ”

“ We don't have to pretend we like each other. ”

“ I hope you don't have a weak stomach. ”

“ We thought we could change the world. ”

“ What have you done? ”

“ We have to go. We have to get out of here! ”

“ Now, everywhere we look, there are nightmares. ”

“ If I'd let my past terrify me, I'd never be free of it. ”

“ Where are you staying? ”

“ I don't waste my time imagining things that will never be. ”

“ Let's make a new world. ”

“ I know what your nightmares are made of. ”

“ You don't need me. ”

“ Maybe I'm tired of fighting. ”

“ You talk of freedom. Freedom for whom? ”

“ The man I used to know would stare at himself now in disgust. ”

“ I was a fool to trust you. I wish I would have never met you. ”

“ Aren't you supposed to be clever? ”

“ I'm so bored of empty terror. This is much, much sweeter—despair. ”

“ Hold on, I need some fucking answers! ”

“ Where the fuck have you been all my life? ”

“ We had a fucking deal. ”

“ I've been here all the time, keeping an eye on you. ”

“ I was a hero... once. ”

“ Evil will always win. And it's everywhere. ”

“ It's the source of your fury, but not the source of your power. ”

“ There is light in this darkness. ”

“ I was in love with him. I wanted him to be with me forever. ”

“ Most important thing is to face the truth about yourself. Even if it's not very pretty. ”

“ I was going to say something witty, cutty and brutal before I finished you off. But fuck it. ”

“ How did it happen? ”

“ I have some good news. ”

“ You'll have to speak to me sooner or later. ”

“ I've got a lot to tell you. ”

“ The time for compromise is over. ”

“ Everyone has a weakness. ”

[thedeafprophet]

If you don't mind me asking, who were your tes ocs?

Ah im being visited by the ghost of Hyperfixations past. I'm giving a warning that the art here is older, some more so then others.

SO I had a few characters.

behold: old pinterest boards [this is not all of them lol]

But my main oc who I've had since i was like 13 is Eliana. She's changed a lot over the years. I was, suffice to say, pretty obsessed with her for quite awhile.

She was my main PC for Skyrim, and she primarily did the Dragonborn stuff alongside Dawnguard and the like [i split up the different plotlines among different characters]. She's a battlemage, uses a combination of fire magic and sword work, and tends to wear more lighter armor for dexeterity based moves. Originally from Hammerfell, she came to Skyrim on a rather personal mission before, yknow, all hells broke loose and oh boy! Suddenly you're expected to save the world and also you're not entierly mortal, have fun with that.

(Also fun fact, while obviouslly not by name in universe, she has type 2 waardenburg syndrome, which is why her eyes are discoloured + has hearing loss)

El's generally a pretty friendly and sweet girl, but she very much tends to get caught up in her own head, and struggles a lot with the balance between power and responbility, and uh, quite a lot of ptsd and stress by the end of it. theres a lot more but uh, we would be here forever lmao.

and uh. i guess ill give a brief overview of the others under the cut. I had vague ideas of a lot of them exisiting in the timeline and their interactions overlapping.

Laymus is an imperial who originally grew up on a farm with a lot of siblings. He struck out on his own in hopes of taking a stronger control of his own life, and because there wasn't really much for him there. Primarily a hunter, Laymus had an unfortunate encounter with a werewolf... which, left a substiantial impact on his being. He specializes in archery and fighting from a distance... at least, most of the time. [yea he's a werewolf lol. i was gonna do the companions quest with him but never got around to it. i usually play as him when im playing with survival mods, its very fun. he was also one of my earliest forays into having a transmasc oc ]

Faelynn is a bosmer, but was actually raised in Cyrodiil by her adoptive father, who ran a tavern there. She is considerbly older then some of my other characters, and long since outliver her human parent. She had a fascination in poisons from a young age, and after an... incident, became far more invested in them. She is the character I play through the dark brotherhood with, specializes in daggers and poison, alongside alchemy.

