#sweet temptation headers

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[vandme12]

𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝟭𝟬𝟬 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 - 𝗩𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗦𝗵𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗞𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 -( 1 )

Header made by @@kianasflowers

This is my first LONG PROJECT, so much ideas. I had to shorten

PROMPT : FALLING FOR YOU

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Death, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : You're a shrine keeper, One day you met a strange man with teeth like fangs, Which you thought belonged to the Tengu, There's so much about him. Will you lead into the gift he gives you? He opened the door, You always kept close. Following him is your wish

WORDS : 10947

"Stay still, sweet pea… I promise, I won’t take your life." His voice was a velvety whisper against your ear, his grip firm yet teasing as he held your trembling hand.

"Mm… Forgive me, darling, but I haven’t had a taste in quite some time," Ronin murmured, his lips hovering just above your skin. "It won’t take long… just a little sip." His hungry gaze followed the faint pulse beneath your throat, temptation darkening his black eyes.

"I'm afraid I must decline."

Before he could react, the world twisted—sky and earth flipping as he was thrown backward. Pain erupted along his shoulders, his back colliding hard against the ground. His head swam from the impact, but a sharp thrill curled through him.

Then, your voice, low and unwavering.

"Don't underestimate me… I’m far stronger than you think."

Ronin barely had a moment to react before your fist connected with his chest—a direct, clean strike infused with divine energy.

A sharp crack echoed through the night as he staggered back, breath hitching. Pain laced through his ribs, but his lips curled into a slow, almost blissful smile.

"Ah… That was divine," he purred, crimson eyes hazy as he gazed up at you. "Such strength… such beauty… Oh, darling, you’ve utterly ruined me."

His body swayed, legs giving out beneath him. As the world blurred at the edges, his last thought was that he had never seen anything so breathtaking as you, standing tall beneath the moonlight, fire in your eyes.

Then, with a dreamy sigh, Ronin collapsed, utterly smitten—and completely unconscious.

When he woke, the world was unfamiliar. The dim light flickered against wooden walls, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. This wasn’t the cold embrace of the night he knew—this was a room, warm and quiet.

Something was different.

Ronin’s sharp eyes flicked downward, his brow arching as he took in the strange garments draped over his body. Someone had changed his clothes. A thick futon cradled him, softer than he cared to admit.

Before he could dwell on it, the sliding door creaked open. The one who had thrown him down not long ago stepped inside, carrying a small wooden tray.

"You're awake." Their voice was steady, unreadable. "You should eat something."

Ronin leaned back against the futon, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. "You are offering me food?" His tone was smooth, teasing, but the person merely set the tray before him.

He eyed the simple meal with mild curiosity. A bowl of dark broth, pale vegetables floating within. A small pile of pickled greens. And a white, rounded shape.

"...What is this?" he mused aloud.

"Miso soup, pickles, and onigiri," they explained. "Haven’t you tried them before?"

Ronin let out a soft chuckle, his fangs catching the light. "You realize I intended to make you my meal… And yet, here you are, feeding me?" His voice dropped, slow and indulgent. "How unexpected."

They didn’t respond, only crossed their arms and waited.

A sigh left his lips. "Very well, if only to humor you."

He lifted the bowl to his lips, taking a small sip of the soup.

First, the saltiness hit his tongue. Then, something deeper, layered—earthy miso, a faint sweetness, an umami that lingered at the back of his throat. His brow furrowed slightly.

"It has a… complicated taste," he admitted, rolling the flavor over his tongue. "I can’t say if it’s pleasant or not."

His host exhaled, long-suffering. "You're rather rude."

Ronin smirked but took another sip, curiosity getting the better of him. The vegetables—soft, but with a crisp bite—were unlike anything he usually consumed.

He tried the rice ball next, following it with another mouthful of soup. This time, the flavors settled, the warmth of the broth spreading through him in a way he hadn't expected.

"...It’s actually delicious," he murmured, almost to himself.

A sharp voice cut through his musings.

"Hey. Were you even listening to me?"

Ronin licked a stray drop of broth from his lips, gaze flicking upward with lazy amusement.

"Ah, forgive me," he drawled, "I was rather… distracted."

"Are you a monster?"

The words left your lips before you could stop them, hanging heavy in the dimly lit room. Your fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles white against your robes.

Across from you, the man—no, the creature—tilted his head slightly, as if amused by your question. The remnants of his meal sat untouched before him, yet his crimson eyes remained fixed on you.

"Ronin," he said simply.

You hesitated. "…What?"

"My name," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Ronin."

"Ro…nin?" The unfamiliar name felt foreign on your tongue. "Are you… from another land?"

He only smiled.

You straightened, gathering your resolve. "I am Y/N L/N, a miko—a shrine keeper. This shrine is my responsibility."

Ronin exhaled, resting his chin against his hand, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. "A shrine keeper, hm? How quaint."

His words unsettled you, but you pressed on. "I asked if you were a monster."

His smile widened. "I wouldn’t know." He leaned forward, the candlelight casting his sharp features in shadow. "It’s been… a long time since anyone called me human."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"...I see. I thought as much," you muttered under your breath, unable to tear your gaze from his.

You had thought you were saving a lost man in the woods.

But you had invited a monster into the shrine.

"In general," Ronin continued, his voice a low hum, "people call me vampire."

"Vam…?" You frowned. "What is that?"

"Vampire," he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue with deliberate slowness.

You had never heard of such a thing. A creature from a foreign land, wandering into the sacred grounds of Sakaki Shrine?

The very thought unsettled you.

The Sakaki Shrine was once a sanctuary of divine power. The gods enshrined here—Amaterasu, the radiant goddess of the sun; Ame-no-Uzume, the bringer of dawn; and Izanagi, the father of creation—had long protected this place.

This shrine had been a refuge for those cast aside, for women seeking sanctuary from cruel families or spouses. In its golden age, it had flourished, a beacon of safety in the mountains.

But that time had passed.

As the people dwindled, so did the shrine's influence. Fewer came to worship, the grand ceremonies faded into memory, and the once-powerful barriers that protected these lands began to wane.

Then, your father—the last chief priest—had passed.

And with him, the last remnants of the shrine’s strength.

Now, the monsters grew bolder. Shadows moved where they shouldn’t. Whispers carried through the trees at night.

And now, he was here.

Ronin had found his way past the weakened barrier.

Which meant your power wasn’t enough.

"As I told you before..."

You keep your voice steady, though the weight in your chest feels unbearable.

You were born and raised in this shrine. The sacred grounds, the endless rituals, the flickering candlelight during prayers—this place has been your entire life.

But now, there’s an intruder.

A monster lounging before you as if he belongs here.

Your parents are gone. Your grandmother, once the head shrine keeper, retired years ago. Now, the responsibility falls to you alone. You’re the last line of defense for a shrine that is already crumbling, its power waning.

Becoming the chief priest should have been the answer, but your father’s will had made that clear:

"Get a spouse, let them take over the shrine."

Disappointment had been a dull ache in your chest ever since.

Your father had been old-fashioned, stubborn. He believed the shrine needed a man to lead it. And if you were to follow his wishes, you’d have to find someone soon.

Your grandmother, at least, had spared you from that fate—never forcing you to obey a dead man’s will. And so, you ignored the matchmaking photos that arrived with maddening regularity, stuffing them away as if that would erase the reality of your situation.

It didn’t change the truth.

It didn’t change the weakness you felt.

You know the rituals. You’ve memorized the prayers, the chants, the sacred dances meant to invoke divine protection. And when people come, asking for blessings, you deliver them with precision.

But the truth?

You’ve never felt it. Never once performed a ritual and known, with certainty, that it had worked. That you had power.

You’ve watched the monsters multiply in the forests surrounding the shrine. You’ve heard their whispers, felt their presence, but you could never see them, never touch them, never banish them.

You never told anyone.

But your father knew.

A sigh slips from your lips.

"Tch. Don’t sigh like that, shrinekeeper."

Your head snaps up. Ronin watches you with that ever-present smirk, fangs barely peeking past his lips.

"It’s because of you," you bite out.

You hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

But it’s true.

He’s here because of you. Because you weren’t strong enough. Because you let the shrine’s barrier weaken.

Because you let a devil waltz right through your sacred gates.

"Tell me something." Your voice is firm, even as you sit before something that shouldn’t exist. "What is a vampire? Are you like the tengu?"

Tengu were known creatures of the mountains—mischievous, yes, but they followed their own rules. If Ronin were tengu, then maybe, just maybe, he could be allowed to remain.

His laughter is low, rolling through the air like a storm on the horizon.

"Tengu? Oh, shrinekeeper… do I look like a bird to you?" He leans forward, the candlelight flickering against his sharp features. "I wouldn't know if we’re the same. But me? I'm immortal."

His fingers trace the rim of his empty soup bowl, slow, deliberate. His eyes never leave yours.

"I drink the blood of the living. The strong, the wicked, the desperate." His smile spreads, dangerous and dazzling all at once. "But above all? I have a preference, you see…"

The room feels smaller. The air thickens.

"I love the taste of beautiful people’s blood, Y/N."

Your breath catches.

"Beautiful?" The word tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

No one has ever said that to you before.

Ronin hums, as if considering something, before grinning like the Devil himself.

"Oh? Did I say something shocking?" He leans in further, voice a whisper of silk and sin. "You’re cute when you’re flustered, shrinekeeper. It’s almost a shame..."

His fingers brush against your wrist.

"...that I didn’t take a bite when I had the chance."

"Especially."

▷

Ronin’s fingers traced the delicate skin of your neck, his touch feather-light, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"These blood veins here… easy to sink my teeth into, darlin’."

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—your hand shot forward, aiming for his collar, ready to shove him away.

But Ronin was faster.

Before you could touch him, his hand closed around your wrist with effortless precision.

"Tch. Now, now—" His smirk widened as he tightened his grip just enough to make a point. "I won’t be tossed aside so easily, shrinekeeper."

▷

To a vampire, young blood was the richest feast.

