#november is for those who yearn

[lighthouseshepard]

sometimes you come home from work and you eat leftover chili while sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the half dark and you listen to francesca 10 times over while crying into the bowl lightly scalding your hands. and this is fine

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity - Chapter One

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 22.8k

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Hello my loves! For those who do not know me from Trouvaille, this is Dana! I am very pleased and excited to share this brand-new series with you. It has been a longtime desire of mine to write a story with vampires. Sanctity was born from a love of history and a past with yandere stories. I sincerely hope you enjoy this first chapter and the love that was poured into it!

WARNING! There are instances of gore, including cutting. Suicidal language is used, so please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Next Chapter

The bell struck six in the crumbling belltower, two young men in white robes pulling on the rope to swing the massive metal fixture to and fro. The haunting sound sent a murder of crows scattering across the steadily darkening sky when they were startled from their perches on the Sanctuary’s roof. Y/N peered out of the arched window curiously, halting her task of wiping down the glass with an old, weathered rag, distant yearning filling her as she watched the black birds fly away to the greater unknown. 

“Y/N, it’s time to wash up for dinner,” Meredith, a fellow ‘acolyte’ and friend, reminded her, setting aside the wooden broom she was using to sweep the hallway they were working in. 

Suppressing an agitated grunt, Y/N simply nodded, rising from her knees and adjusting the cream linen skirt she was wearing, the hem of it dirtied from skimming the old stone floors all day. Following the blonde girl, the wispy curls on her nape appeared silver in the darkened, wintery hallways, Y/N wondered when the Sanctuary would allow them to light the sconces in the frigid building so the acolytes wouldn’t be numb and stiff by the end of the unforgiving November evenings. Not that the wardens actually cared one way or another if the acolytes were cold, as long as they were alive, blood still running through their veins, resources wouldn’t be wasted on a few paltry fires. 

“You know, electricity exists. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re forced to live like fucking peasants during the Black Plague?” Y/N seethed, Meredith’s posture growing stiff as she nervously looked around. Not a soul was in the hallway with them, so Y/N rolled her eyes at the blonde’s haughty reaction. “Relax, Mere. No one’s around.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Y/N. They’ll punish you,” Meredith whispered, her angelic blue eyes wide with concern. Y/N scoffed, her aching fingers curling into fists as they continued their way to the dining hall. 

“Working all day for nothing is punishment enough. What’s the prize? Becoming a walking transfusion one day?” Y/N, despite her agitation, lowered her voice when Meredith began to look truly frightened. “I’m sorry, Mere. There aren’t any vampires here, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. They never come on Sanctuary grounds. I wish to continue being your friend, Y/N, but I do not wish to invite punishment onto myself,” Meredith swallowed, looking a touch guilty. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

Y/N sighed, watching the girl spirit away, a flurry of white skirts and matching billowy blouses. After so many years spent in the Sanctuary, Y/N realized she shouldn’t be as bitter as she was, but the winter months brought out the aching in her. 

“Talks like a fuckin’ walking pamphlet,” Y/N muttered, heading straight to the large basins lining the outskirts of the dining hall, cringing at the icy water that came from the taps as she scrubbed at her dirty fingernails.

At the very least, the dining hall was one of the warmest sections of the Sanctuary, thanks to the heat from the kitchens and the singular fire roaring in a brazier placed in the center of the room. The Sanctuary, free of 21st century comforts, was always crusted in ice in the winters and stiflingly hot in the summers. Sniffing the air, Y/N tried not to frown– food from the Sanctuary’s kitchens were never very tasty, even if she was often starving enough to eat a leather boot at the end of a day’s work. 

“What’s tonight’s mystery meat?” Y/N got in line, retrieving a tray for herself, and leaning up to whisper her joke into her other friend Joseph’s ear. Unlike Meredith, the dark haired man snorted, mirth flashing in his eyes. 

“Oh, the usuals. Beef organs or tuna. Paired with lentil slop, shitty kale salad, maybe a sweet potato if we’re lucky. Don’t forget the out-of-season orange and singular square of dark chocolate for dessert, too!” 

This time, Y/N did not hold back her light groan, startling a timid acolyte in front of her and Joseph, the girl dropping her hardened, ‘fortified’ bread roll onto the counter. Both her and Joseph bowing in apology slightly while they contained their snickering, Y/N shuddering when a slimy piece of beef liver was slapped onto her plate by a kitchen acolyte. 

“I can’t take these organs anymore. Why can’t we have a steak? Steak is rich in iron,” Y/N sat beside Joseph at one of the long tables, her ass smarting against the stone bench. Meredith, across from her, eyed her carefully, using her spoon to push mushy lentils around on her plate. 

“You’ve been eating organs for ten years now, squirt, aren’t you fond of them by now?” Joseph teased, prodding at the gory looking organs on his own plate with a fork. 

“For once, I just want a bowl of pasta. I mean, come on, vampires eat the best food in the world, and they don’t even need it to survive. Just pure hedonism,” Y/N continued, peeling the orange that came with her dinner considering everything else on the tray looked absolutely revolting. 

Every meal served to the acolytes in the Sanctuary was required to be chock-full of ingredients with an abundance of iron and Vitamin C, allegedly making their blood more nutritious and appetizing to vampires. So, in order for vampires to eat like kings, mere human acolytes ate like cavemen. 

“You’re especially salty this evening,” Joseph remarked, a flicker of surprise flashing over his face. Meredith had ironically grown quite pale, considering the supposed iron-rich meal she was eating should have had a glow rising to her cheeks. “Make sure none of the wardens walk by while you’re still on your soapbox.”

“You can hear their boots from a mile away, I’ll shut up well before they’re in earshot,” Y/N pinched her nose as she stuffed some lentils down her throat so she wouldn’t have to taste the foul mush. “I’ll stop now, don’t wanna upset you, Mere.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured quietly, her eyes softening. Y/N knew that Meredith understood where she was coming from, but complaining about their situations did nothing to get them out of it, in the end. “When we’re back in our dorm… it’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Y/N’s lower eyelid twitched at the thought of her bed– hard as a rock and no better than a bale of hay to sleep on, but kept her promise and changed the subject promptly. 

“What was your task today, Joey?” 

“Ugh. Joey,” Joseph shivered, nudging Y/N with his elbow. “The usual. Raking dead leaves and preparing the garden for the snow.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Meredith remarked, her gaze turning to the stained-glass windows overlooking a frosty courtyard. 

“Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will get out of here. Be able to stay in a warm building, with wool blankets, fires lit in every room…” Joseph twirled one of his dark curls around an index finger contemplatively, Y/N frowning at the unsaid. The only way that would happen would be if one of them got picked to become a human blood bank at the end of the week. Joseph read her mind. “Tomorrow is the Drawing.”

Drawing day happened monthly. Each acolyte in the Sanctuary was required to report to the infirmary wing and offer up a pint of their blood to be sent out around the area for vampires to “sample”, like some kind of wine tasting that could be delivered to one’s doorstep. Days after the Drawing, there would be a chance that word would be sent from a coven that they were interested in a sample, and the matching acolyte, in consequence, would be delivered to the coven to be a live-in blood donor. 

The Drawing happened for a reason. While vampires held the most power across the globe, it was agreed decades ago, after many conferences held by vampires and human world leaders, that solitary vampires must go through a Sanctuary in order to receive a human to feed on. It was during that time when solitary vampires began to form covens to decrease demand for a human donor, and Sanctuaries were born. It was also that time where vampires roamed rampant, claiming any human on the street to drain dry. The death toll was climbing at an alarming rate, so a compromise was reached: vampires could not “hunt”, only go through a Sanctuary to select a donor, one they’d keep indefinitely.  

Y/N often weighed the pros and cons of being selected for The Drawing: at the Sanctuary, she could keep her blood but spend her days freezing, eating nasty food, and scrubbing the filthy building. If she was taken in by a coven, sure, she’d have luxuries– good food, riches, warm clothes. But she’d be at the mercy of vampires, notoriously vicious and unforgiving creatures. That, and she’d be fed on constantly by the sadistic beings, likely for the rest of her life. 

“That’s why we got extra organs today. Figures,” Y/N shrugged, once again pinching her nose to choke down a sliver of meat. “I’m beat. Gonna head back before the final bell. You can finish my portion, Joey.”

Joseph grimaced at the nickname, but eagerly reached for her tray anyways, Meredith watching Y/N slip from the hall. Delicately dabbing her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin, Meredith sighed. 

“She’s always like this the night before the Drawing,” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic, resigned. “She never got used to it, even after all these years.”

“Can you blame her? She was living under the radar, forging her blood type results most of her life before she was caught. I’d be jaded too,” Joseph pointed out around a mouthful of soggy kale. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mere. Y/N and I knew what it was like before living here. Having freedom.”

“I know that, Joseph,” Meredith, to her credit, had the decency to look chastised. “I never said I do not understand. I suppose since the Sanctuary is all I know, I do not yearn for freedom in quite the same way.”

Joseph collected his and Y/N’s trays, smiling at Meredith wistfully. He often thought that life would be simpler if he began to think like her, but it was difficult to let go of freedoms after they’d been tasted before. He remembered the days where he could wander in untamed forests, on the outskirts of town, where he could pick wild fruit and bask in the summer sun. Joseph recalled Y/N telling him about her life of drifting, hiding– the excitement, the footloose feeling of it all. Smiling at his other friend still, he stood from the stone bench. 

“The freest we’ll be is if we’re chosen after a Drawing. And even then, we’re birds in cages.”

Even though she had pulled two pairs of wool socks on her feet before passing out in bed, Y/N’s toes were icicles when the obnoxious morning bell clanged through the hollow halls. Starting to regret not eating much dinner, Y/N’s stomach was turning uncomfortably as she sat up in bed. The roiling in her gut was not just because she was hungry, but the familiar unease that festered there each morning of a Drawing day. As she watched Meredith, who happened to be her roommate, pull the threadbare curtains back on their barred window dutifully, Y/N sluggishly removed her nightgown and dressed herself in the dreaded white linens she was forced to wear on a daily basis.  

“Hopefully I won’t pass out today,” Y/N joked, knowing that Meredith was usually much more relaxed about complaining when they were in the privacy of their shoebox-sized room. 

“They’ll give you juice if you do. Just keep your eyes closed and focus on your breath,” Meredith gestured to the stool at the foot of her bed, encouraging Y/N to sit.

Humming, she did so, staring at the ceiling as her friend began to braid her hair. Meredith’s careful fingertips raking through her tresses calmed her down enough to stop the acid in her stomach from rising into her mouth. Meredith was singing quietly, a hymn, from the sound of it, and Y/N was thankful for the peaceful start of the day, no matter how cold and nauseous she was. 

“You won’t have to go to the infirmary until after lunch, right?” Y/N attempted to distract herself from the fact that she’d be the very first to get her blood drawn. 

“Mm-hmm. B+ is scheduled for after the midday meal,” Meredith stopped singing, using a scrap of old cream fabric to tie off the braid hanging down Y/N’s back. “So I’ll see you in the dining hall, then I’ll meet you back in the west hallway to finish cleaning anything we didn't yesterday.”

“Thanks, Mere,” Y/N reached back, passing her hand over the braid her friend weaved, wishing that there was at least a mirror somewhere. Y/N hadn’t seen her reflection in years, except for blurry images in the surface of the Sanctuary’s garden fountain; the wardens rejected vanity amongst acolytes. “I’m gonna get it over with, head straight for the infirmary.”

“Are you positive that’s wise without breakfast? You hardly touched dinner, too,” Meredith’s pale eyebrows shot into her hairline, worry etched between them. 

“I’m worried if I eat, the spinach smoothie will make another appearance as soon as they get the needle in my arm,” Y/N pictured the tasteless breakfast she normally had coming up for a round two and shuddered. “It’ll be okay. Just like every time, right? I’ve been here for years. The local vampires don’t seem to like my blood very much, or at least the ones that this Sanctuary sends it to.”

“Good luck, Y/N. See you at lunch,” Meredith didn’t comment on Y/N’s attempt to brighten up– she knew the stakes were as high as Y/N did. 

God must have felt particularly cruel the day he decided to bestow Y/N with one of the world’s rarest blood types: the coveted AB-, a sought-after type for many vampires. Apparently, all of the blood types had different tastes, but Y/N hardly believed that. Blood was blood; tinny, salty, and a nauseating reminder of fragile mortality. There was a reason she had hidden from the world for many years, drifting from place to place. Those with AB- blood were hardly at Sanctuaries for long before a coven would promptly request them as their live-in donor. Y/N was basically living on borrowed time– she often wondered if her bitterness leached into her bloodstream and spoiled the ‘product’. 

Dragging her palm along the stone walls of the Sanctuary’s hallway, Y/N barely registered the crowd of acolytes passing by on their ways to the dining hall in the opposite direction from where she was going. Y/N was the only acolyte in that particular Sanctuary to have AB- blood, so naturally, she was by herself every Drawing day first thing in the morning, and the top priority of the wardens. Swallowing thickly, the scent of rubbing alcohol had her gagging as it filled her nostrils when she neared closer to the infirmary. 

 Of course, the infirmary wing was cold as ice both temperature wise and atmospherically. In contrast to the Gothic interior of the rest of the Sanctuary, the infirmary was somewhat modern (or was once, in the 80’s), sterile, and covered in pastel vinyl flooring. Her Mary Janes squeaked against the tiles, nervously wringing her hands together as she stared at the plastic dentist’s chair in the corner of the room, the clump of wardens setting up the apparatus to collect blood. Clearing her throat, Y/N pressed her lips together in a line as one of the wardens turned to her– Mrs. Sloane, a severe 60-year-old woman who ran the Sanctuary like the military. Y/N had an acute dislike for the woman, who saw her and the acolytes as nothing more but cattle to raise. 

“AB-, come here. Everything is ready,” her voice was dry, sharp, like a whip cracking down. It had her flinching, but she obediently trudged towards the crinkled old chair, mostly out of fear of having to kneel in the chapel for several hours in punishment if she didn’t follow orders exactly.

Knees wobbling, she lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin. 

“We’ll be taking more than usual today,” Mrs. Sloane announced, and Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock. 

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily. 

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water. 

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness. 

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her. 

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns. 

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in that coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses. 

“Your time is up. Go back to your dorm. The midday meal will be delivered to you,” Mrs. Sloane barked, hauling Y/N up by her wrist. Feet faltering, Y/N swayed and scrabbled for the drywall, blindly feeling her way to the main hallway again. 

Dazed, her arm throbbed where the needle had been inserted, and the only positive that came from that morning’s events was the fact that she’d get to lay in bed all day instead of scrubbing floors. Y/N wasn’t sure how she managed to find her way back to her dorm room, but before she knew it, she was wrapping two blankets around herself and curling up in bed. 

She was woken up by Meredith hours later, the blonde bringing her a tuna sandwich on a undoubtedly stale roll. Choking it down like a wolf, she tried not to cry when Meredith gingerly wrapped a cloth around her arm, which was cruelly left to clot on its own by the wardens. 

“It’s going to be me this time,” Y/N announced dully, eyes on the overcast sky outside her barred windows. “I can feel it.”

“There is no way to know–”

“A new coven has moved to this town,” Y/N cut her friend off, Meredith’s hands stilling. Withdrawing her touch from Y/N’s arm, Meredith appeared tentatively unsure. 

“To Newport?” Meredith’s light eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving. Newport wasn’t exactly a magnet for vampires, most of the ones that resided in the area weren’t in covens at all, just solitary vampires. A new coven spelled danger for Y/N. “I heard that a vampire built one of the famous mansions by the ocean. Do you think one of the vampires could be him?”

“Well, if he is, then I guess I’d get to live like a princess. You know, the one that got locked in a tower with a dragon and shit.”

Y/N had a bad feeling. Not that she was one to have premonitions, but trusting that feeling in her gut is what helped her to survive years before she was brought to the Sanctuary. Meredith stroked the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, but Y/N knew she was just as nervous as she was. Because the coven requested so much of her blood specifically, and was the only person in the immediate area with AB- blood, if the vampires liked her blood her fate was officially sealed. Swallowing bile, she shook her head, not wanting to put the cart before the horse yet. 

“I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’ve been around for a while, none of the local vampires have been interested. Maybe my blood tastes like dirt, and I’ll be here until I’m elderly.”

“It’s okay to worry, Y/N. However,” Meredith sat on the side of Y/N’s bed, the old wood frame creaking with her weight. “There are many others here with rare blood types. Perhaps they will prefer AB positive.”

“Perhaps,” Y/N agreed, beginning to sit up. “Shall we go to the hall and finish the windows?”

“I have to go to the infirmary wing, it’s my turn. You should rest, Y/N,” Meredith helped her stand, Y/N furiously shaking her head. 

“If I stay here until dinner, my thoughts will continue to spiral,” Y/N shoved her feet into her well-worn shoes, slinging her braided hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. I’ll get started on the windows and wait for you.”

Y/N headed out first, leaving Meredith to prepare herself for her drawing. The blonde often liked to pray before the process, Y/N not knowing whether she was praying to be chosen, or praying to be skipped over. She didn’t have the stomach to ask. 

By herself in the west hallway, she picked up the rag she abandoned the previous evening with a rough sigh. The sky opened up and ice-cold rain began to pelt the windows, crows eerily taking shelter in the eaves of the bell tower. Y/N felt like their beady eyes were on her, able to see through the glass and spot her wiping the window. Shuddering, she couldn’t tear her sight from the birds, the superstitious side of her insisting that they were some kind of omen. 

Two days later, Y/N was trudging through the hollow halls after dinner, which she again excused herself from early. There had been no news about the results of the Drawing, but it didn’t stop her stomach from turning over in anxiety all day long. Hands coming up to rub her biceps, she glanced at the full moon outside of the large arched windows, slightly obscured by thin, dark clouds. 

Kicking a stray stone as she turned the corner to the wing with the dorms, she paused a few feet from her and Meredith’s door with a frown. Light spilled out from the open dorm, more light than would have been possible coming from the small candles she and Meredith were allowed for nighttime reading. Besides, Meredith was still in the dining hall, so the door shouldn’t have been open. Fear sunk into her bones, making a sticky heat flash over her skin with dread. Mustering her remaining courage, she crept towards her room like a mouse. 

Torches were lit up in the usually empty sconces, three wardens, including Mrs. Sloane, rifling through Y/N’s small dresser and nightstand. There was a large, old-fashioned suitcase box on her bed. Horrified and confused, Y/N accidentally bumped into the creaky door and snagged Mrs. Sloane’s attention. 

“Congratulations, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane was sickly sweet, and it didn’t suit her whatsoever. “The coven has chosen you. Help pack your belongings, you leave tonight.”

“What?” Y/N’s world was spinning, vision getting spotty. “Leave? T-tonight?”

“Yes, girl. Are you hard of hearing? Pack your belongings, we are to bring you to the coven in less than an hour,” Mrs. Sloane went back to her snarky self, Y/N holding onto the door in a desperate attempt to stay upright. 

Mrs. Sloane reached for the pocket of her apron, where she kept a metal ruler so she could strike those who disobeyed her, Y/N stumbled into the room and shakily tossed her white skirts into the suitcase to avoid being struck. Hardly able to form a single coherent thought, Y/N moved woodenly, so shocked that tears didn’t even roll down her cheeks. 

“You are lucky. The coven that requested you consists of some of the wealthiest vampires in the world. You will want for nothing,” Mrs. Sloane tossed the final garment Y/N owned into the suitcase, another warden closing it up and bringing it out to the hall. Y/N had to hold her tongue, considering she was about to shout but I’m going to live with monsters. “All seven of them have wealth, in fact. They are rumored to have great powers, as well.”

“S-seven? Did y-you just say seven?” Y/N gasped, flinching when Alfred, the burliest warden in the Sanctuary, grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the room. She had never heard of a coven so large, and it made every cell in her body light up with sharp panic. 

“Yes, seven. Make haste,” Mrs. Sloane and Alfred hauled her through the Sanctuary, confused acolytes coming from the dining hall making space for them to pass. Y/N recognized the look on some of their faces, relief that they hadn’t been chosen. 

“But, my friends! Please, let me say goodbye,” Y/N begged, tears finally starting to form when she spotted Joseph in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Somewhere, Meredith was probably thinking about the book they were going to read together that night. 

“There’s no time. You’ll get to write letters,” Mrs. Sloane refused, a whimper coming from Y/N’s throat as tears began to pour down her cheeks, getting one last look at Joseph who was mouthing something to her. Miserably, she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, Alfred yanking her to the tall front doors, frigid air blasting her in the face as they opened. 

In the courtyard, a place Y/N had only been once or twice when she was first brought to the Sanctuary, there was a horse-drawn carriage. Y/N, had she not been in the greatest shock of her life, would have laughed– wouldn’t it have been easier for her to be taken in a car? Hardly having the time to look back at the Sanctuary she called home the past ten years, her knees knocked together when she was pushed into the carriage with her luggage. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed privacy to cry when in the carriage, Alfred clambering in after her with a grunt. 

Y/N didn’t talk to Alfred, mostly because he rarely spoke. At least he let her silently weep for a few moments, Y/N beginning to process the gravity of the situation. With watery eyes, she looked outside the carriage window, the gothic Sanctuary becoming distant as the horses trotted on. Her dread was temporarily numbed by the opportunity to see beyond the Sanctuary, land she had not seen in years. The trees lining the paved streets were barren, gray, and the hard-packed dirt had not a blade of grass. Even then, Y/N hadn’t seen such beauty in so long– a small taste of freedom before she was locked away for life again. 

Her tears continued to flow even when she greedily took in the sights of the town of Newport, the homes of the wealthy humans who did not have to give up their freedom for vampires, shops that had closed for the day, parked cars on the sides of the streets. It was odd to see the vehicles, considering she had been living in an analog manner for so long, Y/N wondered if she’d ever know what the inside of one looked like. 

“H-how long will it take?” Y/N asked timidly, not confident Alfred would respond, but she tried anyway. The middle-aged man looked up from his Bible, giving Y/N an unfeeling look. 

“We are no more than ten minutes away, now. Wipe your sorry face,” Alfred responded coldly, Y/N’s heart racing when she dabbed at her cheeks obediently. “You will not shame our Sanctuary by showing the coven how miserable you are.”

Y/N had never heard Alfred speak so many words. She was starting to think that was for the best, his words like a slap across her face. Part of her pondered if she’d ever hear a kind word again. Lapsing back into silence, Y/N sniffled up the remainder of her tears, the shock beginning to wear off and her survival skills kicking in. If she wanted to remain sane, and not give the vampires an inch before they took a mile, she had to appear unafraid and unaffected. Strong, confident, and indifferent, but pure, so if not to anger them. Vampires and their purity– ironic.

The houses– if one could even call the structures that– became grander and grander the further they traveled. The massive buildings made the ginormous cathedral the Sanctuary called home look like a garden shack. Y/N had a hunch, as they turned down a road that had imposing iron gates lining yards that looked like parks, that the coven she was to belong to resided in one of the famous Newport mansions. Passing by a white marble monstrosity, Y/N shuddered. The homes looked empty, cold, and imposing. Grand, yes, but the kind of display of wealth that had someone like Y/N, who lived her entire life struggling, clenching her fist in fury. 

“Won’t be long now. Straighten yourself out. The staff is to greet you,” Alfred slapped his Bible shut, grasping for the handle of Y/N’s suitcase.

Breathing shallowly, Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the carriage brought them to the largest iron gate on the street, initials TK welded between filigree at the top of the barrier. As if by magic, the gates began to creak open, Y/N stunned by her first glimpse of actual electricity illuminating the gatehouse. Of course, she had seen it prior to her life at the Sanctuary, but it was odd to see the night lit up after living by candlelight. Gnawing at her nails, thinking that she could be shocked no further, an audible gasp tore from her when the carriage pulled through the driveway of great trees, an imposing mansion coming into view. 

Y/N had never imagined such a building could ever be constructed. It would take a person hours to walk the entire floor plan, the grounds aside. Y/N was struck by a memory from earlier that week, when Meredith brought up the mansions by the ocean. One of the members of the coven must have been the man that built it, and the only other thing Y/N knew was that the mansion was settled on a steep cliff jutting into the sea. One she could potentially careen herself off of, if need be. 

Her elbow was tightly grabbed again when the carriage stopped before the covered front entrance, bright lights nearly blinding her as Alfred shoved her out of the carriage, Y/N freezing instantly when she felt a foreign touch on her forearm to steady her. Eyes adjusting, she frantically looked up, not ready to deal with a vampire right off the bat. To her great relief, a blue-eyed– not red-eyed man, one dressed in a fine suit, righted her with a tight smile. A human, presumably a member of the mansion’s staff. 

“I–I– I’m sorry,” Y/N managed, cursing Alfred colorfully in her mind. So much for confidence. 

“Quite alright, acolyte…” the man prompted in a British accent, the first whisper of kindness Y/N had in over an hour. 

“Oh. Forgive me. Acolyte Y/N,” she replied quickly, accessing the back of her brain where cobwebs and her etiquette surrounding that event resided. 

“Sir, you may leave. Acolyte Y/N will begin her duties under our watch now,” the man in the suit removed his touch from Y/N’s forearm, not a single strand of silver hair on the man’s head out of place. 

“Contact us if there are issues,” Alfred hardly got out of the carriage, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. Y/N wanted to spit on him. 

“Of course,” the man replied, tight smile still on his lips, standing importantly beside Y/N until the carriage was well on its way back to the gate. “He’s a cup of tea, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, not knowing whether or not to agree, if it was her place. Turning to the man, whose posture had loosened up and a more genuinely friendly expression taking over his features, Y/N nodded slowly. 

“Forgive me. I’m Edmund, head butler here at The Breakers. Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” Edmund extended a gloved hand to Y/N, who hesitantly shook it. Was he trying to get her guard down by feigning gentlemanly behavior? “I take care of important matters inside of the estate. If you have any needs, you can seek me out. Of course, you’ll have personal maids, as well. Come, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Reeling, Y/N watched Edmund effortlessly scoop up her luggage, timidly following him to the door that was opened by an older man, also dressed in a sharp suit. With a house that size, Y/N realized that the staff must have been numerous to keep everything functioning smoothly. It was somewhat of a comfort that the staff she encountered so far seemed to be humans, likely ones with low status and common blood types. 

Not even the imposing exterior of the building could have prepared Y/N for what the mansion looked like inside. In just the entrance alone, exquisite stone work, massive tiled floors, and tall ornate lamps illuminated by real light bulbs had stars circling around her head. Now that she was inside, she started to feel nervous again, waiting for a vampire to pop out from behind a thick stone column. In awe and in fear of her surroundings, she jolted when a young woman appeared from the left, carrying a tray. 

“This is Nadia, she’ll be your head maid. I’ll take your luggage to your room, and Nadia will show you around the first floor before you retire. She’ll answer any questions you have.”

Edmund bowed to Y/N, which had her blanching in embarrassment. The butler disappearing further into the estate, Y/N turned to Nadia when the young woman cleared her throat lightly. 

“Miss, I’ve brought you some cocoa. Hopefully it will warm you,” Nadia presented her with a large porcelain mug on the silver tray, a thick, sweet smell hitting her nostrils and making her nearly tear up. The only chocolate she could have at the Sanctuary was a square of bitter 100% cacao on Wednesdays and Sundays, not something decadent and rich like the cocoa she was being offered. 

“I can have this?” Y/N squeaked, not daring to take the mug lest it was some kind of trick. Nadia cocked her head, confused by the question. 

“Of course, Miss. Unless you don’t like chocolate, I can prepare you some tea instead,” Nadia began to lower the tray, Y/N waving her hands urgently to stop her. 

“N-no, no, you don’t have to do that! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Y/N wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the warmth soothing her frozen fingers. “Um, you can call me Y/N if you want, please.”

Y/N was already weirded out, and people addressing her by formal titles was definitely a camel back-breaking straw. Nadia set her tray aside, watching Y/N take a shaky sip of the cocoa. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed when she drained the whole mug in five seconds flat. The drink was thick, rich, and warmed her from the inside out. She both wanted to cry and beg for a second mug. 

“You must be freezing, shall we head into the hall? It’s much warmer there,” Nadia gestured forward, Y/N glancing at what appeared to be a giant ballroom in front of her. Gulping, she nodded, following the woman timidly. So far, not a single mention of the vampires that allegedly lived in the mansion. “If you’d like, I can draw you a hot bath when we get to your bedroom. I’ve filled your dresser with warm clothes for you to sleep in, too, I’ll put them on your bed… This is the Great Hall. I imagine the coven will hold parties here from time to time.”

Y/N didn’t know where to look. Between the sheer size of the space, the ornate artwork painted on the ceiling, and the endless colors swirling around the room, her vision finally landed on the enormous fireplace roaring at one end of the hall. It was then when she noticed it was the first time since mid-October she wasn’t chilly. Prior to that evening, Y/N had a lot of assumptions about vampires. One of the assumptions was that they would prefer to live in a cold and dark environment, but the mansion she was standing in was toasty and brightly lit. 

“It’s… big,” Y/N managed weakly, Nadia leading her to a red-carpeted staircase. All she could do was follow, wanting to ask the maid a few questions about the coven, but she knew that vampires had superior hearing and she didn’t want to attract the attention of one of them. 

“Yes, but you will become accustomed to it. I can help you navigate the interior and grounds until you know your own way around. Oh, right here. This is a portrait of Master Taehyung. He built this estate,” Nadia paused on the landing, where the staircase split into two directions. 

Whipping her head upwards, she soaked in the lines of the old painted canvas, Nadia’s first mention of the vampires making her heart stop dead in her chest. The man depicted in the painting was beautiful, which was typical for the creatures, but Taehyung nearly took her breath away. Dressed in a Victorian-style suit, the vampire had a cold, stern expression. His dark wavy hair was parted down the middle neatly, and of course, the vampiric red irises staring back at her made her stomach turn in fear. Schooling her features, Y/N bit her lip at Nadia’s expectant expression. 

“He’s, um. Handsome,” Y/N offered, hoping that her voice wasn’t wavering, Nadia nodded, resuming her ascent up the stairs. 

“Master Taehyung made his fortune in steamships, railroads, and shipping in the mid-1800’s. He’s a legendary businessman,” Nadia informed her, Y/N cringing that she referred to the creature as a ‘man’. Nadia herself didn’t seem to have a problem with the vampire, and in fact, her voice almost implied that she admired Taehyung. “All seven of our masters are impressive men.”

“Wait, they’re all male?” Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face. She was hoping for a coven of mostly female vampires, theorizing that perhaps they’d be less vicious. 

“Yes, I’m sure you know that it’s atypical for a coven to be both so large and of all one gender. The masters are like-minded, which is why they chose to form the coven,” Nadia explained, stopping at a door at the end of the hall, beside a breezeway that likely looked out onto the ocean. “Here we are, this is where you’ll stay. The rest of the bedrooms on this floor are occupied by five of the masters, Masters Seokjin and Namjoon prefer the bedrooms on the third floor due to privacy of the quarters.”

Y/N swallowed, stepping into her new bedroom, which was bigger than four dorm rooms at the Sanctuary smashed together. The walls were covered in an intricate pink floral wallpaper, all of the upholstered furniture a matching shade of blushing rose, and the marble fireplace was lit already. The room was decidedly feminine, Y/N’s eyes catching on a painting above a nightstand depicting dancing women. Nadia, as she was bumbling around the room selecting clothes from a dresser, noticed Y/N staring at it. It was expertly painted, precise. 

“That is one of Master Yoongi’s pieces, depicting the Nine Muses of Greek mythology,” Nadia placed flannel pajamas on Y/N’s new bed, which looked plush and was piled high with thick pillows. “Master Yoongi is a painter, an artist. Very famous.”

“Really?” Y/N knew nothing about art, let alone Greek mythology. She didn’t have the luxury of studying those things. 

“The hour is growing late, Miss. I can tell you more about the masters in the morning. They will not be back from the affairs that called them away tonight until midday tomorrow,” Nadia pulled out a pocket watch from her apron, heading towards a door by the back of the bedroom. “I’ll run your bath, and leave you to rest. You’ll be woken in the morning for breakfast.”

Moments later, Y/N was left alone in her very own bathroom, not a communal one like she was used to at the Sanctuary with cold water taps. The bathtub had steaming water filling the room with humidity, the scent of lavender oil somewhat easing her frayed nerves. Chewing her lip, she decided she might as well indulge in the hot bath, considering her muscles were beyond stiff and there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right away, if at all. 

Part of her wondered what kind of ‘affairs’ that the vampires were involved with. If it were her, and she had accumulated all of that wealth and immortality, she’d spend her days lazing around. The other part of her was thanking the sky that none of them were in the building; she had more time to prepare herself to meet the creatures the following day. Stiffly, she began to untie her skirt, letting the fabric hit the floor. Y/N supposed never having to wear those skirts again was a bit of a silver lining. Kicking it to the side, Y/N’s vision caught on something silvery and polished– an actual mirror. Eagerly, she dashed to the sink it was fixed over to catch a glimpse of herself for the very first time in ages. 

Unable to help the gasp that came from her mouth, Y/N didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she had in her mind was her fifteen year old self, not the twenty-five year-old reflected in the polished silver. In awe, she traced her sharpened jaw and cheekbone, lacking teenage fullness, and she realized that she had forgotten the color of her eyes. Tearing up a little, she turned from side to side, getting a look at her figure– even going as far as removing the rest of her clothing in curiosity. Poking at areas of her body she was unfamiliar with in the mirror, like the curve to her hips, Y/N felt rather odd. The whole evening had her entire world turning upside-down. 

After several moments, she tore her attention from the mirror, only feeling slightly guilty of vanity, and tentatively dipped a toe into the bath. The water didn’t immediately dissolve her skin and bones, so she slowly sunk her body into the porcelain basin with a ragged groan. Maybe she had died and went somewhere beautiful, because being treated like royalty so far was not something she predicted. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to get too comfortable. She hadn’t even met the coven yet, and for all she knew, they could be horrible individuals. Nadia didn’t speak of them in that way– but maybe the maid wouldn’t dare. 

Y/N sat in the bath until the water became lukewarm and her skin was pruny. Limbs loose, she wrapped herself in a plush towel that was waiting for her on a rack that actually heated the towel. While the ends of her hair dripped water on the tiled floor, she bent down, looking through a chest beside the sink with interest. Each drawer held essential and non-essential toiletries, some things Y/N had never even heard of. Picking up a bottle of ‘skin oil’ and ‘hair detangler’, she blinked in confusion. Was it Nadia who stocked the drawers for her? Or were the vampires considerate enough to provide her with a toothbrush and facial cleanser?

Head full of cotton, she decided to ignore all of the products she was unfamiliar with and simply brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure that no one had entered the room while she was bathing, Y/N tip-toed across the richly carpeted floor towards the ridiculously large bed. The fire was still going, warming the room, and Y/N hesitantly slid into a pair of flannel pajama pants left out for her. The elasticated waistband hugged her hips perfectly, and as she buttoned up the top and pulled on fluffy socks, she speculated about how Nadia managed to figure out her measurements. The Sanctuary probably had some sort of file on all of her personal information, which had her skin crawling. 

While she was still on edge, her body was so relaxed from the bath that with slight resignation, she maneuvered herself under the sheets and heavy blankets, clasping a hand over her mouth as she sunk comically into the mattress. The bed hugged her in all directions, like getting to sleep on a cloud, and as she stared at the ceiling in awe, Y/N squirmed around to get in a cozy position curled up tight on her side protectively. 

The lights would remain on, that was for sure. Y/N was never afraid of the dark per se, but in a new environment, she wasn’t risking things watching her from the shadows of the old estate. While memorizing the shapes of the intricate carvings on the ceiling, Y/N tried to make a mental list of everything she knew about vampires in general, and the specifics of the ones she was about to serve. 

Over the centuries, there were several old wives tales that were circulated by humans surrounding vampires; but Y/N hardly knew which ones were fact or fiction. There were the superstitions passed down through common blood-typed, lower class humans that would work as maids and butlers to the vampires, the awe-inspiring, intimidating tidbits wealthy and influential humans would spread after doing business with the creatures. Then, of course, was the probable propaganda Y/N and her fellow acolytes were spoon-fed in Sanctuaries. 

Y/N started with what she knew was just plain phony: vampires did not have an aversion to the sun and could walk around in daylight as they pleased. They did not flee from crosses or garlic, and they could not be exterminated by a stake through the heart. Acolytes were told that vampires could not be killed, and had few, if any, weaknesses. That was enough to have Y/N shivering, even beneath all of her blankets and flannel pajamas. 

The older the vampire, the less in-touch with humanity they became. There was a recalled memory, a boring lecture in the Sanctuary’s dusty chapel, which consisted of a hazy memory of Y/N copying down ‘Oldest known vampire is aged 1,291 years, but some may be even older’. Y/N couldn’t even fathom living to be in her forties, let alone how it must be to live for over a century. On the other hand, ‘younger’ vampires– under three hundred years old– tended to be bolder, and adapted to modern times with greater ease. 

Vampires needed human blood to sustain their powers, immortality, and to keep their internal organs functioning properly. While considered to be undead, a vampire’s heart kept beating, lungs brought in oxygen, and they could even digest human food if the creatures had consistent access to blood. Squeezing her eyes shut tight at the image of a vampire tearing into a rare steak, Y/N started to count off the things she found out from Nadia about the particular coven that requested her from the Sanctuary. 

First, there was only a brief visual she had of one out of the seven, ‘Master’ Taehyung. Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use a title on any of them, but it was likely out of her hands. Sure, the portrait depicted a handsome young man, with all the airs of importance and wealth– but Y/N couldn’t get his unearthly red irises out of her mind. Taehyung was the vampire that commissioned the construction of the mansion she was currently cowering in, apparently a business tycoon that dominated during the Gilded Age. The next piece of information she got was ‘Seokjin’ and ‘Namjoon’ living on a separate floor for additional privacy, which made her nervous for some reason. Which was more dangerous, vampires in the bedroom next door to her, or those hidden in spots she hadn’t even toured yet?

The last thing she learned about one of the vampires– Yoongi– from Nadia is that he was evidently a famous artist. Cracking one sore eye open, she stared at the elaborately framed artwork above her nightstand again, noticing the fading of the paint and how it aged the piece. How old was the painting, and how old was Yoongi? Shutting her eyes once more, she sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled her blankets over her head. Nadia promised she’d answer any additional questions Y/N had over breakfast, so Y/N miraculously fell asleep by coming up with a handful of queries. 

“Miss, hello? The sun has risen,” Y/N sat up in her bed with a sharp gasp, her hair hanging in her face like a nest. Whipping her head around frantically, she couldn’t believe she actually managed to get some sleep in a brand-new setting so easily. Knocking on the door, as well as a mousy, unfamiliar voice had her stumbling to her feet frantically. “May I come in, Miss?”

“Um, uh, yes, come in,” Y/N panicked, smoothing her wrinkled flannel shirt into place and hastily raking hair from her face. The door creaked open, a young woman who wasn’t Nadia hurrying in– her uniform pristinely pressed. 

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I’m Juliana, I work under Nadia. I’ll be helping you with your morning routine, while Nadia handles more important matters– coordinating breakfast, of course,” Juliana gave Y/N a slight bow, Y/N’s mouth dropping open at the gesture.