Erion is an aldermi character of mine, someone who's family has ties to the thalmor, an area of which he does not connect to. He has a rather.... unfortunately complicated history with his family, that was made all the more interesting by an encounter with Nocturnal at a young age...

He focuses on shadowy skills, a master of sneaking and not being seen when he doesn't want to be. He is the one i do the thieves guild questline with.

Adra is a dunmer, and grew up with a particularly strong set of daedra worshippers, which, suffice to say, has some complications with her background. She vaguely remembers her mother, but has little concept of who her father could even have been. She struggles a lot with self esteem and has a tendancy towards jealousy of those she percieves as doing better then her.

She specializes as a mage, primarily in destruction magic, with a knack for electricity and lightning. She is a student at the college of winterhold.

and that covers the main ones! Or, at least the ones i play the game with anyway. Honourable mentions are Valia and Ashanta, who are Eliana's mothers.

These two met during the battles between Hammerfell and the Aldmeri Dominion, of which Ashanta was a warrior on Hammerfell's side, and Valia was a healer of whom defected, their paths crossing. Its quite a tale in and off itself!

Valia died prior to the start of skyrim.......... the aldmeri are particularly kind to defectors, we shall say.

And then i have a few others. Anja is a nord background character concept I made, who runs a bakery in Riverwood [inspired by me learning about the history of bread making and the important of a baker in a town]. She also ends up adopting some of the orphans in the game lol. Allian is my oblivion character who wasnt ever super developed, i should get back to that... he's an imperial, and is actually Laymus' uncle.

I'm pretty sure I have a few more somewhere but uh. yea! thats the base up of it. hope you were prepared for my great overview XD XD

[tinirainboom]

✨ BIG ANNOUNCEMENT — Castlevania: Nocturne Fanfic Incoming! ✨ What if you woke up in 1792 France after being attacked… by a unknown vampire woman from the future? 🎮 Title: Tsui ni Deatta Kanjou (The feelings that were not supposed to meet) 🕯 Setting: Castlevania: Nocturne (canon timeline) 📖 Genre: Romance | Drama | Time Travel | Magic | Angst | Historical Fantasy 📍Pairing: Richter Belmont × Original Character I have a surprise for you if click hehe

TA-DA! the cover of the fanfic!

Summary: An unexpected fall. Two distant eras. And a bond that was never meant to exist. In 1792, under divided skies, her heart could change the course of history… or vanish within it. One ordinary afternoon, her life changed forever. She was just a 21st-century college student. Not a heroine, not a sorceress. Just someone who, for reasons she still doesn’t understand, was torn from her time by a woman with empty eyes and chilling words: "Your life stands in the way of my plans. I need to remove you from the game." And so, after an impossible fall, she wakes up in a damp, unfamiliar forest. France, 1792. Lost in a world soaked in blood and shadows, she soon crosses paths with Richter Belmont, a young vampire hunter whose battles are not only against monsters — but also against the ghosts of his past. She shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t look at her the way he does. And yet, something between them ignites. Something that should never have existed. Because some stories were never meant to intertwine. And some feelings were never meant to meet.

Extra:

This is a Richter x OC slow-burn romance, with respect for the original characters (Annette, Maria, Edouard, etc.) and no intention of turning anyone into a villain.

I’ll be sharing the Spanish version first because is my native language, but there will be an English version as well! The story in the Spanish will have occasional phrases in English and French, just like the series’ vibe. And in the English version will have occasional phrases in French and Spanish.

This cover was first created in Ibis Paint X and then edited in Canva for color and title effects.

If you love Castlevania: Nocturne, especially Richter, Annette, and the themes of love, loss, and finding your place in time, I hope you’ll check it out!

📅 Posting the prologue tomorrow on Wattpad. 📌 Link will be added here when live!

💖 Reblogs appreciated! Let’s support fan writers!

Stay tuned for the release — I can’t wait to share this with you all!

Now, have a good day, afternoon or night.

~Reiko Yukimura~