And the young themselves? They were always the most valuable.

Yet, no matter where in the world, they were treated as lesser. Ignored. Discarded.

Ronin tilted his head, gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"Your martial arts aren’t bad, darlin’. You’ve got fire. But the second I grab hold of you…?" He leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "You’re still just a weak little thing."

His words stung, but not with malice.

"Don’t mistake me for the kind to spit on you for what you are." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "But don’t waste time regretting what you can’t do, either. Focus on what you can."

▷

"What I can do?"

The words escaped you before you realized you’d spoken them aloud.

Ronin’s grip loosened.

"Exactly." His voice curled around the syllables like a secret meant only for you. "Forget what’s expected of you—man, woman, shrinekeeper, prey. None of that matters. Just figure out what only you can do, darlin’."

And then, just as easily as he had captured you, he let you go.

▷

His smirk returned, easy, lazy, ever-dangerous.

"By the way—" He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wicked. "I’ve got one more thing to ask ya, shrinekeeper."

After Y/N explained the shrine’s history to Ronin, the sun was already dipping below the horizon by the time they returned to the house.

▷

Y/N suddenly halted.

Someone was standing in front of the building.

"Tch. A visitor?" Ronin drawled, tilting his head.

"It’s just a delivery. But you stand out too much. Can you hide yourself for a moment?"

"Oh? You wound me, darlin’." He placed a hand over his chest, as if genuinely offended. Then, with a low chuckle, he stepped back into the shadows, vanishing from sight. "Fine. I’ll play along."

Y/N approached the delivery man.

"Hello, L/N-san. Got a package for you."

Ronin could hear everything. His senses were sharper than any human’s—the rustling of fabric, the way the man’s breathing hitched slightly. And his heartbeat? Fast. Anxious.

Pathetic.

"B-by the way, L/N-san… do you, uh, like musical theatre? I—I have two tickets for a play and..."

"Oh! Osen from the sweet shop wanted to see that one!" Y/N replied without hesitation.

"Eh? Uh—yes, but—"

"She’ll be thrilled! You two enjoy the play together! And thanks for the delivery!"

Ronin almost laughed. Brutal.

The poor bastard barely had time to process the rejection before Y/N effectively sent him packing. The man hesitated, shoulders slumping, before walking away, dejected.

Only when he was completely out of sight did Ronin step forward, slow and deliberate.

▷

"Shrinekeeper."

Y/N turned.

"Did anyone see you?"

Ronin let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Then, without warning—

"L/N... what the hell was that?"*

▷

"Eh? W-what? What do you mean?"

"Oh, don’t play dumb with me, darlin’." His grin was wide, sharp, teasing. "That poor man was redder than a fresh kill. He was askin’ you on a date, and you—" he let out a low chuckle "—you shut him down so fast I thought his soul left his body."

Y/N blinked, genuinely confused.

"Eh? No way! That’s impossible!"

Ronin leaned in, lips curling at the corners.

"You really don’t get it, do ya?" He tsked, shaking his head. "That man was desperate to watch that play with you. But instead—" his smirk widened "—you handed him off like an unwanted offering."

Y/N fumbled for words, flustered.

"D-don’t say weird things..."

Ronin watched them carefully, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"Oh, shrinekeeper…" His voice dropped to something velvety, teasing, dangerous. "You really don’t notice when someone’s hungry for you, do ya?"

The night air was cool, the scent of old wood and fresh earth filling your lungs. You turned away from Ronin, your mind still buzzing from his teasing words.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, shaking your head. "I’m not beautiful. I’m just... a person."

Silence.

Then—

"Tch." A soft, amused scoff.

Before you could react, Ronin’s hand was beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

"And yet..." His voice was low, slow, deliberate. "You catch the eyes of men who don’t deserve you. You shine in the dark like a little ember, too stubborn to burn out. You fight battles that ain't yours to win, but you fight anyway." His thumb brushed lightly against your jaw. "And you tell me you’re just a person?"

Your breath hitched.

"You’re pretty, shrinekeeper." His crimson gaze locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the sharpness. "Might even be beautiful if you ever let yourself see it."

Your pulse quickened. You opened your mouth, but your voice was barely more than a whisper.

"What did you just say...?"

Ronin smirked. "Consider it a riddle, darlin’."

▷

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step back. "I don’t have time for riddles."

"Oh, but you got time to waste your life on a shrine that's rotting beneath your feet?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not—"

"Not what? Not the truth?" His tone was still playful, but there was an edge to it now. "You struggle to keep this place alive. You follow the will of a dead man who never saw you for what you are. Tell me, shrinekeeper—when’s the last time you made a choice? A real one?"

His words slithered into the cracks you tried so hard to ignore.

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Get a husband and let him take over the shrine.

Your hands curled into fists.

Ronin watched you, head tilting like he was examining something delicate, fragile. Then—

"You have the right to be free, y’know."

Your breath caught.

"Or have you really never considered it?"

The night air was cool, the scent of old wood and fresh earth filling your lungs. You turned away from Ronin, your mind still buzzing from his teasing words.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, shaking your head. "I’m not beautiful. I’m just... a person."

Silence.

Then—

"Tch." A soft, amused scoff.

Before you could react, Ronin’s hand was beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

"And yet..." His voice was low, slow, deliberate. "You catch the eyes of men who don’t deserve you. You shine in the dark like a little ember, too stubborn to burn out. You fight battles that ain't yours to win, but you fight anyway." His thumb brushed lightly against your jaw. "And you tell me you’re just a person?"

Your breath hitched.

"You’re pretty, shrinekeeper." His crimson gaze locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the sharpness. "Might even be beautiful if you ever let yourself see it."

Your pulse quickened. You opened your mouth, but your voice was barely more than a whisper.

"What did you just say...?"

Ronin smirked. "Consider it a riddle, darlin’."

▷

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step back. "I don’t have time for riddles."

"Oh, but you got time to waste your life on a shrine that's rotting beneath your feet?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not—"

"Not what? Not the truth?" His tone was still playful, but there was an edge to it now. "You struggle to keep this place alive. You follow the will of a dead man who never saw you for what you are. Tell me, shrinekeeper—when’s the last time you made a choice? A real one?"

His words slithered into the cracks you tried so hard to ignore.

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Get a husband and let him take over the shrine.

Your hands curled into fists.

Ronin watched you, head tilting like he was examining something delicate, fragile. Then—

"You have the right to be free, y’know."

Your breath caught.

"Or have you really never considered it?"

The ornate box sat before you, heavy with expectations. A symbol of a future you never asked for. A future that wasn’t yours.

It was meant to speed up your marriage.

You hated it.

ব

Frustration burned beneath your skin, and before you knew it, you were outside, the cool breeze whispering against your face. The air carried the last chill of winter, a fleeting moment before spring's arrival.

You walked with no destination, only the need to escape.

But you weren’t alone.

"Tsk. It ain’t smart to wander in the dark all alone, shrinekeeper."

You stiffened at the voice behind you.

"I don’t care if a monster attacks me," you muttered, not stopping. "I can handle it."

A soft chuckle.

"Now that," Ronin mused, slipping into step beside you, "is a dangerous thing to say."

▷

The trees loomed around you, their shadows stretching long in the fading light.

"Before... I could see monsters." Your voice was quiet, like admitting it was a crime.

Ronin tilted his head. "There are monsters in front of you right now, darlin'." His grin was sharp, but there was something behind his eyes—something almost curious.

You ignored him, lost in memory.

The Tengu and fox spirits had once been your friends. Every day, you played together, laughing, running through these very woods. See you tomorrow! you would say. See you tomorrow!

Until your father found out.

Until he was furious.

You shouldn’t let monsters near this place. You shouldn’t become friends with them.

Then, one day, they were gone.

You thought your father had purified them.

But the truth was worse.

You had lost your power.

You couldn’t see them anymore. But they were still there. Watching. Waiting.

You had failed them.

Just as you were failing this shrine.

It was almost weeks now.

"This place… it won’t last past my father’s generation." The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Ronin said nothing. He just watched.

"Was I wrong?" Your voice cracked. "I can’t take over this shrine until I—" you swallowed hard "—until I marry someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t want."

Your hands curled into fists.

"If I had power—"

The words trembled.

"If I was born as someone stronger—"

Your throat tightened.

"Then I could protect this shrine on my own."

The weight of everything crashed down at once.

▷

"Why... why..."

Your breath hitched, shoulders shaking. You gritted your teeth, but the tears came anyway.

You hated this. Hated feeling weak.

"I can’t do this anymore."

And then—

Cool fingertips brushed your cheek. A touch so gentle it startled you.

You blinked up at Ronin.

His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light, unreadable, but his grip was firm as he pulled you against his chest.

"You said you wouldn’t attack me," you whispered.

He huffed a soft laugh.

"Don’t say that, darlin’."

His arms tightened around you.

Ronin’s embrace was colder than you expected, but solid—too real to be a dream. You didn’t push him away.

And worse?

You didn’t want to.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat before you could stop yourself, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking.

His breath ghosted against your ear, slow, deliberate.

"Y’know," he murmured, voice laced with amusement, "for someone who claims they don’t need anyone, you sure are holdin’ on tight."

You flinched, about to pull away, but his arms didn’t let you.

"Nah, uh-uh. Don’t run now. That’d be boring."

You could feel his smirk, the sharp edge of his voice cutting through the night like a blade.

"It’s funny, shrinekeeper. You cry about chains, but you’re the one lockin’ yourself up."

His grip loosened—just slightly. A test. A dare.

"Tell me somethin'." His voice dropped lower, slower, dripping with something dangerous. "Why do you gotta suffer just 'cause a dead man said so?"

Your throat tightened. "I—"

"Because it’s tradition?" He snorted. "Because it’s right? Pfft. Whose right? Yours?"

Silence.

You didn’t answer.

Ronin leaned in, his lips just beside your ear now.

"No. It ain't your right."