Before she could respond, Juliana began to draw the great curtains around the room open, the blinding white light of the early winter morning flooding into the room and stinging her eyes. When her vision returned to her, she gasped again at the sight just beyond the windows. Unable to help herself, she tripped towards one of the windows, grappling for the sill so she could steady herself. 

Her room overlooked the backyard– if one could even call it that– and beyond the manicured grass and gardens was the vast, unending ocean once the landscaping dropped off of the famous cliff. It was like her eyes couldn’t absorb enough of the scenery, and impatiently, she pressed her forehead to the glass plane to gawk at the icy, gray ocean. 

“In this drawer, here, we’ve placed warm pants for you– leggings, jeans, corduroys. If you prefer skirts and wool tights, those are hanging in your closet, and your tops and sweaters are in this armoire, here. Underthings are located in the lingerie chest beside you,” Juliana opened up various drawers, light on her feet and peppy, her curly brown hair bouncing with her movements.

“Lin… lingerie?” Y/N tasted the unfamiliar word on her tongue, attention effectively stolen from the gorgeous view beyond her windows. 

“Forgive me. It’s another word for your undergarments, such as brassiers?” Juliana clarified, raising her brows and crossing the room. Y/N had not a single clue what she was talking about, following her like a duckling. 

“Oh! I’ve never…” Y/N suddenly felt immensely awkward, peering into the drawer that held garments she hadn’t worn while at the Sanctuary– the thick, burlap material of the Sanctuary tops were all she got, not delicate lacy scraps of fabric that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of cradling her chest. “Um, okay. I can… wear whatever I want?”

“Yes, yes, as long as you’re comfortable, Miss,” Juliana took Y/N’s confusion in stride, moving towards the fireplace. Taking up a fire poker, the maid prodded at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I hope you were warm enough while you slept. The fire tends to go out in the middle of the night.”

“Y-yes, I was fine. Plenty of blankets,” Y/N chuckled nervously, not used to being so diligently cared for. Would it always be like that? “Um… have they returned?” 

“They? You mean the masters?” Juliana paused, replacing the fire poker back on the rack. “They’ll be back before noon.”

“Okay,” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping a tremble out of her voice, Juliana gesturing towards a vanity by one of the windows. 

“I can comb your hair, Miss, then leave you to get changed,” Juliana herded Y/N to the cushy stool, Y/N once again blinking at her unfamiliar expression. Contrary to the circumstances, her expression told the story of someone who got plenty of rest the night before. “I’ll wait by the stairs to show you to the breakfast room.”

That time, Y/N didn’t reply. She was too distracted by the feeling of the young maid gliding a fine comb through her hair gently– and with a sharp twist in her chest, she was reminded of the last time someone did her hair– Meredith, on the day of the Drawing. Holding her breath, she waited patiently for Juliana to comb through every snag on her head, surprised when she finally pulled away without braiding Y/N’s hair. Usually, Sanctuaries insisted that acolytes keep their hair braided if female, and cropped short if male. Juliana, however, left Y/N with her hair flowing free. 

“Alright, Miss, take your time getting dressed. I’ll wait for you by the staircase,” Juliana smiled sweetly at her through the mirror, setting the comb back onto the vanity before she took her leave. 

Y/N had a newfound feeling of determination when she absorbed her reflection, suddenly. She was going to get as much detail about the characters of the vampires from members of the staff as she could before the seven of them returned to the mansion. Swiftly, she pawed through various drawers for clothes, stomping to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tugging on fleece-lined leggings, she cursed at herself in the mirror when it took her several minutes to figure out how to hook a brassier around her bust. The top she selected was a large slouchy sweater, one that hid her figure and hung loosely around her thighs. It made her feel a bit more protected, not having so much skin exposed. There weren’t any shoes in her closet, so she awkwardly stuffed her feet into her Mary Janes from the Sanctuary. 

With a huff, she headed to the hallway, the mansion looking completely different during the day. Early winter sunlight flooded into the building, making the colors of the interior appear vibrant and excessive. Able to retrace her steps from the previous evening, Y/N didn’t have any trouble meeting Juliana at the top of the grand staircase. 

“Right this way, Miss,” Juliana started down the stairs, Y/N glancing at the portrait of Taehyung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed before, but while he certainly seemed cold, there was a sort of melancholy look on his face. 

“Juliana, did um… Master Yoongi paint that portrait?” Y/N launched into her interrogations, the maid cocking her head to look at the painting Y/N was referring to. Y/N had to fight the urge not to cringe when using the ‘master’ title. 

“Hmm. I never thought about that! Master Yoongi is mostly known for his work from the Renaissance. Now that you bring it up, however, the attention to detail does look quite a lot like Master Yoongi’s handiwork,” Juliana continued down the stairs, Y/N grasping onto the banister for stability. If Yoongi’s famous artwork was from the Renaissance period, he’d have to be over 500 years old. “Do you like to read, Miss? The library is full of rare books. Master Hoseok has collected them from around the world for hundreds of years. Nadia can show you the way after your breakfast.”

“Oh–”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N, I hope you had a restful sleep,” Edmund was at the bottom of the staircase, interrupting Y/N’s response to Juliana. “Juliana, you’re needed in the laundry.”

“Yes, sir,” Juliana straightened up importantly, bowing at Y/N again. “Have a nice breakfast, Miss.”

Edmund stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Juliana hurry away out of earshot. The polite smile sort of slipped from his face, attention turning back to Y/N shifting from foot to foot by the staircase. 

“Y/N, after your meal, I’d like to speak with you in the pantry. Have Nadia show you the way,” Edmund said quietly, gesturing to the left. Tightness in her chest increased when he said that, following him through the hall. 

There was what appeared to be a grotto under the staircase, water trickling from a fountain and a couple of seats facing the structure. Briefly, Y/N thought that that would be a wonderful spot to read. Led to a sage-green room, Y/N blushed furiously when Edmund pulled out a chair for her at the round table in the center of the room. There was only one fine porcelain plate set in front of her, along with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. 

“I’ll tell them to send out the food. Please enjoy,” Edmund announced, filling one of Y/N’s glasses with water from a metal pitcher. The butler was gone before she could ask him any questions, but moments later, at least ten staff members were filing into the room. 

Y/N’s eyes immediately bugged out of her head. A vat of creamy scrambled eggs, a platter of toast and pastries with jam and butter, plates of crispy bacon and breakfast potatoes, cinnamon-scented oatmeal, even a board with cheeses and bowls of every kind of fruit one could ever wish to try. Staff arranging everything meticulously, she could only blink as someone poured her a mug of coffee with cream and sugar left on the side, as well as a large glass of orange juice. 

“W-wait, this is… this is all for me?” Y/N hadn’t seen food like that well, ever. Everything looked gourmet and prepped with love and care. She wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but she was going to try her hardest. 

“Yes, Miss. The staff eats before the sun rises,” a young man answered her, setting down a plate stacked with waffles and a gravy boat of syrup. “Meals will be quite large like this until we figure out what your favorite foods are. I hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” Y/N felt herself flushing again, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva that was flooding her palate dangerously. “Thank y-you.”

“Enjoy. Call if you would like anything else.”

With that, the staff left her alone in the room, and Y/N didn’t know where to start. She compared the silence of the room to the loud chatter that she would listen to in the Sanctuary’s dining hall. Slowly, she sniffed the steaming coffee in front of her– she had never tasted it. Taking a small sip, she cringed at the bitterness, understanding at once why the bowl of sugar and fresh cream was left beside the mug. Not wanting to waste anything, she stirred cream and sugar into the mug until the drink tasted decent. With eager, shaky hands, Y/N stood with her plate and began to pile food onto it. 

Y/N worked herself around the table. Ignoring the feeling of gluttony, she tried every single thing that was left out for her, her plate stacked so high she snorted at herself when she sat back down. To her embarrassment, she moaned in pleasure when she swallowed her spoonful of eggs– buttery and topped with chives. Urgently, she nibbled on a strip of bacon, the meat hanging out of her mouth as she tore a croissant into pieces. Everything she put into her mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, and she felt like a ravenous bear trying to bulk up for the winter. 

She stopped eating only when her stomach felt it was going to burst, pushing a bowl of peaches and cream away with a grunt. Y/N did try everything, but it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the feast. Wiping her face with a fine cloth napkin, she clumsily got to her feet like a milk-drunk baby. Instantly, several staff members swept into the room when she stood to clear the table, Nadia’s familiar face appearing. 

“How was your breakfast, Miss?” 

“I’ve never had such delicious food,” Y/N admitted, absently trailing after her head maid through a door connected to the breakfast room, probably leading her to the pantry. “The chefs here must be very skilled.”

“Master Seokjin insists that we hire the finest chefs in the world. Though he is a vampire, he has culinary interests,” Nadia replied, Y/N finding it hard to walk with how stuffed she was. “Edmund told me you two were going to speak. He’s likely going to give you a formal tour and tell you a few things about the manor, day-to-day routines…”

Y/N turned that over in her mind. The look on Edmund’s face earlier had a sort of graveness to it, which she didn’t think matched up to explaining house rules. Y/N decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping at the very least she’d have her questions answered. Suddenly, they were in a room filled with dark wood shelves holding china and crystal stemware, and when Y/N looked up, there was a loft that held even more shelves and dishes. Edmund was by a table in the center of the room, taking notes. 

“Thank you Nadia. I know you had some errands to run, so I’ll show Miss Y/N around until the masters return,” Edmund looked up from his notepad, Nadia nodding once before turning on her heel to leave the room. 

“Alright, one moment, Miss Y/N…” Edmund said in a chipper tone, moving around the room to shut the doors quickly, which had Y/N suddenly growing nervous– was he trying to soundproof the room, keep the conversation quiet?

“Oh, dear. You do not have to be frightened of me,” Edmund put his hands up when Y/N began to cower in the corner of the room. “I want to offer you information before the vampires return.”

“R-really?” Y/N released the breath she was holding, timidly getting closer to the table Edmund had returned to. He had a grandfatherly look about him, kind and warm. It was not lost on Y/N that he didn’t refer to the vampires as masters.

“It was lucky that they were called away yesterday. I fear you wouldn’t have been prepared had they been here. Now, listen; this is very important. Most of the staff treats the coven like gods. I am the only one in this estate who you can talk about the coven negatively.”

Not a good start, Y/N thought, shivering. 

“Negatively, sir?”

“Child. Looks can be deceiving. I know you that in the hours you’ve been here already you have been treated gently. The coven will not follow suit. They are cruel, heartless creatures. You must do everything in your power to not upset any of them,” Edmund enunciated clearly, Y/N’s heart dropping in her chest. “The powers they possess are extremely dangerous. They do not have emotions like you or I.”

“The way Nadia talked about them… painted a different picture,” Y/N uttered desperately, Edmund looking out the window wistfully. 

“I’ve been with the coven for decades, while they lived in Europe. Nadia has only been around for five years, and she does not deal with the coven as I do. She has not seen what they’re capable of.”

“Are you telling me this because you feel bad for me?” Y/N suddenly became defensive despite her terror, hating when she was pitied in any circumstance. 

“No, child. I want to help you. I want to warn you, before they come back and they size you up,” Edmund shook his head, looking down at the notes he was taking earlier. “You are dealing with four vampires that are very old and disconnected to humanity. The younger three are wild and reckless. It's important to remember this.”

“How old…”

“I’ll tell you a bit about each of them specifically in a moment. My largest piece of advice to you is never directly show the coven you’re afraid of them. Of course, they’ll be able to scent it on you, but do not give away your fear verbally, or you will be backed into a dark corner and toyed with.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, then dreading the coven’s return to the estate. 

“You asked how old they are. I’ll start with the eldest, who is the most respected vampire in the coven– he has seniority, you see, due to his age and his status. Seokjin is 879 years old, and when he was human, he was a crown prince of a Korean monarch,” Edmund began, using a handkerchief to dab his dewy hairline. “He may appear very calm and unaffected, but he absolutely despises humans. He hardly tolerates the staff, and we know not to bother him unless necessary. Under no circumstance should you lie to him, ever. I’ve seen him kill many staff members and even associates over being deceived. One more thing about Seokjin… the ‘power’ he has. Vampires call it ‘Compulsion’. He has the ability to make telepathic suggestions to others in order to control their thoughts, even wipe memories. He can convince a man to jump to his own death, or forget his happiest memories.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. All of the questions that she had come up with before falling asleep completely fled from her mind, and all she could do was grip onto the wooden table with slick palms. Over 800 years old– Seokjin was ancient, otherworldly, and sounded like a monster. 

“On the other hand, the youngest in the coven, Jeongguk– just 124 years old. He has the gift of Telepathy, so you must learn to control your thoughts around him. If somehow, Seokjin is unable to find out you lied to him, Jeongguk can tear through your thoughts and report it back to him,” Edmund continued, tapping his notepad with his pen. “Quite a few in the coven have much experience with violence. Jeongguk, when he was human, was a bodyguard to Al Capone. When he was turned, he was not only a bodyguard, but he read the minds of enemy gangs to relay back to Capone. He’s strong and lacks empathy, so he kills without mercy.”

“How… will I be able to control my thoughts? He’ll know I’m terrified, he’ll…”

“I can teach you, when they’re away on business. It is difficult, but can be done. Child, let me finish telling you what I know before they’re due back.”

Y/N clammed up, growing more petrified by the second by each word that came out of the butler’s mouth. By the time he had run through the basic personalities of each of the vampires, Y/N had a cloth soaked in cold water pressed to her forehead. For lack of a better word, she was fucked. 

“I’m sorry to tell you all of this,” Edmund said quietly when he was finished, regret flashing over his face. “Just know, you have someone here who is on your side. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from their wrath, or at least train you to handle it. Fortunately, you’re needed by them– while they may be cruel to you, they need you alive in order to sustain themselves.”

“Spectacular,” Y/N wheezed, wishing she didn’t eat so much breakfast. She didn’t want it to make a second appearance. “To think I was going to press you for information. I don’t know if I was better off in the dark or not.”

“Certainly not. You know what to expect this afternoon, somewhat. Keep your guard up, and try to keep your fear in check, and the introduction can go smoothly,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps… while you wait for their return, you can peruse the library, as Juliana suggested.”

Edmund began to open the doors again, and Y/N understood that meant their conversation was as good as over. 

“Edmund?”

“Yes, child?’

“Won’t they know that you warned me about them? Will you be punished?”

“Don’t worry about me, child. The coven knows how I feel about them, it’s earned me a teaspoon of respect. Besides, no other butler in the world wishes to work for them. Rumors of their behavior, you see,” Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Come. I’ll give you a brief tour and then escort you to the library.” 

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N was left by herself in the dark, intricate library. Hardly giving the alleged ‘rare’ books collected by Hoseok a glance, she sank down into a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames blindly. Curiosity killed the cat, and Y/N hardly knew what to do. Every single one of the vampires were murderous, unfeeling monsters with horrifying powers. Powers they’d likely be using on her any moment. 

Y/N didn’t know who she was afraid of the most. Seokjin sounded menacing, Jeongguk dangerous and immoral. The others, she didn’t even know where to start sorting out what she learned. There was Hoseok, Y/N’s eyes shifting to the weathered books on the shelves, who was once a pirate over four hundred years ago, and had the ability to ‘Track’ people by scent. Edmund told her that Hoseok could find anybody without fail and even predict their future moves. He was greedy, fond of drinking, and impulsive. 

She wondered if it was Namjoon she was most afraid of. His power was definitely the worst one: with eye contact and focus, he could inflict pain on others compared to being burned alive, a power called Pain Illusion. Apparently, he was once a Korean military general roughly four hundred years prior, and once turned, he became a sword-for-hire. Edmund told her that he enjoyed the kill, enjoyed watching others suffer, and was second to Seokjin as far as the hierarchy of the coven. Like the elder vampire, Namjoon had a disdain for humanity. Edmund told her to be especially careful around Namjoon, as he was a known sadist. 

Head in her hands, she groaned. Yeah, Namjoon definitely was the scariest. The other three were no daisies, either, but the thought of having to experience what Namjoon’s Pain Illusion felt like was enough to have her heart racing. 

Apparently Taehyung is the most deceiving of the bunch. He had all of the etiquette of a Gilded Age businessman, but Edmund relayed that he was absolutely ruthless when it came to his affairs and could Glamour his appearance. Jimin, a famed playwright of romantic tragedies the same years Jane Austen was active, was notoriously manipulative, hedonistic, and a feared Hypnotist. Finally, the artist, Yoongi– apparently studied under an artist named Leonardo da Vinci, and was secretly known for using his power of Paralysis on his models so he could paint them for hours without interruption. 

That tacky sort of nervous sweat began to roll down the notches of Y/N’s spine. None of the vampires sounded friendly at all. Y/N knew that it would be wishful thinking to expect all of them to be somewhat tame, but she had hoped for at least one that wouldn’t be insane or murderous. Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N counted her breaths to calm down. Heeding Edmund’s initial advice would be wise; trying to keep her thoughts bland, maintaining aloof confidence. Not bursting into tears, or trying to hide behind Nadia’s skirts. 

Chin resting on her knees, Y/N closed her eyes. She wondered what Meredith and Joseph were up to. In the mornings after breakfast, typically they'd have study and silent prayer in the chapel. Y/N considered herself to be somewhat of an atheist, so usually she’d daydream while on her knees, eyes glazed over. Meredith would let Y/N lean her shoulder on hers, and Joseph would make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep and get punished. Sadness filled her at the thought of her memories. It was likely she’d never get to see Meredith or Joseph ever again. Too busy wallowing, Y/N jolted in her seat when Nadia appeared in front of her, repeating her name several times. 

“Miss, the masters have returned. We must greet them outside,” Nadia offered Y/N a thick winter jacket, Y/N audibly gulping. She’d run out of time. 

Heart thundering in her chest, Y/N shrugged into the maroon felt coat, shuffling after Nadia with resignation. It was like the a monarch was coming, countless members of staff hurriedly heading to the front entrance or flying up the stairs with various linens. Deciding to think of only her friends, Y/N replayed scenes of the two of her closest kin harvesting vegetables in the gardens during the summer months. Reading with Meredith by candlelight in dramatic voices. Horsing around with Joseph in the hallways when they were supposed to be dusting statues. 

Outside, the grounds were clearer to her in the daylight. In the spring, the landscaping was probably breathtaking. Quietly, she stood between Edmund– the head butler, and Nadia– the former giving nothing away regarding their private discussion surrounding the coven. Holding her breath, Y/N watched the large iron gates swing open, the purr of car engines filling the quiet street. 

Biting back a surprised noise, Y/N supposed she shouldn’t have been stunned to see a line of luxury cars pulling into the drive. The first in line was a sleek, vibrant-blue colored sports car, followed by a cushy looking black sedan, two black SUVs, and two more small sports cars– one in cherry red and the other canary yellow. 

No one said a word. Y/N counted the vehicles again– there were only six. Again, she was thinking about the excess of wealth. Would it kill them to share cars? Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blue sports car’s doors opened first– upward, like a spaceship. In succession, the rest of the roaring engines cut off and Y/N stared blankly at the carport’s carved stone ceiling to put off matching names to faces. She hadn’t even considered how old they looked physically, were they middle aged– Christ forbid, were they teenagers? 

“Master Seokjin. I trust everything went well?” Edmund bowed deeply, Y/N urgently copying the movement when the butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

“Who’s this little girl?” Seokjin ignored Edmund’s question, Y/N’s eyes on the highly polished loafers that were just in front of her. 

Y/N finally straightened up to take a look at the vampire in front of her, and all of the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs when the most beautiful face she had ever seen was studying her right back. He appeared to physically be in his early thirties, but the faraway look in his eyes gave away his true ancient age.

Tall, broad, and dressed in an expensive looking suit, the dark-haired vampire had his full mouth twisted into disapproval. With his short, choppy bangs, they gave a perfect view to sculpted eyebrows, a pallor to his flawless skin, and of course, the red eyes narrowing while he waited for an answer. Y/N felt like she had to look away, so her eyes slid from Seokjin’s statuesque face to the second figure disembarking from the blue sports car, the passenger. 

“This is Acolyte Y/N, from the local Sanctuary. The AB- donor. She arrived last night,” Edmund bowed again, this time at the second vampire storming up the steps to the front door.

“Take this upstairs, Nadia,” the second vampire, again, an exceedingly gorgeous man, barked. While his voice was rich and smooth like silk, he curled his nose up in a snarl when he spotted Y/N beside her head maid. 

“Yes, Master Namjoon,” Nadia grunted when a briefcase was shoved into her chest, Namjoon scoffing once at Y/N before disappearing into the mansion. Three things Y/N noticed about him: the skinny Asian-style sword strapped to his massive back, the thick leather gloves on his hands, and the air of total hatred coming off of him in waves. 

“Didn’t think she’d be such a… scrap of a thing,” Seokjin sounded bored, almost disappointed she wouldn’t put up a strong fight. 

“The Sanctuary diets aren’t particularly nutritious. She’ll gain more muscle and mass after a few weeks with our great chefs,” Edmund reassured the eldest vampire, whom Y/N wished would stop staring at her and simply go inside. 

“Make sure she’s present for dinner,” Seokjin drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Y/N. Was… she for dinner? “I have calls to make. Tell the chefs twelve courses tonight, rich food. The little girl needs more meat on her bones to be of actual use.”

With that, Seokjin brushed past the butler, Y/N’s head already spinning. Next thing she knew, there were three more vampires stalking towards her and Edmund, Y/N wondering which one was the one that could read her uneasy thoughts. 

“Oh? A little dove!” A borderline childish voice is what caught her attention first, wicked delight coloring his tone. 

If his eyes weren’t so frightening, the grin stretching across the vampire’s face could have been on the cover of a magazine. He flicked his overgrown black bangs out of his face, biting down on his plump lower lip with a sharpened fang. Contrary to the chilly weather, all he wore was a loosely buttoned, thin white shirt, revealing a large strip of his pale bare chest. 

“Jimin, don’t get carried away like last time. You’re always breaking your toys,” One of the others, leaning against a stone column, picked his nails while tsking. That particular vampire wouldn’t even spare her a glance, his wavy dark hair curtaining his face. While his body was lean, hands were extremely weathered compared to the rest of his smooth, pushing-30-years-old complexion. 

Knees wobbling from that remark, the third vampire, who was eyeing every inch of her thoughtfully, noticed the movement with a slight smirk and a narrowing of his feline-like eyes. 

“Aw, that wasn’t my fault, Hoseok. Don’t listen to him, little dove! We’re going to have fun together,” Jimin, evidently, pouted, but the effect didn’t soothe her when she saw a psychotic glint reflected in his irises. “Ugh, I hate traveling. I hope there’s wine in my room…” 

Jimin winked at her as he slunk inside. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok, the most casually dressed so far in a simple dark turtleneck, trailed after, Y/N noticing how sharply cut his jawline was and the geometrically perfect way his nose turned up into the air. 

“Master Yoongi, is there anything I can get for you before you resume painting?” Edmund cleared his throat, the long-haired vampire finally stopped smirking at Y/N, shaking his head silently. As soon as Yoongi stopped looking at her, she felt like she could breathe again, her fingertips twitching. “We’ve purchased fresh oil paints, as per your request.”

Wordessly, Yoongi was in her presence at once, and the next, with a blur, he was gone. 

“Vampiric speed,” Edmund murmured, Y/N swallowing thickly. She had forgotten that not only did they have individual powers, but they had strength and speed, as well. Only two more to go– Taehyung and the mind reader, Jeongguk. “You’re doing well.”

The driver of the second car that had pulled into the driveway, the black sedan, finally cut the engine. The second SUV, the first of which belonged to Hoseok, had long since been turned off but no one emerged from it. 

“Master Taehyung typically likes to take a walk around the grounds after returning from business. Here, however, is Master Jeongguk,” Edmund schooled his features, him and Y/N robotically bowing at the final vampire she was to greet. The mind reader. 

“Hello,” Y/N blurted impulsively, much to her chagrin. The youngest vampire appeared to be around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and besides his ghostly complexion and red eyes, Jeongguk looked remarkably like a human man– perhaps like Joseph, but far more muscular. 

“Edmund, I’m assuming this human is the AB- acolyte?” Jeongguk completely ignored Y/N, which had humiliation pulsing through her body painfully. “Let’s see, you. Look at me.”

Y/N froze, Jeongguk stooping to make his face completely level with Y/N’s. Suddenly, the grip she thought she had on her thoughts melted away into nothing, and she got lost in the doelike quality of the youngest vampire’s eyes. 

“Typical, Edmund. Warning her about us? All you did was terrify her,” Jeongguk murmured, his youthful voice but a coo. Y/N knew not to trust it, especially when his chilled index finger jabbed into her cheek. “Who’s Joseph, AB-? A lover from the Sanctuary?”

Y/N’s tongue turned to stone in her mouth. Like his covenmates, Jeongguk was extremely handsome, but taunted her coldly. Luckily, she had motor function, shaking her head in the slightest. Tongue probing into the meat of his cheek, Jeongguk stood to his full height, the dark brown trench coat he was wearing hiding just how truly large he was. 

“You’re fortunate you’re the only butler available to us. Your head would be on a pike, if it were up to me,” Jeongguk, in a mild tone, addressed Edmund, who simply looked at the vampire placidly. 

“Yes, sir,” Edmund took a leather bag from the vampire, Y/N unable to believe how easy it was for Jeongguk to enter her mind– her memories pulled from her mind to his in hazy flashes that had her skull throbbing. 

“Y/N,” she flinched when Jeongguk addressed her by name, whipping her head around to watch him stalk up the stairs behind her, wearing a murderous smirk. “Wear something pretty to dinner, alright?”

Acid began to crawl up her throat, and when Jeongguk disappeared in almost a mist, Edmund placed a grandfatherly-like hand on her upper arm. 

“Relax now, Y/N. You did well. Very well. You won’t see any of them until dinner. Returning to your bedroom for now would be wise, Nadia will help prepare you for the meal,” Edmund whispered, gripping Jeongguk’s bag in one of his hands. “Head in, child. You’ve been in the cold long enough. Soak up the warmth, while you can.”

It was a miracle that Y/N didn’t make deep dents in the carpet of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. Escorted to her room after meeting six out of the seven vampires, Y/N was left to her own devices that afternoon. Nadia had left her a stack of books to entertain herself before dinner, Y/N thinking that she’d rather swallow shattered glass than sit at a table with the monsters. 

Halting, Y/N stood in front of one of the windows, hands coming up to brace herself on the windowsill. The ocean was choppy thanks to a biting wind blowing in from the North, the color of it almost black. Was it too late for her to jump off of the cliff? If she made a run for it, would anyone catch her before she could fall to her merciful death?

Eyes glazed over, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Suddenly and inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, like a cold draft of air swept through the room. Ears picking up movement, Y/N spun around, a startled yelp coming from her mouth at the sight of the figure at her door. One of the vampires actually sought her out, lazily trailing his crimson eyes up and down her form. Tripping backwards, Y/N’s back was pressed into the icy windowpane. The vampire boldly stepping into the light, Y/N realized who it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Be careful, little dove. It would be a shame if you fell through the glass and cracked that skull of yours open before we even had a chance to play,” Jimin teased, though the taunt was far from an innocent jest. 

“W-wha–”

“I said, careful. Think about how to speak to me before you stutter out something disrespectful,” Jimin sneered, crossing the room in a split second. Flinching, his face was mere inches from hers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His eyes, while certainly red, were sort of a dulled tone, and there was nothing good-natured about his expression at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking. Jimin seemed to accept the apology, tsking and backing up a degree. Y/N forced herself to remain calm, the vampire pushing up the sleeves to his blouse. His chest was even more exposed than it was before, his muscles seemingly carved from white marble.

“That’s better, dove,” Jimin hummed, falsely sweet. “You can’t wear those rags to dinner. Juliana!”

Jimin’s voice was sing-songy, the vampire putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently. Swallowing with great unease, Y/N’s palms were slick as she held onto the windowsill. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps flooded into the room, Y/N’s fright easing a degree when Juliana and several other maids joined her and the vampire in the bedroom. At once, Y/N’s eyes went owlishly wide, each of the maids carrying brightly colored gowns, stacks of velvet boxes, and more pairs of shoes than she could count. 

“The latest fashions… Chanel and Dior, Cartier jewelry. Fashion design has come a long way these last few centuries– not bad for a bunch of humans,” Jimin seemed like he was talking to himself, plucking a heavy looking necklace up from the open case Juliana was holding. Y/N still couldn’t get over the childlike lilt to his voice, paired with the unsettling confidence he carried, cautiously returning eye-contact when he sauntered towards her. 

“Dressing your new doll, Jimin?” Hoseok appeared in the doorway, Jimin still entirely focused on getting Y/N pinned to the window. The older vampire had a bottle of liquor in his grasp, an amused smirk on his face. Y/N felt ill. 

“Rubies suit her, don’t you think, Hoseok?” Jimin bit down on his lip with a fang, like he did earlier. Then, his voice took on a silky tone, an index finger curling in her direction. “Come here, dove.”

Y/N didn’t want to comply, but after nearly a heartbeat, everything in her body was telling her that it was okay, more than okay, to get close to Jimin. She wanted to, needed him, it felt like she could hardly breathe. In a darkened corner of her mind, Y/N’s rational self realized Jimin was using Hypnosis on her, and there was nothing she could do to resist his his call. Moving on autopilot, Y/N almost stumbled over her feet to close the distance between herself and the vampire. 

With a satisfied, wicked grin, Jimin tilted his head, looking down at her through his dark lashes. Spellbound by his presence– how had Y/N gone her entire life without him? Unprompted, she gathered her hair up and held it over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the vampire. Excitement flashed through her when Jimin licked his lips, and when his chilly fingers traced along a fluttering vein by the base of her throat, Y/N squirmed in delight. So removed from herself, as if in a trance, she obediently stayed still as Jimin clasped the necklace around her throat. Past the haze, she could hear an amused snort coming from Hoseok watching by the doorframe. 

“Isn’t that nice?” Jimin hummed, adjusting the jewelry so it sat perfectly on her clavicle. Boldly, he tugged at the neckline of her sweater, exposing more of her skin, the strength in his touch stretching out the flimsy wool with ease. 

“Very obedient, pet. Juliana, get her ready for dinner,” Hoseok snarked, taking a swig from his liquor. 

Slowly, like roots of a tree pulling up from the earth, the influence Jimin had over her mind and body untangled from her being with a deep ache. Different from the throbbing, disorienting pain that filled her brain when Jeongguk infiltrated her thoughts, Jimin’s affect gripped her entire being as if her bone marrow was bruising. With a whimper, Y/N staggered to the side, Juliana promptly righting her by one of her arms. Jimin had used his vampiric speed to join Hoseok at the door, winking at Y/N trying to catch her breath. 

“Here, Katie. Make the human a pre-dinner cocktail. She looks like she’s going to suffer from a paranoid break. I abhor hysterics,” Hoseok loudly placed his glass bottle of booze on one of Y/N’s nightstands, addressing an older woman who was holding several silky dresses in her arms. 

With that, the two vampires shut the door behind themselves, the sounds of their expensive shoes marching down the hallway, leaving Y/N to figure out what just happened. The necklace around her throat felt like a ten-pound weight, and if the room wasn’t full of maids who acted like nothing happened, she would have ripped it off and pelted it at the bedroom door. Noise buzzing around her, rustling of skirts, the only thing that kept her on her feet was Juliana’s arm slung around her lower back. 

“Alright, Miss, let’s get started on your bath,” Juliana said airily, Y/N feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, which she hurriedly swept away with her sweater sleeve before anyone caught it. “I have the most lovely hairstyle in mind for you. Master Jimin seemed to like that necklace on you, so we’ll pick something red to go with it.”

Y/N was astonished. Juliana was in the room when that whole interaction happened, was she not? Did she not see how Jimin hypnotized her, and was she not disturbed by it? Perhaps it was something only Y/N and the two vampires could sense happening, but Y/N had never felt more vulnerable and alone. Hollowly, she let Juliana herd her into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat, she wasn’t fully listening to the maid, tracing her fingers over the polished stones around her neck. 

“The chefs have been working so hard today on the meal, it’s going to be wonderful, Miss Y/N! I helped the executive chef select ingredients at the finest market in town,” Juliana tested the water coming from the bathtub’s tap, pouring various vials into the water. “I picked up some moisturizing rose oils, bubbles, and powdered milk for the bath. I even managed to find dried flowers, which is rare for this time of year. Come, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“H-huh?” Y/N squeaked, not wanting to strip her clothes off in front of somebody else. 

“It’s quite alright, Miss. We’re your personal maids, there is no reason to be bashful,” Juliana insisted, keeping her eyes low, but helping Y/N to her feet. Too afraid to protest, Y/N stood statue-still as the maid carefully removed the necklace Jimin put on her and handed it off to another nameless maid. “Have you ever heard of a spa day? Think of it as that!”

“Spa day?” Y/N repeated stupidly, blushing furiously when she was left in just her brassier and the scrap they called underwear. Juliana turned, allowing Y/N to remove her undergarments and get into the mass of perfumed bubbles piling up in the tub. “Never heard of that… is that a holiday?”

“No, Miss,” Juliana giggled, her cheeks pink with merriment. “You’ll just enjoy some beauty treatments. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to do things like this, so you’ll have to forgive us if we go overboard with spoiling you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word for how Y/N felt. At that point, she was going to get whiplash from being treated like a princess by the staff at one moment, and like a toy by the vampires the next. Bitterly, Y/N came up with the hypothesis that the reasons she was getting ‘spoiled’ was either out of pity, or that the vampires wanted their toy shiny and flawless. Katie, the older maid from before, appeared with a crystal glass filled with some kind of bubbling liquid, a slice of a blood-red orange floating amongst real ice cubes.

“As per Master Hoseok’s request, Miss. It’s a blood orange rum sour, his favorite,” Katie slightly bowed, a wisp of gray hair falling from her low bun. Alarm bells went off in Y/N’s head. 

“Blood?” 

“It simply refers to the color and variety of the citrus, dear. Not actual blood,” Katie’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Y/N took a sniff of the drink, recoiling slightly at the burn in her nostrils. She knew it was alcohol– something she never tried before. 

“Alcohol isn’t allowed at the Sanctuary. They tell us it’s bad for acolytes,” Y/N felt like a lamb going up for slaughter, unsure and anxious. Warm water was being poured down her back from a cup, where Juliana was slowly soaking the strands of her hair to wash, and it made her shiver. 

“Well, dear, you’re here now. You may drink as much as you or the Masters deem suitable,” Katie bowed again, whisking away back into Y/N’s bedroom to select her dinner outfit. 

If she knew anything about alcohol, it was that it had the ability to steel one’s nerves. Which was something she desperately needed- so bravely, her eyes fluttered shut and she took a hearty swig of the cocktail. The first thing that washed over her palate was bright, juicy citrus, but when she swallowed, the burn of alcohol made the contents of her stomach sting. Grimacing, she willed herself to drain the glass, wondering when she’d feel the effects. Gut boiling, she kept her eyes shut as Juliana worked shampoo into her hair. 

“You have such pretty hair, Miss Y/N,” Juliana complimented, Y/N’s cheeks hot– not just from the compliment. A haze, a pleasant one, had her humming. Was it the way Juliana was massaging her temples, or was it the booze flooding through her system? “Anything else we can get you? Another drink?”

“Okay?” Y/N replied, just a tad bit more comfortable with asking for things. Juliana called out for Katie while she rinsed Y/N’s hair, the warm water making her sigh. 

And when she had another drink in her hand, Juliana wrapping a hot towel around her conditioned hair and a third nameless maid using a sandy scrub to slough off flakiness from her years-neglected skin, Y/N started to feel giddy. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad– being pampered sure was nice, and Y/N had always been strong-willed. Edmund was right, earlier; the vampires needed her alive, so they wouldn’t dare kill her. To Y/N’s knowledge, there wasn’t another human in the nearest Sanctuaries with blood as rare as hers. 

It was like she could feel her backbone growing, only peeling one of her eyes open when something odd was gliding up her legs. Cocking her eyebrow curiously, she watched the third maid– Mei– use a razor to shave downy hair from her legs. Strange. 

When she was sufficiently scrubbed, shaved, and presented with oil and lotion to apply, Y/N was left in the bathroom to dry off and slide into a terry cloth robe. Wobbling a little when she got out of the tub, Y/N giggled as she slathered herself with a floral scented lotion, her legs foreignly baby-soft. The cocktails were certainly doing their job, Y/N pinching her cheeks in the mirror and fixing a determined look on her face.

She was always the brave one amongst herself, Meredith, and Joseph. Why should she dissolve into a puddle of helplessness and meek responses? Even though she was being made over into a perfect angel for a group of demons, she held significant power. She didn’t need the coven to survive, but they did. 

With renewed courage, Y/N returned to her bedroom. That time, only Nadia and Juliana remained, both of them waiting for her by the old vanity that was littered with appliances, jewelry, and cosmetics. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a burnt orange over the silver ocean.

“How’re you feeling?” Nadia smiled at her through the mirror when Y/N sunk down onto the stool, Y/N returning the expression. She thought that might have been the first time she smiled in the previous 24 hours. 

“Relaxed,” Y/N answered honestly, sitting still while Nadia worked a silky product through her hair. Juliana, however, began selecting various powders and tubes and comparing them to Y/N’s complexion with a concentrated pout. 

“Fantastic! I’m pleased to hear,” Nadia seemed to glow, like it was her life’s duty to pamper and please Y/N. 

Lapsing into silence, Y/N stared at her reflection while Juliana began to dust her face with powder, and Nadia fired up a device that seemed to dry her hair. Buzzed, she watched the two maids make her up into a princess that Y/N used to read about with Meredith, her unruly hair manipulated into a pretty style, shimmering ruby gloss being painted across her lips. 

Once the ‘hair dryer’ was switched off, Y/N dared to ask a question that popped into her mind when she got to the bottom of her second cocktail in the bath. Rolling back her shoulders, she got Nadia’s attention while she was sliding a sparkly hair clip into Y/N’s hair. When the query left her lips, both of her maids' expressions went from merry to grim– which wasn’t encouraging.

“Nadia, what happened to the coven’s previous donor?” 

“Where is the human sitting?” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, a dull ache all over his body. It had been too long since he had fed on human blood, and his immortal body was feeling the deprivation. “Might I suggest… not next to Jimin?”

“Why, do you want that little girl at your side instead?” Seokjin hardly looked up from the documents he was signing, already seated at the head of the dining room table. “You’re not the greedy type, Yoongi. Leave that to Hoseok.”

Yoongi curled up his lip into a snarl, but would not offer a retort to the elder vampire. Really, the only one who had the balls and Seokjin’s grace to allow challenging was Namjoon. With a sigh, Yoongi took his usual seat, his fangs aching. Since they returned to the estate, the scent of AB- blood intensified Yoongi’s longing to have a taste of that sample the coven received earlier in the week. Idly, he traced the veins on the back of his hand– usually pale blue, but with the lack of blood flowing through his system, they were nearly dark gray. 

“Which documents are those?”

“From the UN. They want us to sit in on an Assembly in December,” Seokjin sounded terribly bored, mostly because he was to death. Another human war he’d have to offer expertise on, expertise that would probably be ignored. After all, Seokjin and his covenmates were really only invited out of fear. 

“What a pain in the ass,” Hoseok arrived at the table, collapsing onto the seat beside Yoongi. Kicking his feet up on the polished table, narrowly missing the china that was set there, Seokjin’s pen-scratching stopped. “I hate New York City. Filthy place. Should have burned it down when I still had my ship.”

“Was New York even established when you still had a ship, Captain Morgan?” Seokjin snarked, staring once pointedly at the bottle of rum in Hoseok’s hand, and then at his boots on the table. “Put your feet down, now.”

Hoseok rolled his rust-colored eyes but obeyed, knowing not to anger Seokjin unless he wanted Namjoon to use his ‘gift’ on him. Taking a swig of the rum, Hoseok frowned– the longer he went without human blood, the duller his taste buds got. He only tasted a flat note of cinnamon, not even the sting of the liquor. Hopefully, he’d get a taste of the mousy acolyte that night. 

Snapping his fingers sharply, a staff member appeared out of the shadows to take the signed documents from Seokjin. With mild annoyance, he checked his watch for the time; he told Nadia, the human’s maid, to have the girl at the dinner table at 8 PM sharp. Nadia still had ten minutes before her life was in danger. Seokjin couldn’t stand humans who couldn’t follow simple directions. 

“Is twelve courses really necessary? We’ll be here for hours,” Hoseok complained, mostly because he’d have to hear the chefs drone on and on about the ingredients of each dish and the beverage pairing that went with it. 

“You saw how pathetically frail that human was. If she is to serve us, she needs to gain weight,” Namjoon thundered into the room, his tread heavy and confident. He sat closest to Seokjin, on the left, his expression made of stone. Again, Hoseok rolled his eyes. 

“I agree. With just a few gulps, I could drain the little dove dry,” a melodious voice joined the conversation, Jimin giggling when he sunk into his chair just across from Namjoon. Annoyed with the buttons on his shirt, Jimin tugged the last one free, letting both sides of the garment hang loose. 

Namjoon set his jaw in warning, already bracing himself for how insufferable Jimin would become with the arrival of the girl. Namjoon thought it was beneath him to interact with humans unless necessary, while Jimin preferred to see just how far he could push them. Jimin simply grinned back at Namjoon, slow and seductive, a muscle pulsing in the elder vampire’s cheek. 

“Control yourself, Jimin. You’re on thin ice,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice airy and high. His voice had even forced Namjoon somewhat stiff. “Taehyung, have you contacted Berwind?”

The owner of the estate the coven currently called home made his entrance, still in his tweed suit from earlier. Taehyung looked exactly like he did in the portrait of himself hanging above the grand staircase. It’s like time, for Taehyung, stopped in 1869. 

“Wait, why?” Hoseok straightened up, with distaste on his face when Taehyung took the opposite head of the table– across from Seokjin. “That guy is a blowhard.”

“Well, the blowhard might be our newest partner for marine affairs. You want a new ship, do you not?” Taehyung pointed out blandly, rubbing the grayish veins over his temples. “We’re going to have to host a party soon. He won’t agree to anything unless we get a selection of acolytes and fine wine.”

“She has five more minutes…” Seokjin murmured to himself, secretly wishing Nadia would give him an excuse to blow off steam. “Where is Jeongguk?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat to get Seokjin’s attention, pointing to the door leading into the butler’s pantry. 

Jeongguk emerged, his hands shoved into his pockets as a very sheepish looking set of sous chefs followed him with silver trays. 

“I don’t know why they expected us to eat food when the lack of blood has stolen our sense of taste,” Jeongguk drawled, a chef shakily placing a cordial glass in front of Seokjin. 

It contained the remainder of the AB- sample, the acolyte’s blood. The glass was hardly on the table before Yoongi snatched it up, draining it in one go. Anything to relieve the ache. Even after five hundred years, Yoongi could never get used to the feeling of being starved. 

“So sorry, Masters,” one of the chefs bowed, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing. Normally, he would have broken a limb for the forgetfulness, but he didn’t have it in him that evening. “Hors d'oeuvres will be out momentarily.”

Jeongguk scoffed, glancing curiously when Seokjin started tutting as the youngest vampire began to take his usual spot beside Namjoon. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Leave a space between you and Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin ordered firmly. “The human will sit between you two, lest she decide to flee the table, you two will be able to restrain her swiftly.”

Jimin pouted, his lips stained with the blood he sipped from his cordial glass. Seokjin was about to get up to deal with Nadia failing to follow his order when every vampire in the room paused, clumsy footsteps hurrying in the direction of the dining room. Covered poorly by expensive perfume was the scent of unease, alcohol, and mortal vitality. 

“Cutting it close, Nadia,” Seokjin purred, the maid blushing as she ushered the young acolyte into the dining room. 

The girl, dressed in a velvet ruby cocktail dress, fidgeted with the short hem of the garment while gawking at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her racing pulse was audible and visible; veins fluttering at the base of her throat. 

“I apologize, Master Seokjin. I’m afraid Juliana and I got carried away with dressing Miss Y/N for dinner. It has been a while,” Nadia bowed, the human acolyte flinching when Jimin was abruptly at her side. “Please, enjoy dinner. I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Oh, our little dove! You’re in the Mugler dress, your maids chose so well…. Matches the rubies perfectly,” Jimin cooed while poking the choker around her neck, the rest of the vampires knowing that there was nothing sweet about Jimin’s approval. Jimin, despite the raised brow from Seokjin that was directed towards him, took up one of Y/N’s trembling hands, dragging her further into the room. 

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, intimidated and sounding like she was far from flattered. Jimin delighted in the way her body completely locked up with his touch, her palm slick with perspiration. 

Stumbling in her heels, Y/N had no choice but to be escorted to the table by Jimin, her large eyes widening when she realized who she was to be seated between. Pulling out her chair like a perfect gentleman, Y/N snatched her hand back as soon as she tumbled onto the velvet cushion. Jimin didn’t seem to care, simply smirking, stalking back to his own place at the table. There was a pause, Y/N glancing around the room at both the fine decorations and the vampires, fingers still twitching at her dress hemline. It was likely she hadn’t worn something so revealing before. 

Y/N blinked when her sight landed on one of the heads of the table, the vampire in the portrait on the staircase staring back at her blankly. He looked precisely like he had in the painting, down to the light-colored suit. Sure, his face was a bit more drawn and he was much paler, but it was almost like he stepped out of the canvas like a realm-walker.

Nervously, she peeked to the left, where Namjoon was, the vampire taking a sip of a red liquid from a small glass, his leather gloves still on his large hands. He caught her gaze from the corner of his sharpened eyes, Y/N knowing at once what he was drinking– far too viscous to be wine, too red, it had to be blood. Whose blood it was, exactly, Y/N hoped she’d never know. 

“It’s yours, of course, remnants of the sample. Humans are so dim,” Jeongguk easily read her thoughts, not even having to put in effort to enter her mind. Even with the lack of effort, he could tell Y/N was uncomfortable with him probing around in her skull, the girl wincing and rubbing her forehead. 

“Do not sap her of energy yet, Jeongguk. She must eat so she can be useful,” Seokjin sighed, still tasting her on his tongue. Though she was malnourished, her blood was still the finest he had tasted in centuries. 

“What were they feeding you at that sanctimonious dump, pet?” Hoseok, still lazily slouching, drawled. Y/N hesitated, not knowing whether or not to reply, making Hoseok grow impatient. “Speak when spoken to. Articulate.”

“U-uh, um… organ meats, mostly. Lentils and kale,” Y/N squeaked, her complexion a touch green. 

“Poor little dove. How repulsive,” Jimin pouted, the expression teasing. 

Y/N opened her mouth, fidgeting in her seat, Taehyung watching her mortal movements with fascination– they could never quite sit still. Before she could speak again, squirming under the weight of seven ruby gazes, staff members dressed in suits and white gloves came from the butler’s pantry carrying dishes. One of the staff members was carrying a silver ice-bucket with a bottle of wine, Y/N eagerly waiting for more alcohol to take the edge off. Whatever she had earlier had long since worn off. 

“Good evening, Masters, Miss Y/N,” a man in a chef’s uniform began, standing beside Seokjin at the head of the table. “Tonight’s hors d'oeuvres is oysters rockefeller with Sambuca and garlic-buttered sautéed spinach, paired with Clos des Bouquinardieres Muscadet. Please enjoy.”

Jeongguk laughed when he read Y/N’s mind trying to wrap around unfamiliar words. Rubbing her forehead again, she stared at the odd thing placed in front of her. As someone poured wine for her– to her disappointment, only about an inch of liquid splashing into the glass– she was immensely curious about the seashell placed delicately on a tiny plate, containing something breaded within. 

“Never had seafood before?” Hoseok raised a dark eyebrow, ignoring the oyster and going straight for his wine. 

“This is seafood?” Y/N blurted, Jimin finding her innocence quite entertaining. She was like a young girl he’d write as his heroine in one of his tragedies. Hoseok, however, glared at Y/N’s failure to answer his question. “I’ve just had t-tuna before… M-master Hoseok.”

“Master! Look at that, the pet is already learning her place,” Hoseok’s laugh was boisterous, bouncing off of the great walls, a thin whimper leaving from the back of Y/N’s throat. Namjoon had heard whimpers like that millions of times: pure, involuntary fear. It made him smile behind the rim of his wine glass. 

“Enough. Eat,” Seokjin’s voice was a hiss, plucking up the small fork specifically for shellfish. “Yoongi. I want you to get in touch with some artists in Italy. We’ll invite them here when we host Berwind, you know how much he loves being in the company of talent.”

Yoongi chewed the oyster thoroughly, relieved that he could actually taste the flavor after just a small sip of the acolyte’s blood. All of the painters Yoongi once knew, the ones he actually wished could be present during a party, were long since dead and gone. He’d have to write to modern artists, who would be frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to meet Yoongi. What a bore. 

“I’ve seen Gianluca Traina, his work isn’t half-bad. I can reach out to him and Agostino Iacurci,” Yoongi leaned back, letting a staff member take his plate. His hands itched to paint, loathing that he’d have to sit through eleven more courses. In particular, as he watched the young human girl cautiously raise a fork to her mouth, he wanted to capture how she looked when she tasted a flavor brand-new to her. “They’re no Boticelli or Michelangelo, though.”

“Too bad your mentor wasn’t turned,” Namjoon spoke up, though Yoongi knew Namjoon really didn’t care one way or the other. 

“Da Vinci would have hated the modern age,” Yoongi muttered nonchalantly, Namjoon scoffing at the name-drop. Not that the human would have known who the artist was, Namjoon confirming that she had no idea who Leonardo da Vinci was when she peered at Yoongi vacantly, draining her wine glass with a shaky grip. 

Y/N felt the wine burning in her stomach, stuck between relieved that she was being ignored for the moment and filled with anticipation for the next time the attention would be on her. 

“Next we have the amuse-bouche. Pickled baby beets with herbed goat cheese, candied kumquats and basil chiffon. With it we have Sancerre.”

The chef reappeared, the next small plate and glass of wine placed before Y/N. The food, so far, were like works of art, and Y/N almost felt bad eating it. Especially when she thought about the bland, mushy pile of goo her fellow acolytes at the Sanctuary were picking at while she ate like a queen. 

Mercifully, all the vampires talked about for quite some time was the event they were planning for the following week, and they left Y/N alone. Her guard was not coming down any time soon, so she stayed quiet as a mouse through each course. 

Acorn squash soup garnished with pepitas, purple radish microgreens and sage oil with prosecco. Native lobster, roasted heritage carrots, carrot puree, buttermilk puree, spiced crumb and chardonnay. Kale and brussels sprout salad with maple-candied pecans, honeycrisp apples, pomegranate and lemon vinaigrette with sauvignon blanc. Ingredients, flavors, and textures Y/N never even dreamed of before. By the time she stuffed the last slice of apple from her salad into her mouth, Y/N was already feeling quite satiated, and the wine was dizzying up her head. Or perhaps it was Jeongguk still fishing though her mind. 

“Seven more courses, human. Don’t think you can leave this table before then,” Jeongguk reminded her mildly, her suspicions confirmed. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could grumble at him. 

“Tell me, little girl. Did you spend your entire life in that Sanctuary?” Seokjin asked, curious about how much she knew about vampires. That, and he was concerned about her purity; though judging by her innocence, he didn’t predict that to be too much of a problem. 

“No, Master Seokjin,” Y/N replied, apprehensive towards a round of questioning. 

“Elaborate.”

Swallowing, Y/N glanced down at the fish that was just delivered to her, stomach turning. She found it hard to look at any of the vampires for too long, but Seokjin’s face was so hauntingly beautiful, it hurt to look at. 

“I was brought to the Sanctuary ten years ago, when I was fifteen. I grew up on the outskirts of town and was raised by my grandmother. When she passed away, I drifted until I was caught by wardens who were testing human’s blood types on the street.”

“I’ve noticed those vans around town. Wardens drive them around looking for new acolytes,” Jeongguk remarked helpfully, when Hoseok looked distantly confused. 

“You have the rarest blood type in the world. How is it that you were not immediately sent to a Sanctuary upon your birth? It is the law,” Seokjin was frowning, extremely annoyed. Fifteen years of alluding a system set up so meticulously led him to believe she’d be wayward. 

“I was born off of the grid, not in a hospital. My grandmother faked my blood results later on, when we were visited by Sanctuary wardens,” Y/N spoke softly, too afraid to raise her voice. She didn’t like the sharpened edge to Seokjin’s tone. 

“I don’t understand how an elderly woman could have pulled that off,” Hoseok said, his mouth flattened into a line. “What happened to your parents, pet?”

Y/N flinched, reluctant to give up a vulnerability to the predators. She knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her thoughts, however, with Jeongguk still prying into her head. With the fish cleared away, a roasted chicken was put in front of her– this time, with a glass of red wine. Before answering Hoseok, she sucked down the velvety liquid. 

“My mother died in childbirth, I never knew her. Apparently my father was just a fling, I didn’t know him, either. It was just me and grandma,” Y/N pushed a strand of pasta around on her plate, doodling shapes with the tip of her fork in the creamy sauce. 

“The little dove is an orphan. How tragic,” Jimin’s excitement was paramount. There was nothing he loved more than a heroine with an ill–fated past. Y/N was disturbed by the twinkle in his eyes, barely able to finish the rest of her chicken. 

“Um, it’s alright. You can’t really miss what you never knew,” Y/N spoke impulsively, like she was talking to Joseph or Meredith rather than seven vampires who were effectively perfect, lethal strangers. 

“Adorable,” Jimin gushed, licking his lips. Yoongi, beside Jimin, pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Jimin’s theatrics. It came naturally to Jimin, being a writer of dramas and screenplays, so Yoongi couldn’t actually fault him for it, but it was dreadful to withstand. 

Blood rushed to Y/N’s face, the three youngest vampires in the dining room becoming coiled and ready to pounce. Seokjin simply held up his hand disinterestedly, a silent order for the fledglings to get control of themselves.

“Oh! What’s this?” Y/N had become incredibly loosened up thanks to the seven various wines she tasted over the course of the evening, cocking her head at the small silver dish placed in front of her. 

“Miss, it’s a lime sorbet with mint to cleanse the palate before the second main course,” A staff member poured a bubbly wine into a skinny flute for her, presenting a miniature spoon for Y/N to use.

“Sor-bet…” Y/N repeated slowly, scooping up some of the treat, the iciness washing over her tongue bizarre and making her audibly exclaim. A frozen sweet wasn’t something she was able to have at the Sanctuary, and it brought a tear to her eye. 

“They brought out the Dom Perignon, what do they think, we have the Pope here?” Hoseok lifted his champagne flute to his face, watching the bubbles dance in the glass. 

“Is it expensive?” Y/N dared to ask, a distant part of her screaming to shut up. Hoseok’s expression darkened when she addressed him, so she instantly corrected herself. “Master Hoseok.”

“Taehyung will only drink expensive wines. That champagne you so hastily gulped down is the most expensive vintage wine that money can buy, pet,” Hoseok smirked, Y/N becoming embarrassed that she did, in fact, knock the drink back.

“You paint me as a snob,” Taehyung frowned, earning a dry chuckle from Jeongguk. 

“Take a look around this place, for Christ’s sake. Of course you’re a snob,” Jeongguk remarked, gesturing around the lavish dining room they were seated in.

Y/N was positively stuffed. In fact, she clasped a hand over her mouth when a rack of lamb and rice replaced her empty sorbet dish, not wanting to eat another bite. She felt if she did, the velvet dress she was in would rip open. 

“You will eat it all,” Seokjin barked when Y/N made no motion to pick up her fork, the sound making her flinch into Namjoon’s thick shoulder. The vampire stiffened, a disgusted look on his face, Y/N’s skin flashing with heat. “You will eat it, or I’ll allow Jimin to go over there and force-feed you.”

That threat terrified Y/N, Jimin’s grin widening when she caught his eye. Without another second spared, Y/N began cutting through the meat, much to Jimin’s disappointment. With a bereft sigh, Jimin leaned on his elbows, craving some trouble he could stir up. 

Diligently, Y/N picked her way through the final courses, nearly gagging on the rich chocolate truffles that ended the meal. She was laughed at again– that time by Hoseok, when she asked if she could really eat the ‘gold leaf’ dusted on top of the dessert. The final drink that was offered was an espresso ‘martini’, which is what careened Y/N out of tipsiness and straight into dizzy intoxication. Giggling for no particular reason, Y/N started folding her napkin into different shapes, forgetting who her company was. 

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she?” Jimin held his face in his hands, ravenous even though he had plenty of human food in his stomach. 

“Those words are familiar,” Jeongguk deadpanned, Yoongi spotting where things were going a mile away. 

“I bet she’d look pretty all drained, too. Like the last girl,” Jimin’s voice was dreamy, and it was fortunate that Y/N was too distracted by her cocktail to pick up on what he was going on about. 

“Watch it,” Jeongguk warned, not wanting to end the evening with Jimin’s dramatics.

“Oh, come now, Jeongguk… don’t you want to pin her down, fangs in her throat?” Venom flooded into Jimin’s mouth, watching Y/N’s pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “We could always find another, too, after we drain her. You take a wrist, I’ll–”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupted quietly, looking up towards the chandelier. The whole table went silent, Jimin’s mouth slamming shut, regret all over his sculpted face. With a grunt, Namjoon stood from his seat, slowly stalking around the table. 

Y/N’s attention towards the vampires was recaptured when she noticed Namjoon, eyes dark and determined, approaching Jimin. The silence deafening, Y/N watched curiously when Namjoon bent low, face close to Jimin’s. Even Y/N could sense Jimin’s fear, and it made her instantly nauseous. 

Namjoon gripped Jimin’s sculpted jaw, his gloved hands rough against Jimin’s skin, and for a moment, Y/N thought Namjoon was going to kiss the younger vampire. Narrowing his eyes, Namjoon squeezed Jimin’s jaw, Jimin going absolutely rigid when they made eye contact, the martini glass Jimin was holding shattering in his grasp. Horrified, Y/N watched Jimin shake, eyebrows scrunched up in agony, and she realized Namjoon was using his ‘gift’ on Jimin. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it was terrifying that he could inflict so much pain on even a vampire. 

“Enough,” Seokjin called, Namjoon releasing Jimin’s jaw at once, and the younger vampire gasped for breath, his body sagging over the table. “I told you you were on thin ice, Jimin.”

“Sorry,” Jimin heaved, only apologetic because he had to suffer from Namjoon’s Pain Illusion. The sensation of being burned alive was unbearable, but he didn’t regret what he said. Besides, it was trouble that he was craving earlier. 

“No you’re not,” Namjoon hissed, Y/N unable to process how scary Namjoon looked, standing beside Seokjin with his arms crossed. Y/N swore to herself, in that very moment, she would do everything in her power to avoid Namjoon using Pain Illusion on her. 

“Can we wrap this evening up now?” Yoongi asked, peeved. He wanted to isolate, to paint.  

“Not yet,” Seokjin twirled an empty wine glass contemplatively, his eyes then on Y/N. “Come here, little girl.”

“W-what? Why?” Y/N asked with dread, still nauseous. Seokjin clicked his tongue, agitated. 

Come here, little girl.

That time, Seokjin’s voice was in her head rather than out loud. Forgetting that he could use Compulsion, she felt her skin crawling hearing his dulcet tones inside of her head. Staring at her expectantly, Y/N was frozen in her seat. Seokjin snapped his fingers, and Namjoon rounded the table again, hooking one of his gloved hands under Y/N’s bicep. Roughly hauling her to her feet, she was effectively dragged to the head of the table, Y/N starting to hyperventilate and panic. Namjoon’s grip was bruising, her skin smarting when he let her go. 

Sit. 

Seokjin’s voice in her mind was firm and authoritative, spreading his legs expectantly. Y/N’s eyes bugged out of her head– there was no way on God’s green planet she was sitting on that vampire’s lap. Still borderline hysterical, she did the only thing she could think of: beg and plead. 

“P-please, please. Don’t hurt me,” Y/N had a tear running down her cheek, Seokjin’s expression hardening at the sight. 

Sit down.

Suddenly, Y/N’s spine went rigid. Seokjin’s mental suggestion didn’t seem so bad, then. Even though she was still crying and breathing heavily, her body moved on its own, lowering herself onto one of Seokjin’s thighs. The power of his suggestion, his Compulsion, was impossible to override, so embarrassingly, she was perched on Seokjin’s lap. The vampire curled a hand around her waist, his hold ironclad, to keep her in place. Panic setting in further, Y/N continued to beg the eldest vampire pathetically. 

“Please, I’m begging you,” Y/N whimpered, Seokjin setting his wine glass down and tracing his fingers over a steak knife beside it. 

“Jeongguk, Taehyung,” Seokjin sighed, exhausted. The little girl was proving to be difficult, so he’d need some persuasion to keep her quiet. Confused, Y/N looked at Jeongguk, more tears slipping down her face when she felt him worming her way into her memories. 

“I do not know if you’re aware how a coven operates…” Seokjin began, Y/N finding it hard to focus on his voice while Jeongguk was in her head. “But as the head of the coven, I must be the first to bite you. However, my covenmates… they’re starving.”

Chest heaving, Y/N hated the sturdy feeling of Seokjin’s chest pressed against her back. He was cold, plucking up the steak knife and totally indifferent to her hysteria. 

“Y/N, it’s okay!” A familiar, cheery voice had her head snapping in an opposite direction, pure amazement washing over her at the sight of the person across the table. 

It was Joseph, from the Sanctuary, dressed in his usual white linens and grinning at her. The sight of him had her tears drying up, even if she had no idea how her friend had gotten there. She didn’t even notice he had taken the spot that Taehyung once sat in. 

What Y/N wasn’t aware of was how Joseph managed to arrive at The Breakers. It was simple: Jeongguk found memories of Joseph in the acolyte’s mind, Seokjin pried the image of Joseph from Jeongguk’s report, and sent it to Taehyung, who then Glamored himself as the acolyte’s friend. The visual of her former friend was enough to have Y/N calming down somewhat, Taehyung keeping up the act by using words that ‘Joseph’ would. 

“I bet that meal was a lot better than the Sanctuary slop. We had canned tuna tonight.”

“Joey? How did you get here?” Y/N breathed, watching Joseph (Taehyung) push a hand through his dark curls, one of his common habits. 

You are going to be calm while I do this. 

Seokjin’s voice, a siren’s call in her brain, told her. She wasn’t entirely focused on the vampire whose lap she was sitting in, hardly aware that he was holding onto her wrist with a cold hand. All of her panic went away instantly, melting on Seokjin’s lap, limp for him. 

“Just visiting. Actually, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Joseph replied, Taehyung wondering just how close the two of them were as he saw Y/N through Joseph’s eyes. 

“I-I guess?” Y/N answered, still staring at her friend in disbelief. She froze when she felt something cold and sharp against her wrist, looking down to see that Seokjin had the steak knife against her skin. “Wait, what are you–”

“Y/N, I think you’ll be happy!” Her friend interrupted, distracting her. Taehyung inwardly smirked at how easy it was to fool her. 

“H-how? Ah!” Y/N yelped, Seokjin dragging the knife’s blade across her flesh, cutting into the skin. A three inch long gash was created, blood immediately spilling down her palm, Y/N out-of-body when Seokjin placed her wrist over the empty wine glass. 

“Look at me, Y/N. It’s alright. Hey, remember when we used to weed the garden together and see who could pull out the most dandelions?” 

“Uh-huh,” Y/N’s voice was far away, somehow relaxed in Seokjin’s arms and talking to her friend even though her wrist was just slit. Joseph was right, it was alright, everything was okay, and she’d be fine. “You’d always win.”

“That’s right, squirt. You could never beat me.”

His nickname for her had a stab of pain rocking through her. It really was Joseph!

“J-joey,” Y/N began, feeling lightheaded from the blood flowing from the gash on her wrist. “What were you trying to tell me when they took me away?”

Joseph seemed puzzled, Taehyung unfortunately not having an answer. Thinking on his feet, he composed himself, leaning forward, and came up with a response the girl would likely be satisfied with. 

“Oh, I said that I’d write to you every week. That I’d never forget you.”

Y/N didn’t reply, her expression wiping blank. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Surprisingly, Jeongguk couldn’t even decipher what she was thinking when he probed into her skull. All he felt coming from the girl was deep remorse. 

Then, Seokjin lifted her wrist again. Trembling, she turned to get a look at his perfect face, gasping sharply when the vampire brought her hand close to his face. Full lips parting, his tongue dragged along the cut he made on her wrist, and Y/N gawked in awe as she watched Seokjin’s eye color go from rusty to deep, dark red. 

“Vampire venom can cauterize wounds,” Taehyung’s low voice rang out, and when Y/N turned her head, Joseph was gone and Taehyung had returned to his seat. It was then that she realized she had been deceived, and her heart dropped. Joseph was never truly there, it was Taehyung Glamoring himself to make her docile. 

“Pass it around,” Seokjin spoke from behind her, his grip likely leaving a deep bruise on the small of her waist while Namjoon reached for the wine glass– nearly full to the brim with her blood. 

With horror, Y/N watched Namjoon take a deep gulp from the glass, color returning to his skin which took on a golden tone. His eyes, too, became richer in color, and in a daze, Y/N was still as the glass made its way around the table, each of the vampires seemingly coming back to life as soon as her blood touched their lips. 

Stay still, little girl. 

Seokjin, still ordering her around mentally, started to gather her hair in one of his fists, pushing it over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Helplessly, all Y/N could do was squeeze her eyes shut, knowing what was coming. 

A pair of cold, but plush, lips parted against her throat, the eldest vampire collecting her in his arms firmly as razor-sharp fangs brushed her skin. Gripping the edge of the dining table, she shrieked when she felt Seokjin’s fangs sink into her neck. 

There was a stinging sensation– probably the venom– but a head-to-toe pain flooded through her all at once. It was repulsive to feel Seokjin’s temperature immediately heat up, his chest becoming warm like a human’s, all because of her blood flowing into his mouth. Unable to move due to his supernatural strength keeping her caged, she felt hot tears pouring down her cheeks while Seokjin latched onto her. The recognizable sensation of blood leaving her body, the sensation she hated more than anything, was intensified now that it was literally being sucked out of her. 

“Please,” Y/N wheezed, broken. Everything was spinning, and her vision was dimming. 

Finally, Seokjin’s fangs retracted, the girl like a rag doll in his lap when he used his tongue to stop the bite from bleeding further. Though she was slight, simple, and weak, her blood was life-giving, and some of the best blood he had ever tasted. The emotion he was feeling, using the back of his hand to clean up the trail of blood dripping down his chin, was comparable to human amazement that he hadn’t felt for over eight hundred years. 

Y/N was completely shaken. Over the course of several minutes, she was manhandled and maimed, deceived and manipulated, and bitten. It was more horrible than she ever could have imagined, her head fuzzy and the side of her throat throbbing painfully. 

Get up. 

Seokjin’s voice haunted her, and she never wanted to hear it again. She knew, however, it was just the beginning of him residing in her mind, and it made her want to use the bloodied steak knife he used on her to cut her own throat. His mental suggestion was so powerful that she actually ended up struggling to her feet, finally out of the eldest vampire’s proximity. 

“What did I tell you all? She’s a good little pet,” Hoseok, the picture of vitality with her blood in his system, chuckled, Y/N’s knees buckling before she collapsed on the floor. 

Taglist; @hanmyjisung @kiki-zb @hemmofluke @lovelyglares @honsoolfilter @kaeya91 @alessiamalfoyzabini @wisejudgepandafan @yoongtism @moonj-oon @melidramatic7 @the-theban-script @cryingnotcrying @m00njinnie @maeveontherun @tinybasementmaker-blog @jasmin-loves-k-pop @justlikecrazy @neverthefirstchoice @chibimanda @kayways @adoreyou976 @darkpuppysuit @mischieviouscassie @monkeytime3474 @asillyduck15 @a2zure @oopscoop @ellaints @artfrhe @trustfratedjin @lightwxodd @drenix004 @xicanacorpse @mar-lo @ancagab16 @imnotsleepyo__o @yxmer @levislifeline @susi-199 @bratalicious777 @lilacdreams-00 @tnafzi @miniminaa1412 @sassy-snassy @lilyalone @butterymin @dearbambideer @mar-lo-pap @chxmachxps @mxymii @wiredlifee @dachshunddame @1lykk1tts @opalturtle @nikkiordonez12 @justagirlinlovewithsevenboys @deemiin10 @yoonepilogue @7angelsinthiscruelworld

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[kedsandtubesocks]

Mr. Winter

Santa!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you wrote that letter to Santa as a joke (knowing he obviously wouldn’t answer it) until he does - and he comes with a proposition

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, marriage of convenience, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is older), yearning, fluff with light angst, grumpy but sweetheart!Joel, caregiver!Joel with slight sugar daddy!Joel vibes, brief moments of dealing with toxic family, Joel lifts reader once with his Santa strength, spicy thoughts, heavy making out, fingering, glove & finger sucking, use of “good girl,” Joel’s dirty talk & referring to himself as “old man,” one light ass smack, reader wears lingerie, Santa!kink (?), use of gendered language

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: yeah… hi lol this is heavily influenced and based off “The Santa Clause” films but you don’t need to know those to read - biggest thank you to my favorite enablers & Santa’s cutest helpers @pedgito & @hauntedhowlett ily…also happy holidays, if you’re reading this I can’t thank you enough & hope a little magic comes your way ♡ divider credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics

You wrote the dumb letter at the end of the semester class party. You’re thankful everyone decided to write papers instead of having a final, a grad school blessing, which meant class was done by the last week of November. Your professor even had set up the cutest Letters to Santa Station, and your friend begged you to write one with her.

So you did.

And you jokingly asked Santa for one thing - to send you a boyfriend.

Of course you know the big guy isn’t real and wouldn’t ever answer. It’s why you didn’t think much of it.

But now, if there’s any hope Santa could be real, you wonder if maybe he could just grant you one small wish…

You’re happy for your best friend, you truly are. Her wedding reception is beautiful, you just need a moment.

It finally hit you that you’re the last of your friend group not married. And as the cozy colder winter days bring in the couples closer during the slow song, you simply take a moment outside to collect yourself.

The once warmed spiked hot chocolate you’ve been enjoying now sits cold, not so festive.

Someone calls to you, says your name in a thick southern molasses smooth accent you don’t recognize.

Turning to the door, you definitely don’t know who this man is because you would have remembered someone this stunning.

Dressed down in some jeans and a sharp looking blazer, there’s almost a cowboy like air to this man. Rugged, older with lovely streaks of wrinkles and shining grey hair, a gorgeous sharp hawk nose, and dark as the deep earth eyes stare at you - he’s flat out gorgeous.

“Got your letter.” He cryptically announces, and confusion clusters in you.

This handsome stranger lifts up the overly festive candy cane colored envelope, the one you picked at the party a few days ago when you wrote your letter to Santa.

Slightly panicked, now you question who this man is.

The mystery man fidgets, painting him younger. He shifts to put his hands on his hips.

“Alright… there ain’t no easy way to put this, so imma just say it.” He starts. “I got many names… Father Christmas, Ol’ Saint Nick. Shit like that.”

Those dark unearthed eyes stare unflinching at you.

“But you can call me Joel.”

“Wait…What are you saying?” Bewilderment and skepticism bubble in your voice.

He sighs, ancient and tired, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Don’t make me say it.” He grumbles.

“Wait are you saying you’re like, fucking Santa Claus or something?” You can’t even believe it.

His large hand moves away from his face, and the man, Joel, stays silent. The somber stillness makes this feel worse.

A disbelief filled laugh escapes you.

“Yeah okay, nice try.” You lift your drink to him, a slight mock cheers, then take a sip. It’s cold as hell and tastes bitter.

“I know it sounds fucking crazy as shit-”

“The Santa I know wouldn't cuss.” You playfully cut him off deciding to now embrace this joke.

His face grows foul, hard with a frown, not so very Kris Kringle like. With deliberate steps he moves slightly closer to you.

“Two years ago… who d’ya think dropped off that snow globe, huh?” His voice dips low, bordering a deadly seriousness, and you inhale sharp.

Two years ago, you and your mom’s favorite snow globe shattered. It felt silly getting so upset over such a strange object, but you couldn’t find a replacement anywhere.

Then after everyone had opened their gifts and family had left, you spotted a lone gift still tucked away hidden under the tree.

It was the snow globe, new and perfectly wrapped. You know you didn’t get it for your mom and the way she teared up, she didn’t get it for you. None of your other family members knew the significance of it.

“It has to be a Christmas miracle,” your mom had said. You didn’t believe it.

Now you stare a bit horrified and in shock at the man who knows about this.

Silence suffocates the air between you and him.

“Make a reindeer show up.” You blurt out.

The man, Joel, snorts dry and amused.

“Don’t need reindeer. S’a myth.” He replies low.

Your eyes narrow suspicious at him now.

“Can you make it snow?”

“M’not Jack Frost.” He scoffs offended.

“Santa always leaves snow from his boots.” You argue back.

“It’s for the dang effect.” Joel argues back.

“Can’t be Santa then.” You shrug.

He makes a disgruntled sigh of a noise. Glaring hard, he waves his hand out to the wind. Suddenly the wind blows strong, a howling gust rushing against you, so blustery you need to cover your face. When the wind stops you realize you’re lightly covered in snow.

You almost drop your not so hot chocolate.

Joel must sense your shock. He takes your drink from your hand, takes a sip and makes a disgusted face.

“Look… came here for a reason. I think we might be able to help each other out.

He’s here with a proposition.

“I… need a wife.” He declares with a deadpan like energy.

Now you almost laugh again.

“What, did Mrs Claus divorce you?” You joke.

“Never been married.” He frowns.

Oh.

“So why now?” Curiosity peeks up in you fast.

“Legal shit.” His words don’t allow for more prying. “I’ll explain it all later. Just needed to find ya to see if we can get this done.”

“Wait, why me?”

He lifts up that damn letter again, waves it around.

“Y’said you wanted a boyfriend.” He almost sounds bored.

“This isn’t the same.” You squak, indignant.

“Look,” he now returns to that deep somber tone.

“I need this. And you’d be… compensation.” His voice shifts slightly awkwardly.

He mentions your loans, all the debt you have, and how he might be able to help out. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out their sockets.

Commotion finally arrives at the door leading back inside.

Joel takes a sip of your drink, then hands it back to you.

“Think it over.” He says low.

The door slides open, and your other friend flings her head out.

“Hey come on! They’re cutting the cake!” She brightly exclaims, but her face scrunches up confused.

“Wait, who were you talking to?” She asks.

Your eyes flicker to the spot where Joel would be.

No one stands next to you. All that’s left is snow and the imprint of boots.

You also notice…your hot chocolate has been warmed.

-

“Santa lives here? In Austin Texas? What happened to the North Pole?” Walking behind him, you sound like a bummed out kid who just found out Santa isn’t real.

“Shit said to throw the FBI off.” Joel Miller replies bluntly, and you don’t know if he’s joking or not.

His house, rustic and cozy, holds a spacious warmth. But it feels vacant, unusually quiet for a man known to bring joy and the personification of Christmas warmth.

“So how does one become Santa?” You ask.

“Long story.” Another curt reply.

“Well, if I’m gonna be your wife shouldn’t I know these things?” Just saying the words aloud didn’t seem real.

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

The new home draws in your full attention trying to soak it all in. So many photos of two girls cover the walls and they grow right before your eyes. Curiously, you ask about them.

“They’re my daughters.” Joel answers simple.

Your eyes go wide.

He had children.

“They’re the reason why we’re here actually.” Joel adds while he moves around his cozy kitchen.

He reveals ‘Santa Claus’ is simply a title for someone to fill. It’s a hefty role. Joel was able to get away without having a spouse with his first daughter, and then again with his second. But now with her about to enter college, Joel was alone.

The stipulation to marry now stood between him and having the title stripped from him.

“Why do you even need to get married?”

“Some shit about needing companionship and other fuckin’ bullshit.” He gruffly explains.

“You could retire.” You offer.

“Don’t wanna.” He roughly replies grabbing papers out of a drawer.

“So your daughters… I’m sure they must’ve been over the moon knowing their dad was Santa.” You try breaking the ice more.

Placing a pen on the table, Joel sighs.

“Look, we don’t gotta do this.” He snaps tight. “This small talk and shit. The sooner we can get this signed and started, the sooner we can get this over with.”

His words sting, becoming sharp barbs that dig in deep.

“Fine.” You grab the pen ready to sign whatever the hell this guy has for you.

A back door opens, and commotion follows. A handsome younger man, with the same dark eyes like Joel that instead sparkle, walks into the kitchen from the garage. Following him are two much older gentleman, one with kind eyes and the other with a glare that could whither a field

“Well now, is this the soon to be Mrs Joel Miller?” The youngest of the bunch says bright and sunny.

Joel introduces you to his brother, Tommy, who is an exact opposite to his sour puss older sibling. Frank, an old family friend, is here to officiate the ceremony. His husband, Bill, would be the other witnesses besides Tommy. Frank and Tommy are thankfully sweet, obviously curious about you.

“Can we get this fuckin’ done with?” Joel snaps.

Now your annoyance triples, and you’re thankful Tommy and Frank chide Joel. Bill snorts amused.

But wanting to leave now too, you’re quick to agree to start the ceremony.

It’s done short and simple in the kitchen - Frank asking you and Joel to take each other as husband and wife. You agree briskly. Joel just nods. There’s not even an exchange of rings, or a kiss to conclude the ceremony.

Joel simply sticks his hand out, a damn handshake becomes your official agreement, your binding wedding vow.

You maybe should have read over the marriage agreement more, could have been smarter and brought a lawyer, even one that might have believed you. But you’re pissed. You simply sign the papers, let Frank go over the documentation, then gather your things.

“Wait, you ain’t gonna stay for lunch?” Joel suddenly questions seeing you get up to leave.

“We got this over with, didn't we, husband? That’s all you wanted right?” Your words are clipped, polite but sharp, that they even sting you.

You apologize to Tommy and Frank for meeting like this. Yet you don’t say another word to your new husband who feels more of a stranger than ever.