His words slithered through the cracks in your mind, slipping into places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"It was never your choice, darlin’. Just another leash wrapped ‘round your pretty little throat."

His fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him.

"And the worst part?" His grin widened. "You ain't even the one holdin’ it."

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t wrong.

That was the terrifying part.

You wanted to tell him he was twisting things, warping your thoughts like poison in a well.

But when you looked into those crimson eyes, burning with amusement, with curiosity—

You realized something.

He wasn’t twisting anything.

He was simply saying what had always been there.

"You’re scared." His voice was almost gentle now, but the sharpness never left. "Not of me. Not of monsters."

His lips curled.

"You’re scared of what happens if you take that leash off yourself."

He was playing with you.

But the worst part?

What he said made sense.

"Falling for a monster, huh?"

Ronin’s voice was thick with amusement, but there was something else beneath it—something darker, something knowing.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.

"Tsk, tsk. What have you become?"

His grin stretched wider, fangs glinting under the moonlight.

"A shrinekeeper tangled up in the Devil’s arms. Oh, darlin’, if your ancestors could see you now…"

You should pull away.

You should shove him back, say something righteous, something to wipe that smirk off his face.

But you don’t.

Because for the first time in your life—

You don’t feel weak.

You don’t feel like something waiting to be offered, waiting to be given away for the sake of a tradition that never saw you as more than a piece to be moved.

You feel wanted.

Not as a duty. Not as an obligation.

As you.

"Look at you," Ronin practically purrs, fingers brushing your pulse. "All torn up inside. You’re askin’ yourself, ‘is this wrong?’"

His lips ghost over your ear, and your breath hitches.

"Lemme answer that for ya, sweetheart—"

His hand slides down, resting over your own, pressing your fingers against his chest, against the steady, unnatural rhythm beneath.

"Of course it is."

His smirk deepens, but there’s something dangerous in his eyes now—something raw.

"But tell me… why does it feel so good?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, your pulse traitorously quick beneath his touch.

"What have you become?"

Ronin leans in, closer, closer—

...

You sighed, the weight of the evening settling on your shoulders. "It's late, Ronin. You should sleep."

For once, he didn’t have a sharp remark waiting. He just glanced away, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a moment before he muttered, "Yeah... guess I should."

Together, the two of you made your way back to the shrine. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—just different.

Inside, you busied yourself preparing the bedding, laying out the futon for him while pulling a simple mat onto the floor for yourself.

"You can sleep on the bed," you told him. "I’ll take the floor."

Ronin didn’t even acknowledge that statement before flopping onto the futon with a dramatic sigh.

"That’s cute, darlin’. Real cute." He patted the space beside him with a lazy smirk. "C’mon. I don’t bite... much."

You huffed, already turning to grab an extra pillow. "Fine. But only on one condition—"

"Oh, I love conditions," he mused, propping himself up on one elbow. "Do tell."

You tossed the pillow at him. "Pillow barrier."

Ronin blinked. And then—he laughed.

A full, genuine, slightly mad laugh, the kind that sent warmth curling through your chest before you could stop it.

"A pillow barrier, huh? Sure thing, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You slipped under the covers, keeping a respectable distance, still feeling shy despite yourself. You tried to fill the silence, talking about nonsense—old shrine stories, the way the seasons changed, how the moon looked tonight.

Ronin listened, humming in acknowledgment, his responses laced with teasing but... softer, somehow.

And then, somewhere between your rambling, he did it.

A kiss.

Right to the top of your head.

You froze.

Before you could even react, his arm slung lazily around you, his fingers absently tracing shapes against your sleeve.

"You talk too much," he murmured, voice low, amused.

You tried to find words—any words—but your thoughts had scattered into nothingness.

Ronin took full advantage of your silence, reaching over to lightly bop your nose with a chuckle.

"Finally shut you up, huh?"

Your face burned, your heart betraying you with its frantic rhythm.

And then—he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not teasing.

Just warm, lingering. Real.

And gods help you—

You liked it.

The warmth between you was unfamiliar. Strange.

Comforting.

You weren’t sure why, but for some reason, being close to him—this close—didn’t make you want to pull away. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation.

It was... something else.

"It’s comforting," you murmured, almost to yourself.

Your hand, as if acting on its own, moved to rest against his chest. Through the fabric, you could feel it—not the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of a human, but something different. Slow. Unnatural. Yet constant.

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, his gaze unreadable in the dim light.

Then, without a word, his fingers reached up and found the tie in your hair.

You should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Because you didn’t want to.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled it free, letting your hair spill down over your shoulders. His touch was light—never forceful. Never demanding.

Just there.

"That’s better," he murmured, more to himself than to you. His fingers brushed through the strands, idly toying with them as if testing their weight.

Your breath hitched.

This closeness, this attention—it made your pulse stutter, made something deep in your chest tighten.

It should have been overwhelming.

But instead—

Instead, you found yourself shifting.

Leaning in.

Your body moved on instinct, drawn toward him like a tide pulled by the moon. Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping just enough to feel the texture beneath your touch.

Ronin didn’t move. Didn’t pull you closer.

But he didn’t pull away, either.

He let you decide.

And gods help you—

You chose.

You pressed closer, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Your face found a resting place against his shoulder, and for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you allowed yourself to sink into it.

To feel held.

Ronin exhaled, a soft, almost amused sound. His arm tightened just slightly around you, fingers tracing lazy circles against your back.

"Pullin’ me in now, darlin’? Hah... funny how things turn out."

His voice was teasing, but there was something else there. Something softer.

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

For weeks, Ronin remained hidden within the shrine.

You kept him safe. He healed, slowly—but you couldn't ignore how, with time, he seemed weaker. His steps grew heavier, his voice a touch raspier, his once-sharp movements losing their usual precision.

And yet, he laughed in the face of it.

"Weak? Darlin’, I was weak the day I let you knock me on my ass. This? This is just me bein’… considerate."

Then he would drape himself against you, not quite clinging, not quite dependent, but there. Always. A fleeting brush of fingers against your wrist, an arm thrown lazily around your shoulders, his weight against your back when you sat by the shrine’s steps at night.

It was nothing.

And it was everything.

Strangely, Ronin wasn’t useless.

You expected him to do nothing but lounge in the shadows, teasing and toying with you as the days passed. And, well—he did do that. Constantly. But in between his infuriating grins and sharp-edged flirtations, he helped.

Not in the traditional sense—he wasn’t about to start sweeping the shrine or preparing offerings. No, his help was… different.

He could sense things.

He spoke of rot—of festering energy that clung to certain areas, invisible to your eyes but evident to him. Places of ill intent. Forgotten corners where something wrong had settled. You listened. You told the other shrines.

And with their help—your help—the land was cleansed.

People noticed.

They started whispering of miracles, of a Miko unlike any before. A force of purity, of divine guidance. They called you a blessing.

Ronin found it hilarious.

"Miracle Miko? Cute. Adorable, really." He grinned, sharp as ever. "You do all this cleanin’… but the rot’s still here, ain’t it?"

He tapped a finger against your forehead.

"Right there. Right where it’s always been."

You stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Ronin exhaled, his amusement slipping just slightly. His crimson eyes, always so playful, glinted with something deeper.

"You don’t spread the rot, darlin’." His voice was almost thoughtful. "You contain it."

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, watching you.

"You really don’t see it, do you?" A chuckle. "That’s the thing about you, sweetheart. Everyone else pretends the world is clean—ignores the filth, looks away from the darkness. But you?"

His fingers brushed your cheek, just briefly.

"You see the dirt, and you try to scrub it away."

A pause.

"But me?" His grin widened. "I just wanna play in it."

Something in your chest twisted.

The air was still that evening, save for the sound of distant, unfamiliar singing.

It wasn’t like the chants of your shrine, nor like the festival songs carried through the village on warm nights. It was... something else. Harmonious, but hollow. Something that had existed long before you, and would exist long after.

Ronin paused mid-laugh, head tilting, brows furrowing just slightly.

"That ain’t from around here, darlin’."

"I know."

You didn’t know why, but you both followed the sound.

It led you deep into the woods, where the air was colder, where the trees whispered secrets to one another, and the light barely touched the earth. There, nestled between gnarled roots and overgrown moss, was a burial site.

A forgotten grave.

You stopped at the sight of it.

Ronin, however, didn’t move.

His grin had faded. His body was still. His crimson eyes—so often alight with amusement, mischief, or hunger—were empty.

And then you saw it.

A statue, weeping, hands covering its face, frozen in sorrow.

And beneath its shadow, a dark face.

A smile.

It wasn’t carved from stone. It wasn’t part of the burial. It was watching.

You inhaled sharply.

"What is this?"

Ronin didn’t answer at first. He exhaled slowly, then chuckled—low, dry. A laugh with no joy.

"Something from my culture."

You turned to him, confused. His expression was unreadable, his body loose, but dark.

"You’re laughing."

"‘Course I am." His voice was smooth, but something in it was... off. "The irony’s just too good, sweetheart."

"Irony?"

He finally looked at you, the glow in his eyes dim.

"Took me hundreds of years to see somethin’ like this again. Ain’t that funny?"

You didn’t know if he was actually laughing or if he just wanted to be.

And for the first time since you met him, Ronin looked... tired.

You stepped closer to him, hesitant but unwilling to let the moment slip away.

"What... happened?"

Ronin didn't answer at first. His head tilted slightly, eyes flicking back to the weeping angel, then to the dark face beneath it. His fingers twitched at his side, as if they wanted to curl into fists, but he only exhaled sharply through his nose.

Then, he laughed.

It was hollow. Bitter. Not the usual amused, teasing chuckle that often left his lips. This was different.

"Ah... they're gone."

Your chest tightened at the way he said it. Like a joke only he understood, like a wound reopened after centuries.

"Because of this bullshit."

His voice was like gravel. Rough, biting.

Then, as if catching himself, Ronin rolled his shoulders back, forcing his expression into something lighter. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his teeth, shaking his head as if it didn’t matter. As if it was nothing at all.