-

When you get back to your mom’s place a new sticky note sits on your night stand.

Sorry about today, let me make it up to you.

-J

Underneath is his phone number.

Guess he’s showing off the very classic Santa trick of slipping into houses without anyone noticing he pulled off a breaking and entering.

He answers on the second ring when you call.

“I got Santa’s personal number?” You offer with a gentle treading tone.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel huffs.

It eases the tension. But hesitation still brews thick, an awkwardness of trying to talk to a stranger who just so happens to be your new husband.

“Uh, shit…Sorry about earlier. Didn’t end up eating lunch. You up for a bite to eat? I'll pay?” His voice is open, letting you decide.

Agreeing, he shows up to your door in record timing.

“Is this traveling fast a Santa thing? How can you travel so fast?” Your curiosity gets the best of you.

Joel simply smirks, not answering, but the silence dances playful now.

He takes you to a cozy barbecue spot on the lake. The Texas winter makes the days crisp, almost stuck between autumn and full blown winter. But in the midday sun, it's rather lovely.

“I’m surprised you’re not busy with everything coming up.” You’re trying stepping into the conversation as eased and natural as possible.

“If I’m tryin’ to scramble to get shit done by now, then I ain’t doing my job right.” He says taking a sip of his beer, and his words ignite a burst of heat in you.

It's attractive… he’s attractive. You can’t deny that.

Lunch is surprisingly casual, relaxed. Joel asks about grad school and about your major, asks about your family. It vaguely feels like a regular first date.

However this is treading the waters between you and him and this strange new circumstance.

This situation has been gnawing at you. Anxiously, you wonder if he judges you for agreeing so quickly, for jumping in because of the money.

“Hey,” it's like he senses your quiet already.

“You still don’t gotta do this. I can head back home right now, rip up those papers and start again.” A sincere tone, gilded in understanding, rings in his voice.

He’s giving you a way out. You shake your head.

You want to see this as something good. So raising your drink up, it’s another cheers to him. This time Joel moves to toast you with his beer.

“I’d call this the strangest wedding reception ever but hey, I’ll take it.” Joel nods. His mountainous shoulders drop seemingly relaxed more.

You laugh, and for the first time, it feels like you’re sitting across a new friend now… who just happens to be your husband.

-

You and Joel start texting. It’s still a bit awkward, and he’s a dry texter which doesn’t help. You get tempted to send him Santa memes, but you’re not sure you can joke with him more.

You check your loans. They’re still there looming like a thick unmovable sludge. So he hasn’t paid it off yet.

Reality and acceptance settles in. This man, the embodiment of Christmas joy, is just that busy even though he said he wasn’t.

At least you helped, or maybe unknowingly sold your soul away and just don’t know it yet. Whatever it is, you slip back into your regular routine and head back to your mom’s.

Pulling up an unknown older red truck sits in front of the house, and you wonder who’s its owner.

Walking inside your mom announces she’s in the kitchen. Tools scattered along the table are a reliving sight. So it’s just the plumber she finally called.

“You didn’t tell me the guy you were seeing is a handy man.” Your mom whispers excitedly.

As if on cue Joel struts out from the bathroom looking something straight from a hallmark movie. The green plaid shirt he wears compliments him beautifully, and it’s hard not to stare at him and his delicious broad ass shoulders.

“Hey.” He greets with a half smirk.

“Was in the neighborhood, wanted to stop by and see if ya wanted to get dinner tonight. Then I remembered you telling me about your mom’s sink.”

You mentioned that during your first lunch with him. How did he remember?

Something soft, swirling with longing, fills your chest, and you try swallowing it back. As thanks, your mom happily suggests Joel joining for dinner here, and panic strikes you fast.

Joel grins bigger seeing you scramble to dissuade him. Of course he agrees.

You never would have guessed Joel ‘prickly as a Christmas cactus’ Miller is a charmer. He even pays for takeout much to your mother’s surprise.

“Didn’t know he was so much…older.” She hesitantly comments when he leaves.

“It’s been nice dating someone more mature.” You half lie. You aren’t ready to tell her the guy is your husband.

Later you text him thanks for fixing the sink and for dinner.

What are husbands for? He replies back.

And you really wish you knew.

-

You’ve wanted to go see the trail of lights, but with your mom working late for the holidays and your friends out of town, you consider making the trip alone.

Until your phone rings.

Joel has now started calling you, simply to chat, ask about how your day is, even just to check up on you. It makes your heart jump.

“Whatcha up to?” His voice rumbles deep and wonderful over the phone.

“Wanted to go to the trail of lights but might skip. No one wants to go.” You sigh.

“I’ll go.” He quickly replies, and your head spins.

If you thought Joel in plaid was a deadly force, him in a thick winter brown coat that highlights his strong frame is an utter sight.

The array of candy colored lights coat the world in a beautiful celestial dream. You’re thankful it’s not busy tonight.

“I’ve always loved Christmas lights.” You admit. It’s one of your favorite parts of being back home.

Surprisingly, he curiously asks about you more, what brought you back home. You of course tell him the truth. Out of state college got too expensive in undergrad, and now going to grad school expenses started piling up.

“So I’m back home.” You simply shrug.

“Ain’t no shame in it.”

You beam at his earnest words.

“Y’know, I haven’t been here in so long.” Joel admits. “Used to come here with the girls all the time when they were little.”

Wanting to embrace this tiny step he’s taking, you ask what they’re like. A soft look, one molten and fatherly, blooms over his face. It suits him, like he was born to be a dad in any lifetime.

Sarah is his eldest, a sweetheart going to school to be a journalist. He had her when was young, way too young, and her mother wasn’t big on wanting to raise a kid at that age.

“So it was just the two of you?” You softly ask.

“Yup, until our Ellie came along.” He nods while another soft grin tugs at his lips.

He tells you Ellie is adopted.

“S’actually a wild story.” Joel begins. “Found her during a run.”

A run, you learn quickly, is when he’s out on Christmas Eve.

“Newborn baby crying on the edge of the fire station. It was freezing as shit that night. Couldn’t just leave her there.” He mutters lost in the memory.

You and him have slowed your walk, now almost glued to each other side by side.

“Was a goddamn miracle.” He adds nodding.

“That’s beautiful, Joel.” You admire, meaning your words.

He goes on telling you Ellie’s already working in her last year of high school, ready to move out, be on her own, ready to start college.

“So I bet when they were kids they were thrilled to know their dad was… who you are.” You state with a warm grin.

Joel barks hollow.

“Couldn’t even threaten them with the naughty list deal. To them I’ll always be dad.” His voice twinkles, it’s like peeling away at the rough exterior to realize Joel is just an extra toasty marshmallow.

He’s still so warm and soft on the inside.

“Can I ask… how did it happen?” You’re worried he’s going to shut you out like he did last time.

But a heavy exhale leaves him. And he tells you…

About a night driving home during the bad snow storm that came many years ago. He stopped to help this man on the side of the road, who he assumed was a mall Santa that had gotten into an accident.

“Instead it was the real fucking deal.”

After that, the previous holder of the title passed away, leaving Joel to take up the mantle.

“Had to say yes,” he says with a shrug. “Even at five years old Sarah was bossin’ me around, telling me I had to…. Haven’t regretted it since.”

Iridescent adoration swallows your body whole begging you to embrace Joel Miller wholly.

“It’s wonderful. It’s brought you so many amazing things,” You can’t even hide your admiration anymore, don’t want to. You don’t want to fight this. You’d be his real fake wife for long as he would let you.

Joel’s face turns to you. His eyes glance straight into your very being, the lights dance among his endless earthen eyes. You want to get lost in the twinkle, already hating how badly you feel drawn to this man.

You try taking in every ounce of Joel here under the cloak of lights. He’s a dream, this fake husband of yours, one that feels like you’re simply allowed to admire but never touch.

Being this close to him, your eyes unfortunately drift to his lips. How bad would it be to kiss this man?

There’s plenty of songs about kissing Santa Claus. Would you simply not be embracing the holiday spirit?

A distant car horn honks and causes you to jump, breaking the hypnotic spell Joel has cast on you. Walking out, sadly heading home, you finally notice something.

It could be the shade of the lights, but the greys in Joel’s beard are starting to appear white.

-

The week before Christmas is a chaotic cluster. So much cleaning and shopping, you want to scream. Joel calls you while you’re braving the mall.

“You sound exhausted, honey.” He says, and the pet name isn’t lost on you.

But it is lost on your rant though. You’re exhausted from trying to find these specific dang muffins your grandmother only refuses to eat while also trying to find a gift for your cousins.

“Gift cards are a lifesaver for a reason.” He comments casually.

“You grant Christmas wishes for a living, and that’s your answer.” You snort.

“I’ve delivered my share of ‘em, so hell yeah they are.”

Even in the mess of the mall’s chaos you laugh. In such a short amount of time, Joel’s presence in your life has solidified steady, unwavering, like he’s always been here. Long chats on drives home, him dropping by with groceries to deliver, it all unfolds so natural. You’re even heading over tonight to have dinner with him and his brother Tommy.

Once you’re back in the car, you notice a new bag sitting in the backseat.

Reacting in you discover not only the damn elusive dinner rolls you’ve been searching for, but a pack of gift cards.

A sticky note sits on top of them.

Don’t hate the gift card

-J

You blame the Yuletide spirit in the air, but your heart soars. It’s like you’ve been swept into a Christmas special. But, you’re waiting for the bad ending to come.

These feelings for Joel have only multiplied, taking root deeper in your heart. The sugared admiration for him now grows fangs becoming a dazed lust. You’ve had dreams of him sweaty and golden above you in bed. You ache to know what he sounds like, to know the feeling of him inside you, to get drunk on his taste.

Heading over to Joel’s you kick away those dangerous thoughts you have for your husband.

A sweet woman answers the door, who introduces herself as Maria, Tommy’s wife.

“Nice to finally meet Joel’s not so secret, secret wife.” She grins. Guess that meant she knew the secret too.

She knows more than you even do as she guides you out back. The shed sitting in the corner of the backyard is unassuming. Yet when you step inside, a full workshop, the size of a Costco, stands glimmering before you.

“It never gets old.” Maria whispers, sensing your stunned awe.

Joel finally steps into view, and you’re taken back. The white among his beard sits stronger. He’s in more comfortable clothes and the gray sweatpants are sinful on him. The sight of his strong arms, his tummy through his tight white shirt, all make you think of biting into his skin -

You yank yourself out of the feral thoughts. Especially when Joel spots you. He blinks, just as stunned as you are.

“Hey, sorry. Got shit tied up here. Y’don’t gotta stay, might not be done until... fuck I don’t even know when.” He sighs, running a hand across his face.

“Can I help?” You blurt out.

Joel blinks at you, almost like he didn’t hear what you said and even squints a bit making him as old as he is.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask again.

Joel swallows. “You don’t, fuck...Ya don’t have to.”

You want to and determinedly tell him that.

His eyes widened like you just grew two heads. He recovers swiftly, nodding as he calls Tommy over. The younger Miller brother sees you and winks.

“Come on newbie, let’s getcha set up.”

You, Maria and Tommy are in charge of bulk orders making sure each package has the right amount and ready to be delivered.

“Does he… really have a list?” You ask with a whisper.

“Checks it twice too.” Tommy cheekily replies, and you laugh bubbling with disbelief, but apologize quickly.

“S’all good, trust me it took me a while to realize it’s real. But it’s something damn special once you do.”

You fully agree.

The night is long, but you don’t notice it. You get into a grove and get excited when Maria shows you some of the orders, children getting bikes, someone getting a new pair of shoes. It fills you with something luminous you can’t fully describe.

It’s a reward in itself when you finish a large order and high five Maria and Tommy.

“Well now, we finally get to meet the new Mrs. Joel Miller.” A new voice, smooth but curious, breaks the moment.

Behind you stand a small cluster of older men. You don’t know how, but you just know they’re all previous holders of the title of Father Christmas. It’s only confirmed when Tommy whispers it sharp to you. So these retired men were the ones pestering Joel.

“They usually drop by to do audits, checks and things, didn’t know they would be here this late.” Maria adds low.

“We’ve been wanting to stop by and give our congratulations, but Joel has been so keen on keeping you all to himself.” One of the older gentlemen winks.

You politely smile.

“You’re rather young.” Another man comments.

“Way too pretty for a grouch like Miller.” One, with a thick accent, teases with a grin.

Joel suddenly, as if summoned, comes rushing out from the side and immediately slides in front of you, a protective barrier.

“You’re running a bit behind schedule.” The snarkiest of the men comments to Joel. “Guess the new wife really has been keeping you away.”

Your face scrunches up pissed now, until Joel’s hand moves to hold yours, squeezing it tight.

“He even has you helping, dear?” One of the quieter men asks you, concerned.

“I’m happy to help.” You truthfully answer steady and firm.

You want to be a part of this as much as Joel allows. Not just because you’re his paper wife, but because you care for him.

All of the previous Santas now seem to survey you, practically staring straight into your soul.

“If you gentlemen are done harassing my wife I suggest y’all fuckin’ head home.” Joel barks sharp.

One of them scoffs at this reply.

The main leader of the group glances at you then back to Joel.

“You picked a good one, Joel.” He smiles with a chuckle.

“You take care of this grouch now, pretty lady.” The sweetest of the men beams at you, a twinkle in his eye.

“Get out.” Joel snaps cold, holding your hand tighter than ever.

In a blink, they’re before you, and the next, they’re gone, vanished into the wind.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, and you have to lean against Joel who sighs with the same relief.

In the rush, you swear you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. Tommy and Maria greet you proud. You return back to your station, back to helping.

Until you realize it’s past 1 in the morning, and you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, crash here for the night.” Joel appears besides you, steadying your arm.

“I’ll be fine, I can drive home.” You reassure him through an unconvincing yawn.

“No. You don’t need to. S’cold as hell out there, just stay here.” He urges, and you don’t want to fight him.

So you’re given the guest room and a spare change of clothes, which include an oversized UT Longhorns shirt and sweats, both obviously Joel’s.

Sliding his shirt on, your heart races. The exhaustion, you blame it on the exhaustion, when you pull his shirt up to inhale deeply. The smell is soft, comforting, a mixture of his cologne and something purely musk, purely Joel.

You wonder how bad it would be to touch yourself in his guest room. Glancing out the door to see if you’re alone, that’s when you catch a glimpse of Joel down the hall.

Busy looking at his phone, he’s shirtless and a decadent sight. You fully take in his solid build, the look of a man. His sweatpants have slung lower, revealing the thick trail of hair leading down to his cock. The pudge of his belly is beautiful.

He’s beautiful, and you want him more than anything.

The next morning he’s gone, already hard at work. You enjoy breakfast with Maria and Tommy who you already adore even more.

“Don’t be a stranger now, it’s nice to have a new face around. Plus Joel can’t stop talking about you.” Maria’s words almost make you spit out your tea.

Tommy snickers at your reaction.

Driving back to your mom’s, you already miss the chaos of the Miller household. Arriving home, your heart sinks seeing your relatives have arrived early.

“Oh, back from staying over at a guy’s house? Maybe you’ll finally get a boyfriend that stays around long enough.” Even though your Aunt is trying to be teasing, you already wish she could leave.

“I think he’s a keeper. He’s older too.” You mom explains with a slow whisper, and you send her a look.

Everyone unfortunately perks up at that.

“Really? Well, you know what they say, you should always question why a man doesn’t date a woman his age.” Your Aunt, with such a judgmental tone, tries to sound sincere but it slices you deep.

“It’s not like that.” You reply feeling a new sense of dread crawl in you.

“Is it a sugar daddy situation?” Your cousin jokes, and it gets too much.

You laugh bitter, fake, then head back to your room. You wish more than ever to crawl back to Joel’s.

Back in your room, something new sits waiting for you on your nightstand.

A flower, your favorite, in full bloom has a note tied to it.

Thanks for all the help

This time Joel signs his name with a little scribbled heart.

You cherish it more than gold.

-

“I…won’t be available these new few days.” Joel reveals, almost sounds guilty.

It’s the first time you’ve finally gotten the chance to talk with him free from curious family members trying to eavesdrop.

Here in the dead of night, your heart aches for him.

“I know, kinda figured.” You grin.

He chuckles.

Suddenly a selfish thought tugs at you.

The image has been plaguing you more and more. Does dress up in full Santa gear? He has to, right?

“So do you…fully wear the whole thing? The red suit? White hat?” You ask, waiting for the answer.

“…if I say yes, are ya gonna divorce me?” Joel replies gruff.

You laugh but rush to quiet down trying not to wake anyone. But you reassure him there's no need for divorce.

“Just… kinda wish I could see it.” You admit, feeling greedy wanting to witness the sight.

Joel stays quiet.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters.

“Yeah…” maybe one day.

“Stay safe out there.” You tell him when you hear him yawning more. “And get all the rest you can.”

“Yes ma’am.” He drawls, and you melt.

You don’t hear from him after that.

You deal with more annoying family members. Enjoy some delicious cozy food. All while missing Joel.

Waking up Christmas Eve morning, you see an email.

All your loans are paid in full. It wasn’t just your loans, but your mother’s. Completely debt free - both of you. She cries. You even get teary eyed.

One of your uncles makes a dumb joke about it maybe being a mistake.

“It’s a blessing,” your mom says, grateful.

“No, it’s a gift from Santa.” You beam, knowing no one would believe you.

However, a new fear starts morphing in you.

What did this mean for you and Joel? Is the contract completed? Is this over? Was it only to say he had a wife on paper, parade you as proof, then… never speak to him again?

The questions pester and haunt you the entire rest of the day.

Then night creeps in.

“You wanna leave cookies out for Santa?” Your mom jokes seeing you grab a plate.

“Maybe, but I think I might leave out a beer too.” You reply and she laughs.

Once everyone heads to bed and leaves back to their hotels, you sneak into the living room.

Never in your life would you have imagined ever needing to wait up to see Santa. Much less as a full adult.

And it proves to be a true test of endurance. You doze off a few times but quickly snap your eyes open, worried you’ll miss him.

Checking the time, it’s almost midnight. Of all the nights you want to stay up, fighting asleep is harder than ever.

You don’t even realize your eyes have closed until the softest graze of fingers against your cheek wakes you.

Panicked, scrambling awake, you snap your eyes open and whisper Joel’s name.

Finally blinking into focus, there’s no sign of anyone here.

“Y’left out a beer for me?”

Until the softest smoothest thick accent floats out into the quiet of your living room. You left the tv on, and the light of it blends with the glow from the Christmas tree. It bathes Joel in something sublime.

No classic Santa hat sits on his head, but the way his hair is scruffy and flat, he must have been wearing it before.

But the sight of him in the crimson suit, the soft white fur lined edges of the coat, how bulky and strong he looks… You’re reminded of a rugged cowboy Santa.

It all ignites a wildfire, and now you’re wide awake scrambling out of the blankets to get to him.

Not thinking, almost possessed by some ghost of Christmas present, you rush forward and embrace him. His body, sturdy and solid, radiates a warmth that encompasses you.

“What are ya doing up?” He whispers low while you clutch onto him. You need to touch him with your own hands, feel he’s real. You also don’t miss the gloved hands against your hips.

“Had to see you.” You croak out.

You pull back to look at him.

Finally, you take him in. It’s Joel, the same grumpy Joel that’s changed the oil for your car, who has a soft spot for the stray cats in his neighborhood, and is an amazing father - but it all collides with the truth of who he really is.

A watery laugh comes out of you and you hate that immediately you’re blinking away tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel immediately asks worried, letting his hands move to rest on your arms, a comforting presence.

You reassure him it’s nothing, trying to wave this reaction off.

“You gotta tell me what’s wrong or else Christmas stops and it’ll all be your fault.” His tone is somber, but you sense the tease, a classic Joel joke among his words.

Shaking your head, you wipe away more tears frustrated at your reaction. Then his hand, gloved but striking in size, cradles your face, and he gently strokes your cheek. Joel turns your face to him.

“Talk to me, honey please.”

You don’t know how to express everything that’s in your heart. It all feels too much - the conflict of realizing where you stand with him, the doubt that brews wondering if he even holds the same affection for you.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” You admit weakly.

It’s that you can muster out, all that you can do to sum up the bundle of emotions storming in your heart.

Joel’s eyebrows furrow. His mouth drops a bit. In the low light, the shadows on his face deepen like caverns aging him beautifully.

“M’not going anywhere. You won’t lose me.” He reassures, even squeezing your face soft.

Those endless eyes that normally stare so direct and with such a magnetic force, now flicker away almost boyish and shy.

“I’m the one afraid of losin’ you.” He mutters, like he’s admitting it more to himself.

His words unwrap your heart releasing so many emotions.

“Joel.” You whisper, a bit hesitant, and his gaze draws back to you.

He seems closer now, his coal-like eyes brewing something untouchable. Silence, a soft shift settles, you taking him in, and him doing the same for you.

You don’t know who moves first. But in a blink his lips descend onto yours.

His mustache tickles. His lips hold a hint of something sweet sugary, indulgent, or you wonder if that’s just Joel.

Strong gloved hands clutch onto you holding your tighter against his frame. He tilts your head, allowing him to kiss you deeper, and your mouth willingly opens begging for more of him.

It isn’t lost on you that you’re kissing Santa Claus, like a cheesy holiday song. But it’s the fact that you’re kissing Joel Miller that melts everything away.

Your fingers find his hair, running through his soft gray locks you’ve dreamed about. Joel groans, and you already want more.

With ease, he lifts you up with one arm and you squeak into his mouth. His chuckle vibrates against your lips, ticklish, until he starts to kiss your jaw, nibbling on the path of your skin.

You sigh, closing your eyes and drawing him closer when he places you back on the couch. Your legs curl against his waist, locking him in as you try molding into him, with him, as much as you can.

His lips find yours again, this time there’s a fevered edge to them. His tongue is messy, licking into your mouth desperate. You moan when he sucks on your tongue.

A blazing hunger takes over making your hips grind against him. Feeling his gloved hands slide up your legs, you whine digging into him harder.

Until he suddenly rips himself away, leaving you feeling empty missing his warmth and body against you.

“Shit…Really gotta go, honey. I can’t say.” Joel sighs. His heavy breathing, the tightness of his jaw, this is as hard for him as it is for you.

“Can’t you be a little late?” You softly question rising back up to kiss up his scruffy beard.

He groans when you softly kitten lick at his upper lip.

“Fuckin’ naughty little thing.” Joel growls.

You softly kiss his lips again.

“Guess that means I’m on the naughty list huh?” The joke slips out, and you already want to hide after hearing yourself.

Joel groans, but this time it’s ripe with embarrassment. You hide your face while he snickers.

“That was bad.”

“I know,” you agree mortified.

Even in your embarrassment, Joel presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and every worry melts away.

He stands up, pulling you gently up with him. Gathering you into his arms, this time Joel feels larger than life but also closer than ever, like he’s stitched inside your heart now.

“When will I see you again?” You hate how badly you miss him already.

“Soon, I promise.” He reassures rubbing your back softly, and you nod back.

His hand moves to hold your face again, gently, like you’re a precious treasure.

And you think he might be yours.

Joel kisses you, the softest sweetest press of his lips that melts into your bones. And when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

All that’s left are the faintest hints of snow flurries on your living room floor…

And of course he made sure to take his beer.

-

When Joel said he’d see you soon, you didn’t think it would be the next morning, Christmas morning.

Softly a hand brushes against your face, slowly waking you. You find yourself back in your bedroom. The soft glow of the winter morning spreads a gentle light that covers your room.

Joel is here, kneeling beside your bed, and immediately you turn towards him.

In this light, his greys look softer, thicker in their shade, like beautiful white streams run from his temples. And his beard looks as if snow flurries have been peppered in more. The red velvet of his suit looks brighter. Your fingers run across the fabric, across his shoulders.

You whisper his name, yet a sadness creeps in again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Are you okay… with us?” It’s a stumbled way to ask, but it’s all you can get out.

Is he okay that you’re much younger than him?

“Yeah, of course.” He nods.

“Actually, Ellie and Sarah were the ones who told me to go for it.” He admits fondly, sleepily.

“They said I needed to be selfish for once, let myself have this…”

His eyes watch you as you sit up to reach him.

“Is that why you were so cold when we first met?” You ask.

Joel nods, sighing.

“Felt awful knowing I was doing this to you, someone so dang young, so fuckin’ beautiful. Hated that you were stuck with a mess of ‘n old man like me.”

“I’d pick you everytime.” The words escape fast. You can’t even stop them.

Instantly he swoops in kissing you with an unchained passion that makes you dizzy.

Immediately you tug at him, begging him to crawl onto the bed. You sigh in bliss when he does, making your mattress creak ever slightly with his glorious solid frame.

His kisses are drenched in a poison intoxicating you.

Clutching onto Joel’s shoulders, you lift your hips when his gloved hands tug at your pj pants.

That’s when you hear the faint laughter of everyone downstairs awake. You freeze. Joel senses your hesitation. That gorgeous nose of his nuzzles against your jaw breathing in the scent of you.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” His thick low voice is all you need because you’re nodding yanking at his shoulders to kiss him again.

This kiss dances along the edge of something fierce and wild, like you’re trying to contain it, hold it back before it spreads and someone hears.

Until Joel’s gloved fingers slip inside your wet heat, and you slap a hand over your mouth to hold back a moan. Feeling his black leather glove inside you has your eyes roll back. Then when you rest your head against the soft fur lining of his coat, it creates such a dizzying sensation you want to get lost in.

“Oh fuck.” He drawls, hoarse.

His fingers pump in and out of you, and the squelch of your wetness sounds downright obscene now. Joel revels in it.

“Letting this ol’ man winter fuck ya while everyone’s down stairs waiting…Y’like that baby?”

You whimper, nodding, clutching onto him harder trying so hard to keep quiet. Then he removes them from your pussy and you whimper at the loss.

Until he draws his gloved fingers, shining and coat in your arousal, up to your lips.

“Can ya clean ‘em off for me?” He mutters.

Without hesitation you pull them into your mouth and suck, letting your tongue wiggle across the leather. You moan tasting this union of you and the leather.

“Shit,” Joel croaks like he got punched in the gut.

Quickly he yanks his hand out from your mouth, rips his gloves off and kisses you feverish.

“Need to feel ya.” He sounds drunk as you feel, even more when his bare fingers thick and warm slip into you again.

He makes you come so fast it knocks you breathless, feeling hot even with the cooler temperature in the room. You whisper begging him to fuck you, to take you here before he heads home -

“Can’t darlin’, but soon I will. I promise.” He reassures you kissing your lips over and over.

“And Santa always keeps his promises, yeah?”

That shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. You greedily kiss him, trying to devour him even more.

“Jesus,” he growls, his accent thicker than ever. “Makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to leave.”

“Then don’t.” You beg.

But then the voices downstairs get louder, and the smell of food warming up floats in.

Joel sighs deflated. You know this is the end for now.

Rubbing his wonderful nose against yours, you lean to press your forehead to his. He breathes out your name, and it sounds like a blessing.

“Merry Christmas, honey.” He whispers softly to you.

A knock comes at your door, and in a panic you drag your blanket up around you.

“You awake yet?” Your mom jokingly asks.

You definitely are now. Of course Joel has vanished.

But something tickles the top of your head. Bundles of mistletoe, twisted among so many lovely ribbons, bloom all along your bed frame.

-

One Christmas Later

“Did I ever show you the shirt Ellie and Sarah sent me last week?” You ask, and Joel, half paying attention, hums.

He pulls his attention away from the Dallas Cowboys game long enough to glance at your phone.

The shirt reads - Mrs Claus but Married to the Grinch

He rolls his eyes, not finding it as amusing as his daughters did.

“Or what about this one.” You show him the next option.

This one, in bright gold lettering, says - Santa’s Sexy Girlfriend

“No.” He flat out pushes the phone away making you laugh and lean against his strong shoulder.

This would be the last night before he heads out on his run. This will also be the first night you get to see him leave, and the first night you’ll get to wait for him now living at his home.

The memories and days that have brought you here are strung up in your heart, luminous multi colored tinsel you never want to take down.

“It’s actually one of the first years we’re ahead of schedule,” Tommy says when you greet him back at the workshop.

“That wife of yours is really something.” Though Tommy talks directly to his brother he makes sure to wink at you.

You’re grateful you got to help out more this year, even enjoyed having Ellie and Sarah around when they came by to visit. But with Ellie now enjoying time with the girl she desperately has a crush on, and Sarah taking the day to spend time with her new boyfriend, it really would just be you and Joel.

A delicious heat crawls in you knowing what you had waiting for him.

But you almost forget about it when you start helping Joel get dressed.

Your throat dries seeing him buckle up his crimson pants, then helping him slide his thick coat on and how broad it accentuates his shoulders…

“You keep lookin’ at me like we���re gonna get behind schedule.” Joel mutters sinful.

“We’re ahead of schedule. We could…mess around for a bit.” You offer light.

“No, being ahead means I can come home earlier.” He very playfully and lightly smacks your ass.

You hate when he’s right.

With a kiss goodbye you send him off returning to the quiet home. You’ll have a day and a half before Joel officially returns. So you spend your time binging multiple movies.

You’re also thankful for the stash of extra cookies you finally found. Joel ‘I ain’t got a sweet tooth’ Miller isn’t so slick with his hiding spots.

The film your best friend recommended is cheesy. But during the scene where the main love interest comes to interrupt the engagement party to announce he loves the bride, cause you to pause.

In theory, you are Joel’s wife. Your mom even jokes that she practically has the most perfect unofficial son in law, if only if she knew the truth. Yet, you don’t have a ring, don’t even use Miller as your last name.

It’s silly, you tell yourself and try not to think about it too much.

So you instead enjoy more cozy snacks and the rare bits of snow Austin is getting this time of year. It’s magical, paints the world like something straight from a Thomas Kinkade dream.

The morning comes when Joel will be home, and you sit waiting on the bed. Don’t even mind you work up early for this.

Earlier confidence surged in you when you slipped into the gorgeous lingerie set. Now it itches on your skin as you sit worried. The bow sitting on your bra might be too much. You almost bought the cute risqué Santa nightgown, but you hesitated.

You didn’t feel like you could truly even joke about being Mrs Claus when you didn't even fully consider yourself Mrs Miller.

“Honey?” Joel announces stepping into the house, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“In here!” You yell back.

Waiting on the bed feels like an eternity passes before Joel opens the door. There’s still snow on his shoulders. His hair is starting to grow out more so it curls around his ears. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

Then his face falls and his eyes become full moons taking in the sight of you before him.

“Oh baby,” he whispers like he can’t believe his eyes.

You grin sleepy.

With eased measured steps Joel walks forward, and you’re reminded of a hunter trying to approach his prey.

He drags his fingers, ungloved, warm and callous from all the hard work he does, up your exposed skin leaving a trial of heat in their wake.

“Can I unwrap my present?” He mutters, allowing his fingers to drift with. Delicate touch across the top of your breast barely kept in by the lace covered bra.

“Yeah, Joel please.” You sigh, closing your eyes when his large hand suddenly grasps, squeezing your breast.

The poor lingerie doesn’t make it out alive.

Now you drift in and out of sleep, naked in his arms. Joel kisses your forehead promising he’ll buy you as many new sets as you want.

“Merry Christmas to both of us.” You dryly joke.

He laughs, but it sounds a bit weak, more like a cough.

“Uh, speaking of Christmas gift… y’want yours now or later when we wake up?”

That makes you bolt up fast from his arms.

“I told you not to get me anything, Miller.” You protest, glaring at him.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“You’re telling me of all people not to get you something?” He scoffs.

“Then I don’t want it.” You stubbornly pout back.

“Alrighty then, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Sleepily he shrugs and turns on his side giving you full sight of his glorious sun kissed bare back. You try not to linger on the scratch marks you left behind.

Now you persistently tell him to give it to you.

“Sounds like what you were saying a few minutes ago.” He teases with a smirk glancing over to you from his shoulder.

Now you roll your eyes.

“Give me the gift Miller, or else.” You shake his shoulder trying to sound somber like Joel himself, but a smile tugs at your lips.

Dramatically, he groans sitting up.

“Making an old man like me get up after the long ass night I had.” He says reaching over to his nightstand.

“Oh please, if I asked you to go another round you would.” You scoff.

“You wanna?” He asks with a curious mutter, and you shove his shoulder again playful.

“Fine, fine.” Joel grumbles.

After reaching under the bed, he returns back with a box…covered in dinosaur wrapping paper.

“Look, it was the only one I had left over here.” He explains seeing your confusion.

“Joel, you work at a magical workshop where there's an endless supply of cute Christmas wrapping paper. Why didn’t you grab some?!” You laugh.

“Didn’t wanna mess up the inventory.” He huffs, grumpy and classically Joel.

“You gonna open it or am I gonna have to hide it again?”

At his words you greedily rip off the paper.

You guess by the size it looked like a shoe box and it is, a familiar box you thought you threw away. Now you’re confused.

Opening it, inside is an even smaller box. This one is classically wrapped in green and red with a shining bow on top.

But when you pick it up, you discover the tiny box is heavy. There’s also a latch at the back begging for you to lift and open.

Inside sits a ring, dancing with a shimmering sparkle.

You already fight back the tears.

Is this what you think it is?

Whipping your face to Joel he seems hesitant, worried, while he keeps his focus on you.

“I know we might’ve done this backwards but…” he reaches for the ring, gingerly pulling it out.

“Wanna make it official now.”

You inhale sharp.

“Honey I’ll get down on one knee if you want, but might take me a while to get back up…” he jokes, but the edge of his voice is watery, shaky, like he’s the one barely holding on.

“But…will you marry me again-”

You don’t even let him finish before you rush to kiss him. The tears come, fast and free like a wave, but they’re beautiful. You embrace it all.

Joel slides the ring in your finger. The weight of the beautiful metal feels wonderful against your skin, but you don’t notice it. Not when you’re swept up in making love to your Joel, your fiancé.

The love bursting through your heart could swallow you whole and you would let it.

“I love you,” he admits against your skin, breathing out like he’s finally found a moment of rest.

“I love you too.” You rub his back soaking in the bliss among the sweat and heat of his body against yours.

It’s just you and your Mr Claus.

“I’m glad Santa granted my wish.” You mutter dreamy, not caring how embarrassing you sound.

That is until Joel lifts his head up, those wonderful eyes of his shine brighter than any northern star.

“Mine too, honey.” He mutters, kissing you tenderly, a sweet promise of more beautiful Christmas days to come.

[casuallyimagining]

Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days. 

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified. 

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…” 

I want to apologize. 

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise. 

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone. 

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering. 

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger. 

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up. 

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you? 

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left. 

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic. 

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees. 

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables. 

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too. 

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled. 

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors. 

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park. 

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died. 

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert. 

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism. 

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it. 

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him. 

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them. 

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know. 

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in. 

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday. 

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel. 

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand. 

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward. 

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue. 

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom. 

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick. 

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room. 

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty. 

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly. 

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter. 

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets. 

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see. 

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face. 

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading. 

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent. 

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.” 

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar. 

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you. 

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform. 

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you. 

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for. 

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting. 

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him. 

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?” 

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers. 

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause. 

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space. 

At least, you think you are. 

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable. 

Oh no. 

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again. 

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger. 

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest. 

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…” 

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed. 

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing. 

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand. 

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response. 

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy. 

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him.  “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible. 

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone. 

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh. 

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings. 

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful. 

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him. 

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch. 

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden. 

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring. 

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you. 

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms. 

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

[teamatsumu]

The End of NNN (gojo satoru x reader)

word count: 800-ish

warnings: fem!reader, pure smut, slight somno, multiple orgasms, mentions of anal, whiny!gojo

When the clock strikes midnight, making it 1st December 2023, Satoru immediately rips your clothes off (yes, he rips them off) before mounting you like a dog and bullying his weeping, rock hard cock into your unprepped pussy.

You gasp as the intrusion wakes you up with a jolt, blinking a few times to try and adjust, but Satoru gives you no time, drilling into you with quick, sloppy and rushed strokes. His resulting moan is pornographic, and he already sounds so wrecked that it makes you subconsciously tighten around him.

“Sh-shit, baby.” He chokes out, hooking his hands behind your knees and forcing your legs farther apart so he can watch your pretty pussy swallow his dick and make it wet. He feels insane. He can’t describe it. The glorious feeling of your warm, tight hole has him on the edge already, and he is almost angry at himself for holding out an entire month.

How Gojo Satoru managed to not nut for the entirety of November, you would never know. In fact, you had been so sure he would fail, you had promised him you would do anything he wanted in bed if he succeeded. Turns out Satoru had those lofty goals in mind when he managed to shut down all of your advances, refusing to let you anywhere near his dick, even going on long, difficult missions to make sure he was not tempted by your body. But he is here now, nearly whining at how fucking good your fluttering cunt feels, rutting into you rough and hard.

He doesn’t even fully thrust, unable to bear the thought of not being in your pussy for even a single second. His thrusts are shallow and choppy, head continuously pressing into your sweet spot, and that’s what puts you right on the edge.

Above you, your boyfriend is a sight. His hair is all over the place from when he tossed and turned restlessly as he waited for midnight. His pale skin is now flushed a pretty deep pink, sweat gathered on his hairline. His pupils are so blown that the brilliant blue of his eyes is reduced to a tiny ring right by the edges. And he is looking at you like you are his last meal on Earth.

“Satoru,” You whine, fisting the pillow under your head for any semblance of control. “‘M gonna cum.”

“Fuck.” Satoru sounded close to tears. “God, baby, your fucking cunt is so tight around me. How did I go without this shit for a month, huh? I’m a fucking idiot. Fuck, I missed your little whore body. Look at you, taking my cock like a champ. Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you baby, gonna fill you up-”

And then he is cumming with a long, low whine, nails digging into your hips and pelvis flush against yours, releasing ropes and ropes of cum into you. There’s so much of it that it leaks right past the base of his dick, traveling down from your pussy and through your asscrack. The feeling of it cooling on your skin has you shivering.

He had lasted barely 2 minutes.

Satoru is still moaning, one shaky arm holding him up, hips still not stopping. You gasp when a pleasurable jolt goes through your body, eyes widening when you realise your boyfriend is still rock hard. He is barely paying any attention to you, one hand holding the headboard above you while the other runs up your body until it is wrapping gently yet firmly around your throat to hold you in place. You moan at the feeling.

His thrusts this time around are longer and deeper, nearly pulling out to the tip before slamming hard into you. Every slam of his hips takes your breath away, pulling out a sweet cry every time from your lips. You feel ecstatic, having missed the way your boyfriend’s cock carves into you. Satoru was not the only one who suffered the effects of No Nut November. Your pussy had yearned for him just as much as his cock had missed you.

Satoru’s second orgasm is quick to come, thrusts speeding up and voice getting an octave higher as he dumps another load of his cum into you, biceps contracting with the effort of holding his trembling body up. His mere reactions can be enough to make you cum too. You had never seen him like this, so whiny, so desperate, such a huge mess of sweat and a slight film of tears coating his pretty eyes. He had always been the one in control, the one who reduces you to pathetic pleas and begs. Yet here he is, looking like he had run three hundred miles, sweaty and breathless and an absolute wreck.

He shows no signs of stopping though, now leaning down to wrap his arms around your waist and pull your body tight against his. He sets a fast pace, rutting into you like an animal in heat, this position placing his lips right next to your ear, so you can hear all of his little noises. They are almost contagious, making you moan and cry along with him. One shaky hand of his reaches down, fiddling roughly with your clit until the feeling of it all is too much and you are cumming hard on his cock, tears pooling in your lash line at the dizzying feeling. Satoru lasts longer this time around, managing to pull another mind numbing orgasm from you before his balls are contracting again, shooting more ropes of white into your already fully stuffed cunt.

He goes slack on top of you, resting his full weight on you as he tries to catch his breath. His thumb, still twirling leisurely around your sensitive little nub, now travels down to your hole, pulling his cock out to feel how much cum pours out now that he isn’t plugging it inside. He hums in approval when you jump a bit and giggle.

“You feeling better?” You ask, not at all surprised at how wrecked you sounded.

“Hm,” Is his only response, and his hand travels further down, before he pokes at a different hole.

You yelp and your eyes widen, body stiffening. You turn your head until you’re looking into Satoru’s eyes, now back to his normal magnificent blue, and shining with something devious.

“I want my reward now, sweetcheeks.” He smirks, and combining that with the deep flush on his cheeks and the sweat coating his forehead makes him look even more sinister. Your pussy throbs at the sight.

The tip of his thumb slips inside, aided by the cum that had dripped out of your pussy and down to there. You bite your lip in anticipation, and let Satoru use you how he wanted.

He had earned it, after all.

[anantaru]

DAY 31 — drunk sex

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

a/n. hello loves! this concludes the last day of my kinktober, thank you so much to everyone who read along and supported my stuff <3 it means a lot to me and I had so much fun!! after taking a day off, i will post three bonus kinks that will be posted from the 2nd-4th november, that's all and i love you all — yoru <3

𖧡 — including — kazuha, venti

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, drunk syx, teasing venti & dom venti, wall syx, touch starved, both parties are consenting

𖧡 — KAZUHA

sometimes you forget that even kazuha can be defenseless against alcohol and it's negative reactions on the body, let alone make yourself join him in order to watch out for your boyfriend which wasn't originally that big of a deal— despite both of you now, being batshit drunk, randomly lost outside a dark alleyway and essentially starved for each others touch.

"so cute," kazuha coos and hiccups against your lips, "please, voice your pleasure out to me, i yearn to hear you."

to your surprise, it was a miracle that you both were even able to stand tall with all the alcohol you had consumed earlier running through your veins, and well, the truth was— you haven't seen each other for a while, and what better way was there to catch up on your lives with a couple glasses of dandelion wine accompanying adventurous stories and daily activities.

kazuha eagerly pulls at your bottom lip between his teeth as he whines when you suddenly pull yourself away, "come back," he pouts, "one more, heh, ’please," attempting to kiss you again as you dodge him flawlessly.

yet, he wouldn't be sad for too long— because you see, you could barely wait to feel him as well, not just those small, hasty kisses he would plant on you, but the real thing, the one you missed dearly as you turn your body around so your back could face him, your plush ass greedily wiggling over his rigid erection and drawing a low grumble out of his chest.

oh my, you're just so desperate, and kazuha doesn't even try to conceal his excitement when he flips your skirt up, followed by dragging your slicked panties down so they could clumsily dangle around your knees. so now, as he fists his erection in his palm, gathering his pre cum over his shaft so he wouldn't hurt you upon entering your warmth, you bite back a whimper when he nudges his cockhead against your hole before slowly entering you.

"baby," you pant, "hurry, please more," his painfully red and swollen cock gradually filling you up as your own body grows on hotness, almost feeling as if set on fire when the cold wall you were being pressed against served as an easy way to cool yourself off.

kazuha sighs blissfully as he can finally, finally feel you again, he just missed you so much it practically burned his heart to be apart from you for such a long period of time, his head although ringing, the lingering scent of wine hovering between your bodies when everything appears as if trapped in a blur.

one hand, wraps around your waist while the other presses close to the cold wall to keep his stability, or well, both of your stabilities.

if anything, both of you would die of embarrassment tomorrow that you even had the audacity to fuck outside, shamelessly yearning for those shallow thrusts of his hips smacking against your plush ass that would drive you into absolute madness with unfaltering greed and begs to feel him even quicker, better and finer, his cock rolling in and out of your wet cunt and sending tingles down your spine, your legs wobbly and your erected nipples harshly brushing against the cold wall.

𖧡 — VENTI

there was a sonata playing in your head on repeat, and at first— you wonder where it came from, then remember that you must've picked it up during the past hours of drowning yourself in booze together with venti happily joining you— and everything started out pretty innocent, in fact, you never really seemed to have looked at him for much longer than two seconds, aside from joyfully listening and humming along to his songs whenever he performed at the angels share.

groaning deeply, venti sloppily kisses your lips while fisting his semi hard erection into the little tunnel of his palm— and again, you curse yourself that you have never admired him from up close, despite the fact that your own vision was blurry, your head slightly spinning as you watch every curve and ridge of venti's solid abs tense and let go in tune with his cock rutting into his hand.

although he too, lets his eyes follow down your body and looks at your glossed up folds drenched in your own slick, your legs parted so he could settle himself in between, "I bet you're so soft," venti slurrs happily, moving forward to roll the leaking tip of his cock across your folds as you flinch at the feeling, pulling out a strangled sound that scratched over the back of your throat.

"you know," he starts, shamelessly nudging his tip over your fluttering hole— so shameless, in fact that you're wondering if it was just the alcohol making him exceptionally confident right now or if he's always like that, taking into consideration that the bard was treating himself to quite the amount of liquor day by day.

"i will admit... i never had the guts to speak to you," he cackles, practically admitting that he was harboring at least something for you, which, truthfully made you let out a surprised gasp— although you haven't thought about venti in such ways before, you were finding yourself drawn to him for whatever reason, it's almost like something divine would pull you to him whenever he performed songs that you considered your favorites.

"you— uh, really?" you breathe and swallow hard, and next thing you know he slides himself in without warning, huffing out a strangled groan as your wet warmth instantly envelopes around his shaft, rolling his hips all the way inside so he could grind against your neglected clit.

"venti!" you whine, "don't just— do that!" bucking your hips as he drapes his body on top of yours, your slick oozing out and wrapping around his shaft. but he grins slyly at you, slamming his dripping length into you as your wet heat clung onto him, your arms folded around his chest so you could whine and sob into his neck.

"me? do what?" feigning innocence, he reaches up to squeeze one breast, and the sight of you enjoying how he pumps his thickness into you was intoxicating, so erotic that he violently twitches inside your tight hole.

"oh, silly!" he continues, "you're so cute, with your mouth open, looking all desperate!" and before you can even answer to that, he pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, his harsh thrusts making you moan into his mouth as he skillfully inches back and forth your tight cunt.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[mochiwonz]

─── YOU'RE ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS ୨୧

PAIRING. fem!reader x jake sim .ᐟ FEATURING. riki (enhypen) & yoonchae (katseye) CONTENT. strangers to lovers , romance , fluff , cursing , petnames , reader calls yoonchae ' chae ' and riki ' rikster ' and has other nicknames for them too ^ ^ WORD COUNT. 4.3k NOTE. literally spent a whole day trying to figure out how to make my christmas theme cute...so i hope it doesn't disappoint (ᵕ—ᴗ—) enjoyy :D

[ 🧸 ] ... ️ ㅤ' make my wish come true , all i want for christmas is you '

oh how you loved winter. you loved the snow, the chilly weather, the smell of freshly baked cookies and pine tree, being able to snuggle up under your comforter and three other blankets, and most of all— you absolutely loved christmas. but you felt like something had been missing for the past two christmases, you felt lonely.

and instead of something, it might've been someone you were missing.

you always felt like christmas was the best time of the year. wait, scratch that, you knew christmas was the best time of the year. there was always this joy and comfort of christmas that you couldn't really explain, it was just something so special. but of course, you're an adult now and you don't know what happened— but some of that magic had just faded. you didn't really know why or what happened, maybe it was just you becoming an adult and growing up.

but finally, you realized what the problem was after talking with your bestfriends, riki and yoonchae.

you felt lonely. you didn't feel that joy of having company. and even though you had your friends and family, it felt like you yearned for something more. or a special someone, a significant other.

for awhile, you had yourself convinced all you needed was you, your family, your friends, and some food. however, after watching a few k-dramas and seeing couples literally everywhere— social media and while you were out an about, you couldn't help but want a boyfriend, too.

you didn't know who this boyfriend would be, when you would be able to find a boyfriend, and how you'd do it, but you were getting kind of desperate. i mean, you had a whole pinterest board for things you wanted to do with your future boyfriend...yeah.

you had your doubts, maybe you wouldn't end up finding a boyfriend. but riki and yoonchae were sure, very sure, that your certain someone was out there waiting for you— and they were right!

now, enter sim jaeyun, or what everyone calls him, jake.

jake was just like you, he loved christmas and everything that had to with it, as well. and he was also going what you were going through, that lonely feeling. yeah, he really wanted a girlfriend. he wanted someone that would have genuine interest in him, someone that was funny, someone that was pretty, and of course— someone that absolutely loved the christmas season.

luckily for you, you checked all of those boxes.

today was november 30th, a few weeks 'till christmas. the joy was there, but also kind-of not. yesterday, yoonchae had asked you if you could go christmas shopping with her today, and of course you said yes. you just decided to brush off that lonely feeling, you were going to hang out with your bestie today, anyways!

and thank god you decided to go shopping with her, because if you didn't— you would've never met him.

yoonchip : hey girlie yoonchip: u still up for tday?

you: hey :) you: yeah, i'll meet u at xxx !!

yoonchip: sounds good ^ ^ see u at 5

right, you guys were meeting at 5pm and it was— oh shit.

it was already 3pm?!?

you don't know why you always lost track of time, but you did. so, you washed up, picked out a cute outfit— fit for the holiday season, and did your hair and makeup. you managed to get ready in just an hour and a half, which was quite rare for you.

your outfit :

you felt much better after getting ready and all dolled up. you were excited to walk around town and shop with yoonchae, you really did need an outing. and yes, it was snowing!

you wanted to bury yourself in the snow, it was just so gorgeous.

you made yourself a warm peppermint latte and sat down next to your large window, looking out at the pretty environment. the snow, the people, the way the sun was setting, it looked like a scene out of a movie.

you pick up your phone, remembering you had to go meet up with yoonchae. you quickly finish your latte, grab your scarf, and exit your apartment.

after what seemed like a long 16 minute drive to the town, you had finally made it. the pretty christmas decorations on all the buildings, the decorated christmas trees surrounding the street, and the warm yellow lights made you feel so happy.

you quickly walked to the shop where you were meeting yoonchae, and there she was— your bestfriend.

"chae!!" you exclaim while running up to yoonchae excitedly.

she's startled, but realizes it's just you and turns around to give you a warm bear hug. you really loved spending time with yoonchae, she was one of the few people you trusted most in your life. you really saw her as your younger sister.

"y/n!! i missed youuu" she says, you both still hugging one another.

"missed you more chae, now let's shop before all the stores close" you respond and she nods in agreement.

in a span of 45 minutes, you guys had went to 4 stores and already had 2 bags in hand each. let's just say both of you ended up shopping more for yourself rather than shopping for gifts.

"oh my god chae, my arms are already tired" you say, sounding exhausted.

"me too, want to just go back to your place?" she suggests, sounding just as exhausted as you are.

"no, not yet, i still have to find gifts for riki, and he's gonna have an attitude if i show up with nothing for him, ya know?" you explain, and yoonchae nods and rolls her eyes. riki was your guy's bestfriend, and he was supposed to be hanging out with you guys— but of course, he totally forgot.

you both sit down on a bench and place your bags down, giving your guy's poor arms a break. you and yoonchae decide that you just wanted to take a quick break, scrolling on social media for a little and enjoying the snow.

little did you know, a certain someone had been watching— no, admiring you from afar. that someone was none other than jake sim.

you first caught his eye when you were in the same clothing store as him, shopping around with yoonchae. you'd walked by him, and he got a whiff of your perfume— you smelt just like vanilla and freshly baked cookies. he immediately turned to look at you and holy shit, you were gorgeous, you looked like a dream. he never thought he had an ideal type, well, until he saw you.

he was in a trance, just staring at you. thank god you hadn't seen him, you probably would've thought he was a weirdo. the way you were dressed, your silky hair, your pretty big eyes, your voice, shit, he was falling in love.

and he overheard you talking to yoonchae about how much you loved the christmas decorations and snow outside, oh my god. something in him was telling him that you guys were soulmates, and he had to talk to you somehow— it was now or never.

he quickly shakes off the nerves and slowly makes his way across the street, towards you. at first, you don't notice. but yoonchae does, and she nudges your shoulder.

"y/n, girl, look up" she whispers and quickly looks back down at her phone.

you look up and holy shit, he's so pretty. his hair was so fluffy, he had such a tall nose bridge and pretty plump lips and wait, he's walking towards you? fuck, you could already feel your hands getting clammy.

and before you know it, this insanely handsome man was standing right in front of you, smiling while looking down at you. he looked kind-of nervous, but you found it quite cute.

"hey uhm, i'm jake. i just saw you from over there" he points to the store across the street, "and not to be weird, i just thought you were so gorgeous and uhm—" he cuts himself off, he's just rambling at this point. he can't bear to look you in the eyes, he's too nervous.

' goddamn jake, cmon, don't scare her away ' he thinks.

you giggle at the way he suddenly freezes, looking at the ground.

"thanks jake, that's sweet of you. i'm y/n" you say while smiling, and he almost melted. your voice sounded so sweet, so pretty.

you quickly look over at yoonchae and you spot a slight smirk on her face, as if she's holding back a little laugh.

you did sound kind-of nervous, and she was probably going to tease you about this afterwards.

"yeah of course, so like, is there any way that i could get your number? or i could give you mine, uhm yeah anything works" he says, sounding just as nervous as you were.

you can't help but smile at him, he was so cute. and of course you were going to give him your number, how could you not?

"of course, here" you tell him while handing him your phone, "you can put your number and name in"

he was smiling, really hard. he was getting your number, or wait, you were getting his number, whatever. and the cherry on top? you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. he definitely wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight, that's for sure.

"yeah uhm, thanks y/n, i'll text you later" jake says while giving you your phone back, finally looking you in the eyes and shit, he might've just peed himself.

your eyes were so...sparkly...?

you smile at him, your heart was basically melting at this point.

"okay, text you later jake!" you say while giggling as he walks away, you can't help it— he's so cute. you've never met a guy that had this effect on you, maybe jake was special.

as soon as he's out of sight, yoonchae wheezes.

"yoonchae i almost shat myself—"

she wheezes again and puts her hand on your shoulder.

"i know girl, i could tell but did you see him? he looked so in love, so lovey dovey, maybe he's your christmas present" she says, teasingly.

"yoonchae stop" you laugh while playfully shoving her, but maybe she was right.

maybe he was your christmas present, and perhaps you were his. you just weren't quite aware of that yet.

after another hour, you and yoonchae both parted ways. and as soon as you got to your apartment, you absolutely freaked the fuck out. all of the excitement just came rushing out of you, and frankly— you didn't even know that you were that happy, after just meeting a guy.

well, a really cute guy.

once you calmed down a bit, you decided to change into your comfortable gingerbread pajamas and go onto instagram. what you expected was to just see your normal feed, your friend's posts and whatnot. what you didn't expect to see, at all, was jake's post right there— all up in your face. you guessed it was because he was in your contacts now but shit, he looked so good in person and online.

you were contemplating if you should like the post and follow him, until you realized he had already followed you and actually left you a text message.

jake: hey y/n :))

you pause for a second and text him back.

you: hii jake

while waiting for a response, you hop back onto instagram and follow him. i mean, it's fine, he was already following you.

your eyes were blessed with his face when you clicked onto his profile. you were also looking at his other posts, and you found out he had a dog named layla, cute.

jake: i see you liking my posts jake: hehe

you giggle.

you: okay annddd? you: you literally followed me first and liked 90% of my posts

jake: damn, you got me there jake: jake 0 , y/n 1 jake: lol, anyways i was wondering what ur interests are?

you sit and think for a good minute, your interests only really had to do with winter and christmas, and maybe watching movies?

you: i'm kinda boring :p you: i really like christmas, and snow, and i guess watching movies

you see that he reads the text, but after one minute— he still hasn't responded. god, was he laughing at how boring you were?

unbeknownst to you, he was actually kicking his feet and giggling. so you did really like christmas. and you liked the snow and watching movies, too? fuck, you were his perfect match.

jake: sorry had to go get smth jake: but that's cool, and ur not boring :) i rlly like christmas too

you let out a sigh of relief after reading his texts.

your guy's conversation goes on for another one and a half hours, talking about your interests and stuff related to christmas. he was so interested in christmas, just like you. your heart was beating out of your chest, in a good way of course.

after you both said your "goodnights" to each other, you had tried to fall asleep. but you couldn't. you were daydreaming, about him, jake, his pretty face and cute personality. how he loved christmas and movies just like you did. how he didn't find you boring.

you wondered if he was already fast asleep, or daydreaming just like you.

and yes, he was indeed daydreaming— just like you were.

he'd never felt so comfortable around someone, let alone a female. he'd never really been good at even talking to females since, well, ever. he loved how you had the same humor and interests as him, he loved how naturally cute you were, and of course— he loved how you rambled about how much you loved the christmas season.

fast forward a little more than a week later, you and jake had been "talking" and god, he was your dream guy. you were sure of it now.

he was respectful, always holding doors open for you and walking you to your apartment when it was dark. he always complimented you and told you how gorgeous you were, even if you hadn't brushed your hair or gotten all dolled up. and best of all, he was always listening when you talked, even about the stupidest things. even when you were rambling about how gingerbread pajamas are cuter than snowman pajamas, he was genuinely listening.

oh, and you absolutely adored his smile and the way he laughed. honestly, he was like a human golden retriever.

you were falling for him, but...did he feel the same for you?

the quick answer, is yes, definitely yes.

he was sure that he was already in love with you when he laid eyes on you that first day. you looked so unreal and beautiful, and your personality was just as beautiful, too. that's what really locked him in. you were sweet, caring, funny, loved animals, loved christmas, and enjoyed making legos with him.

yeah, you were the one.

he just hadn't found the balls to ask you out properly, yet. but he knew he had to, at least before christmas.

today was the 14th of december and for some reason, jake decided that he actually had the balls today. you'd invited him over to make some cute christmas legos and watch home alone together, and of course he couldn't say no.

once he arrived to your place, he was in awe of how pretty you had decorated it. your tree was beautiful, ornaments and all. and your house smelt like a warm hug, like vanilla and christmas tree. but what he was even more in awe of was how beautiful you were, i mean, every time he saw you he was in awe.

but wow, you looked so gorgeous with your bare face. the way your hair was in a messy bun and you were in your cute little gingerbread pajamas, he just wanted to squish you. in a loving way, of course.

"hey jae, come in!" you say as you open the door. you'd started calling him jae, and he didn't mind it. in fact, he thought it was quite cute.

he ruffles your hair as he walks by you.

"wow y/n, your place is so pretty" he says, and you thank him.

"okay so, the lego set is already ready to be made over there" you point to your living room, "but i was actually thinking of doing face masks before..." you grin at him, "wanna do a face mask with me?" you ask while giving him puppy eyes, of course he couldn't say no.

the thing is, he never really knew what a face mask did, or how to do it, but he just wanted to make you happy, and it really did.

you had bought special christmas face masks for this special occasion, and jake— of course, found you adorable. you gave him a santa one and you gave yourself a snowman. and after finally putting the face masks on, you decided to take some cute selfies with him.

' we look like a couple ' you think, and you feel your ears start to get all red and hot.

"y/n? why are your ears so...red?" he asks, slightly giggling while brushing his hair back with his pretty fingers.

god, this was embarrassing, really embarrassing. he looked so beautiful and naturally just perfect, and you here you were, looking like a blushing mess.

and yeah, you might've thought of it as embarrassing, but jake was even more embarrassed because of how cute he found your red ears. he was already so in love with you, and at this point— he was really holding back the urge to just kiss your pretty face.

"uh i'm just cold, here wait, i'll go turn on the heater" you say, quickly getting up to go turn on the heater, even though that wasn't really the cause of your red ears.

he just nods and stares, he can't help it— you're literally the cutest in every way possible.

30 minutes later, you find yourselves building the lego set together. it's so much fun, you never had an interest in legos before this, but now you definitely did.

"jae—"

he quickly looks up from whatever he's doing, did you just call him jae? he felt his heart beat a little quicker at the cute nickname, he wishes you would accidentally call him that more often.

"sorry jake, uhm" you clear your throat, "i'm kind-of hungry" you mumble, focused on trying to piece together a lego.

"not going to lie, me too. oh my god, y/n, let's make ramen and hot chocolate" he suggests eagerly, but you turn your head in confusion. you've never heard of that combo before, but you were willing to try it since he was so excited about it.

"okay, i need a break from this anyways" you laugh, "i have all my ramens and instant noodles in the cabinet next to the stove" you tell him, as you go to get your phone from the couch, first.

he immediately gets up and happily runs to the cabinet, cute. he got so excited about little things, and it made your heart melt. he was so...genuine.

"i'll make chapagetti!" he says, grabbing a pot and filling it with water.

"okay, i'll make the hot chocolate" you respond, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing your needed ingredients.

you're both focused, he's making his favorite chapagetti, and you're making your y/n signature hot chocolate. there was silence, but a comfortable one. you liked it, and so did he.

however, you're interrupted by a knock on the door. you hadn't invited anyone except for jake. you curiously walk over to the front door and open it.

"hey miss y/n" riki says as you open the door.

"hey rikster" you respond, "i didn't invite you but come in, i guess..." you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully.

you notice the present in his hands.

"is that for me?" you ask curiously, but also matching his playful tone.

"might be..." he responds while putting the gift on a small table near the entrance.

"oh and i have a guest over—" you try to tell him while walking over to the kitchen, but you're cut off by riki's excitement.

"jake hyung?!" he exclaims while running up to jake, who is caught off guard.

"oh my god, riki" jake laughs, "wait— how do you know y/n?"

"bro, i've literally told you about her" riki says while plopping onto your couch, his favorite part about your place.

"wait" riki says, smirking at you and then at jake.

"are you two dating or something? why are you here jake?" he asks teasingly while raising one of his eyebrows.

you both freeze. you wished riki would just shut the fuck up sometimes, honestly.

you quickly glance at jake, and his cheeks are slightly pink. he was just as flustered as you, and that somehow made you feel little butterflies in your stomach.

"riki shut the fuck up for once, please— we aren't dating" you say sternly while scratching your nape.

you and jake weren't dating, but fuck, you really wished you were.

you catch how jake's expression slightly changed when you told riki that you two weren't dating, did he feel the same way you did?

jake thought he made it obvious, but i guess not.

"anyways" he clears his throat, "i finished making the chapagetti" jake says, placing his finished ramen on the counter.

wow, it looked good.

"nice! the hot chocolate is done, too" you respond.

you were about to pull out a chair for you to sit on but jake beats you at it, and pulls out the chair for you.

you just stare at him, you're taken aback. how could one be so respectful and funny, yet so beautiful? is he even real? you were actually wondering if you were hallucinating him.

"y/n this isn't a k-drama" riki reminds you while laughing, and you're embarassed.

"shut the fuck up" you tell him, annoyed and embarassed because he literally just did what does best— calling you out.

jake just lets out a little laugh, still waiting for you to sit.

"ah sorry, thanks jae" you thank him and of course, you accidentally blurt out that cute nickname. you feel your heart drop to your ass, silently praying that riki wouldn't tease you.

he just nods and smiles at you, seemingly nonchalant. however, he was jumping and giggling and screaming on the inside.

you brush it off and you both start enjoying the food, and damn is it good.

"wow y/n" his eyes widening as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate, "your hot chocolate might be better than mine"

you playfully smack his arm, but end up accidentally feeling the muscle. the world was against you right now, you were convinced.

"thanks mister sim" you tell him, trying to play off whatever the fuck just happened to you.

after eating, you both continued building the cute lego set together with riki bothering you guys the whole time.

"awh you two look like a couple"

"are you sure you guys aren't dating?"

"couple goals"

"you guys win couple of the year"

"oh my god riki can you shut the fuck up" jake finally snaps. he might sound disapproving, but he wishes that riki's words were true.

"damn, my bad bro" riki says while playfully putting his arms up, and you giggle. you had no clue they knew each other, but you don't mind it.

once you guys finished the lego, you took a picture of it and placed it on your coffee table. the lego set was two reindeers in a winter wonderland, and for some reason— it reminded you of you and jake.

now, you're both sat on the couch with a blanket over both of you. yeah you were sharing a blanket, but it wasn't weird for friends...right?

"cute" jake accidentally blurts out.

you assume that he's talking about the lego and you nod your head in agreement. however, you don't notice that he's literally staring at you.

"i'm gonna go now" riki says, getting up from the couch. finally, you were waiting for him to get his ass out of here.

"bye" you and jake say in unison.

"bye lovebirds" riki says playfully as he exits, and now there's silence. not as comfortable as earlier, either.

you're fidgeting with your nails, why was the silence so loud. you glance over at jake, and you're taken aback at how he's already looking at you.

this was his chance. he had to do it now.

"y/n" he says gently.

"mhm?" you hum, staring down at your hands.

"i like you" he tells you.

your brain shuts off, oh my fucking god. jake did feel the same way.

you slowly look up and you're met with jake's pretty brown eyes staring right into yours. he has the sweetest smile on his face, you almost started tearing up.

"jae"

his heart melts at the nickname.

"i like you, too."

oh my god, he could scream.

"really?" he asks softly while brushing your hair behind your ear.

"yeah" you respond in almost a mumble, you know your cheeks are red as fuck right now. your ears, too.

instantly, jake gently pulls you closer and wraps his arms around you. you smell so good, just like vanilla. he slowly brushes your hair with his fingers, head resting on your shoulder.

"this okay, pretty girl?"

you smile at the petname and how adorably soft his voice sounds.

"more than okay, jae"

you were both unexplainably happy right now, and stuck in unbelief. you had found your perfect match, your person.

you finally found the person that you'd be able to spend your christmases with. he was all you wanted and needed for christmas.

jake sim was the best present you could've ever wished for.

please like, reblog, and comment if u enjoyed :3 u can find my other works here !

© mochiwonz ― all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

[definitelynotabirthblog]

A Church Birth

Word count: 2800

Summary: a homeless young woman gives birth in a church on a cold night with the help of a vicar

TW: mention of bowels opening in the context of childbirth. Otherwise a bog standard if inconvenient birth fic.

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

Reverend Thomas Callahan tipped the electric kettle and poured boiling water over his teabag. As he stirred the steaming, amber liquid, the metal teaspoon clinking on the side of ceramic mug, he gazed out of the window in the small kitchen attached to his church, St Barnabas. It was November 5th and winter had ushered itself in rather prematurely in Reverand Callahan's opinion. Just two weeks ago, the village had been enjoying the last lingering rays of an Indian summer. Yet today, though it was barely 5pm, the milky glow of the moon had crept over the village as dusk fell, casting pointed, angular shadows of gravestones over the churchyard. A cold breeze picked up dead yew leaves and made them pirouhette beneath the window pane. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky, warning of the imminent storm. The reverend poured milk into his tea and lifted the mug to his lips, watching the wind drive the thick flurries of snow diagonally. As he sipped, a particularly strong gust forced the back door of the church open with a bang. He sighed.

Cupping his mug in his hands for warmth, he made his way to the door. He used his entire body weight to force the door shut, twisting the lock after.

"Lord, keep us safe tonight," he murmured, clutching his tea. He stared at his alter, his thoughts swimming.

He was a young vicar and St Barnabas was his first parish, its village his first flock. More than half of local residents attended services on Sunday's - most out of obligation than devotion to the Lord, he had concluded - but few reached out to him for guidance and prayer between services. Privileged enough to be privately educated by wealthy parents, he was painfully aware of his naivety, and had hoped that being posted to a poorer, rural community would provide him with the experience needed to advise and councel. He had come to understand that he was regarded with a mixture of amusement, novelty and affection - but not respect. He had not earned those stripes yet.

Physically he supposed that he was handsome enough. He had a head of thick, mocha-coloured hair, olive eyes framed with perfectly symmetrical eyelashes and peach-coloured skin. His lips were soft and pink, his front teeth crooked, but he was blessed with a warm smile that made his eyes shine. At six foot one inch he was tall, healthy man, muscular without being ripped, with a small, stubborn podge of stomach fat. He hadn't been oblivious to the occasional attractive young women taking a second yearning glance at him when he had explored the local towns, but his cluelessness at navigating such situations prevented him from pursuing them. As he walked away, frustration simmering inside him, he would often feel the aching throb of an erection tenting in his trousers.

A rap at the front door stole his attention from his reverie. He set his mug down and strode along the pews, shoes squeaking in the otherwise silent building. The night had drawn in now. Who could possibly still need the sanctuary of his church?

Thomas opened the door and peered out. The flurries he had noticed in the kitchen were now falling at blizzard speed as an inch-thick layer blanketed the churchyard, the wall and the lane beyond. Pinpricks of orange light in houses across the snow-covered village green sparkled, but the temperature outside was now close to freezing. His breath was visible in thick white puffs as he took in the sight before him.

A young woman. Her face was so pale it looked translucent, with fearful blue eyes and teeth chattering in the icy air. Her knotted blond hair cascaded around her shoulders which were covered in a shapeless coat the exact colour of moss. She wore thin leggings on her legs and a dirty pair of boots which looked like that they had trekked through mud. Thomas recognised her - she had been loitering outside the church after the previous two Sunday services but had darted away the second he tried to approach her.

"Can I help you?" he enquired, first looking past her to check she was alone, and then looking directly into her scared eyes.

She nodded and tried to talk, but either due to the cold or nerves, she was unable to speak, her mouth forming the shape of a word but without sound.

"It's too cold to dither out here," he said, assessing the situation. "Would you like to come in? Then maybe I can help?"

She nodded. He opened the door wider and she bowed her head before scurrying past him like a frightened mouse.

When they were safely inside, Thomas turned and looked at the young lady. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very petite in stature. Her scruffy clothes had a musty smell and were torn in places as though had been living rough. The hollowness of her cheeks, her pale face and her wet hair gave her the look of a drowned person. As the warmth of the church hit her, any remaining stamina she had was lost as she staggered, fell against the wall and slipped towards the ground. Thomas caught her frail body in his arms by reflex and supported her the last few inches towards the floor. He knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Willow," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you think you could stand up again, Willow? You can come and warm up and then maybe I can call someone for you."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, her face contorted and she cried out in pain. Her hand instictively travelling to her abdomen which was protruding from her slender frame despite the oversized coat. Her tortured eyes locked onto his, pleading for help. Compassion flooded through him and he did not hesitate as he scooped her up, one arm supporting her skinny shoulders and the other under her knees. Breathing through his mouth as the smell of the motheaten coat wafted upwards towards his nostrils, he carried the sobbing girl down the aisle and into his office, gently lowering her on the sofa he normally reserved for comforting the bereaved. As her cries reduced to muffled whimpers, he sat down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulders. Desperate for solace, she leant her body against him, and he found himself drawn into an awkward embrace with her, holding her close as he comforted her. Finally her breathing steadied.

"How can I help you, Willow?" His arm remained around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, frantically shaking her head, eyes begging him to understand.

"You're obviously scared and in pain... and not very well? Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked, concerned.

"I... I... maybe..." she said shakily, her head still pressed against his shoulder.

"Maybe?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Maybe if you told me what is wrong, I could help you decide if you need to see a doctor. But you just collapsed in my church. I think seeing a doctor would be a good plan." He looked at her unkempt appearance. "Where have you been staying?"

"Wherever I can."

"Wherever you can?"

She nodded.

"I'm very sorry to ask this but are you homeless?"

"Only for the last two months."

"Only? That's a very long time to be sleeping rough."

She shrugged.

"I'm in touch with a few local hostels. I could ring around and see if I can get you a bed for tonight."

"They won't take me."

"Why won't they?"

"Because... because..." She burst into fresh floods of tears. Within seconds, her cries turned into fresh bellows of pain as she rocked her hips back and forth. "Oh, please help me. It hurts, it HURTS!"

"Willow, please tell me-"

Another noise noise erupted from her, this time low and primal, not unlike a roar. Thomas watched as the pain seized her, calculating whether he should comfort her or call for help first. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the sofa, her agony clear in her eyes as she growled her way through whatever was causing her body such torment. Acknowledging that this was a medical emergency that he was unequipped to handle, he reached to his pocket for his phone. He sighed with exasperation as he saw he had no bars, the sigh turning into a panicked moan on noticing the red light on the router.

"I think I need to call for help," he decided, rubbing Willow's arm in an inadequete effort to offer reassurance. "But I have no signal and the WiFi is down. Probably because of the weather. It means I need to leave you but I'll be b-"

"NO! Please don't go!" she gasped, scrabbling for his hand. "Please, no! You can't leave me!"

As the pain ripped through her body, there was a audible pop, immediately followed by a squelch, as though someone had sat in a puddle of water. Willow immediately pulled her hand to her crotch, relief evident in her face as the pain began to ease once more. Thomas was very confused now. What was wrong with this lady, this scrawny, malnourished young thing sat in his office, who had collapsed in his church, was intermittently wracked with such intense pain it rendered her barely able to speak, seemingly had no one on this earth to help her and was allegedly homeless but not immediately requesting medical help?  He looked at her as she shut her eyes, taking whatever brief respite had come her way, the awkward curve of her abdomen distending under her coat. Suddenly he understood just what that audible pop and squelch of liquid was.

"Willow, are you pregnant?"

She gazed at him. "I know it's a sin vicar."

"Let's leave sin at the door for the moment. Is the baby coming?"

"I've been having bad pains all day and... and... I think something has just come out of me."

"I think it is just the fluid that cushions that baby. Do you understand why I'm going to have to leave you do get help?"

Another contraction reared itself before she could reply. Willow threw her head back, her face twisted as the spasms of her womb coasted across her body. The animalistic noises that erupted from her sounded more bovine than human. Thomas knew he needed to establish just how far away from delivering this child she was. As the contraction eased again, he took Willow's trembling hand in his.

"Willow, is the baby coming right now?" he asked, his eyes finding hers.

"It feels like something is coming out of me."

He sighed.

"Do you mind if I have a quick look at you... er, down below?" He blushed. "If the baby is coming now, I will have to catch it."

She hesitated and then nodded.

He knelt down on the floor and positioned himself so he was directly in front of her.

"Do you want to take you bottoms off for me?

Willow kicked off her dirty boots and then, in one slow awkward movement, slipped her leggings and drenched knickers over her skinny hips and past her knees. Thomas helped her pull them over her ankles and threw them on the sofa beside her. Instinctively, she opened her legs for him, showing her unshaved mons. She was positioned with her hips too far back to see anything more than the top half inch of her slit.

"Do you think you could shuffle forwards for me so you're perched towards the edge of the sofa?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for her to shuffle forwards.

She awkwardly scooted her bottom towards him and then reclined as best as she could.

"And maybe you could just lift your legs up for me?"

As she gripped the back of her thighs and pulled them towards her chest, finally exposing her pussy to him. Staring at the site displayed before him, his eyes took in her jewel-like clitoris nestled between her stubbled labia. Between them was her vaginal opening and peeking at him from underneath, her puckered rosebud. Unable to see anything that looked like a baby emerging, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew. Thankfully I can't see anything. So-"

Willow roared as a contraction hit, her breaths coming in shallow and ragged gasps. Her tender asshole bulged and her rectum emptied right there onto the edge of sofa. Her vulva bulged outwards as her labia started to separate. A dark, wet mass appeared just inside her vagina, fluid dribbling out from around it in rivulets onto Thomas's knees. Adrenalin surged through him as he realised there could be no leaving Willow to get help, as she was about to birth her baby right there into his arms. He looked around frantically for something clean to deliver the baby onto and quickly grabbed a couple of spare sweaters he had on top of his desk. As he eased one under Willow's buttocks, her breathing started to ease and the pain lessened once more.

"What do I do?" she trembled, panic welling over in her voice.

"I'm a vicar, Willow, not a midwife," he laughed nervously, looking up at her over her spasming belly.  "I think you need to keep doing what your body is telling you to do and I'll catch the baby when it comes."

"I need to push. I can't stop it."

"Then push, if that's what your body is telling you to do."

As though on cue, Willow started grunting her way through another contraction. Her pussy stretched more with each torturous push, until a dark, two inch portion of head was visible as the contraction peaked. When it eased off, the head slipped back inside, her inflamed lips closing over it. Willow threw her head back exhausted, but seconds later she was bellowing again as her baby appeared once more at her opening. Thomas wondered just how much stretching it could take as the now lemon-sized portion of head continued to be driven outwards. A memory of a film he saw came to him, where the birth attendant used gauze to support the woman as she pushed out the biggest part of her baby. He pressed the sweater he put under Willow against her perenium. She writhed and shrieked on the sofa as she neared a full crown, her legs flailing around Thomas's head.

"Oh, help me! Oh God in heaven!" she screamed, her panicked, frantic hand reaching between her legs for Thomas.

"Please, just breathe Willow," he said, pressing on her taint with one hand and taking her hand with his other. "The head's coming out now. I think this is the worst bit."

Willow panted, her swollen vulva circling her baby as she drove it out of her body. As the contraction peaked, the head teetered on the raw lips of her pussy before the pain eased again and her body pulled it back inside her canal. There it sat, just visible between her stinging labia.

"You were so close then," Thomas said, squeezing her hand. "One more push like that and I think the head will be out."

Gathering her strength again, Willow bore and pushed the infant out of her fatigued body once again. It popped out with a gushy splash, amniotic fluid and blood splattering the floor and pebbledashing her inner thighs. Thomas balanced the damp, slimy head in his hands, watching as the child's brow furrowed, its mouth opening in a silent cry. Gradually, it turned to Willow's thigh.

"The head's out. Push again."

With one last effort, a dribble of fluid and a groan, the wriggling baby tumbled into the world. Thomas caught its slippery body in his shaking hands and carefully lowered it onto his knee. A baby boy. He cried lustily, feeling the chilly air on his skin for the first time. Thomas wrapped the little boy in his sweater and looked up at Willow. Her entire body was shaking, her face shining with sweat.

"Willow... Willow, you've done it!" he gasped, gazing down at the newborn.

She gazed down at the vicar, whose eyes were meeting hers from between her legs and reached her arms out. As if he was handling the crown jewels, he carefully settled Willow's firstborn son on her breasts. Tears of relief and exhaustion leaked down her pretty pale face, her chest shaking with sobs as the baby was comforted by the warmth of her trembling body.

"Thank you," she whispered to Thomas, her lips brushing her baby's head.

"You did it all yourself, you wonderful girl," he replied, the emotion crackling in his voice. He gazed over at his desk and looked at the router, the green light shining. "And would you believe it, I can finally ring for help!"