"Tch. Forget it, darlin’."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his jaw before cupping his face gently.

"Ronin."

He tensed.

You searched his face, trying to find whatever he was burying. His eyes flickered—just for a moment—before he pulled away, stepping back, putting space between you.

"It's nothing."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the statue and the whispering trees.

But as you turned back toward the weeping angel, something in your chest stirred.

It wasn’t just a statue.

It meant something.

And it had everything to do with him.

The walk back to the shrine was quiet. Not the kind of silence that felt empty, but something heavier—like unspoken words lingering in the air between you.

Ronin kept his head down, hands in his pockets, shadows clinging to his figure as the trees parted for the shrine’s lantern light. He didn’t look at you, not once, but you could feel his presence more than ever.

When you reached the entrance, just as you were about to step inside, he moved.

Arms wrapped around you.

Strong. Firm. Desperate in a way that didn’t quite match his usual demeanor.

You froze for a moment, your body tensing against his.

"Ronin...?"

His grip tightened just slightly.

"I don’t know," he muttered, his voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "I just... want to. I need to."

Something in your chest ached.

You didn’t hesitate this time. Your arms lifted, circling around him as you pressed into the warmth of his body.

For once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t tease.

He just held you.

The night was still. No wind, no rustling trees, no distant voices from the village. Just the two of you standing there, wrapped in the kind of closeness neither of you had ever really known before.

Then, after a while, he finally spoke again.

"Just be yourself, darlin’."

His voice was steady, but there was something behind it—something raw, something real.

"Be true to yourself."

Then, a pause.

"Little miracle shrine keeper."

The way he said it wasn’t mocking, wasn’t playful. It was... warm.

Like he meant it.

The next few days were… difficult.

Ronin wasn’t himself.

He didn’t complain, didn’t joke, didn’t even try to tease you. He just—existed. Weak and quiet, draped across the futon like a ghost of himself.

You had seen him tired before, seen him injured, but this was different. This was suffering.

And the worst part? He laughed about it.

"You’re lookin’ at me like I’m dyin’, darlin’." His voice was hoarse, low, as he rested an arm over his forehead. "Tch. If I could die, I woulda done it a long time ago."

"Don’t say that," you muttered, adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead.

"Why not? It’s funny." He chuckled, but it lacked any real mirth. "Hell, I bet it’d be a sight. The Devil himself, finally kicked the bucket in some shrine of all places. Irony, huh?"

You didn’t laugh.

He must have noticed the way your hands trembled when you pulled back, because his red eyes flickered to you, something unreadable in his gaze.

Ronin had never been gentle—not really. But now, when he lifted a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, it was almost too soft.

"Hey."

"What?" You didn’t look at him.

"You’re scared."

"No, I’m not."

"Liar."

Silence.

Then, he sighed, turning his head away.

"Y’know, I could just take what I need. Wouldn’t even be hard. Wouldn’t hurt you too bad, either."

You swallowed hard. "You don’t have to."

He laughed again, but this time, it was bitter.

"Tch. Don’t have to, huh? That’s rich."

Still, he didn’t push. Didn’t bare his fangs or corner you. He just laid there, pale and exhausted, his body growing weaker by the day.

And yet, he never brought it up again.

Never begged, never threatened.

He didn’t even hunt.

Not because he couldn’t, but because he knew it would scare you.

And for some reason, that mattered more.

You weren’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

But one thing was certain—if he didn’t do something soon, he would waste away.

And that terrified you more than anything.

It happened just before dusk.

A shadow flickered above you, too large for a normal bat, its wings beating soundlessly against the sky.

You barely had time to react before something fluttered down—a scroll, old and worn, landing at your feet.

Your gut twisted as you picked it up, unrolling the brittle paper.

"Make the vampire sleep… before the red moon."

Your blood ran cold.

You knew exactly who they were talking about.

Without thinking, you turned on your heel and ran, feet barely touching the ground as you sprinted back to the shrine.

Ronin was exactly where you left him, sprawled across the futon, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He barely stirred as you dropped to your knees beside him.

"Ronin—" You held up the scroll, chest heaving. "I found this outside. Someone dropped it. It’s about you."

He glanced at the paper, unimpressed. Then, slowly, his lips curled into something resembling a smirk.

"Hah. ‘Make the vampire sleep’? Sounds poetic." He yawned, stretching out like a lazy cat. "And? What about it?"

"Ronin, this isn’t funny." Your grip on the scroll tightened. "They’re talking about you. Someone’s after you."

"Yeah? And?" His crimson gaze flickered to you, lazy but sharp. "You worried about me, darlin’?"

"Of course I am!"

Silence.

Something unreadable passed through his expression. Then, he exhaled through his nose, amused but… tired.

"Tch. Cute."

You expected him to say more, but instead, he shifted, swinging his legs off the futon.

"Welp, guess I better get going then."

You stared. "What?"

"You heard me." He rolled his shoulders, standing up with all the grace of a man completely unbothered by impending doom. "Been cooped up here too long anyway. If someone’s got a problem with me, they can come and say it to my face."

He turned toward the door.

You felt something in your chest twist.

"You’re just… leaving? Like that?"

"Mhm."

"Ronin—" You reached for him. "You can’t just—"

"Can’t what?" He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. "Die? Already tried that, sweetheart. Didn’t take."

Your stomach churned.

"That’s not—Ronin, please."

He paused.

For a second, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d reconsider. That he’d stay. That he’d listen.

But then he just chuckled, ruffling your hair in that infuriating way of his.

"Relax, little shrine keeper." His voice dropped lower, quieter. "I won’t go far. Just gotta stretch my legs a bit."

Your fingers clenched.

Something about this felt wrong.

You knew Ronin played things off, made light of everything, but this… this was different.

There was something in his voice, something in the way he was forcing that smirk.

Like he already knew how this would end.

Ronin had promised he’d be back.

"I’m just hungry, darlin’. That’s all," he had said, ruffling your hair before slipping into the night.

But by afternoon, he still wasn’t back.

By evening, there was screaming.

You ran toward the sound, heart pounding against your ribs. The air smelled of iron, thick and suffocating. And when you reached the clearing—

Your breath caught.

It was a mess of red.

A body—no, what was left of a body—was sprawled across the ground, twisted into something that might’ve once been a person but was now nothing more than a grotesque art piece.

And in the center of it stood him.

Ronin.

His lips were stained red, his fangs bared in a sharp, delighted grin. He licked the blood off his fingers like a man savoring the last bite of a meal.

Beside you, a woman stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.

You turned to her. She was unharmed.

Ronin noticed your stare. He tilted his head, crimson eyes gleaming. "Oh, her?" He gestured lazily toward the trembling woman. "She’s fine. Not my type."

You swallowed. "What happened?"

Ronin stretched, rolling his neck with a satisfied sigh. "This guy was being a bastard, so I showed him a side of me he wasn’t ready for."

You looked down at the remains. It was brutal. It was excessive. But…

You exhaled, glancing back at the terrified woman. She was still alive.

Carefully, you reached for her, guiding her away from the carnage.

"Come with me. It’s okay."

She hesitated but let you take her to the shrine. You helped her clean up, gave her something warm to drink. But despite your efforts, she bolted the second she had the strength, running off into the night without looking back.

You didn’t blame her.

Later, when Ronin returned, he expected anger.

Expected you to yell, to curse, to finally call him the monster he knew he was.

But instead, you just sighed.

"I’m not mad."

He blinked. "You’re not?"

"No." You met his gaze, steady. "Because it’s in your nature. If I asked you to stop being like that, it wouldn’t be true to who you are."

Ronin stared at you.

His smirk twitched, but his fingers flexed, like he didn’t know whether to grab you or push you away.

"So that’s it?" he muttered. "You’re just… fine with it?"

"No. But I understand." You exhaled. "I just need to know… are you full?"

Silence.

Then—

Ronin laughed.

Ronin was getting weaker.

It wasn’t just the occasional stumble or the way he leaned on you more than usual. It was in his eyes—the sharp gleam dulled, the endless energy dimmed.

He still smirked, still laughed, still teased. But now, his voice was quieter.

And that scared you.

You found him slumped on the shrine steps one evening, head tilted back, staring up at the darkening sky. His usual easy sprawl looked heavier, like even gravity was pressing down on him.

"You need to rest," you said, kneeling beside him. "You’re getting worse."

He scoffed. "Tch. What, you worried about me, darlin’?"

You didn’t answer.

Because yes, you were.

Ronin dragged a hand down his face, sighing. "Fine. I’ll sleep." He shot you a lopsided grin. "Like a date with death, huh?"

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s not funny."

"Sure it is." His grin widened. "‘Cause if I sleep now, I won’t wake up for another hundred years."

Your breath hitched.

"What?"

"Y’heard me." He flicked your forehead, smirking at your stunned expression. "Ain’t that tragic? I’ll stick around until your little mortal ass kicks the bucket. Then it’s lights out for me."

The weight of his words hit like a stone to the chest.

Your hands curled into fists.

"So what, that’s it?" Your voice wavered. "You’re just going to sit here and let yourself waste away?"

"‘Course not." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Not yet, anyway."

And that—that—made something in you break.

You didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know how to fix this.

All you knew was that the thought of losing him—truly losing him—felt worse than anything.

The shrine was quiet that night.

The kind of quiet that presses down on you, heavy, thick—like the whole world is holding its breath. Like even the spirits that roamed these lands knew something was ending.

You sat beside Ronin’s resting place, watching him as he lay still, barely breathing. He looked so different like this. Always moving, always teasing, always smirking—now silent, motionless.

It felt unnatural.

But it had to be done.

You had decided.

Ronin had to sleep.

And it had to be you who ensured it.

You had spent the past few days preparing, carving out a hidden place within the shrine, somewhere safe, somewhere sacred. You placed talismans at every corner, protective wards woven into the very air. No one would find him. No one would harm him.

He would be safe.

For a hundred years.

And by then—

You swallowed, staring down at the crumpled paper in your hands.