[unabashegirl]

Enticing 49 — ceo hs

Harry, a private billionaire and devoted father, hires Y/N as his son's nanny. Her kindness stirs unexpected feelings. Will love overcome his guarded life, a jealous girlfriend, and the mystery of Oliver's mother?

Author's note: Yesterday, I thought I hadn't posted chapter 48, but I noticed I had posted the same chapter twice after a fellow follower pointed it out. Thank you for letting me know.

⭐️ I'm still trying to gather $1600 to pay for my medical school. Please consider donating it. I'm desperate. I would really appreciate it. --> Ko-Fi ☕️

⭐️ I’ve created a Patreon collection with ALL the chapters of Enticing available for $15 (54 posts). This is an option for those who are tired of waiting and want instant access. Otherwise, the usual $3 subscription is still available with access to the other one shots.😊 ----> Patreon

⭐️ --> enticing masterlist <---

It was a damp and chilly day in the heart of New York City, a late November afternoon pregnant with the promise of impending festivities. Christmas lurked just around the corner, casting its enchanting glow over the city that never sleeps. Harry, having just ventured home from the office, found himself stepping into an apartment that echoed with the quiet hum of transition.

The majority of their possessions lay encased in cardboard, snugly packed away, anticipating the journey to a new residence. Y/N's apartment, a temporary sanctuary, had been earmarked for a new role as a vacation rental property. The couple was poised to relocate to their new abode before the advent of Christmas, and certainly before the arrival of their imminent bundle of joy.

Harry, as he traversed the threshold, observed the in-between state of their living space—a tableau caught between the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future. The walls, witnesses to laughter and shared secrets, seemed to murmur tales of times gone by.

The living room, bereft of its usual assortment of trinkets, projected a curious amalgamation of unfamiliarity and warmth. A solitary chair, adorned with a throw that had borne witness to countless movie nights and stolen kisses, beckoned in solitude. The room, now devoid of life's chaos, stood as an expectant canvas, yearning for the brushstrokes of a new chapter.

In the kitchen, once alive with the aroma of shared meals, the dance of packing materials and neatly folded dishcloths unfolded. The refrigerator, once a tapestry of joyous memories held in place by magnets, now stood bare. Yet, within this emptiness lay the promise of a blank canvas, ready to be adorned with fresh memories.

Harry, feeling a sudden yearning for connection, reached for his phone, dialing the first contact in his favorites. A single ring later, her melodic voice spilled through the receiver.

"Hi honey," she sang, her words a comforting melody.

"Hey. Where are you?" Harry inquired, his eyes wandering to the cityscape outside.

"We're out for a stroll in the park," she replied. "Thought it'd be nice to enjoy the crisp air. And, uh, we might've stopped for some hot chocolate. Oliver insisted.”

"Oliver insisted, huh?" Harry playfully retorted, a smile gracing his lips. The sound of their voices, a lifeline in the midst of change, offered him solace. "I had no idea that Oliver could form full sentences.”

"Alright. It might have to do something with me and his sisters' cravings," she explained, laughter lacing her words.

“How come I wasn’t invited?” Harry asked as he began wrapping a scarf around his neck.

“I thought you would be coming from work late,” she replied. "We're still at the park, wandering around. Would you like to join us?”

“Already on my way.” Harry ended the call, donned his coat, and embarked on a journey to join the two most important people in his life.

As he navigated through the park, the cold air nipping at his cheeks, Harry scanned the surroundings, searching for the familiar figures of his girlfriend and son. The chill seemed to fade in significance against the warmth that swelled within him at the prospect of joining their spontaneous escapade.

Finally, he spotted them near a quaint Christmas market, Y/N cradling Oliver in her arms as they admired the festive decorations. Harry approached with a grin.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, Oliver reaching out towards him with a delighted grin. Harry scooped him up, planting a tender kiss on his rosy cheek. "Hey, little man. How was the hot chocolate?” he inquired after a quick peck on Y/N's lips.

“Yummy. Even though I slightly burned my tongue.” Harry chuckled and reached for the stroller. “How was the office?” Y/N initiated small talk as they navigated the bustling streets.

“Good. I finally had the chance to set up a visit to the office in London, but after our trip to Anguilla.” Harry had orchestrated a week away from the New York hustle before the impending move and the holiday season. Work had taken a toll on him, and he needed a brief respite. “Did you pack already?”

“I did. I even checked that you had packed everything too. You hadn’t packed a swimsuit.”

“That’s insignificant. Could have skinny-dipped,” he quipped, winking at her as she took charge of the stroller. “You ruined the fun.”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Let’s stop at the deli. I want to get some things for my mom."

"What time is your mother getting here?" Harry inquired, trailing behind her as she led the way into their local grocery store. Y/N’s mom was set to stay for a week, graciously offering to look after Oliver during their travels. Harry welcomed the gesture with open arms, recognizing it as a chance for Mrs. Johnson to indulge in a well-deserved vacation.

"In about two hours or so. I just want to fully stock the fridge, so she doesn’t have to venture out or do any unnecessary walking," Y/N explained, pulling a shopping cart into position.

With their shopping complete, they made their way to the checkout counter. The cashier greeted them with a friendly smile, scanning each item before placing them in bags. Harry paid for the groceries, and they exited the store, the bell chiming softly once more.

The night air was crisper now, and they huddled together, the warmth of their shared breath creating a cocoon against the cold. Bags in hand, they started the short journey back to their apartment.

As they walked, the city sounds surrounded them—the distant honking of a taxi, the muffled conversations of pedestrians, and the occasional rustling of leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The weight of the bags added a comforting sense of purpose to their steps.

Reaching the apartment building, they rode the elevador, the bags swaying with each movement. Unlocking the door, they stepped into the warmth of their home, the scent of groceries mingling with the familiar fragrance of the apartment.

"Mission accomplished," Harry declared, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. As they unpacked the groceries, the quiet simplicity of the moment settled over them—a shared task, a cozy home, and the promise of moments yet to unfold.

The clock was ticking towards nine in the evening when the security intercom buzzed, signaling the arrival of Elizabeth and Delilah, Y/N's younger sister. Elizabeth had chosen to take the latest train, and a mix of excitement and nerves accompanied her journey. Bringing her daughters together was an endeavor that had tugged at her emotions.

The elevator doors chimed, signaling their arrival on the top floor.

"Y/N?" Elizabeth's voice echoed through the foyer. Y/N swiftly untangled herself from Harry and Oliver, walking briskly to her mother. "Look at you!" Elizabeth exclaimed, enveloping her oldest daughter in a warm embrace. "You are absolutely glowing!"

“I’ve missed you!” Y/N said as she pulled away and then turned to look at her sister.

"Delilah, it's been too long. How have you been?" Y/N's voice carried a genuine sweetness, As Y/N greeted Delilah at the door, there was an undeniable warmth in her eyes, a genuine attempt to bridge the gap that time had created between them.

"Busy, you know how it is," Delilah replied vaguely, avoiding eye contact. The air in the room hung heavy with unspoken tensions, as if the weight of their past differences loomed large. Y/N tried to steer the conversation toward more neutral ground

"Well, we're so glad you could make it. How's school?”

“Fine” Y/N struggled with the tangible discomfort of trying to reconnect with a sister determined to keep an emotional distance. "Is this your house?" Delilah inquired.

"My boyfriend's," Y/N replied.

"I've told you it's just as much yours as it is mine," Harry chimed in, approaching with a drowsy Oliver cradled in his arms. "I am very pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N."

"Please call me Elizabeth, Harry."

"I would shake your hand, but I'm a bit tied up with this one," he said, motioning to the almost one-year-old sleeping in his arms. “Thank you for coming. I am sure it’s not easy to drop work and school for a favor. I’m very grateful”. Elizabeth smiled, “You must be Delilah. It’s nice to meet you too”.

“Thanks” Delilah couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise as her eyes inadvertently lingered on Harry's features. His natural beauty struck her, catching her off guard. The way his curls fell effortlessly, the strong jawline, and the warmth in his eyes all seemed almost too perfect. She had seen her sister with attractive partners before, but there was something distinctly captivating about Harry. It left Delilah momentarily stunned, her initial coldness thawing as she found herself acknowledging the genuine charm of Y/N's boyfriend.

"Come in, please. Dinner is served in the dining room," Harry welcomed them into the living room. "I'm just going to put him to bed, and I'll be back."

"Mom, please leave that there. Harry and I will take it upstairs," Y/N said, observing her mom struggling with her purse, a carry-on, and a duffle bag that appeared to belong to her younger sister.

"Harry and I? You better not be carrying heavy things, Y/N," Elizabeth warned as she placed all the bags beside the staircase.

"I am not," Y/N smiled, gently grabbing her mother's hand, a reminiscent gesture from her childhood. Elizabeth's face lit up with memories as she marveled at her oldest daughter. "I promise," Y/N added, reassuring her mother.

"Pregnancy is really suiting you, honey," Elizabeth commented.

"Are you excited to be a grandma?" Y/N asked, throwing an arm over her mother's shoulders as she guided her towards the dining room.

"I can't wait. Have you guys set a name?"

"Isn't it too soon?"

"You look big enough to have her tomorrow," Delilah remarked under her breath, intentionally hurting Y/N's feelings and confidence. Elizabeth glanced at Delilah with a disapproving look, silently urging her to be more considerate. Y/N, though hurt by the remark, maintained her composure as they all gathered at the dining table. The room was filled with a warm glow from the flickering candles, creating a serene ambiance.

As they settled into their seats, Harry reappeared, having successfully put Oliver to bed. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Y/N and her family. He was at peace that it had finally happened and that he had been given a second chance, but more importantly that he got the change to finally meet her family.

Dinner was a mix of casual conversation and catching up on the time they had spent apart. Elizabeth, despite her initial reservations, couldn't help but be drawn to Harry's genuine charm and warm hospitality. Delilah, on the other hand, seemed to have a small crush on her sister’s boyfriend.

"So, where are you guys off to?" Elizabeth inquired, savoring a bite of the dark chocolate pie that Y/N had expertly prepared.

"Anguilla. Eastern Caribbean," Harry replied, a warm smile accompanying his words. "Thought it'd be nice to take a little break before the hectic months ahead."

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled with delight. "That's a wonderful idea”.

"We leave tomorrow, but don't worry, the fridge is fully stocked, and I made sure to buy all your favorites," Y/N chimed in, casting a reassuring glance at her mother. Elizabeth chuckled, appreciating the thoughtful gesture.

As the evening progressed, everyone ascended the stairs to the apartment. Harry, gracious and understanding, bid his goodbyes, excusing himself to provide Y/N with a private moment to reconnect with her family.

Y/N, her heart filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation, led her mother, Elizabeth, to the guest bedroom overlooking Central Park. "This will be your room, Mom," she announced warmly, pushing the door open to reveal a freshly cleaned space with a picturesque view. "This is the room with the best view. You just wait and see tomorrow." Harry had efficiently brought up the luggage Elizabeth arrived with, and Y/N continued her considerate tour. "There are fresh towels in the bathroom and a robe in case you want to get cozy," she shared, patting down the feather duvet. "Your room is right across, Delilah."

The room Y/N had selected for her sister held a special significance, as it was the very room she once occupied during her time as a nanny. Every detail had been meticulously arranged, with freshly cleaned linens and neatly folded blankets. Elizabeth followed behind, observing her eldest daughter as she removed the numerous decorative pillows from the bed.

"I picked this room for you because the sunrise is from the back, you won't be disturbed by the early sunlight. And, of course, the blackout curtains make it even more comfortable." Y/N explained, gesturing to the window that framed a peaceful view.

However, as the atmosphere settled into a semblance of peace, Delilah seized a moment alone with Y/N to express her disdain. "You seem to be enjoying this domestic scene quite a lot, playing house with your rich boyfriend," she sneered, her tone cutting through the otherwise serene atmosphere. Caught off guard by the sudden hostility, Y/N took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before responding to her sister's unexpected critique.

As Delilah's sharp words lingered in the air, Y/N felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. Despite the celebratory occasion of her family's visit, Delilah seemed determined to cast a shadow over the reunion. Y/N tried to keep her composure, offering a soft smile and attempting to steer the conversation toward a more positive direction.

"Well, it's not about playing house or being rich," Y/N responded, her voice steady. "Harry and I are building a life together, and we're excited about the future." She chose her words carefully, hoping to diffuse the tension that hung in the room.

Delilah, however, remained unyielding. "Building a life or being carried away in someone else's?" she retorted, her skepticism apparent. Y/N could sense an underlying resentment, a sentiment she hadn't anticipated. The transition from their childhood dynamics to this newfound reality appeared to be a source of contention for Delilah.

“Carried away? I have a job and a career. Sure, Harry probably makes more than me, but that doesn’t mean that I am just a trophy wife or girlfriend in this case”

Delilah's expression remained skeptical, a visible furrow on her brow. "Career or convenience?" she challenged, her tone biting. Y/N took a moment to collect her thoughts, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

"I'm not sure why I'm bothering to explain this to you. It's clear you're too immature to understand or be happy for me. I thought after all this time, you might have changed a bit," Y/N shook her head, frustration evident in her tone. "It's obvious this isn't about me and Harry. This is about what happened a few years ago. It's time to grow up and move on.”

---> Chapter 50

[theashesofthefirststar]

Edwin-centric fic idea for those of us who like to see our favorite gay ghost boy suffer

Edwin gets caught up with Destiny The Endless, who attempts to torment him with visions of what his life could have been like if he lived. He explains that one's future is never set in stone, but some outcomes are more likely than others, and for Edwin, all of his most likely paths were nearly as tragic as the one that ended in his death.

In one path he’s conscripted into the military at 18 and dies a month before the war ends in November of 1918. In a similar path he develops a relationship with a fellow platoon member only to be found out and court marshaled for “gross indecency”. He spends 10 years in prison.

There’s even a path where a teacher finds him the night of what was supposed to be his sacrifice and puts a stop to everything before the demon shows up. Later, a tense confrontation with Simion leads to a stolen kiss, which leads to a secret, years long affair that only ends when Edwin is invited to Simion's wedding.

None of this has much of an effect on Edwin. He always knew there was no happy endings for people like him when he was alive. It's why he's never yearned for his life or grieved his death in the way Charles does.

So Destiny changes tactics and fills Edwins's mind with versions of the life Charles could have had if he hadn't died. Unlike Edwin's, these paths are all happy and full. Charles getting away from his father. Charles going off to college. Charles making new, better friends. Charles taking up guitar. Charles kissing pretty girls. Charles getting a good job and moving his mother somewhere safe. Charles falling in love and getting married and having kids and making them spaghetti and singing them songs and doing all the things he's been yearning for since his death, but that Edwin can never give him.

And Destiny taunts Edwin. "How does it feel," he asks, "Knowing that any life would have been better for Charles than the one he shares with you?"

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece VII: The Sea, and Conclusion

AO3 Part I Part VI

“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” —Herman Melville

There is nothing more Romantic than to yearn for the sea. In his book Image of the Sea: Oceanic Consciousness in the Romantic Century, Howard Isham describes what he calls the “cosmic liquescence” that artists, writers, and musicians so often tapped into during the Romantic era. These were the last days of the sail, the world teetering on the edge between eras. To be alive during this time was to endure change, and the image of a ship being tossed about by the sea was a metaphor for those caught up in the spirit of the age.

Even more than our own, the world of One Piece is one of water. The ocean as metaphor has the benefit of being extremely broad, at times, paradoxically so. With a little bit of effort, the sea can represent basically whatever you want it to. In the real world, it can mean freedom for those who sail it, but with the proliferation of the Atlantic slave trade, Barbary pirates, and young men being press-ganged into service against their will it can just as easily be a symbol of oppression, terror, and slavery. Pirates were known to be somewhat democratic, but sailors stuck serving under cruel and unreasonable captains could be led to a watery death with no say in their fate. The ocean is life, sustaining countless people with its bounty and giving employment to sailors, fishermen, and any and everyone related to those trades. It is also death, cold, impersonal, and certain. 

A ship might be stuck helplessly in the doldrums or ravaged by savage wind and waves. It is adventure and mystery, for no one knows what lies beyond the horizon or what lurks beneath the surface. It is the thing that separates us, but also the means by which we travel, enabling new connections and the exchange of trade, culture, and colonialism. Depending on their purpose for setting sail, ships of this era were one of the few places where people of vastly different national origins, languages, religions and cultures not only lived together in close proximity, but depended on one another for their livelihoods and survival. An excellent example of this in Romantic literature can be found in Moby Dick, where the American point of view character Ishmeal becomes fast friends with the Pacific Islander Queequeg while working on the international whaling crew.

The sea can be feminine, the primordial mother of us all. Aphrodite was born of sea foam; mermaids, sirens, and nereids roam the waters to tempt, seduce, help, or destroy unwitting sailors. Ships are almost always referred to as she. Via the tides, the ocean is connected with the moon, also traditionally feminine. But the sea is also be masculine. Characters such as Old Man of the Sea, Poseidon, Oceanus were all male, as were the winds all ships depended on.

During the time that the Romantics wrote, sea-side vacations were increasingly prescribed as a health cure while sailors themselves suffered from ailments such as scurvy, typhus, and dysentery. Several poets reminisced longingly about their youthful childhoods swimming care-free in the sea. But the ocean is unfathomably ancient and supremely haunted by the souls of countless lives lost beneath its waves. 

In Moby Dick, the titular whale could represent God, the Devil, or Nature itself. To Tennyson, the breaking of the waves represented grief. The journey across the sea in Rime of the Ancient Mariner deals with life and redemption. To Wordsworth, the sea was immortal. To Byron it was freedom. Shelley writes of the West Wind stirring the sea—and thus the dreamer—awake from a deep summer slumber. To quote Keats, “Oh, ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired/Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea”.

I could go on, but let’s not belabor the point. In light of this vastness of metaphor, it is fair to say that in One Piece that the sea isn’t representative of one single thing. The New Era is brought in with Whitebeard’s crashing waves during the Marineford War. The terrible power of the Agua Laguna shows the force of Robin’s darkness breaking the Straw Hats apart, while the stormy skies of that time show the turbulence going on within the crew. Sailing brings people of different cultures, societies, and ideas together, and that forced interaction can break down prejudice and foster understanding between different species and cultures, as shown in both the Fishman Island and Skypiean flashbacks.

The Grand Line itself is portrayed as a cogwheel of fate, bringing the strong together in a clash of wills, and the limited navigational tools means that it is difficult, if not impossible to backtrack—you must live your life without regrets, and continue to move forward as you grow stronger as a person and crew. The sea represents the life of a pirate, often cruel, unfair, and dangerous but ultimately liberating. The promise of adventure exists somewhere beyond that unbroken horizon, a place of wonderland and dreams

The World Government may rule over a hundred and seventy allied nations, but no one owns the sea. Thus, as Luffy says at Sabaody, the Pirate King isn’t about conquering anything, but to become the freest man in the world.

I would also be remiss not to mention that the Sea Metaphor of One Piece is incomplete, and will be until the secrets of the Devil Fruit are finally revealed. It is curious that the force that’s presented as the epitome of freedom completely rejects Devil Fruit users, including the one representing liberation. Egghead also added the interesting element of the sea being an existential threat to the entire world, when the destructive power of the sea over land had been previously limited. It would be interesting to revisit this topic after the series has ended to see how Oda resolves these seemingly competing ideas.

But if there is one metaphor I think rules above all else, it is the sea as home, specifically home for the outcast. Robin says during her flashback, even before the Buster Call comes, that she’s studying to become an archeologist in order to go out to sea with her mother. Her home life on Ohara is one of ostracization. Even the archeologists, who love her dearly, don’t let her in on their deepest, darkest secrets. This is for her own safety, but to an eight year old girl who’s been rejected by everyone else on her home island, even her own family, it’s enough for her to seek solace in the promise of the sea. Then, during the Buster Call, Saul promises her that in the vastness of the sea she will find friends, and she will find family, that no one is born to be alone. It’s a sentiment Reiju echoes to Sanji during the Whole Cake Island flashback.

The sea is an escape. Most of the Straw Hats in one way or another have complicated relationships with their places of origin, and for many returning would be difficult if not impossible. Even a character like Nami, who is universally beloved by her hometown, spent eight years thinking that the people of Cocoyashi Village hated her, making her relationship with them relatively fraught while she was a member of Arlong’s crew. During that time the sea, and the treasure she found therein, was her only hope of freedom. The only Straw Hat who ends up staying behind has strong ties anchoring her to someplace other than the Going Merry. It’s not until hundreds of chapters and many real-world years later that an even greater force usurps Vivi from her homeland.

Similarly, fights with the marines and other enemies often end once the Straw Hats hit the open water. The society that tries to squeeze the citizens of the world into a specific shape loses its power over the boundless ocean. This is, of course, a double-edged sword. Water 7, the bandits of chapter 1, and Garp’s blackmail of Dadan show that it also deprives outlaws like Luffy the benefit of society’s protection. But those who refuse to conform to the whims and pressures of the world gain from fleeing to the sea, and what is to dream if not to refuse to conform in one way or another? Every single one of the Straw Hats want something that conventional wisdom says is impossible, but they search anyway, and in doing so find like-minded friends with which to band together. And like how a cord of rope is stronger than its individual fibers, together this found-family has the ability to challenge society and win, finding their own freedom in the process. 

The reason I hone in on the Sea as Home metaphor so strongly over the more general Sea as Freedom metaphor is developed during Luffy’s post-Marineford flashback. It’s here while he’s forcibly befriending Ace that Luffy reveals to him that being alone is the worst pain in the world, worse than being punched all day by a grown man in spiked boxing gloves. It’s after this that he, Ace, and Sabo discuss the freedom of the seas and piracy, and the moment they become brothers. It is this desire for connection, the longing for the outcast to find their place with other outcasts, that drives Luffy to the sea in the first place. It’s there he finds his people, and while he’s not able to navigate, or cook, or do anything remotely useful on a sailing vessel, he’s able to protect the people flying under his flag. It’s a symbiotic relationship between captain and crew, a complete and total interdependence that is required when sailing the treacherous waters of the Grand Line. 

During the Davy Back Fight, Luffy makes a prophetic statement when fighting Foxy that he’s willing to fight to the death for his friends. It’s an idea echoed during his fight with Bleuno on Enies Lobby, when the latter wonders how long Luffy will keep fighting against the combined might of the World Government. It’s the reason why the death of the Merry, the fight against Usopp, and Robin’s supposed betrayal is so devastating both for the reader and the Straw Hat Pirates. The found family that had developed over the course of the manga has ruptured, and they lost the ship with which they’ve called home.

The Water 7 Saga ends with a reconciliation between brothers and their home built anew, this time stronger and more able to weather the stormy waters that wait ahead, the peaceful lamb exchanged for a fearsome lion with a mane as bright as the sun. Nothing has challenged the internal fortitude of the Straw Hat Pirates quite like that saga and nothing ever will again, because both their home and family has been forged into something unbreakable, allowing them to sail the sea, and pursue their freedom, any way they wish.

Conclusion and Final Thoughts

”Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt in solitude, where we are least alone”—Lord Byron

I want to end on this point, because despite all the similarities between the Romantic movement and One Piece, in this we see one great difference. For all that the characters in Moby Dick are forced to depend on one another and the good judgement of their captain to survive, the book ends with everyone except Ishmael dead. Romantic poetry calls for solitary contemplation, and the landscapes of this era diminish the individual in favor of the wide, open spaces of nature. The zeitgeist of the age celebrated the misunderstood, melancholic genius. If One Piece were written during this time, Luffy would never have been the main protagonist. The rise of the Byronic hero would have made sure that honor went to a darker, more brooding character like Law or Ace.

In 1770, a boy of 17 named Thomas Chatterton committed suicide in his small garret apartment. Having grown up fatherless and in poverty, this young genius of a poet was unable to scratch out a living with his writing, and after battling both depression and the pressure of changing his profession, he instead chose to end his own life.

The death of Chatterton sparked a cult following. His life and death would be commemorated in art, plays, and operas, with poets like Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelly, and Keats all dedicating works to his name. His influence can still be felt today in the trope of the suffering arts that he and countless others helped codify.

One Piece is the story of a boy who rejects the confines of society in search of his own freedom, but he does not do so alone. Luffy is driven as much by the desire to be with his friends as he is by his desire to find the One Piece. The series agrees that risking death is an acceptable part of chasing one's dream, but rejects the notion that it should be sought out or celebrated. In One Piece, it’s better to live an undignified life in the hope of a better tomorrow than to give into an easy death. 

It is ironic that for all that the Romantics emphasized the self, many were friends with one another, Wordsworth and Colridge collaborated in writing Lyrical Ballads. Mary and Percy Shelly were married, and Mary Shelly famously wrote Frankenstein while on a retreat with Lord Byron. The German Romantic movement kickstarted with a group of men who wrote and studied together at the University if Jena, with similar groups later popping up in Berlin and Heidelberg. The American Transcendentalists even formed a club, with Thoreau only able to conduct his two year stint in the woods because the property was owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson, while his mother did his laundry. 

One Piece recognizes that genius is not a solitary venture. Those seeking their freedom cannot and should not do so alone. Existence isn’t a crime, the sea is vast, and your people are out there somewhere.

There are of course other differences. One Piece is written in a post-nuclear, modern world. Among other things, the mysterious, idealized past of the Void Century is not one of primitive nature but hyper-advanced technology, and the progress of man is something to be embraced rather than rejected. 

Yet the biggest difference I keep circling back to is One Piece's unabashed celebration of life. At the end of the day, it’s a story meant to make people laugh. Oda is unafraid of plunging into the depths of despair and tragedy, but he doesn't linger there before pulling the reader back into joy.

LP Hartley once wrote that, “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”. One Piece can never be mistaken as a story of the historical Romantic movement. There’s just too much difference between the world of today and the one where these works came.  But I hope that I've shown how it carries some of that legacy into the present day. Intentionally or not, Oda has taken an old idea and used it as a guardrail for the entire series. Like the sun, guiding the dawn of a new era. The dawn of Romance, if you will.

A Romance Dawn. 

[sapphicvqmpires]

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ who are you?

vampire series | shuri udaku | part 1

Pairing - vampire!shuri x black fem!reader

Word count - 17k (yup)

Contains - smut (18+), fingering, cunnilingus, clit play, overstimulation, choking/breathplay, biting, edging, strap-on sex, blood drinking, descriptions of blood, gaslighting (it’s a vampire story, so it’s a whole bunch of shady shit going on), and probably more I forgot

Divider From - @firefly-graphics

Sneak Peak - “Shuri…baby…” Your breathless whimpers forced Shuri to release you, her face drawing closer to yours, yet she looked so different. Her dark brown eyes transformed into a blood-red hue, her fangs fully extended, and her mouth stained with your blood. The image frightened you at first and Shuri looked away in shame, attempting to conceal the face she despised so deeply.

Tags - @inmyheadimobsessed @amplifiedmoan @vampzxi @abenomeiiii @heejayy @shurislover @shurismainbxtch @shuriszn @naomis-daydream @prettymrswright @pocketsizedpanther @gardenof-venus @tiii-iiiiii @verachii @ihearttish @playhousedistee @somethingcleaverandwhitty @niyahwrites @tishsrealwife @oceean @sookiesookie @myaraines @cafehyunji @6-noir @ventingfanfics @marsology @imjusthere2readbruv @desswright29 @ooglyboooglybitxh @sweetalittleselfish-honey @kisskourt @shaiwritesss @sapphicbarbz @darkangelchronicles (comment if you want to be tagged in future fics, 18+ only)

Writers Note: whew fuck, this was definitely the most challenging thing I’ve ever written for tumblr. I could’ve went on and on, but I realize that’s not ideal. This is part 1 of a three part story, this part is mostly just an introduction to Shuri and her character, delving into her past and her life as vampire while introducing the vampire lore. Reader is nosey af but who wouldn’t be if they got to question a vampire? I hope you guys enjoy this read! I always love reading your comments!

“If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain, If you cut me with a knife it's still the same

And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead

Yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real

It seems that I still have a tear to shed” - tears to shed, the corpse bride

November 23rd, 2411, New York

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ You found yourself sitting in a bar, one that sat high up in the air as most buildings did in the now 25th century. The night sky enveloped you, its vastness serving both as the reason you are able to walk the earth and the reason you want to leave it, yearning, if only for a brief moment, to bask in the sun's warmth seeping through your dark skin once more. Those days were dearly missed. You missed early morning brisk winter breezes. You missed chocolate sundaes on balmy afternoons. It was the little things that made life meaningful, and you missed it all but most importantly, you missed her and this couldn't possibly be her. It would be too much of a coincidence to cross paths in this exact space at precisely the same time, especially when space and time had lost their significance to you ever since your transformation…that was until this very moment. Moving closer cautiously, you walked in silence, struggling to stifle your gasp.

It was her.

She retained the same appearance as the day you first encountered her; ageless, timeless, and effortlessly divine. That finely chiseled jaw remained a masterpiece, her dark skin still the epitome of flawlessness, and her hair wore the same exact short curls that framed her face in a manner that rendered her the most attractive person you have ever encountered. Even after nearly four centuries, you have yet to meet someone like Shuri Udaku. If a heartbeat resided within you, it would undoubtedly be pounding against your rib cage. If breath were still at your disposal, it would stagger beyond your control. However, for the past 400 years, you possessed none of the two. No breath. No heartbeat. You were frozen.

Closer and closer, you moved forward, until finally you took the empty bar stool next to her in the very empty bar.

“Shuri?”

She paused. Her body stayed deathly still right before she turned to see the face she missed so much.

“Y/n…?”

“Yeah…”

And while your heightened senses surpassed any human perceptions, the world seemed to suddenly go quiet, embracing a rare moment of absolute silence. It was a profound silence, the kind you craved after a prolonged period of listening to the world and all its presence for so long and it seemed Shuri felt the same. Both of you embraced this quietude, finding solace in its embrace, until she eventually broke the stillness with the very mouth you had once intimately known.

“It’s been…it’s been almost 200 years, s’thandwa.”

That name. Oh, how you missed that too.

“Yeah…I guess it has been.”

February 16th, 2022, New York

The day was warm, the sun reaching its peak in the sky while your dark attire absorbed its radiance. You reveled in the comforting sensation it provided, a soothing contrast to the ache settled within you, a certain feeling of content that masked the emptiness you felt. Yes, the sky was bright, the day was warm, but your heart was not. Not with the scene that surrounded you.

“We gather here today to commemorate our brother Jonathan. He was a friend to us all, a person that will truly be missed and cannot be replaced….”

You found it impossible not to internally sneer at the kind and flattering words used to depict your former partner, Jonathan, during his funeral. To everyone present, he was a gentle and caring man, someone adored by everyone who had crossed paths with him. However, you were all too aware of the person he was behind closed doors; a coward, a despicable individual who was good for nothing but the depths of pockets. He had used you as a mere pawn in his life, exploiting your exceptional beauty. You were nothing more than an object, a prized possession desired by many men, but he had claimed you. Your parents had practically arranged your marriage to Jonathan, a companion chosen for you due to his wealth. The plan was for you to marry him and become his perfect wife. That was until a week ago when he passed away.

“My son was everything a mom could want…,” Jonathan’s mother began, breaking into sobs as she mourned for her son you hated so deeply.

“He was…the most perfect boy. My baby boy. And y/n…” Her gaze connected with yours, her eyes filled with a pitiful sorrow that you could not reciprocate or even pretend to, and so you did nothing but offer her a weak smile as she proceeded. “My boy loved you, baby. He loved you with his entire being and I hope you know that.”

A pitiful smile graced your face, the only response you could possibly give her amidst your numbness. The pain and hollowness residing in your heart were not born from sorrow or profound grief over Jonathan's death, but rather from the absence of love and affection he gave you. The lack of love in a relationship that had consumed three and a half years of your life weighed heavily on you. All you had received was a shattered heart, and there was no one there to assist you in gathering the fragments except for yourself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The moment you closed your apartment door, a long exhale escaped you; a mix of relief and stress as you stepped into your now quiet space. It was vastly different from the usual banter Jonathan would welcome you home with, his tendency to pinpoint faults in you as an outlet for his anger that had nothing to do with you in the first place. Yet now, you stood alone. The sentiment was uncertain and you were not sure how to feel about it, but there was an odd form of comfort in the deafening silence. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a tangled maze of broken strands. Amidst the chaos, your mind always retorted back to one single thing: your friend, Shuri.

You had arranged to meet with her in a couple days and finally address your suspicions head-on. You were well aware that you were most likely overthinking, perhaps being overly dramatic or even irrational, and that your theories might be far from the truth. But after a year of friendship, the burden of skepticism had become overwhelming. The feeling of being kept in the dark, the feeling that she harbored secrets and consistently hid things from you, had pushed you to a breaking point. You couldn't bear this constant uncertainty any longer. You were fully prepared to demand answers and possibly present an ultimatum because you were simply exhausted and as much as it would break you to have to remove Shuri from your life, it was what you needed to do if she refused to provide you with the solace and closure you needed, especially in times like these.

You proceeded with your night routine, changing into your pajamas and getting comfy in your now very empty bed. Was the bed always this large? Or did Jonathan just always make you feel small? Finally, after a long day, you allowed yourself to weep, sensing the tears tracing their path down your cheeks and absorbing into the softness of your pillow. You cried yourself into the most serene sleep you had in years.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You sat at the diner where you and Shuri would always meet at late hours, waiting for her to appear so you could finally voice the subtle anger that had been building within you over the course of a year-long friendship. It wasn't just a matter of her being a weird individual disinterested in sharing about herself—it was everything about her. The way she spoke, the way she was ridiculously smart, the way she has done absolutely everything and been absolutely everywhere in her short 26 years of being on this earth. It seemed she spoke an almost inhuman number of languages, and you couldn't recall ever seeing her eat, despite her assurances that she did. Her handling of alcohol was reckless, yet you'd only witnessed her drunk once, maybe twice.

There were countless aspects that unnerved you, but the most unsettling was her adamant refusal to meet during daylight. She claimed it to be solar urticaria, a supposed sun allergy, and you believed her initially. However, her increasing avoidance of daytime interactions left you puzzled and frustrated. She wouldn't respond to your texts or answer your calls during daylight hours, making it impossible for you to visit her, even when she didn't have to leave her home. Strangely enough, you had never even seen her house.

The mounting suspicions were overwhelming, and you wondered if you were being silly. It couldn't be true, right? There was no scientific proof or evidence to support such a claim. But what else would your suspicions add up to? What other explanation was there, except that she might be a va--

"Hey, y/n," her velvety voice broke through your thoughts. She settled into her seat across from you, and you couldn't deny how fine she looked. She had always held a certain kind of beauty, and not in a friendship type of way; it was a beauty impossible to overlook, one that left a lasting impression on everyone, yourself included. It was an ethereal allure, almost divine in nature. She gave off an attractiveness that surpassed ordinary bounds, and you were no exception to its impact. It was a challenge to put into words, but she seemed otherworldly, perhaps even godlike in her allure. She was undeniably attractive, captivating beyond what your body could handle, yet you continually suppressed any attraction you felt towards her. After all, you were in a relationship, a terrible one, but a relationship nonetheless. The last thing you needed was to lose the only person you believed truly understood you because of a silly attraction you may have felt for her.

"Hello, Shuri," you responded, your voice carrying a hint of tremor from the nerves that had crept in. Shuri caught on, and her self-assured chuckle let you know she sensed the anxiousness that had taken hold of you, further quickening your heartbeat.

"You look beautiful," she remarked, attempting to ease your nerves, though both of you knew that did nothing but make it worse. Her words carried a magnetic charm, one that surpasses the human experience, causing the hairs on your arms to stand up. You managed a soft smile in response, genuine but subdued, as that was all you could offer right now and Shuri immediately picked up on the fact that something was off about you. There was a subtle shift in your demeanor and posture, a slight dimming of the twinkle in your eyes but it didn't escape her notice.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” You’re caught off guard because you didn’t think yourself to be that obvious. You knew for a fact you were never that transparent. But to Shuri, you almost always were.

“What do you mean?”

“Well there’s obviously something wrong.”

“Obviously? I’m just sitting here, I’ve said all but five words to you, how is it obvious??” Your tone turned a touch harsh, frustration evident as you were tired of Shuri's ability to see through you. Raising an eyebrow, she chuckled, revealing her perfect set of pearly whites.

“I’m sorry for your loss, by the way,” she said once she stopped her laughter. You huffed in annoyance, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms.

“No need to be sorry…I’m almost relieved he’s good and gone.”

Shuri softly smiled, a smile you knew she tried to contain but it was no use.

“What?”

“Nothing…I just think…I think you’ll be much better without him. You never needed him, y/n.”

For a moment, you almost got caught up in her, lost in her words and the enchantment that peered behind her beautiful dark brown eyes but you remembered what you were here for, and you weren’t about to succumb into her hypnotic gaze as you often do.

“Shuri…I-I need answers…like…like, right now.” Even though your voice trembled, your request was resolute. You yearned for something from her, anything at all. And just when you thought you had the advantage, that same self-assured smirk reappeared on her face, as if she had been waiting for you to bring up the conversation.

“What?,” you questioned her facial expressions.

“What?,” she challenged back.

“No, you’re the one giving me that look so you tell me what's up.”

“The floor is yours, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, inhaling deeply as you debated whether to continue with this conversation. If your suspicions were wrong, you'd feel like a damn fool. Shuri would undoubtedly tease you relentlessly, something she already enjoyed doing. But you pushed aside all doubts and plowed forward despite the hesitations that surfaced in her presence. Clearing your throat, you released a hefty exhale before proceeding.

“Shuri…I know you’re gonna think I sound insane but I’m getting to a breaking point, and I just have to ask…”

“Then ask.”

You paused, glaring at her as you proceeded. “We’ve been friends for about a year now, and there’s no better way to put this but there’s just something incredibly off about you…like, it’s fucking with my head.”

Shuri bit the inside of her cheek, trying to contain her laughter.

“You are insanely talented at like…everything, you’ve been everywhere, you speak multiple languages, I’ve never met your family, or seen your house and I’m starting to question whether you even have a family…or a house…”

“Are you done?”

“Not even close. You never eat…or drink, but you drink an insane amount of alcohol almost everytime we go out yet I’ve seen you get drunk maybe once…?? Shuri, that's not humanly possible.”

“You’re listing things about myself like I don’t already know, pretty girl.”

She always knew her way with words.

“I’m not done.”

She gestured for you to proceed, resting her back against her chair.

“The sun…what is your deal with the day time??”

“I already told you, y/n.”

“No, don’t give me that shit. I don’t buy it…so you’re allergic to the sun or whatever…you can’t pick up your phone?? Answer your texts?? But as soon as the sun goes down…”

Shuri just sits there, interested but also unbothered and you weren’t sure how that made you feel. There was silence for a moment.

“You gonna say something or just sit there and look good all evening??”

Shuri said nothing but another chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Shuri? You’ve been saying nothing but laughing at me the whole time.”

“I was waiting for you to finish what you were saying.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

Shuri leaned in, placing her forearms on the table, her smug grin never wavering. Her eyes shifted between the two of your own, delving into the depths of your eyes. You swallowed, nerves building up in anticipation.

“Come on, y/n. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“I—“

“I don’t need to repeat everything you just listed. Why must I answer what you already know?”

“What are you saying, Shuri??”

“Don’t be stupid now. You know.”

“What do I know??”

Shuri arched an eyebrow, and you took in a sharp breath. It couldn't be. There was just absolutely no way.

“Uh uh. Don’t fuck with me, Shuri, this isn’t fucking funny!”

“I’m not playing with you, princess. I have no reason to anymore. You know.”

“Anymore?? What does that mean?? Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

A lengthy silence ensued as you both locked eyes, glaring eachother down. Shuri appeared unbothered, almost captivated by your frustration and that only fueled the fire that was coursing through your veins.

“Uh uh, there’s just no way. No fucking way,” you uttered in disbelief as you made your way out of the diner, coming face to face with the dark night that surrounded you every single time you were with her. Shuri rolled her eyes before she got up to follow you. You hurried behind the restaurant, hoping to get a moment of privacy to collect your thoughts, but that hope dissipated as you felt Shuri's firm grip on your wrist, causing you to flinch at her harshness. Shuri let go abruptly, offering no verbal apology, but her eyes held a silent regret at the action.

“Shuri, what the fuck is going on??,” you asked, attempting to keep your voice down but your mind was too boggled to remember you were still out in public.

“I’m gonna need you to keep your voice down, y/n.”

“Keep my….excuse me?? No! Don’t fucking tell what to do, Shuri! Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Y/n…,” a voice of warning, one that was accompanied by her firm stature.

“No, don’t fucki—,” but before you could complete your sentence, your body was wedged against the building wall, Shuri's palm firmly covering your mouth as her body trapped you in. She held you like that for a moment, admiring how you so easily yielded to her control even after your mouth refused to shut up for her.

“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” Your face softened just a bit, almost relaxing into her touch.

“Are you going to listen to me, y/n?”

You nodded, a smirk appearing on her face at the gesture.

“Good girl.” She let your mouth go. “No wonder Jonathan could not handle you.”

You scowled at her, eyebrows furrowing together as Shuri pinched your chin and tilted your head up just a bit. “Let me take you home and I will tell you everything you need to know. I’ll answer any important questions you have, baby, but you have got to listen to me. Do you understand?”

You were trembling, and though your pride nearly kept you from acknowledging it, fear gripped you. Fear of Shuri and whatever her motives might be. Your heart felt like it could burst through your rib cage at any given moment.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just let me take you home. Please.” Her plea seemed to carry a hint of desperation and it provided an odd sense of comfort. You knew that you would be okay and so you agreed.

The car ride remained silent, only the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the car window and Shuri's old tunes playing softly. Your heartbeat felt so loud, you swore you could almost hear that too…or maybe she could.

Once you get there, Shuri swiftly makes it to your side, helping you get out as she softly massages the skin on your wrist.

“I don’t need your help getting to my door, Shuri.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

She lets you go, trailing behind you as you make your way to your apartment.

You made yourself a cup of tea in an effort to soothe your nerves but the absence of conversation between you two left an eerie atmosphere in the space, one that surpasses the fact that you now live alone in a space that was once for two. The rain seemed distant, tapping lightly against your balcony window. Suddenly, the sound of her presence broke through your state of mind.

“So…are you gonna tell me what’s going on, y/n?”

You swallow, trying to contain your composure. “Nah, I’m waiting for you to tell me, Shuri.”

“I think you’ve gotten it all figured out now. Am I right?”

“But I want to hear it come from your mouth, Shuri. I wanna know it’s true because you told me.”

Shuri reclined, stretching her arms casually against the sofa, adopting an almost cocky posture as she grinned at you.

“You gonna fucking say something or what?,” you snapped in impatience.

Shuri raises an eyebrow as she releases a breathy chuckle. “You have such a mouth on you.”

Your eyebrows lightly furrowed together, before you rolled your eyes dramatically. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Fine. Let’s have it your way then. Let me reintroduce myself to you…Hello, y/n. My name is Shuri Udaku and I am a vampire,” she said with a nod of her head, as if the fact meant nothing. Your heart stops for a second before it begins beating uncontrollably, consumed with pure shock. Even though you already knew, you were never prepared for how it felt once it was made real.

“I can hear your heartbeat, princess. Tell me what you’re feeling. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

“I…I need some time to p-process…”

Shuri remained silent, her eyebrows knitting together as she observed you, appreciating the way you stumbled over your own words. She was captivated by you, by the way your body responded to her and to this newfound piece of information that you were trying to keep your composure over.

“I want you to go, Shuri.”

But she did not budge. Perched there, she observed you, and an increasing fear of her began to gnaw at you and Shuri seemed to sense this. She rose from her seat, advancing toward you, firmly placing her hands on the armrests of your chair as she hovered over you. Her lips were mere whispers away from yours, and the desire to both flee from and lean into her lips was a thin line in difference. You were torn between pushing her away and surrendering to the magnetic pull. Even though she had always held a certain dominance in your relationship, it was different now. It was hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. You felt so small, utterly defenseless, and you swallowed in anticipation, awaiting her next move.

“Shuri…please,” you choked out.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I—please don’t hurt me. Please.”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and though it wasn't inherently menacing, it sent shivers down your spine. Shuri leaned down, her lips almost brushing against the side of your throat, and your entire body quivered the closer she got.

“Please,” you said softly, unsure of what it was you were pleading for at this point. Did you want her to stop? Did you want her to keep going? There was a thin line between the two and the beat in your heart found its way between your legs and you could only hope she couldn’t sense that too. Shuri pressed her lips into your throat, kissing the sensitive skin as you sigh in relief. You tried so hard to contain the moan that was threatening to escape you but you swallowed it, clenching your thighs together instead. The feel of her soft lips against your throat was threatening to undo you and the sound of her voice nearly made you bring her face into yours.

“I would never hurt you,” she hums as her lips continue to softly assault your throat. A soft whimper escapes your lips, an unwilling beg for her to give you more and Shuri took note of it but did not give into it. She removes herself from your body, coming back to face you and your eyes that drown in both fear and want. She takes your cheek into the palm of her hand, pressing firm into your warm skin.

“If I leave now, are you going to be ok here on your own?”

You nod and she smirks at you, admiring how you and that smart mouth of your was at loss for words and how she was the one that got you that way.

“I’ll see you whenever you want to see me. Let me know and I’ll give you all the answers that you need. Just reach out to me, yeah?”

You nod again. She grabs your hand and helps you off the chair, pulling you in by your hips until your pelvis bumps into hers and suddenly all fear is replaced with pure lust and this was nothing new. You always had an attraction for Shuri, even when you were with Jonathan, you could never ignore how beautiful she was and how her beauty lit a spark in you and though there were never any official titles placed between the two of you, you always knew a part of her wanted you too.

“Shuri,” you groaned, completely overtaken by her and her presence.

“What is it?,” she asked, her voice winning you over with the bass it held. You swallow harshly, embarrassed with yourself and how much you were leaking onto your panties.

“I want…I n-need…”

“Tell me.”

You remained silent, hoping that the desperation in your expression would convey what words could not but that was not enough for Shuri. She let you go and your body immediately ached at the emptiness you felt. Then, she gently gripped your chin, tilting it slightly to ensure your gaze was locked onto hers.

“Call me when you’re ready.” Shuri heads towards the balcony door and opens it, and the coolness from outside immediately strikes your skin and you shiver.

“Shuri, what the fuck are you doing?? It’s raining and it’s damn cold, close the door!”

Shuri only smirked at you, scanning her surroundings before she effortlessly jumped off the balcony as if it was nothing. You immediately gasped, rushing to the edge to search for her, but she had vanished. All that remained was the sound of the pouring rain and the rustle of the wind in the air, clogging your senses and sending a sharp shiver up your spine. You had received the answer you sought, the one you needed, but now you were left with nothing but an insatiable craving to know more.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A week had passed since that night with Shuri, a week of solitude spent grappling with troubled thoughts that ignited an overwhelming sense of desire. Finally, you summoned the courage to reach out and arrange another meeting with her. Shuri agreed, relieved that you were willing to take it up a notch.

“So what about mirrors?”

“What about mirrors?”

“You know…that dracula shit, how he can’t see his reflection and all…is that real?”

Shuri chuckles. “False. I can see my reflection perfectly fine.”

“Ok…uhhh, what about the whole thing with crosses, crucifixes, holy water and all that…?”

“False. Although I do not like being in the presence of those things, only because I find religion to be messy and I never really believed in it.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Okay, ummmm…what about garlic?”

Shuri burst into laughter. “You watch way too many movies, y/n.”

“Well shit, I don’t know. Pop culture got you guys all kinds of fucked up.”

“I know, it’s ok. I just…keep going,” she assures, coming back down from her laughter.

“Okay um…the sun.”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I know but I want to hear it come from your mouth, Shuri.”

“You must have heard enough lore to understand that we cannot go into the sun, princess. It is one of our greatest weaknesses. If I go in the sun, I’ll die. It’s simple really.”

A part of you went numb as the fragments and clues started to unravel and fit together before your eyes. Yet, you knew there was a crucial aspect of her you needed to confront, the elephant in the room that you were eager to discuss as soon as she disclosed her true nature as a vampire.

“W-what about your…your diet?,” you ask, already knowing the answer but afraid to hear it anyway. Shuri goes silent, as if she wants to keep the obvious all to herself.

“Shuri, baby…you said you would talk to me.”

“I know what I said.”

“So then talk to me. You’re the one that came into my life. You knew you would eventually have to have these conversations. So tell me.”

“They never last this long,” she replies, her eyes no longer on yours.

“What? Who never lasts this long?”

“What I am trying to say is, y/n…I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of having this same conversation over and over and over again just for that person to run. No one has lasted this long.”

And that’s when it hits you. That’s when you remember that vampires are immortal beings. “Wait…how…how old are you?”

“I’m 26.”

“You know what the fuck I mean.”

A subtle tilt graced her lips as she smiled, exuding the same self-assured manner she always seemed to have.

“I was born in 1794, turned in the year 1820. And I’ve been this ever since,” she says so matter of factly. It startled you at first, leaving you trying to do the math in your head and Shuri notices right away.

“228.”

“What?”

“That’s the answer you are looking for.”

“Wait, how’d you…?? Wait…can you read minds??,” you ask startled, worried she may have heard all the dirty thoughts you’ve had about her. Shuri laughs.

“No, not necessarily. I don’t need to read your mind directly in order to know that is what you were thinking. Your body language says it all.”

You glare at her in confusion.

“I have been around long enough to understand what someone is trying to say or what they are thinking through their body language, princess. A skill humans think they have but I promise, you truly do not.”

“Uh huh…so you can’t read minds? Then what can you do? What kinds of powers or whatever do you have??”

“Powers??”

“Yeah or whatever the fuck its called!”

Shuri chuckles. “We don’t have ‘powers’. We have abilities. Take for example…the cheetah. The fastest land species…well not necessarily but you wouldn’t call its ability to run fast a power would you? Or the owls' capability to see at night? Is that a ‘power’ to you? How about the elephant's strength? A power? No. They are abilities that help them run from predators and catch their prey. It’s no different for a vampire. We have…capabilities that make it easy to catch our prey.”

You swallow hard, unsure of how to respond to the snarky yet intelligent way she put it.

“Throw that knife at me,” she commands, pointing to the knife you used to cut your steak.

“What??”

“Do it.”

“Shuri, I’m not gonna throw a knife at you, are you mad??”

“You cannot hurt me, y/n.”

You glanced around, surveying your surroundings and noting the nearly empty restaurant as the night advanced. Gradually, you picked up the knife, taking a deep breath before hurling it towards her. She effortlessly caught it in the palm of her hand, as if she had performed the act a million times before, the blade no more than an inch from her eyes. She then opened her hand, revealing the deep wound the knife had left from her grip and the blood that started to pool. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you observed her flesh healing at an inhumane speed. It was no different than the healing process for a human but sped up by 100 times.

“Whoaaaa,” you say, like a child seeing something extraordinary for the first time.

“I can also communicate to you telepathically,” she says, but her mouth did not move. It was as if she had placed her voice inside your mind and spoke to you that way.

“Wait…how’d you?? Do it again! That was cool!”

“I’ll leave it for another time,” she laughs. “I also have senses beyond the human capacity to even dream of. When I…turned…it was as if I was blind my whole life, like I was a deaf and could finally hear. My senses overwhelmed me, I swore I was going to die with everything that was raging through my body. I’m fast, strong, never get tired…I can talk about my ‘powers’ for a long time. But really…it loses its touch overtime. I often forget those abilities are there.”

At this moment, your jaw dropped in astonishment, completely enthralled with what truly existed and that it had been right in front of you all along.

“So you’re like…a superhero…with super cool powers and shit.”

Shuri's presence briefly darkened as a glint of emotion shimmered in her eye, a momentary pause that was so brief but felt long.

“Superhero,” she repeats. “No…nothing like that. Not anymore.” She mumbled that last part and it caught your attention but you chose to ignore it for the time being, steering back to the original point of conversation.

“Shuri…your diet.”

She looks away in shame, closing her eyes before she proceeds to answer. “I drink blood.”

“Ok…and what else?”

“That’s it. That’s all I eat. Human food tastes like nothing to me, it’s disgusting really. It does not give me any nutritional value either. The longer I go without drinking blood, the more I’ll start to feel it.”

You take a sharp gulp. “So how often do you feed on people?”

“Often…as much as I can.”

“D-do you…kill people?”

A brief pause ensues but Shuri's intense gaze stays fixed on you all the while, her jaw tensing before she continues.

“I have.”

Heat rushes through you. “Do you kill people often?”

“Not anymore.”

“...anymore?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

You looked away, almost disgusted with the person you were sitting in front of.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, y/n.”

“No I…I want--I need to hear this. When…when was the last time you killed someone?”

Shuri refrained from speaking immediately, choosing to study and began to grow queasy.

“Not that long ago.”

“How long ago?? Did I know you??”

“Yeah.”

Another deafening silence engulfed the space between you two. There was no need to voice your next question; she already anticipated what you were going to ask.

“It was February 10…2022.”

Instantly, a sinking feeling gripped your stomach, and your heart felt like it might leap out of your chest as tears welled up, ready to surface.

“J-Jonathan?,” you whispered as you choked on your tears. She nodded her head, almost unbothered by the tears you were shedding for him.

“What…what the fuck is wrong with you??!”

“Y/n…”

“No! No, don’t fucking touch me!”

Despite the near emptiness of the diner, the few present all had eyes only looking at you before you stormed out with both confusion and hurt coursing through you. You climb into your car with determination before driving home, the desire to distance yourself from her was overpowering but when you got home, you were heavily startled to find her seated on your couch, indulging from your stash of whiskey.

“What are you doing here?? How’d you even get in here?!”

“Through the balcony.”

Your fractured sobs were on the verge of breaking free, and your tear-streaked cheeks were evidence of the intense breakdown you had in the car ride back home.

“You can’t just break into my house whenever you want to,” you managed to spit out.

“Can’t I?,” she challenged.

“Shuri…get the fuck outta my house. Get the fuck outta my house, I swear to god, Shuri…”

“I did you a favor, y/n.” The audacity she displayed left you stunned, as you pressed your temples in an attempt to ease the throb in your head from all the tears you cried.

“I never liked him. He never treated you the way you deserved and you just let him treat you that way. I was so sick of seeing you cry, y/n. Is that the life you really wanted for yourself? I mean, let’s be honest. You’re more than happy he’s gone. Now there’s nothing in the way of going after what you really want, seeking for the life you deserve, princess. I did it for you.”

“I--wow. You are mentally insane. What is that, some kinda romantic vampire notion??”

“It can be,” she responded, and you struggled to discern if she was being sarcastic. Nothing could be certain when she wore that enigmatic grin on her face.

“None of that was for you to decide, Shuri! You can’t just go around killing people and for what?? Cuz you don’t like them? That’s a life…a human life you just took away…”

“I’ve decided a long time ago to not care too much for human life anymore. There is no point and it does nothing for me.”

“I…what? Ok…yeah…Imma need you to get the fuck outta my house…like…now.”

Shuri rises from her seat, advancing towards you, and soon you're caught between the wall and her imposing presence once more. Your breath hastens, and the hairs on your arm stand on end as she takes you in. Shuri takes pleasure in the way your body reacts to her, attempting to decipher just how frightened you truly are. You swallow nervously.

“What are you scared of, princess?,” she asks with low lids, her eyes glazed with desire.

“Y-you.”

She lets out a soft chuckle as she fakes a frown, almost mocking your fear.

“Why?” Gently, she runs her fingers across your cheek as she speaks softly, a sly smile appearing on her face while she observes your pleading eyes locked onto hers. “Tell me why I scare you, baby.”

“You kill people, Shuri.”

Shuri nods, humming in agreement.

“You could kill me.”

“I could…but I won’t. You know why? Cuz I care for you…I care for you and it scares the absolute shit outta me.” She utters these words with a hint of sorrow in her eyes, as if a fracture lies beneath the confident facade she typically displays when you're around. Strangely, this vulnerability lessens your fear. You reach out and touch her face, gently placing your palm against her cheek, and she leans into your touch.

“Do you care about me?,” she asks, her voice coming to soothe you.

“Hmm?”

“Do you care about me, y/n? Tell me, please. I need to know.”

In an instant, any remnants of warmth and comfort vanish, swiftly replaced by a surge of anger within you.

“Shuri, how the fuck are you even asking me this right now? Do I care about you?? You killed Jonathan!”

“Yeah, and he tasted fucking delicious,” she snarked back. At that moment, you no longer cared about holding back the tears you had struggled so hard to keep in check in front of her. It felt futile.

“Are you…? Shuri, I beg, fuck outta my house…like right now!”

“Do you really want me to go though?”

You did, you wanted her out of your face but there was a part of you that wanted her to stay and learn more, though you decided to push it to the farthest corner of your mind for now.

“If I remember correctly, you told me you were relieved that he was gone.”

“That doesn’t make it ok,” you spat. Shuri sits back down, manspreading on the couch and she looks ridiculously delicious. How pathetic of you to find the attractiveness in her even in the midst of the anger she fueled through you. She tells you to come sit beside her but you opt for the couch in front of her instead and she chuckles at you.

“I just…you can’t be mad at me for reacting the way I am.”

“Who said I was mad?”

You took a brief pause, granting yourself a moment of composure as you regulate your breathing and wiped away your tears. Shuri sensed the warmth emanating from your body and tuned into the steadier rhythm of your heartbeat before she proceeds.

“I just have one question for you, is that ok?”

You nod.

“Are you relieved because of who he was? Or are you relieved you no longer have an obstacle that is getting in the way of going after what you really want?”

“W-what?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I-I don’t--”

But you were cut off by the swiftness of her body approaching you and it startled you. She was in front of you in less than a second, her figure was nothing but a blur as she ran to you, traveling at the speed of light.

“How did you--” and once again Shuri hushed you with the raise of her finger.

“You ask me about honesty, telling me to come clean to you and all I’m asking is the same from you. I need your honesty as well. And maybe you won’t give it to me today and that’s ok because if there is one thing I have in this life of mine, it’s time. But I need you to relax, just breathe. I know there’s a lot more swimming in that mind of yours and I am willing to clear it for you if you let me.”

You finally allow yourself a moment of calm, inhaling deeply numerous times as your mind relaxed into her even just for a brief moment. She made it so hard to stay mad at her, even for something as viscous as the things she did, she always, always knew her way around you. The two of you sat back down, eagerly waiting to see who would break the silence. You had a multitude of questions to pose, but for now, you chose this one.

“So are you like…dead?”

A soft smile appears on her face. “I prefer the term undead but yes, I died so technically that makes me dead.”

“You died,” you repeat her words to yourself and Shuri nods and there is most definitely a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“How?”

Her manner transforms, her brows knitting together as she adopts a more rigid seating posture. “It just happened, I guess.”

Confusion sets in. Why would she permit you to ask all the questions you need, only to respond on her own terms?

“Shuri, your hostility is really starting to piss me off.”

She pauses, her face tainted with frustration.

“You said I could ask anything and you would tell me.”

“No, I said I’d tell you anything you need to know.”

“And I don’t need to know this??”

“No, you really don’t.”

“So one minute you're telling me I can ask all the questions I want but when I overstep your boundaries, you back away. Uh uh, that’s not how we’re doing this. I ask. You answer. Or I’m not doing this, Shuri.”

“This? And what exactly would this be, y/n?”

“That’s not my point.”

“Then what is your point?? Don’t I deserve answers too?? Don’t try to play stupid with me, y/n. It may have worked for him but that shit does not work for me.”

A brief interlude of silence engulfed the space, one that almost broke you but Shuri continued to speak.

“I’ll just leave you be for now because you clearly have a lot of thinking to do as well.”

Once more, she leaves you, leaves you with just enough to drive you mad.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

2 weeks pass by and you have not seen or spoken to her since that day but your thoughts have been consumed by her non-stop. You took the time to do your own research, trying to find things out for yourself but you were met with even more questions by the end of it. You continuously pull your phone out, wanting to meet with her again, but everytime you gather up the courage to type the message, fear would make you delete it.

You prepare for bed, doing your usual night time routine and when you turn around to go to your bedroom, she is standing right behind and it scares you out of your mind.

“Shuri, what the actual fuck??? You scared the living shit outta me!!”

Shuri laughs lightly, finding amusement in your pissed off state.

“That shit ain’t funny, you almost gave me a heart attack. Quit doing that.”

“I don’t know, your reaction is kind of funny.”

“Shuri!!”

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. It’s just…you never called, I was beginning to worry.”

“There’s no need to worry, I’m perfectly fine. Plus these things go two ways. Haven’t heard from you either.” Your torn is harsh and short tempered.

“Are you still angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“What did I do now?”

“Are you here to tell me what I want to know?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t know what that means”

“You will.”

You maintain silence, growing weary of her ongoing games. You walk right past her, rolling your eyes in frustration as you head toward your bedroom, and she trails behind, following you inside.

“If you’re not gonna tell me anything, you can go,” you say as you plop into your bed.

“Actually, I was thinking I could stay the night,” she remarks, casually taking a seat on the bed beside you and getting comfortable. The idea triggered a mix of unease and excitement. Having Shuri in the same bed as you opened the door to countless fantasies your mind could explore, but it also carried the potential for things to become…ugly.

“What? I’m not going to eat you,” she quips, reading your unease and responding in a playful manner. You clench your teeth, attempting to conceal the subtle fear creeping in because even though you know she was simply toying with you, it raises another question: did she have an appetite for your blood?

“I’m serious, y/n. You know that right? I won’t hurt you.”

You pondered it in silence a bit longer before responding to her.

“Fine…but stay on your side of the bed and don’t even think of trying anything,” you remark with attitude and Shuri, per usual, only laughs at you.

“Whatever you say,” she replies with her hands in the air. You roll your eyes in aggression before shifting in your bed, making yourself comfortable as you endeavor to drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of your own breath and the absence of hers. Your heart races for a while until it finally settles into a deep slumber, a sleep in which you experience the most vivid dream in your entire life.

➳ the dream:

You wake up to the sound of unsettling echoes of a distant battleground, the anguished cries of people you loved and cared for pierced your ears. You had never felt so much fear in your life, disoriented and overwhelmed by your grim surroundings. You never felt so willing to help and use your Bast-given powers that had been passed on to you ever since your brother entered the ancestral plane but it was when you attempted to get up that you realized you were deeply wounded and you could barely move, the healing effects of the heart-shaped herb becoming slow. You were overcome by an excruciating physical agony, you struggle and weep, the most horrific pain you've ever known taking over you. Amidst this suffering, a distant cry reaches your ears, nearly snuffing out your last breath.

“YINTOMBI YAM!!” (“SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!!”)

“Akayi kuphumelela, kumkanikazi wam! Ukuba uyahamba, siya kufa sonke! Uya kufa!” (“She won’t make it, my queen! If you go, we will all die! You will die!”)

“Hayi, hayi intombi yam! Hayi Shuri yam!! Bast ndicela ungamthathi uShuri wam! Sele uno T'challa, hayi uShuri wam, nceda !! NDIYACELA!!" (“No, not my daughter! Not my Shuri!! Bast please don’t take my Shuri! You already have T’challa, not my Shuri, please!! PLEASE!!”)

The cries were violent, compelling you to move toward them, yet your feeble body refused. Your heart raced, the blood pulsing through your veins as if in a rush, leaving you breathless, and the world seemed to constrict around you under the scorching rays of the sun. The warmth enveloped you, vibrant and teeming with life, a stark contrast to the disturbing sounds that surrounded you.

“Uya kuba kunye nezinyanya, uKumkanikazi uRamonda. Uzakuba noT’Challa.” (“She will be with the ancestors, Queen Ramonda. She will be with T’Challa.”)

"Hayi hayi!!” (“No…NO!!”)

The echoes of agonizing cries gradually diminished until they were nothing, your vision faltering as breathing became a struggle, your body shutting down faster than the healing effects of the heart-shaped herb could manage. Your life was slipping away, breath fleeing your lungs, and you made the decision to embrace it as you faded into a state of nothingness and you saw the ancestral plane for a small moment, its beautiful sky right within your grasp until you suddenly awoke with a sharp inhale and a vicious cough.

You were greeted by the serene night sky, accompanied only by the chirping of crickets and you were startled once you noticed a woman seated before you, her face unfamiliar and her accent foreign to your ears.

“Who—who are you??,” you asked, but she did not answer. “How did you get into Wakanda?”

You adjusted your body to stand, surprised that you were completely healed with no sign of injury or pain. “Did you do this?? Heal me??”

Again, you were met with silence until finally she spoke with a grin. “Something like that,” she quipped, teasing you as she sat man spread on the log below her. The treescape surrounded you, the darkness overwhelmed you and you should be cold but you weren’t.

“How did you do it?? What kind of science is this??!!”

But the woman merely chuckled, finding amusement in your perplexed state and the endless questions you directed at her. "Science," she reiterated, almost tauntingly.

“Who are you??,” you asked once more, this time with more demand but still, she gave you nothing. “I-I have to go back to the palace. I have to see my mom, she thinks I’m dead! I heard her cries!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“You won’t even tell me who you are! Why should I listen to you??”

She shifted her posture, and under the moon's gentle glow, you noticed an unusual quality about her. Her face, though seemingly perfect, bore eyes that were anything but human; glassy, with a hue of blood-red. This sight filled you with fear, urging you to flee, racing into the forest in a desperate bid to reach the safety of the palace and escape the woman who instilled such terror in you.

As you ran, you began to realize how you moved much faster than ever before. Your senses heightened, capturing details and sounds that were previously beyond your perception. The overwhelming influx of sensations left you both stunned and astonished. The world appeared silent, yet it roared with sound. Every rustle, every detail in the darkness of the forest was vividly clear to you.

You pinpointed this experience to the heart-shaped herb, pondering the potential existence of Bast. Could this be a miraculous gift from the ancient power? But when you got to the palace, that was when you would learn, learn it had nothing to do with the herb or Bast. You climbed the towering walls, reaching your mother's bedroom window, opening it cautiously to avoid startling her but your unexpected appearance had the opposite effect. Fear flashed in her eyes and she wanted to scream but she didn’t.

“Unyanisile ntombam?? Usisiporho??" (“Are you real, my daughter?? Are you a ghost??”)

“Hayi mama, ndim! Ndiyaphila! Ndilungile! Andifanga…” (“No mother, it’s me! I’m alive! I’m ok! I didn’t die…”)

“Kodwa…sikubonile. Ubumkile...njani-” (“But…we saw you. You were practically gone...how-”)

“Kulungile mama, Bast undigcinile! Wandomeleza, wandomeleza, ukuze ndoyise iintshaba zethu. Ndiphilile, mama." (“It’s ok mother, Bast saved me! And he made me powerful and strong so I can overcome our enemies! I’m ok, mother.”)

Your mom was taken aback, startled by the way you so openly claimed that Bast saved you when you never believed in such spiritual things before but she did not question you. Her overwhelming emotion was simply relief that you were alive. Your mom was sobbing, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably as she embraced you, holding you as if it were her last moment and you welcomed her in, finding solace in her warmth and familiar scent as you nestled your nose against her neck..and that is when you heard it.

A distinctive rhythm that captured your attention, the steady thump of her heartbeat, so pronounced that it drowned out any other ambient sound. The pulsating rush of blood through her veins accompanied it and it brought you a feeling that was so unclear yet simple at the same exact time. You struggled to comprehend what you were feeling, but the more you resisted, the harder it became to contain. A fiery sensation engulfed your body, saliva pooling in your mouth beyond your control, an overpowering urge rising within you, craving her life source more than you craved anything else before.

“U…uyayiphunga?,” (“Do…do you smell that?,”) you asked, your face still buried into your mothers neck.

“Unuka ntoni?” (“Smell what?”)

"Ndiya yidinga." (“I need it.”)

“Ufuna ntoni, ntombi yam?” (“Need what, my daughter?”)

“Momma…”

"Yintoni, Shuri??" (“What is it, Shuri??”)

You held her so tight, you felt like you could break her and your mother screamed in pain as she felt a crack in her ribs. You were breaking her.

"Umama?? Mama ndiyaxolisa...ndiyaxolisa kakhulu," (“Mother?? Mother I’m so…I’m so sorry,”) you choked out in a state of terror, the sound of her ribs cracking haunted your ears as you held her. Tears brimmed to your eyes as you struggled to let her go, your eyes burned with a wicked venom as your thirst gnawed at your whole body and took away any sense of rational thinking. And suddenly she was gone, no longer in your arms as you looked at the mirror in front of you and saw Shuri’s reflection staring back at you, her mouth covered in blood.

Abruptly, the scene changed and it was no longer your mother in your arms but another woman. She was beautiful. She had deep, dark eyes and skin to match. Her hair was as thick as a lush forest, full of vitality and texture. Her lips are as full as ripened fruit, tempting and inviting.

“What are you waiting for, Shuri?,” she said to you, her voice breaking through your psyche in such a calm, inviting way and you wanted her. Wanted her to be yours forever.

“I want to be with you. Forever. Turn me.”

A surge of guilt briefly tugged at your emotions but that was quickly overridden by an intense longing to be with her until the end of time, an overwhelming love that you had never thought was humanly possible and probably because it was not humanly possible to feel as deeply as a vampire feels.

“I want you to do it, Shuri. Turn me. Please. I want this.” Her dark brown eyes shimmered with a blend of desperation and love and you were so scared. So scared to cross your boundaries once again but the thought of not being with her forever scared you even more.

"Please," she pleaded one final time before you pressed your lips to hers, savoring the warmth of her human essence before trailing down to her throat, delicately grazing your mouth across her tender skin and her pulse whispered against your lips. Opening your mouth, you descended, piercing her veins with your teeth and you moaned as her life source flowed into your mouth, embracing the flavor you desperately needed. And you did this until everything dissolved into an abyss, an engulfing darkness that consumed you until finally, you woke up. And you were you.

You woke up with a commotion of feelings; you were confused, hurt, and scared. Glancing to the side, you found an empty bed, leaving you to wonder if Shuri had even visited your place last night or if it was all part of a dream.

The day unfolded, besieged by thoughts you struggled to push away. No matter how hard you fought, your dream clung to your mind, refusing to dissipate. As night descended, Shuri arrived along with it, standing on your balcony and for the first time, she knocked.

“Shuri?”

“Nkosazana.” The sudden language change throws you off as you step aside to let her in. She has food in her hand, no doubt for you of course.

“Shuri…what language is that?,” you ask with the most curiosity you have ever had so far.

“Xhosa,” she replies without so much as looking at you, emptying the bag of food as she assembles it on your dining table.

“Is that your native language?”

“You never noticed the accent?,” she responds, still not looking at you.

“No, of course I noticed the accent but…Shuri…where are you from?”

Shuri pauses, her entire body freezing momentarily before she resumes.

“Are you Wakandan?”

“So you know about Wakanda?”

“Of course I know about Wakanda. I couldn’t escape it not too long ago, it was all over the news and everything. The world’s most powerful and technologically advanced. A secret hidden in Africa. Home to the…Black…Panther,” your voice trailed off towards the end as you suddenly remembered the reflection staring back at you in your dream. The reflection of Shuri with blood on her lips wearing what you now recognize to be a Black Panther suit.

“Shuri, I need you to tell me something.”

She looks at you for a split second but says nothing.

“Were you…were you the Black Panther?”

Once more, she remains silent, almost entirely disregarding you as she finishes preparing the food. You stand there, observing with genuine admiration. On any other day, her tendency to ignore you would drive you up the wall, your lips ready to hurl curses and demand answers, but this time, you allow her the moments she needs to compose herself. You saw her in a whole new light and you sympathize with her.

Shuri pulls out a chair, signaling for you to sit, and you comply without zero fight on your end as she takes a seat across from you. You bite your inner cheek, plagued with even more questions than you had before.

“You can talk now,” she said, breaking the silence. You took a bite of your food, before proceeding with your abundance of questions.

“What happened last night? What was that??”

“I little trick I like to call ‘dream manipulation.’”

“So you were in my head?”

She nods.

“You made me see…your past?”

Another nod.

“But it’s not like I was watching you. It was as if I was you. I could see, hear, and feel everything you felt as if it was my own. I felt everything.”

Shuri sits there and remains in an unbothered state, only waiting to hear what else you had to say.

“So you were the Black Panther then? A long time ago…or whatever.”

“Mhmmm.”

“What happened?”

“You saw what happened.”

“I know but…I want to hear it from your mouth! A lot happened and I need answers, Shuri! Enough with this unbothered facade you got going on here and fuck you! Answer me!”

Shuri’s nostrils flare as you push her temper, but she quickly swallows it down as she comes to realize that you have every right to be upset.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized for your outburst.

“Don’t be. You have a right to know. It’s just…my brother, T’Challa was the Black Panther up until his life was taken from him and the mantle was passed down to me and then I became the Black Panther. We had enemies, enemies that wanted our resources and our vibranium…stories that are still happening today. I was seriously injured one day in combat, so injured that my loved ones left me for dead. And then I met her. I still don’t know who she is but I know what she was. A monster who turned me into this. Thinking she gave me a second chance at life when she should’ve just let me die so I could be reunited with my brother.” Her voice sounded shattered, burdened with hurt and remorse, and your instinct was to comfort her, to alleviate her pain. But as a feeble human, what could you possibly offer to ease her suffering?

“I never saw her again, the woman that turned me. My maker.” She said that last part with nothing but disgust. “And I hated her…for a long fucking time. I still do. I had to learn to fend for myself, had to teach myself to control my thirst and survive in this human world on my own. It’s been such a long and lonely journey. And everybody leaves. Everybody.”

You sat there, your ears and heart open to her as she fought the tears that loomed on the brink of falling. You so badly wanted to jump into her arms and cradle her, promise her everything was going to be ok but those were not your promises to make. There was nothing you could give her and you felt so small and helpless.

“Shuri…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I just…it has been years since I have said that out loud.”

A faint smile touched your lips as you extended your hand towards her. Despite harboring more questions and unresolved moments, you decided to set them aside, at least for the moment. Shuri reciprocated, reaching out and delicately taking hold of your hand, pressing it to her lips in a desperate gesture as she kissed your skin.

“I want to take you somewhere,” she says.

“And where would that be?”

“It’s a surprise.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You are in your car, but Shuri is at the wheel, navigating deeper into the dense forest. It's dark and somewhat intimidating, and you begin to wonder how Shuri is driving without headlights down the quiet road, until you recall her mention of her incredible eyesight. Finally, after what feels like an hour, Shuri steers into an extremely secluded area. The quietness is disrupted as you hear something other than the chorus of crickets; a gentle sound of water and soft waves. It's a vast lake, so expansive that it could easily be mistaken for an ocean from your perspective.

Shuri opens the car door and extends her hand, and this time, you accept her gesture. Leading you to the lake's edge, the moon was so big and bright, casting a luminous glow upon the night sky and the surrounding stars. The scene is breathtakingly beautiful and grand, the most picture perfect setting for a perfect moment with the person you wanted to be around the most.

“It’s beautiful as fuck out here,” you commented.

“This is where I live. You see that house hiding behind us? That’s my place. It’s where I come every morning and hide away. It’s where I come to just be…free. Free from this world and be who I was made to be.”

“So you do actually have a home? No coffin??,” you joked and she lightly laughed with you.

“So what else can you do? Show me. There’s no one around us, I want to see you being you.”

Shuri raised an eyebrow. “What is it you want me to do?”

“When I was…you…in my dream, you gave me a taste of what it felt like to have your body. When you ran through the forest that night to go back to your mom, I felt your strength, your speed, all that stuff. I want to see it. Show me the cool side of vampirism.”

Shuri tilted her head in contemplation, a pensive smile appeared on her face as she pondered the idea. Typically, she engaged in these activities alone, leaping through the trees, melding with the forest, maneuvering in ways the human body couldn't fathom.

"Fine then," she says, rising swiftly before running towards the trees at an astonishing speed. As she reaches the trees, the reality is beyond your imagination. Her body effortlessly launches onto a branch, beginning a mesmerizing journey from tree to tree, flipping and diving in ways that leaves you smiling in complete and absolute awe. It appears as if she's floating, moving with such speed that gravity seems to chase her, almost a blur in motion. You had never seen someone look so…free. And as she comes back down to meet you, moving faster than your eyes can track, there's no sign of fatigue or weariness. It's the most alive you had ever seen her.

“That was…wow,” you say in complete shock and Shuri laughs at you.

“It’s pretty neat, I guess,” she replies with a smug grin and it makes your stomach tingle. Shuri sits in the sand near the lake and you follow her.

“Do you like being one?”

“Hmmm?”

“A vampire…do you like being one?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your favorite thing about it??”

Shuri chuckles, dipping her head between the arms she has perched on her hiked up knees. “I like being able to manipulate people’s dreams,” she replies, shocking you with her answer. “I don’t sleep so it’s the only way I can dream, I guess.”

“No sleep??”

She shakes her head.

“What about your least favorite thing?”

Shuri goes quiet before answering, pondering the many ways she could answer this question.

“The blood lust. Being frozen. Watching the world change but staying the same.” She says this while looking out at the lake, taking her bottom lip into her mouth.

“Do you think you’re a bad person, Shuri?”

Shuri looked at you, eyes scanning your genuinely curious face before she proceeds. “I’m not sure. It’s not so black and white. It’s this weird thing, like…vampires emotionally feel so deeply but we were cursed with the primal instinct to hunt, feed, and kill. It’s like…with humans…when you guys get hungry, you simply go make yourself a sandwich or something, right? Fix yourself a quick meal. With vampires, it does not matter what we feel…that feeling always becomes hunger. If I’m angry, I want to eat someone. If I’m sad, I want to go eat someone. Horny? Eat someone,” she chuckles. “And then you’re left with nothing but an overwhelming guilt. It’s exhausting. Humbling, in a way, to say the least.”

You swallow, utterly captivated by her and every word she has to give you. This version of Shuri is vastly different from the person you've known over the past year. Seeing her in all her openness and vulnerability makes you realize that you never really knew her and it's only been in these recent days that you've felt so deeply connected to someone in a way you've never experienced before. You could sit here and ask her question after question after question, but there were a few that burned at your heart and it hurt you to ask, but she placed the questions there with the dream she fed you last night.

“Shuri…may I ask you something else?”

“It’s all you’ve been doing, princess. What’s to stop you now?”