It wasn’t even a proper letter. Just messy ink strokes, emotions spilled onto parchment in an attempt to untangle what sat so heavy in your chest.

"I don’t want this to be goodbye."

"But it has to be, right?"

"I don’t even know why I’m writing this. You’ll never see it. You’ll never read it. But if I don’t get these words out of me, they’ll rot inside."

"You always said first love never ends well. I guess I should have listened."

You sniffed, wiping your face before the tears could fall onto the ink.

"I don’t know what happened to you, Ronin. But I know you hate them—the ones who follow crosses and kneel in stone halls. I read about them. I tried to understand. But I know whatever they did to you, it broke something inside."

"And I hate them for that. Because now I know what it’s like to love you. And now I know what it’s like to lose you."

Your grip tightened.

"You told me once that everything we love gets taken away. That love is cruel. That it ends in betrayal, in suffering, in rot."

"I don’t believe that."

"I won’t believe that."

"Because I love you, and I don’t care if that’s foolish. Even if this love is doomed from the start, even if you sleep for a hundred years and wake up never remembering my name, even if this was all just a fleeting thing—"

"It was real."

"It was real for me."

You let out a shuddering breath.

"But it doesn’t matter now, does it?"

"You’ll sleep. I’ll live. And someday, I’ll die."

"And that will be the end of it."

You stared at the ink-stained page, blurred where your tears had fallen.

Then, slowly, you crumpled it.

It didn’t matter if you wrote it.

It didn’t matter if your hands ached from holding onto something you could never keep.

Because in the end, love was love.

And this love—yours—was meant to be buried.

Ronin stood at the edge of the shrine grounds, his back to you, his coat shifting with the breeze. He hadn’t turned when you approached, but you knew he heard you. He always did.

"You should sleep."

He chuckled. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true."

He finally looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Nah, I’ll be fine. Just gotta step out for a bit. Stretch my legs."

You frowned. You knew what that meant. He was weak. You could see it. The way he leaned against the shrine gate just a little too much, the way his voice had lost that sharp playfulness. He needed to rest. But he refused.

Ronin turned fully, reaching out and flicking your forehead with a smirk. "Don’t make that face, darlin’. I’ll be back before you know it."

Then, before you could react, he pressed a kiss to your hair. Light. Fleeting.

And then he turned to leave.

You grabbed his wrist.

"Ronin."

He stopped.

"You have to rest."

"Do I?" He tilted his head, amused. "Has to is a strong word."

You stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "You can barely stand. If you don’t stop now, you’ll just keep getting weaker."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on—"

"Please."

The word left you before you could stop it.

That caught his attention. His smirk faded. His brows furrowed slightly as he finally looked at you. And that was when he saw it.

The tears.

His whole body went still.

"...Shit." His voice was quieter now, a little unsure. "Hey, don’t—"

"You have to sleep," you said again, gripping his wrist tighter. "I— I prepared a place for you."

That made him pause.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Inside the shrine. It’s hidden. No one will find you. No one will hurt you."

He was staring at you now, something unreadable in his expression.

"...You planned this?"

You nodded.

"You knew I’d be stubborn about it?"

Another nod.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "I should be mad at you."

"You should be grateful."

That made him snort. "You are somethin’ else, you know that?"

"I know."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, his amusement faded, and something else crept into his eyes.

Something heavy. Something tired.

"...You really want me to stay?"

"Yes."

A beat of silence. Then—

"...Alright, darlin’."

The fight drained out of him. His shoulders slumped, his weight leaning slightly into yours. You didn’t realize how much tension he had been holding in his body until now, until he let you carry some of it.

"...Lead the way."

You nodded, tightening your grip on his wrist, guiding him back toward the shrine.

When you reached the hidden space, you hesitated.

"You’ll be safe here." Your voice was quieter now. "No one will find you."

Ronin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Yeah... guess it’s not the worst idea you’ve had."

You nudged him lightly. "I don’t have bad ideas."

He huffed a soft laugh. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, pulling you into a loose embrace.

You blinked. "...What—?"

"Just... let me have this, alright?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, then slowly wrapped your arms around him too.

He held you there for a long time.

Just breathing.

Just existing.

Ronin held your hand gently, his fingers tracing along your palm like he was memorizing every detail. His touch was cool, but it didn’t make you shiver—not anymore. You’d gotten used to the way his presence lingered, like a shadow you never wanted to be rid of.

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the tip of your finger. A small, quiet gesture.

Then, before you could say anything, he bit down on your ring finger.

You gasped softly, more in surprise than pain. His fangs didn’t sink deep—just enough for the pressure to linger, for the act itself to mean something.

When he pulled back, he smirked at the little red mark left behind. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something deep and dangerous. "There," he murmured. "Something to remember me by."

Your chest tightened.

Tears welled up before you could stop them.

"...Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For coming into my life."

His expression flickered. Just for a second.

Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. "Even though I sucked your blood?"

You let out a weak laugh, wiping your tears away. "Especially because you sucked my blood."

Ronin grinned. "Gotta admit, darlin’... I didn’t think you’d be so sentimental."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You rolled your eyes, sniffling, and he just laughed again���soft, quiet, real.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t look like a man ready to disappear. He just looked like himself.

Ronin had been asleep for days now, his chest barely rising and falling, his face eerily peaceful.

You cleaned his face every morning, ran your fingers through his hair, even whispered to him when no one was around.

"You look cute when you're asleep," you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "You'd probably kill me if you heard that, huh?"

He didn't answer. He never would—not for a long time.

Then came the voices outside.

Loud. Angry.

You heard them before you saw them, their footsteps heavy, purposeful. A pit formed in your stomach as you rushed outside, heart pounding.

And there they were.

Torches. Rope. Men and women you recognized—people from the village.

People who had once called you Miracle Shrine Keeper.

And at the front of them all… her.

The woman Ronin had saved.

"What's going on?" Your voice was steady, but your fingers trembled.

"You know what's going on," one of the men spat. "That thing—that monster—is here. And you’ve been hiding him."

You swallowed hard. "He's not a threat—"

"Not a threat?" The woman scoffed. "Shame on you. He killed a man!"

"He saved you!" you shot back.

She faltered. Just for a second.

But it wasn’t enough.

The people around her tightened their grips on their torches. Their hatred burned hotter than the fire they carried.

"We're burning this shrine down," someone declared. "That monster won’t wake again."

Your blood ran cold.

"No," you whispered.

They stepped closer.

You slammed the shrine doors shut.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you locked it, pressing your back against the wood.

They were going to burn it down.

Burn him down.

And suddenly… you understood.

This wasn’t about Ronin.

It had never been about Ronin.

It was about you.

A shrine keeper who didn’t follow the rules.

A person who refused to be what they wanted.

You were no longer a "miracle." You were a stain.

And stains had to be cleansed.

Outside, the crowd roared.

Inside, Ronin slept on, completely unaware that the world was ready to erase him.

He was right about this world, Everything you believed crumbled.

You held the crumpled letter in your hands, the ink smudged from the tears that had fallen onto it. The letter you had never sent. The words that would never reach him.

Outside, the crowd still raged, their voices sharp as blades, their hatred thick like the smoke they were ready to summon.

You could hear them stacking wood.

They’re going to burn this place down.

You pressed the letter against your chest, your breath shuddering. Your father’s shrine. The place you had been forced to protect, tied to it by a fate you never chose.

But for once—just once—you made a choice.

And that choice was him.

You turned back toward the room where Ronin lay.

His body was still, his breath slow. He looked more like a corpse than a sleeping man, but his presence was there. The same presence that had wrapped around you like a shadow since the day you met.

You walked toward him, slow and quiet, as if he could wake any moment.

And you wanted him to.

You desperately wanted him to.

"Ronin…"

Your voice cracked.

Nothing.

You swallowed hard, then lay down beside him, curling up close. The way you had done before, when he was still awake—when he was still able to tease you, flick your forehead, drape himself over you just because he could.

Now, he couldn’t even hold you back.

Your arms wrapped around him as you buried your face into his chest.

"It feels nice," you whispered, voice shaking. "Making a decision on my own. This shrine… it was never my dream. It was never my wish. It was just something my father gave me. Something I carried because I thought I had to."

Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking into his clothes.

"But you… you were mine."

You clung to him, shaking.

"I don’t care about this shrine. I don’t care if it burns. Let it burn. Let it disappear."

You gritted your teeth.

"Just… let me have you."

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply.

His scent was still there. Something dark, something sharp. A mix of dried blood, incense, and something that was uniquely him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt.

"In the next life," you whispered. "Can we meet again?"

You squeezed your eyes shut.

"Can we love again?"

Your lips brushed against his collarbone, trembling.

"Please... torment me with that devilish smirk of yours again."

A broken laugh slipped from your throat.

"Ha... I hate that stupid smirk."

Memories of it flashed in your mind—his sharp, knowing grin. The one that always meant trouble. The one that always made your heart race.

Ronin—who never cared about rules, who laughed in the face of death, who saw the world for the broken thing it was and decided to break it more.

Ronin—who touched you like you belonged to him, who held you just to remind himself you were real, who spoke in riddles but never lied.

Ronin—who was yours.

A sob tore through you.

You pressed your forehead against his chest.

"I don’t want to say goodbye."

The shrine creaked.

You ignored it.

The shouting outside grew louder.

You ignored it.

The world was falling apart.

But you didn’t care.

All that mattered was the boy in your arms—the boy who should have never belonged in this shrine, in this world, in your life…

And yet somehow, he did.

You held him closer, your breath unsteady.

"Even if you never wake up… even if I grow old and die before you open your eyes again…"

You swallowed back another sob.

"I will wait for you."

The shrine walls trembled with the weight of voices outside.

The scent of burning wood crept through the cracks.

And yet, inside, it was quiet.

You sat beside Ronin, your hand resting lightly against his cold skin. His chest barely rose, his breath shallow. He hadn’t moved in days, locked in that deep slumber—the kind that wasn’t sleep, not really. It was something heavier, something closer to death.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"Ronin…"

Nothing.

Of course, nothing.

You swallowed, your throat dry.

And then, you sang.

It was an old miko song—one you had learned as a child, meant for the gods, meant to bring peace.

"The river flows, the mountain stands…"

The words felt strange on your tongue. They were meant for something pure, something holy. Not for him.

Not for the Devil.

"The stars will shine, the dawn will come…"

The crackle of torches outside grew louder.

"And even if the night is long…"

You gritted your teeth.

"I will wait… I will wait…"

Your voice trembled, but you kept going.

Your fingers brushed against his cheek, against his jaw—sharp as ever, but softer like this, at rest.

Ronin.

The monster, the killer, the butcher.

The Devil.

Your Devil.

He had told you once—everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of pain.

You hadn’t understood then.

You understood now.

Ronin never pretended to be anything else. He was murder and madness wrapped in a grin, in teasing words and blood-stained hands. He was a storm, and you had walked straight into him.

And now, you were drowning.

Your voice cracked.

"The wind may howl, the waves may break…"

Your fingers curled into his hair, and you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his.

"But I will wait… I will wait…"

A slow, shuddering breath left your lips.

"…so come back to me."

The last note hung in the air.

Then, silence.

A tear slipped down your cheek, landing softly on his.

His face was still, unchanged.

You pulled back just enough to see him.

His lips were slightly parted. His lashes barely fluttered.

Was he dreaming? Could he dream?

If he did, what did he see?

You pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

No heartbeat. No warmth.

And yet—he was still here.

You closed your eyes.

"First love never ends well."

That’s what he had told you once, smirking, his voice dripping with that cruel amusement of his.

Had it been his own love that ended in ruin? Had he been the one left behind?

You wished you could ask him.

You wished he could answer.

You wished—God, you wished.

The voices outside grew louder.

"She’s bewitched by that thing!"

"Burn it down!"

"Burn them both!"

You clenched your fists.

They would not touch him.

You would make sure of that.

Even if it meant everything else burned first.

You laid down beside him, your arm draping over his waist.

"In the next life…" you whispered, lips brushing against his skin.

"Can we meet again?"

"Can we love again?"

"Please…" you let out a broken laugh. "Torment me again with that devilish smirk of yours."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding him close.

The fire had spread.

You could hear it—wood cracking, voices shouting, the distant roar of flames consuming everything in their path.

And yet, inside this small, hidden chamber of the shrine, there was nothing but quiet.

Nothing but him.

Nothing but you.

Ronin hadn’t stirred. His breathing was shallow, his face so still it almost hurt to look at. You traced a slow line down his cheek, across his jaw—sharp as ever, even now.

The firelight flickered against the walls, creeping closer.

Shh… it’s peaceful here.

A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips.

How fitting, really.

He had come into your life in the dead of night, all sharp teeth and sharper words, whispering temptation in your ear.

And now, as everything burned, he would leave you in the same way.

Your grip on his shirt tightened.

You had known, hadn’t you?

From the moment you met him, from the first time he smirked at you with that impossible mix of amusement and something deeper, something dangerous.

You had known he was going to ruin you.

You just hadn’t expected to let him.

You pressed your forehead against his.

"First love never ends well," he had told you once, laughter in his voice.

It hadn’t meant much then.

It meant everything now.

The fire was closer. You could feel it.

Heat licking at the walls. Smoke curling through the cracks.

The people outside were still shouting.

"Burn it down!"

"Burn them both!"

Your fingers trembled.

You had never belonged here.

Not to the shrine. Not to its traditions.

You had tried—God, you had tried—to be what your father wanted. To be what the shrine needed.

But it was never your choice.

This?

This was your choice.

You curled against Ronin, pressing yourself into the curve of his body, letting his cold seep into you.

"Shh," you whispered. "It’s peaceful here."

You let your eyes close.

And for the first time in your life…

You felt free.

The fire raged outside, swallowing the shrine whole.

But inside the hidden chamber, nestled in the darkness, untouched by the flames—

A vampire slept.

And in his arms, a shrine keeper dreamed.

Small Song, I wrote for the Prompt! Falling for You based on this fanfic!

The wind calls your name, but you never stay A shadow that dances, a ghost in the gray You laugh like the night, with stars in your eyes But I see the sorrow you try to disguise

Falling for you, like the leaves in the breeze Drawn to your fire, though it burns me with ease Even in darkness, I still see your light Even in silence, I know you're alive

The world calls you monster, but I call you mine A sinner, a devil, yet somehow divine Your hands paint in red, but they tremble with truth Your voice is a weapon, yet soft in my youth

Falling for you, like the rain in the sea Lost in the storm, but you’re guiding me free Even in bloodshed, I still hear your name Even in endings, you’ll call me the same

If you must slumber, then dream me tonight Let me be warmth when you wake in the light And if I must burn just to keep you alive Then light me like candles and hold me in time

Falling for you… falling for you… Though the world calls it madness… I call it the truth.

.

.

.

.

Present Day: A Dream or a Curse?

The dream came again.

Smoke. Heat. A voice calling your name, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t wake up. Couldn’t remember—

Then your phone rang.

You bolted upright, heart slamming against your ribs, fingers fumbling to grab it. The name on the screen made your stomach twist.

Ronin.

Your breath hitched.

“…Hah?”

You barely had time to process before the call connected, and his voice—smooth, teasing, dripping with that goddamn amusement—filled your ears.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

You nearly threw your phone across the room.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Laughter. Low, dark, delighted.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he mused. “Wait—are you blushing? Damn, I wish I could see it. The things I’d do to—”

You hung up.

Silence.

Your heart was still racing.

The dream was already slipping away, but that name—Ronin—was still burning in your mind.

You stared at the phone.

It rang again.

You swallowed hard and answered.

A dramatic sigh. “Is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“You let me kiss you last week.”

“That doesn’t—”

“And the week before that.”

You scowled. “Shut up.”

He laughed again, and something in your chest ached.

Because this was familiar.

Because this felt… real.

More real than the dream.

You leaned back against your couch, rubbing your temples.

“…You’re a serial killer, Ronin.”

“Aw, babe, don’t sound so scandalized,” he drawled. “You knew that when you started writing about me.”

And wasn’t that the real shock?

You had wanted to write about a killer.

You had wanted to understand him.

And somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with him instead.

What a joke.

[sandwitchstories]

Hi there! I'm Witch! This is my main blog. Here you will find my fanfics and also get to enjoy (and possibly be traumatized by) the weird (and very horny) stuff that I share!

Below the cut you will find my Masterlist. All links will take you to my AO3. It is organized by fandom. For specific fandom click on their links to see all related works. SFW/NSFW ratings and pairings are listed for each fic. Series and Multi-Chapter fics are labeled as such. (Click on their links to see all works related).

If you prefer to read my fics on Tumblr search #sandwitchstories or visit my side blog @oeuvre-of-sandwitch (starring ONLY my Tumblr fic posts).

Fandoms I currently write for: Jujutsu Kaisen (JJK) and Demon Slayer (KNY)

Other Fandoms I have works for: Fairy Tail and Buddy Daddies

MDNI with NSFW fics and posts

Banner, header and pfp by me - DO NOT USE

Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics

SandWitchStories Complete Master List:

Jukutsu Kaisen (JJK) Fics

Satoru Gojo

Kintsugi (Satoru Gojo x Y/N - NSFW - Winner of 100 shares poll)

Ryomen Sukuna

On Going Series! Daddy Duty (All of my Dad!Sukuna and Mouse's Mini-Verse works in one location! Dad!Sukuna x Y/N - SFW)

Chance Encounter - Series-Parts 1-3 (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW)

For Better and For Worse (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW)

But When It Comes To You (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW)

My Monster (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 - Day 2 Prompt: Monster)

Spoiled (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 - Week 3 Prompt: Massage)

Stoned and Boned (Sukuna x Y/N - NSFW) - NEW 1/19/2025

Demon Slayer (KNY) Fics

Kyojuro Rengoku

New Update- 3.18.2025- The Crone of Purgatory (Kyojuro Rengoku x Bri Tsugikuni - High Fantasy witches/were species- will have NSFW Content - Multi Chapter- Available Now: Ch 3/10)

I Will Wait For You (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- ANGST & NSFW)

Shining Starlet (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

Gratitude and Gratification (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

Carnal Delights (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N x the Uzuis - NSFW)

Mistletoe and Idle Hands (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

The Sweet or The Spicy (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

Red Light Special (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

Five Seconds (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

What He Likes (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N- NSFW)

Stress Relief (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Challenge Accepted (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Safe In The Arms Of Love (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Hot For Teacher (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

The Frog(tied) Princess (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW - Sequel to Hot For Teacher but can be read alone)

Grown Up Birthday Blues (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - Happy Birthday, Kyojuro! - NSFW)

Wildfire (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Fools Rush In (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Love At First Bite (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Vampire)

The Reward (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 - Day 18: Free Use)

The Battery Incident (Kyojuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 - Week 4: Mutual Masterbation/Toys)

Paused - Modern Muses ( Kyojuro Rengoku x Bri Uzui -Yakuza AU - will have NSFW Content - Multi Chapter- Available Now: Ch 2/?)