“Well…I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to your mom.”

Shuri hung her head low, trying to get lost in the grains of sand and the mere sight of her made you regret your question but once she let out a hefty sigh, you knew it would be ok.

“I went back to the palace that night…the night my life was taken from me and to this day, it was the biggest mistake I had ever made. I thought my senses were some kind of spiritual doing from the heart-shaped herb, that Bast had given me a second chance, how foolish of me!” She buries her head into her hands and you lean forward, not sure what to do but let her have this moment of mourning.

“She thought I was a ghost at first, that I was reaching her from the ancestral plane, claiming that she had watched me die and she most definitely did but I did not know that…yet. She held me in her arms and I did the same and it was at that moment I knew something was off. Her heartbeat was so loud…like a drum pounding in my ears and it overtook me. My throat burned and I could smell her blood and I had never wanted anything more in my life. I wanted it so bad and it scared me. And I made sure that…that I would have it…” She choked on her tears, sobbing into her forearm and you kneeled forward to bring her head into your chest.

“I was brand new, y/n. It was damn near impossible for me to control it. And with no maker to rely on, no counseling or guidance, I was ruthless. An infant vampire and the taste of her blood was the most…feeling that for the first time, it surpasses any human experience. And it disgusts me to say it but I am being honest.”

She sobs in your arms, accepting your embrace as she feels comfort for the first time in years. The feeling was so foreign to her, to feel loved and accepted for who she was, despite acknowledging that she was the monster she believed she was.

“You didn’t know any better, Shuri. You can’t blame yourself for being thrown into this against your will and not knowing how to cope with it. It’s not your fault, baby,” you cooed, lulling her into your warmth as you comforted her.

“That’s what I thought at first, what I told myself for years. But that was my mother, y/n. My flesh and blood. You would think a daughter's love would surpass anything but that just goes to show how strong the thirst for blood is, especially in the beginning. No human equivalent. And it haunts me to this day.”

“Shuri—“

“I left Wakanda, for good, after that. Left them without a protector, without a ruler…I don’t know how they managed to pick themselves up after that but clearly they did. And I’ve never been back. I would love to…go back, one day. But I can’t. Not with the reminders it would bring.”

She lets out a few more soft sobs before she proceeds. “But hey, I managed to make it on my own. No maker, no guidance. I was ruthless in the beginning. Most vampires are.”

You feigned a smile, one that was just for her. “And what about the girl in my dream? Who was she?”

“That was…she was a dear friend of mine. Someone I loved. Someone I cared for.” A tear falls down her and washes into the fabric of your shirt. “But it does not matter anymore. She’s gone now.”

“What happened to her?”

“What happens to all humans, I suppose. She died. Never got close to a human after that. I tried…many times but they would all run eventually and understandably so. You are my first--the first person who has stayed with me. It scares me, really.”

Shuri gets up, coming face to face with your own tear-stained cheeks as she gently wipes them away with her thumb and you let out a soft smile.

“Soooo…no fangs? No cool eyes? Aren’t vampires supposed to look cool?,” you joke half-heartedly in attempts to lighten up the mood and put Shuri’s aching heart at ease and it seems to work because Shuri lets out a beautiful laugh, that laugh that you have loved for a long time.

“Would you prefer I walked around with red eyes and fangs??”

“I don’t know, you’d look kinda hot,” you half joke and she glares at you in both confusion and admiration.

“Walking around like a twilight vampire,” you tease and she makes a face of disgust. “Heyyy, don’t do Twilight like that. They’re good movies.”

“Fuck that,” she laughs and you laugh along with her.

“You’re really beautiful, Shuri,” you say, leaving Shuri in a subtle shock.

“Where did that come from?”

“I’m not blind. I may have been with someone our entire friendship but I always saw you and you were always beautiful to me.”

“Oh, so now you’re being honest with me? After you had me begging like a fool,” she teased.

“I’ve always loved you Shuri, you know that. You just wanted to hear me say it.”

Shuri chuckles. “Love…what a strong word, thrown around like it weighs nothing.”

“No but I do love you, I’m not playing. I love this version of you. The version of you where I actually know you. Where you let your guard down and just be…you. I love you.”

Shuri sighs, basking it all in. It’s been so long since she’s heard those words and it scares her.

”I wanna try something, if you’ll let me.”

“Anything,” your words rushed out with a tinge of desperation, revealing more than intended, driven by an urgent longing. You craved her, yearned for her presence. Her gaze locked onto yours, her eyes mirroring the same desire, as she tenderly traced your cheek. Finally, she leaned in, her lips meeting yours, and in that moment, you both embraced each other as if it were the last breath you'd take. The kiss ignited swiftly, your breaths turning erratic as you struggled to match her fervent passion. Gradually, she lifted you, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around her, never wanting to break away. She carries you across the small beach, bringing you into her house and not once did you two disconnect your reckless lips. The kiss itself spoke volumes, telling a story of how much you two yearned for one another, conveying unspoken feelings that had resided within long before you ever knew of Shuri’s true vampire nature. The heat between your legs began to rise, becoming warmer and wetter as you felt your clit brush against Shuri’s lower abdomen and that minimal friction alone felt like it was going to be the death of you. Shuri feels what you are trying to do and she grabs your ass in response, helping you feel more as she pushes you into her and it causes you to moan into the kiss.

“Mmm,” you moan, a sound that drove Shuri mad.

“That was fucking sexy,” she remarks and you cannot help but feel a tang of embarrassment for the lust you had for her. Jonathan was never one to tell you how sexy you were to make you feel desired, but instead to feed into his own ego of having you underneath him.

Shuri sits on the couch as you situate yourself on top of her, your crotch above hers, still kissing in pure intensity as the spark between you both transforms into an uncontrollable flame. Your lips were so swollen and sore, but it's inconsequential in the face of everything else. In that moment, nothing exists except Shuri, and your determination to be with her is unwavering. Shuri's kisses leave your lips, shifting towards your jaw and down to your throat as you struggle to hold in the moans that threaten to spill over, your heart beat intensifying. Shuri grasps your ass once more as you begin to grind, your actions portraying sheer desperation as you chase the friction that Shuri’s body gives yours. Shuri's hands reach for hips, guiding your movements and you squirm under the weight of her direct kisses upon your throat. Your heart thumps erratically, syncing with the pounding in your pussy and you are drenched.

“Shuri…please,” you whined, as she bruised and marked your tender throat. “I need you, please.”

Your desperate plea drives Shuri insane, hearing your voice in its deepest sensual urgency was enough to make her take you right there and then.

“You have made me wait way too long to have you like this, s’thandwa. I hope to fuck you at least half as long.”

Shuri lifts the hem of your skirt before her hand finally finds her way to that spot she needed for so long and she groans at how much you are soaking through the material of your thin panties.

“Bast, baby. You’re soaking wet,” she murmurs softly, and you nestle your face into the arc of her neck, concealing both the embarrassment and the warmth that rushes to your cheeks. But she assures her baby girl that there's nothing to be ashamed of, affirming that she had always sensed when your pussy longed for her.

“It’s ok, baby. I love seeing you like this. Let me see you.” Her voice was so smooth and sensual, a velvety depth mixed with a husky rasp that made your head spin as she stroked you though those thin panties, pressing the fabric between your folds as she taunted your throbbing clit. Your whimpers were small and short-breathed as you came back up to face her, your hopeless expression coming to meet a face that was ready to tear you apart.

“I could always tell when you were turned on, nkoszana. I could always smell when this little pussy needed me, so there’s no need to shy away now, do you understand me?”

And you’re nodding your head fervently, almost absentmindedly as you struggle to truly grasp your surroundings with Shuri’s long fingers playing between your dewy folds.

“Want to watch you cum in these little panties of yours.”

“Unh.”

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Look at you. You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

“Shuri…unh…pl-please.”

“Did he make you cum?”

“Mmmm…huh?”

Shuri chuckled in a cocky manner, a self-satisfied sound that rolled off her tongue as she felt a sense of superiority over you and your body.

“Jonathan? Was that his name? Did he ever make you cum?”

You can hardly even think with the way she was touching you, her firm fingers deliberately swiping at your clothed clit.

“S-sometimes,” you managed to say and that much was true. Sometimes he would make you cum, not because he was taking the time to learn and understand your body but usually it happened as a result of him chasing his own high. A lot of the time you would not even finish and he did not even care to make sure you did.

“Only sometimes?,” she teases, a deliberate tactic to understand how to handle you while also reveling in the sight of your mouth faltering and stumbling.

“F-fuck h-him. Unh…fuck.”

“Hmm?”

“Fuck J-Jonathan. I’m glad he’s g-gone. Oh.”

Shuri smiles at you, an arrogant grin as she basked in the mess you were as she toyed with you. Shuri’s fingers pick up the pace, pressing firmer into your clit and the waves of your orgasm begin to crest through, approaching in silence as your firmly gripped Shuri’s shoulders. Your hips are bucking into her as your pussy drools through the fabric, leaking directly onto Shuri’s fingers and the sounds coming out of you are too far gone for your control.

“Shuri, Shuri…yeah! Unh!”

“Cum, y/n. I want to see you fall apart from my fingers.”

“Mhm.”

Your orgasm quietly emerges, a slow, measured sequence that pulsates through your pussy walls as you surrender entirely, collapsing into Shuri’s arms as you ride the waves of your high. And Shuri talks you through it, whispering assurances of love and telling her girl how pretty she looks as her greedy pussy soaks all over her fingers and slutty panties, caressing your clit through the lingering aftershocks as you grapple with the descent from your gradual climax. Overwhelmed, you clutch her wrist, the struggle evident in your lungs as they battle to regulate your breathing, your mind lost in a haze.

“Shuri...I…fuck, baby.”

“You’re so messy,” she remarked with a smirk, hooking those dangerous fingers underneath the fabric of those panties that hugged your waist, tugging until the thin material pressed into your clit and you moaned at the sensitivity. She brings her fingers down and pulls them to the side, your slick sticking to the fabric and Shuri’s eyes flood with lust and desire, burning with a deep hunger that surpasses the blood that lives in your veins. She craves you in every single way. She brings her lips to yours, her eyebrows scrunched together as she ripped the panties off of you and you gasp, finally free of the thin line that was keeping you from Shuri’s skin and she lifts you up once again, taking you into her kitchen as she roughly knocks away anything in her way and places you down on the cold marble countertop. Shuri lets go of the kiss, crossing her arms as she removes her top, coming face to face with her defined abdomen and lean arms.

“Open your legs, y/n. Let me see her.”

You oblige, opening your thick, brown thighs and your pussy glistened before her. There were strings of cum that stuck to your inner thighs as your slick refused to detach from your pussy, creating a web of your arousal and the look on Shuri’s face sent shivers down your spine.

“Fuck, I have to taste her.”

“Then do it. Let me use your mouth.” You were still so delicate and sore from Shuri’s overwhelming touch but you desired more. “Let me fuck your face.”

Shuri got on her knees, bending before the melanated goddess before her as she wrapped her arms around your thighs, resting the back of your knees on her shoulders as she spread you open, coming face to face with the mess she created. You look down at her, admiring the way her arm muscles flex as she wrapped them around your thighs, watching the way your cream stuck to the side curls on her head as she dove into your ocean, wrapping her lips around your swollen clit and you arched your back at the sensation.

“Oh fuck…yes, Shuri, YES! Just like that, baby.”

Her mouth and tongue played with your clit, fucking in and around you in an overwhelming harmony that had you grinding into her face and she allowed it, allowed you to use her face as a means to please yourself. She moaned into your clenching cunt, finding the taste of you being better than she had ever imagined and her fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, sure to leave an imprint the following day.

“Unh, unh, unh, oohhh. Yeah.”

She could tell you were getting close, the way your thrusts into her face became more aggressive, the way your pussy continuously got wetter by the moment, and the louder your moans were getting, it was all telling of your impending climax. But she tells you to hold it in, keep it in longer so she can play with you more, feel your pussy clench around her tongue for a few more moments as she watches your clit grow larger with each slurp.

“I c-can’t, baby. Please. I'm gonna cum.”

“Not yet.”

“B-but—”

And your pussy is met with a sharp slap of Shuri’s hand that makes you yelp.

“I said not yet. Understand?”

And you nod your head frantically, your knuckles losing its color as you clutch to the ends of the marble countertop.

“Good girl.”

And Shuri dives back into you, consuming your essence as if she was ignoring your whimpers of overstimulation above her but she heard you, and she enjoyed the sound of you. Your cries were soft and fragile, a mere whisper of distress as you struggled for the woman below you, wanting to make her happy, give her the pleasure she received by pleasuring and having her way with you. You grasped onto Shuri’s curls, feeling her coiled hair through your fingers as you tussled with your orgasm that was on the brink of breaking through.

“Sh-Shuri…please.”

“Hmmm??”

“Please, baby, please. I have to.”

“I know, my impatient girl. You can cum now.”

“Oh…OH. FUCK.”

You fucked yourself against her face, her tongue moving in and out as her nose bumped your clit and you watched your cum trickle along the angular contours of her jaw, glistening against the richness of her beautiful complexion.

“Oooo fuck. Shuri.”

Shuri took one last lick through your folds, attempting to clean you dry but your continual leaking for her made it impossible. She stands on her two feet, resting between your opened legs as she’s greeted with the most vulnerable version of yourself, visibly struggling to recover from the intensity of your orgasms and it was that sight of you that nearly caused her to lose complete control.

“You’re shaking, y/n,” she cooed with a tease. “I’m just getting started with you. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Mmmm.”

“Is that what you want from me? Does getting fucked by a vampire make you wet?,” she asks in a condescending tone. You cannot answer with words, no matter how hard you try and so you nod your head in sheer desperation.

“You will be broken by the time I am down with you. Ruined for anyone who tries to come after me.”

You could hear her voice, yet you were deeply disconnected, unable to fully grasp the profound meaning behind her words and it was so apparent to Shuri that she felt she had to resort to communicating to you telepathically in an attempt to reunite your mind with your body.

“You’re ok, s’thandwa. Follow my voice.” The voice in your head pulled you back to reality, your pussy was still aching but your mind was at ease.

“Now listen to me, y/n. Being with a vampire is nothing like being with a human, especially that little boy you almost called a husband. I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to fuck you good. If at any point I’m going too hard or I’m hurting you, I need you to let me know.”

“Mhmm,” you manage to say. She cups your face in her hands, brushing the tears that sat on your waterline with the tips of her thumbs, and god, she was in love with you.

“You’re so pretty, y/n.”

“Please, Shuri.”

“Please, what?”

“I want—need you…”

“Mmmm,” she hums knowingly, her eyes dark and seeping in lust as she teasingly drags a finger through your sopping folds, and you wince at her touch, simultaneously wanting more and running away from the stimulation her touch gave you.

“Please? Please, Shuri? I n-need you. Unh.”

“Ssshhh, I know baby, I know. I want to take my time with you.”

Your soft whines of overwhelming pleasure climbed up your throat as she brushed her fingers between your puffy folds, purposefully avoiding your clit and it is enough to make you lose your mind but this is how she wants you; desperate, needy, craving more. But once she presses your clit, you let out a wail as you softly cry at her touch, tears falling down your cheeks.

“My little cry baby.” Her voice is condescending, belittling as she plays between the swollen flesh.

“That’s right, y/n. Cry for me. Show me how much it is.”

“Fuck me?,” you whimper.

“Bast, you’re needy, huh?” she says with a smirk, your desperate plea shooting an ache into Shuri’s pussy because she needed you just as bad, her vampire lust surpassing that of a human experience.

“I know I am…it’s just Jonathan…he n-never—”

“I know, princess. It’s ok. I got you now, I’ll take care of you.”

“Unh.”

“Oh sthandwa, I’m going to fucking ruin you.” She said this like it was a promise, like she was sure no one would come after her and if they did, they wouldn’t make it too far. You moan as Shuri plunges her fingers into your cunt, falling in love with the way you immediately clench around her, your greedy cunt letting more slick pour out for her.

“My pretty slut to ruin.”

“I don’t care, just ruin me.” You buck your hips into her fingers in desperation, craving more and more from her and you were so embarrassed with how loud your pussy was, how much your clenching walls needed her but you didn’t care enough to stop yourself.

“Please, baby, pleeaseee,” you beg. “Fuck me, Shuriiiii.”

Shuri chuckles, licking her lips as she salivates at the sight of you, finding it increasingly more and more challenging to restrain her hunger. She could sense your heartbeat growing louder, sense the blood flowing through your veins and your pussy walls, and she wanted it, wanted you. She wanted to witness your struggle as she claimed from you what sustained her life as she fucked you into another realm of sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine as Shuri's touch finds the bundle of nerves inside you, intensifying the throb within your walls as your pussy squeezed her fingers. She swiftly took her fingers out, leaving you to whimper at the emptiness you felt yet that sensation quickly dissipates as Shuri starts swishing your clit from side to side. Your eyes roll back, and uncontrollable groans take over.

“Unh…Shuri…fuck, I’m gonna—you’re gonna make me—“ but Shuri immediately detached from you, your slick sticking to her fingers and creating a trail on the floor.

“You’re a messy girl, huh? Fuck…open your mouth for me.” And you do, moaning at the taste of your own flavor and the sight makes Shuri so horny, so wet, she cannot stand to not be inside you any longer. She wanted to feel how deep you were as she buried herself inbetween your dark thighs, get lost in the way your pussy swelled up with each hard thrust she fucked into you. Shuri removes your top and her bottoms, leaving you both in nothing but your bras just before Shuri fiddles with the device on her wrist, her strap snugly fitting to her waist. Your eyes subtly widen at the size of her, she was much bigger than that fucking man you hated so much. Shuri grabbed her shaft, slowly pumping it as she brought it to the swells of your folds, rubbing her tip against your overwhelmed clit and you whimpered at the touch. She puts the tip in, and you immediately clench around the sheer girth of her tip, letting out a soft scream as your body grapples with her size.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be fun to play with,” she comments with a sly smile. She lifts you up and you wrap your legs around her once more, your clit is pressed into her dick making your kisses turn into cluttered moans as you pant into her mouth. She grabs your ass and presses you into her, guiding your hips to grind into her until finally you meet her bedroom and your back hits her mattress, her lean but muscular body hovering over you as she purposefully made sure her shaft caressed your clit. She continued to press fervent kisses into your mouth, in awe of the way your mouth struggles to reciprocate those kisses as you feel her dick moving between your folds, caressing your bulging, beating clit.

“Look at you, how helpless you are,” she taunts as your breathing picks up.

“Shuri pleeasseee,” you whine, so overwhelmed and loving the way she took her time with you. This was all a new feeling to you, your mind and body being loved and explored and it was almost all too much, but your need for her overtook that feeling. Shuri removes herself from on top of you, resting her back against the headboard and she gestured for you to come sit on top of her.

“Take this off,” you complain, gesturing to her bra. She grins before crossing her arms and removing her bra. Her perky breasts were so beautiful and you could not help but take one of her erect nipples into your mouth and it causes her to moan, a sound you could never get tired of.

“Turn around for me.”

“But I won’t be able to see you.”

“That doesn’t matter, you’ll feel me.”

“But—” and she cuts you off by snaking her hand around your throat, causing an immediate gasp to escape your lips. She applies a gentle pressure to your windpipe, deliberately restraining her vampire strength to avoid hurting you. You revel in the way she makes you feel, sensing her containment of crossing the boundaries of her strength and it makes you feel dizzy. Using your throat as a grip, she turns your body towards the mirror.

“I love how you look when you shut up,” she whispers into you, her palm still firmly placed around your neck and you stifle a choked whimper, grasping onto her forearm as you feel her veins protruding through her human-like skin. She takes her tip once again, placing it between your sopping wet folds and your eyebrows clench together in anticipation.

“You ready, princess?”

You nod, and finally, finally you feel full, filled to the brim as her dick moves inside you, stretching you out in ways you have never before and she feels devine. You knew in that instant, she had left an eternal mark on you and you wanted to keep her inside you forever. Shuri whispered praises into you, making sure you knew just how much your needy pussy was squeezing her dick, how deep and wet you were as she thrusted slow, harsh movements that reverberated into your pussy walls and it fucked your mind up. Your moans were staggered, uncontrolled sounds as Shuri’s hand remained around your throat, pressing kisses into your shoulder.

“Shuri,” you cried and she removed her hand from your throat, and when you thought it was over, she unclipped your bra, grazing the material over your nipples as she brought the skimpy fabric to your throat, brushing it over your trachea and you swallowed in anticipation, understanding what she was going to do next and you allowed it. She pulled it, pressing the fabric hard into your windpipe, not enough to choke you completely, but just enough to have you gasping as you left your breathing to her. The act was so sensual and heightened the pleasure that coursed through you as she continued to thrust into you, trailing her other hand down your torso until she reached your clit, circling your bud excessively.

“Oh fuck, Shuri…yes, YES. UNH.”

She admired the view in the mirror in front of you two, got lost in the way your breasts bounced with each hard thrust she pounded into you, the sweat and drool that trickled down the valley between them and you were both a wreck, both so close to your release.

“That’s it…that’s…fuck. That’s a good girl. My good girl.”

“Fuck. I’m gonna cum again, Shuri. Can I? Please?”

“Mhmmm,” is all Shuri can manage to say as she approaches her own orgasm, tugging the fabric into your windpipe and you let out a strangled moan.

“Sh-Shuri…I’m cumming. Shit, don’t stop fucking me. Keep ch-choking me j-just like that. Oh…unh.”

Your orgasm surged within you like a forceful, tumultuous wave, roughly rushing through every aspect of your existence. It started in your pussy, pounding through your throbbing walls before spreading through your veins and dominating your entire body. It was seraphic, a celestial pulse that made you squirm against her, moaning through it as you noticed Shuri approaching her own high but she quickly dug her face into the nape of your neck, an attempt to contain her own moans that threatened to escape her throat.

“Fuck…y/n…,” she sobbed into your skin.

“No, d-don’t do that. Fall part for me, Shuri. I w-want to see it. Let me see what I do to y-you, baby.”

“N-nkoszana…”

“Cum inside me Shuri. Please.”

With her vampire speed, she switches the position so you’re lying on your back and you’re met with the hunger that surged through her eyes right before she pressed her lips into the side of your throat as her moans sink into your skin.

“I-I can’t,” she whimpers. “I need it. I need you.”

And immediately you understand what she’s talking about. She wants you. All of you.

“Unh.”

“Ssshhh, baby, it’s ok. Drink from me, Shuri. I know, just…please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she struggles to say in your neck and your heart races. Everything is pounding. Your head. Your heart, Your pussy. And you were so overwhelmed but she was buried so deep into you, her thrusts were so surreal and you were no longer fearful of the woman above you. She was unraveling before you, revealing her true self and desires, baring it all before you.

“I-I—“

“I know Sh-Shuri…it’s ok. I promise, it’s ok.” You’re grasping her curls, moaning into the curve of her neck and she lets out one last beaten whimper before she sinks her teeth into your throat. It hurts at first, a sharp pain that scared you but the more you basked in it, the better it felt. Her plunges into you were getting sloppy and uncoordinated and it did not take long before you could feel her dick twitch inside you, grazing your walls as her cum spilled into your used pussy. It was an exchange of want, giving you her cum as she took your blood and it only took a few more messy pumps until you were cumming as well, one last blissful orgasm as your mind danced with stars. You are both moaning in each other's necks, the pulse in your pussy slowing down, a hard yet slow beat that had you twitching and your heartbeat felt the same. As Shuri continues to drink from you, you begin to feel dizzy, lightheaded, your physical body needing her to stop but your mind and your pussy ached for more.

“Sh-Shuri…I-I think—unh.”

“Mmmm,” Shuri moaned, struggling to detach from you, in a world she craved for for so long as your blood brought her to a state of ecstasy. You were addicting, making it a struggle to stop as her body rushed with pleasure.

“Shuri…baby…”

Your breathless whimpers forced Shuri to release you, her face drawing closer to yours, yet she looked so different. Her dark brown eyes transformed into a blood-red hue, her fangs fully extended, and her mouth stained with your blood. The image frightened you at first and Shuri looked away in shame, attempting to conceal the face she despised so deeply.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, ashamed of herself.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Don’t hide from me, Shuri. I-I want to see you. The real you.” Raising your hand to her face, you guide her gaze back to yours and slowly, she complies, exposing herself openly, displaying her true self and she was hauntingly beautiful. You tenderly caress her face, appreciating the intense red in her eyes, the sharpness of her fangs, and your blood trickling beneath them, her mouth colored crimson from the intimate exchange.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats and you gently hush her.

“Ssshhh, it’s ok, baby, it’s ok. I’m not hurt, ok? You didn’t hurt me. You did amazing, my love. You did so well.”

She nods and as you lean in to kiss her, the flavor of your blood meets your taste buds and though it isn’t pleasant, the significance of the act outweighs the taste. Shuri cleansed your lips of your blood by licking them, then did the same for herself before withdrawing her strap that was still buried inside you.

She runs her tongue over the blood that stains your neck before planting a kiss on your forehead. Cradling your head in her hand, she gently leans your forehead against hers and whispers:

“That was better than I ever imagined.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Both of you lay sprawled against her bed sheets, cuddling against her chest as you bask her scent while the sound of waves crashing not too far away filled the air.

“I have one more question, and then I think I’m done.”

Shuri chuckles at you. “And what would that be, s’thandwa?”

“So vampires are like…dead, right?”

“Undead.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever…I just wanna know…how exactly does one become a vampire?”

Shuri raises her eyebrow. “Why do you need to know that?”

You roll your eyes. “No reason, I’m just curious. Like there obviously has to be some kind of process.”

“Well of course there is.”

“So then tell me.”

Shuri gets up, presses her back against the headboard and you straddle her. She eyes the bite mark on your neck, tracing the unhealed scar and you wince.

“So fragile,” she whispers, almost mockingly and your heartbeat escalates and Shuri hears it, causing her to softly chuckle.

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re always laughing at me, so what’s funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…I love the way your body responds to me.”

You gaze at her in confusion and she only stares at you in admiration, a profound sense of affection and tenderness reflected in sharp gaze. Her expressions held an unspoken language, a silent conversation that speaks volumes of how much she loved you.

“To become a vampire, you need to be dying, at the threshold of death. Then a vampire will give you their blood to drink, once that blood enters your system, it will kill you completely.”

You softly gulp.

“And then the blood will ‘fix you.’ Rid you of any scars and imperfections, rid you of wounds and disease until your body is brand new and strong and gives you back your life, making you the strongest you’ve ever felt. But not without consequence…of course.”

“That sounds…terrible,” you softly laugh.

“Trust me…it is,” she chuckles along with you, drawing you closer for a kiss that you wish could linger forever.

“The sun will be coming up soon. You’ll have to stay here until it goes back down, I won’t be able to drive you home until then.”

“That’s fine,” you reassure. “I’m tired as fuck anyway, I’ll probably just sleep here.”

She nods in agreement.

“Shuri…?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“I lied earlier…I actually have one more question.

Shuri sighs. “Last one?”

“For now.”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “I’m all ears.”

You place a quick peck on her lips before you proceed. “You know I love you, right?”

“For a while now,” she teases and you flick her shoulder. “Is that your question?”

“No.”

“Well I’m waiting…”

A deafening silence enveloped your surroundings, overpowering Shuri's heightened senses, allowing only the distant waves' sound, the rhythm of your heartbeat, and your faint breath to echo through her ears. Your palms began to sweat, and you nervously bit on your bottom lip as you contemplated whether to proceed with your question. Shuri gazed at you, filled with anticipation, almost wishing she had the ability to read minds so she could put her own at ease.

“Y/n, you’re scaring me…what is it?”

Your eyes glistened, and she sensed the hairs on your arms standing on end, yet your voice shattered the silence with your burning question; one she had hoped never to hear again.

“Turn me?” ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

Whew fuck, I need her baadddddd. Also, thank you so much for 800+ followers on here, that’s insane! Love you all and congrats if you made it through that long ass fic

[sluttysanemi]

AHHH !!

i have this request with sanemi or even obanai, smut ofc although i love comfort & fluff !

sanemi or obanai during&after nnn (no nut november) ???

🤍 🤍

ੈ✩‧₊˚ – MORNING ARISES.

c/w: smut, thigh fucking, mirror sex? , established relationship

a/n: i promise ill write 4 obanai one day i jst rlly like writing and posting sanemi.. also what do we think of fallen angel sanemi?? idk that could be pretty hot

A new morning dawns as another month begins. You groggily vacate from your bed, as segments of light emerge through the window. It'd been an uproarious month, particularly for Sanemi- who slept, half asleep, beside you.

He restricted himself of you the entire november, for particularly petty reasons. There was no intimacy across those days, and you knew he grew desperate by the second week.

This was, however, not what rang across your mind. Rather, you proceed to your customary morning routine, shuffling your body to the common bathroom.

Gazing at the mirror across, you crank the tap, letting the water stream along your palm; before splashing it against your face. You clear the nightly buildup your body formed upon your face, whilst awaking yourself. 

While performing your morning dues, Sanemi would promptly stumble from the sheets. You could hear the heavy thud of his feet as he staggered along the floorboards to the lavatory. His rich sandalwood fragrance quickly spreads across the small space. You whispered an earnest greeting, as you continued. 

It was until he suddenly drew closer, throwing his robust arms along your waist and sinking his face in the crook of your neck. His chest was rigorous against your back,  you could feel the faint twitch of his pectorals. His hips were particularly close, as he pressed against you boldly.

It was evident he was still half slumbering as he laid his light lips against the exact region upon your shoulder.

“Missed ya so much…”, he spoke dazedly. 

You swiftly realized what he meant, as he drove his hips against you. You could feel the hard contour of his famished shaft as it pushed along. He dressed only in his boxers, thus you could feel every detail of his length, as it struggled against the thin fabric of the garment.

“Please…”, Sanemi uttered. 

Your cheeks flush, and your breathing grows heavy. You grant his plea with a subtle nod,  watching as he slowly tugs at your panties, exposing your cunt to the warm air. 

He follows, pulling his firm dick from his waistband. His rigid cock lubricated with the sinful beads of his pre, as it trails downwards.

Still barely conscious, he struggles to push himself into you, instead driving between your thighs. You could feel his veins throbbing against your clit, whilst he groans in ecstasy. It hadn't mattered where he was buried, you still felt phenomenal. 

He took a firm hold of your hips, and began to move slowly, humping himself between your legs. 

You could feel him rutting against your lower lips, as your slick stained his cock. He pulsed with excitement. 

“Hnn.. so good f’me… so soft…”, Sanemi’s words spilled incoherently, his mind clouded with pleasure. 

You looked wistfully to the mirror, your cheeks a deep scarlet. His cock pushes against you endlessly, while you clutch to your bathroom's surface.

A hand would slowly surface along your body, wrapping itself around your tit. His fingers delicately pinch at the soft nub, eliciting a groan from your lips. You grind yourself against him, desperately yearning for more of him, more of his desperation. 

His head separates from your shoulder, tilting back, as his hips grow more fervent. The sound of his labored breathing and the feel of his skin on yours send thrills down your spine.

His grip tightens around you, his rough nails pressing into your skin. His breath feels hot on your neck, his presence overwhelming and stifling.

“Fuck… s–so-.. Shit–..”, he pants endlessly. He's pulsating ceaselessly, so close to achieving a rush that he's starved himself completely of. His firm tip continually humping against you, twitching in elation as he feels the clench of your thighs, strumming against his sensitive skin. 

His balls begin to tighten, as his ability of thought fades. 

With a few more ruts of his hips, he spills himself, his spurts of pleasure trickling between your thighs, and the counter- too eager to feel ashamed of having finished so swiftly.

His formerly cruel fingers begin to gently knead your hips, while he splays kisses around your neck. You tilt your head backwards, indulging into his expression of affection. 

“C’mon, sweet girl… ‘nother one. Wanna show you how bad I missed you.”, Sanemi coos softly, against your ear.

[vague-humanoid]

@dirhwangdaseul @el-shab-hussein @positively--speculative @quasi-normalcy

“Any district with a significant English learner population has looked to Heath because he’s been ahead of the game,” said Ryan Hollingsworth, the executive director of the School Superintendents of Alabama, which represents the state’s 150 school districts. “It is just amazing to see what he’s been able to do in a small district with not a lot of resources.”

But as Grimes’ star rose statewide, according to local educators and residents, his relationship with city leadership started to unravel. Then, in mid-May 2023, a member of the school board told Grimes that it would not be renewing his contract, which was to end in June 2024. He agreed to retire when his contract ended the following year in exchange for a bump in his final year’s salary. Starting in November, I tried to talk with school board members, the mayor and City Council members about the school district and Grimes, but they did not respond initially to my interview requests. (When I introduced myself to the mayor, David Grissom, on the street in Russellville, he told me “no comment” and walked away.) But over the months, I was able to talk to more than 60 state officials, local administrators, teachers, former school board members, community leaders and residents, including people I met in businesses and on the street in Russellville. Those interviews suggest that the decision to force out Grimes as superintendent stemmed from a tangle of small-town politics, deep-rooted antipathy toward immigrants and a yearning for the city Russellville used to be.

“Heath Grimes put students first. And this ultimately may have hurt him,” said Jason Barnett, superintendent of the Guntersville City Board of Education in northern Alabama and one of dozens of district leaders in the state who worked closely with Grimes. Approximately 18 educators and community leaders in Russellville, many of them with knowledge of the events, told me that Grimes’ support for the growing English learner population was key to his loss of support among top city leadership. Many asked not to be quoted for fear of retaliation or straining relationships in this small community. One school administrator, who did not want to be identified for fear of losing their job, said of Grimes: “Many folks said the increase in the undocumented population was because he made Russellville schools a welcoming place that immigrants wanted to live in. People didn’t like that.”

[casuallyimagining]

Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), drinking, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always.

Posting October 21, 2023, 8pm EDT

new teaser under the cut

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block, the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days. 

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified. 

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

it's finally here! I'm so excited to share this with you. I'd love to know your thoughts and whether or not you're excited!! there's so much more I wanted to include, but maybe (hopefully) there will be a part 2 somewhere down the road.

[theanimeroom]

How do you think Karasu Tabito would do with NNN? 🤔 I feel like he's a level of competitive that could last a hot second

NSFW UNDER THE CUT | MINORS DNI

NOVEMBER 24TH, 2023 - 4:23AM

NNN CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

let's start with the fact that karasu tabito is an absolute whore for you, and he doesn't try to hide it. he was someone who loved pda. it didn't matter the time or place, he would plant a sloppy kiss against your lips whenever he felt like it. although his friends claim that he's "too sexual" with you when you two are in public, he couldn't help himself. that was the way he showed his affection, it was like second nature to him. he was so completely in love with you and everything about you, that was very clear.

karasu wasn't the type to get emotional, especially around his teammates. but around you? he felt safe in a way that he would never admit to any of his friends for fear of them calling him a simp. yet he was; so completely and utterly down bad for you that he would do anything to give you the world, should you ask for it.

you were well aware of the soft spot that he had for you as well, and you were never the one to take advantage of the space you held in his heart. you'd known that karasu was a hard man to tie down, but somehow, some way, you found yourself lying in bed with him every night.

now, with that being said, karasu's preferred love language was the exact cause of his downfall during the challenge.

karasu is a very emotional lover, believe it or not. he's not one to fuck around with just anyone when he wants you, it's because you already owned a piece of his heart and then some. that makes him the perfect lover, in your opinion.

it also made him the most insatiable.

because he was so emotionally tied to you, literally anything that you did ignited the flame within him. he was using all the strength he had in his body to keep his hormones at bay, and up until that fateful day, he'd been doing so well. but day after day, your perfection started to get the best of him. one day it was your pretty smile, the next it was the way you looked in those jeans, and on the last day? a sneeze.

yes, as much as he hated to admit it, it was you sneezing that broke karasu down. you'd gone on a tyrant, sneezes leaving you left and right until your face reddened and you could no longer breathe through your nose. at first karasu thought it was cute, a small "bless you" sneaking through his chuckles towards you.

his smile disappeared, however, when you looked back up at him, sniffling softly with glassy eyes as you muttered out a congested "thank you," in response. it was the way you gazed at him that made him crack, that being the same expression you gave him whenever he was fucking your brains out.

the cycle of thoughts only spiraled from there, the 'i'm a deer caught in headlights' look he had going making your eyebrows furrow. just when you were about to ask if he was okay, your words were being silenced by the pressure of his full lips on yours in a quick peck.

the kiss was just long enough for you to register that it happened, all traces of your allergies long gone as you stared him down with a mixture of confusion and surprise.

"what was that for?" you asked, a smile creeping on your lips at your boyfriend's antics. karasu blinked at you once. a muffled grunt slipped from your throat when instead of responding, he kissed you again, this one more intense than the last. his tongue was like velvet against yours, a greedy moan being transferred from his mouth to yours as he finally got a taste of what he'd been yearning for the past almost month. "karasu!"

"for being so fucking perfect all the time," he breathed, hand coming behind your head to keep you right where he wanted you. it didn't surprise you in the slightest that this was happening, karasu was never the type to obtain self-control when it came to you. what startled you was the force behind his movements, something that you weren't used to seeing unless he was severely stressed. he enjoyed the small hiccups in your breath when his head turned to your neck, nipping at the skin sharply. "wanna show you how perfect you are."

you weren't sure when the clothes came off, or when karasu coddled you into his arms, turning you to lay on your side as he slithered behind you. he took hold of your leg, his gruff voice mumbling in your ear as he pressed his leaking tip against your hole. he moaned quietly as you clenched at the pressure. "hold her up for me, baby."

all you know is that you did as he asked, hand curling under the backside of your knee, holding the limb as close to your torso as you could while the blue-haired male filled you to the brim over and over again.

"good girl, look so pretty f'me baby," his brows were knitted together as he watched you fall apart on his cock. the way your mouth was lolled open, almost left the man with half a mind to fill that hole too, always loving how pretty you were when being filled from every direction. it made his dick throb whenever he saw the head of his cock push against your tummy, bulging right where his hand was resting. he'd occasionally press down on the area, relishing in the rise in pitch that your voice would take.

you looked so beautiful to him that he felt that you should have gotten to enjoy the view too. that's why he held your face in one hand, forcing you to look straight ahead into the full body-length mirror that was sitting across from you. he watched as your hooded eyes lazily stared at your reflection, sometimes peering behind you to catch a glimpse of karasu in all his glory. whenever the two of you made eye contact, he smiled at you through the mirror. "don't you think so?"

you nodded frantically, too fucked out and embarrassed from staring at your brain-dead figure to get words out. your jaw was caught in his strong grip, preventing you from looking anywhere else but into the glass. you knew you were moving closer to the edge when the strength in your hand holding onto your legs caved, the limb nearly slipping away had it not been for karasu snaking his arm around you, only to place his hand right back on your face where it was previously. "wanna be a good girl for me?"

he knew you were close, your poor hole was sucking him in so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out, the warmth radiating from your body only forcing his own orgasm to follow close behind.

when you nodded rapidly, he smirked at your submission before pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your head. bringing his lips to your ear in order to hear him over his desperate thrusts, he hummed softly. "want you to watch yourself while you come for me. think you can do that, pretty girl?"

don't plagarize, it's not nice &lt;3

© theanimeroom