Paused - Forever In Love (Kyojuro Rengoku x Female OC - Kimetsu Academy AU - Contains NSFW - Multi-Chapter)

Paused - Twin Flames (Kyojuro Rengoku x KNY OC, Rengoku Demon AU - NSFW - Multi-Chapter)

Sanemi Shinazguawa

New One Shot! 3.22.2025 - But What If You Did? (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N- Angst &NSFW) - (Sequel to 'I Will Wait For You' but can be read as a stand alone one-shot)

The Best Present (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N - Happy Birthday, Sanemi! - NSFW)

Accidentally Happily Ever After (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N Surprise Pregnancy - NSFW - Three Chapters- Completed)

Say It (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N - NSFW)

A Cure for Restlessness (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N - NSFW)

Temptation - (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Y/N - NSFW - Kinktober 2024 Day 3: Costume)

Shinjuro Rengoku

A Father's Love (Shinjuro Rengoku x Y/N - SFW) - Head cannons about Shinjuro getting a 2nd chance

The Shy Guy (Shinjuro Rengoku x Y/N - NSFW)

Buddy Daddies

Bitey Daddies (Vampire AU- SFW)

I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone (Kazuki Kurusu x Rei Suwa - SFW)

I Choose You (Kazuki Kurusu x Rei Suwa - SFW)

Jump Around (Rei Suwa - SFW)

The Diabolical Grandpa (Kazuki Kurusu x Rei Suwa SFW)

Fairy Tail

Erza Scarlet

A Game of Facades (Erza Scarlet x Jellal Fernandes - Evil Erza AU- Event: Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2022 - CW: implied sexual content)

3G: Gay Girls Ghost Hunting (Erza Scarlett x MiraJane Strauss - for the Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2022- SFW)

Laxus Dreyar

The Little Spoon (Laxus Dreyar x Orga Nanagear - SFW)

Electric Love (Laxus Dreyar x Freed Justine - SFW)

Sting Eucliffe and Rogue Cheney

The Story Of Us (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney- SFW - Series has been completed )

A Little Bit Older On This Roller Coaster (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW)

Groomzilla (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW)

You're the night, You're the light (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW)

Totally Worth It (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW)

Simply Eerie-sistable (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - Halloween - NSFW)

Sex For Breakfast (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW)

Feel The Beat Of My Heart As The Count Down Starts (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - New Years - NSFW)

The Sweetest Taboo (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney x Yukino Aguria- NSFW)

Stingue Event: Shadowlight Week (2021 and 2023)

Lost and Found (Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - SFW - first meeting - Shadowlight week -Day 1- First-2021)

Anything For Love (Day 1 -Dare- Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - SFW- 2023)

The Monster Mash (Day 2 - Thrill/Undress - Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - NSFW)

Showtime (Day 3 Prompt - Watching - Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney NSFW-2023)

Lion Bears, Bugs and Potions OH MY! ( Day 4 - Monsters/Potions - Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - SFW-2023)

In Your Love (Day 5 - Sweet/Spice - Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney - SFW- 2023)

Fairy Tail x OC (All of my Fairy Tail x OC works. There are one shots and multi-chapter works. These are all from my very early days in fic writing. I may revisit these someday. Sting Eucliffe x Rogue Cheney x OC, Rogue Cheney x OC, Sting Eugliffe x OC - NSFW)

[charmandabear]

La Douleur Exquise

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mildly dubious consent, thigh riding, dry humping, vampire bites, blood drinking, fear play, degradation, modern au

Summary:

You never hook up with strangers you meet in clubs. And this one is a vampire? This may just be the worst night of your life. Or maybe the best. It's hard to say.

An adaptation of @ogyscrypt's erotic audio, "Wait... you like being drained?" The second I heard this I couldn't get Astarion out of my head. Chaboi's vampire kink is STRONG, y'all.

And thank you so much to @wicked-well for letting me use your gorgeous render for the header, it fits too fucking perfectly 🥵

You’re unsure if it’s the thumping bass of the music, or the rakish way he smiled at you from across the bar, or the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. Under any other circumstances, you’d be significantly more cautious. Yet here you are, stumbling out of a club with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen attached to your lips. You paw desperately at his black button down, grabbing his collar to pull him into you. His scent is even more intoxicating than the whiskey sours you’ve been pounding all night – something sweet, herbal and citrusy. If you have any sense, you’ll ask him the name of it.

But that’s not what matters right now.

All that matters is the feel of his body as he presses you up against the brick wall in the alley beside the club. The orange glow from the streetlamps make his white curls almost look golden, the silver hoops in his pointed ears sparkling in the low light. The fingers of his left hand are hooked in your belt loop while the right is tangled in your hair, teasing at the possibility of pulling without giving into the temptation.

He breaks the kiss but keeps his lips close to yours as you both pant heavily, brains addled by lust and blood pounding in your ears. He chuckles, a low rumbling sound that makes your pussy tingle, and flashes that devastating smile.

“Don't get shy now, darling,” he purrs, lightly brushing his fingers over your exposed midriff and sending goosebumps down your arms. “Slide a hand into my shirt, slide a hand into my pants, be adventurous!” He returns his lips to yours, breathing through the kiss, “believe me, I do not mind.”

You take his advice, your fingers fumbling at his buttons and revealing his lean, sculpted chest. His shirt falls open and he rests his forearm on the brick behind you, the delicate silver chain around his neck swinging gently. He effectively has you trapped, and when he widens his smile just enough for two fangs to pop out, you press your lips together to catch the whimper before it escapes.

“V-vampire,” you croak, all sense of logic immediately flushed from your mind. You know that you should be terrified, that you should try to escape, but somehow learning this little fact about your nightclub stranger has only turned you on more.

“Very astute, love, well done,” he sneers, and the sarcasm in his voice makes your throat go dry. “Don't worry, I've known a few people who are into it.” He takes a finger and gently runs it down the side of your face. “I have a way of finding people who are attracted to my… oddities.”

Your tongue subconsciously darts out of your mouth to wet your lips and he lets out a long, contented sigh.

“I do believe you're a special case, however,” he continues breathily, sending a shiver through your core. “I believe that you and I,” he moves his knuckle under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his, “are going to get on like a house on fire. Now come here.”

He fiercely resumes the kiss, grabbing you tightly around the waist and pressing his palm to the skin of your lower back. You slide your fingers through his curls and pull him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. You turn your head to the side as his lips travel down your jaw and onto your neck, pressing sloppy kisses along the way. This time you're more than happy to let your little noises of pleasure leave your lips, and you can feel him smiling against the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Oh, so you like neck kisses? Well, that’s a given, everyone likes neck kisses,” he giggles as he continues to tease you with featherlight licks and nips. “And I happen to be somewhat of an expert in the art of love bites.”

He captures your skin between his blunted front teeth and worries at the skin, shooting a stinging pain through you. His tongue laps at the tender flesh between his teeth, suckling at it without drawing blood. The overwhelm of sensations sends jolts of lightning through your core and stars dance across your field of vision. Just when the prolonged pain almost becomes too much to bear, he pulls off your neck with a wet pop and leans back to admire his work.

“Just beautiful,” he breathes, running a finger delicately over the purpling flesh. His eyes sharply meet yours as he says with a devious smile. “And don’t think I didn’t hear that moan.”

Your cheeks grow hot as your insatiable lust for this complete stranger – this vampire, a predator that you should absolutely be terrified of – gives you away. But there’s no turning back now. You lick your lips and let your gaze linger on his fangs for a moment before bringing it back up to those crimson eyes. “I like the feel of it,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I’m glad,” he says airily before leaning in close to your ear. “Even if it does hurt, just a touch. But the best things do, don’t they?” He grazes his fangs along the thumping artery in your neck, your blood rushing to your head in a mix of arousal and fear. “Every last one of them.”

You can barely rasp out the “please” fast enough before he plunges his teeth into you, the feel of icy shards seizing up the left side of your body. You should be frightened by the pain, but instead it melts into a sublime numbness that sends a rush of adrenaline through your heart. La douleur exquise – exquisite pain. You never fully understood the phrase until this moment.

That’s to say nothing of the obscene noises the man is making. As he sucks long, greedy pulls of your blood, his grunts and groans vibrate through your skin. His breathing grows erratic in your ear, every sigh of pleasure sending a shiver down your spine. He clutches you tightly, one hand protecting the back of your head from scraping against the rough stone. The gesture would almost be tender if he weren’t currently ravaging your neck and sucking your life force right out of you.

And yet… every little twitch he makes, his body pushing against yours as your blood begins to course through his veins, sends your desire to staggering new heights. The perfect pale skin of his chest flushes slightly, and you can’t be sure but you think you might see the front of his pants straining slightly. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. Your breathing speeds up as you twist beneath him, trying to get just an inch closer.

“Hold still,” he snarls as he pushes you harder up into the wall. Your breasts heave as your breathing grows shallow, pushing your cleavage into his warming skin. His grunts fall deeper into his chest, growing desperate and borderline animalistic. You’re beginning to lose your faculties as your survival instinct puts all of its resources into just staying conscious, and a wanton moan slips through your lips against your will.

He slows suddenly, his heavy breathing tickling the open wound on your neck before pulling away. “What was that?” he asks in a low voice, your brain swimming as your head lolls to the side. He taps your cheek quickly to bring your attention back to him. “What was that? What noise did you just make?” You did not think your heart could pound harder with the amount of blood you’ve already lost, but somehow you can hear it ringing in your ears. He glares at you dangerously, clearly waiting for an answer.

“What?” Your voice is small, shame and embarrassment mingling with lightheadedness as you try to parse exactly what he’s feeling.

“You heard me,” he spits. “What noise did you just make, darling?” You’re terrified that you’ve made him angry somehow, until a devilish smile curls his perfect bloody lips upwards. “It was a moan. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He grins like a cat who’s caught the canary. “Other side, now,” he orders, and you obediently turn your head as his fangs pierce the unsullied flesh and send a renewed sense of arousal ricocheting around your body. A desperate keen works its way out of you, high and needy.

His hand twists in your hair and your hips buck into him, yearning for relief. He pulls you tighter into him, and now you’re positive that you can feel his cock through his tight leather pants. You whimper as he continues to gulp down swallows of your blood, your limbs tingling and your cunt throbbing for him. He laughs into your neck before detaching himself, gently lapping at the gaping holes still pouring blood. He sighs contentedly, licking his lips like he had just indulged in the sweetest cherry pie.

“Just look at yourself. Grabbed by the hair, neck craned aside, in a literal back alley being bitten by a vampire,” he jeers, his tone growing derisive. “And here you are, given away by your little shakes of excitement. Moaning, wantonly, like a whore putting on a performance.”

You pout at him, unsure if you feel more resentful that he sees fit to insult you, or that you kind of like it. He sees the gears turning in your brain and he giggles, a high pitched tinkling sound and a far cry off from the terrifying predator he really is.

“Oh, are you mad at me calling you names?” he coos condescendingly. His wicked grin only grows, showing off your red dripping down his pointed canines. He takes your chin in his hand, examining you, as though he’s appraising the quality of a cut of meat. “I could tell that you were a good one the moment I smelled those broken blood vessels under the skin. The moment I realized that you bled so prettily.”

You press your back into the brick wall behind you, your body giving you signals to run while your cunt clenches around nothing. He runs his thumb over your lips and your tongue darts out to savor him in any way that you can. He slips the digit into your mouth and you suck desperately, wanting to please. His hand cups your jaw and he pulls your face in close to his, the scent of iron hot on his breath.

“Give me another kiss,” he whispers, popping his thumb out of your mouth. “Taste your scarlet crimson on my lips.” He pulls you in for another searing kiss, the salty metallic sharpness coating your tongue and setting off your fear response.

You slide your hands into those white curls with a surprising amount of fervor given how lightheaded you feel. He slides his knee between your legs, lifting you off your toes slightly, the pressure of his thigh giving you much needed relief from the dull throbbing in your cunt. You groan into his lips and deepen the kiss, desperate for him to devour you whole, and he chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Why do I get the sense that you’ve been dreaming about this?” he purrs, running a finger down your neck and swiping a droplet of your blood. He daubs the red onto your lips and you whimper, your tongue hanging out of your mouth like a lovesick puppy. “Why else would someone react so needily?” You whine and squirm on his thigh, conflicting instincts within you simultaneously trying to convince you to try to escape while craning your neck towards him. He chuckles and licks a stripe up the holes in your neck, pulling a ghastly shiver out of you. “Isn’t this just precious, you pathetic little thing.”

You gasp, once again surprised that the insult causes something in your stomach to flip over. He dives into your neck again and your hands clutch the collar of his button down, pulling him as close as you can physically get. He growls rhythmically in your ear with each swallow of your blood, and you can practically feel his cock sliding in and out of you so strong is your arousal. You claw at his back as you ride his thigh, his ragged breath caressing your hairline and tearing increasingly embarrassing noises from your throat. The pressure building deep within your core signals to you that it won’t be long now, and if he keeps this up you might simply collapse on the spot.

He pulls away panting and you make a strangled noise of frustration at the loss of his fangs. He drags the tip of his tongue up your jaw, transferring a thin line of his spit mixed with your blood onto your skin. He presses his lips to your ear with a low chuckle. “I’ve never seen such positive reinforcement for my illicit behavior. And look at you, practically grinding yourself on my fucking leg.” His voice is scathing but colored by an undeniable tone of amusement.

“Please,” you whine, your lips barely able to form the words. You grasp at him weakly, fighting against the blood loss to beg him to keep drinking so you can finally feel any sort of release.

“Oh, were you about to come? Look at me, slut. Are you actually going to come?” He grabs your chin and forces you to focus your bleary eyes on him. A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit, you are. You're on the fucking edge, aren't you?”

“Please,” you repeat, your voice raspy. “Please let me, I’m so close, I just need–” He cuts off your begging with a sharp tug of your hair.

“Oh don’t you worry, I will. And here’s what’s about to happen.” He runs his lips over your ear, and his voice has the feel of velvet pushed against the grain. Soft, but still somehow wrong. “I’m going to drain you dry while you rut on my leg like a bitch in heat. And when I let you come, I want you to moan for me in that pretty way you do.” He pulls back and hits you with a piercing red stare. “But I want you crying out my name. And if you do, and if you’re good, I promise, this won’t be a one-time thing.” His eyes are borderline hypnotic, and you find yourself nodding before you realize you’re missing important information.

“And what’s your name?” you ask shakily. His smile widens enough for his pink-tinged fangs to pop out. He brings his lips back to your ear and you shudder.

“Astarion.”

Before you can even process the sound of his name he’s sunk his fangs into your neck once again and you cry out with the pain and pleasure. You paw desperately at his collar as you grind your cunt onto his leg, rapidly building yourself back up to climax. The feel of his tongue lapping at your flesh, the vibration of his satisfied groans, and his heavy breathing in your ear swirl in a sinful mixture of lust and hedonism. Your roll your hips, your slick folds rubbing together and working your clit as the heat begins to spiral outwards. Your little whimpers grow into whines and eventually into full on moans until you finally feel yourself at the edge.

He can feel it, too, and he grunts between gulps, “Good. Good girl. Come for me.”

It’s all you need. “Fuck, Astarion!”

The moment his name leaves your lips he pulls his fangs and leg away, holding you up only by your hair as the waves of your orgasm wrack through your body, the sight of his feral bloody grin only prolonging it that much further. As the ripples of your climax slowly subside, he unceremoniously lets go of you and you slump down the brick wall and onto the dirty ground. He crouches down over you, taking your chin in his hand and forcing your gaze on him.

“Blink twice if you don’t think you’re dying, love,” he coos, his voice almost gentle. You manage a woozy nod, and then very deliberately squinch your eyes shut twice. He giggles and gives your cheek a few taps. He rifles through your pockets until he finds your phone, and picks up a limp arm and forces the phone into your hand. “Unlock code, pumpkin.” You force yourself to tap out the numbers before letting your head roll back to the side.

He pulls up your contacts and hits the plus button. “If you feel like you’re about to pass out, call emergency services. But,” his gaze flicks up to you as he pauses between typing numbers. “Once you feel like you can stumble onto your feet and get home, call this number, and leave a message with your address.” He drops your phone in your lap and gives you another kiss, sensual, his now warm lips moving softly against your cold ones. “And at some point, when I feel like it, I’ll come ‘round to you. And we’re going to do this again,” he kisses you and you can already feel a spike of arousal moving through you. “And again.” Another kiss. “And again.” His lips are wet from your blood, and you shiver as he pulls away, the cool night air sweeping against your frigid limbs. He breathes against your lips, a waft of iron infiltrating your nose. “I’ll see you soon, darling.”

He stands, and as he begins to walk away, you can barely hear him mutter quietly under his breath, “

.” You smile weakly, unable to bring yourself to care that you’re crumpled and satisfied in a back alley, knowing that you’re getting just as much out of this deal as he is.

[thenameswinterfics]

AGAPE

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Osferth x Reader Settings: Between season 4 and season 5 Summary: Torn between the desire to feel you and the sacredness of his vows, Osferth gives you flowers as a token of his love and devotion, the meaning of his love hidden behind the flower's language. But a scouting expedition beyond Rumcofa's borders forces him to confront the devil who tempts him. Word Count: 2,9 K Warnings: Fluff, mild smut, mention of religious guilt, mention of male mansturbation A/N: Here's my birthday present for my beloved @zaldritzosrose . Happy birthday, sweet love. I apologise for taking so long, I hope you can appreciate this. (And consider also this as a way to thank you for all the graphics you made for me). As always, thank you to @foxyanon and @legitalicat for having an endless patience with me. Also, thanks to @sylasthegrim for the brief beta reading!

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by @legitalicat Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

THE LAST KINGDOM MASTERLIST

Agape: (n), the highest form of love. Selfless, sacrifical, and unconditional love; persists no matter the circumstances.

When Osferth saw you for the first time, the seed of sin was already creeping into his soul.

Brought up in a monastery, King Alfred's bastard son had been sheltered from the dangers of the outside world, his life rigidly punctuated by the silent rhythm of prayer and the teaching of sacred texts, his vow of chastity protecting him from the lustful pleasures of the flesh, his body preserving the purity so longed for by God. 

But everything changed when he joined Uhtred and his men, leaving behind his former life outside the holy walls of the Church and embracing the way of the warrior. His first days were not easy: he was not used to witnessing death and destruction first hand, and killing was a thought that made his stomach turn and his spine chill. But the years passed quickly, and the shy monk became a warrior and one of Uhtred's most trusted men. 

He had always heard Finan say "ale, women and prayer" whenever they temporarily settled in a village, and watched as he and Sihtric drank endless mugs of ale, joining them for as long as his stomach would allow. And every time the thought of the flesh came back to haunt him, his faith would help him resist the temptation, and Osferth would end up praying for God's forgiveness, soothing his guilt for almost abandoning himself in the sin.

But your arrival shattered all his holy defences. 

He watched with wide eyes as you challenged Uhtred to a fight, your body dancing with every stroke of your sword, admiring your coolness and agility in battle and how easily you disarmed a skilled fighter like the Daneslayer. And those same eyes, intense and fierce in battle, were the ones that met him, in a glance that ignited the spark of attraction, an unfamiliar heat that blossomed in his chest. 

Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts were filled with visions of you - your wild spirit, your stolen glances, the way you cared for your friends and children even when you said otherwise, even the way your lips curled into a gentle smile. In the silence of his room, he struggled with his longing, every breath a battle between desire and duty. Part of him still had to keep his oath to God, the promise to maintain his integrity and serve Him and Him alone for the rest of his life. But another part of him wanted to surrender and embrace the sin that had taken root in his heart, to love you as freely as you did, whose own religion allowed you to worship the gods with physical touches and passionate love. 

Osferth always wanted to confess his love for you, but his shyness and his religious morality never allowed him to openly express his true feelings.

So he used the language of flowers to convey his unspoken feelings for you.

Osferth had always been an enduring mystery. You sensed it from the moment you met him, his blue eyes hiding a longing that you misinterpreted at first, thinking he was simply worried about his lord's fate since he was defeated in front of the bewildered gazes of his warriors. 

But it was not until Uhtred welcomed you into his group with open arms that you truly began to understand him. As you shared stories of your adventures around the fire, surrounded by the green of the boundless Mercian borders, you glimpsed a layer of his character that was hidden beneath his demeanour: he was a gentle soul, both in his words and his actions, and spoke with an intensity in his words that you hadn't found in any men you'd met in your life.

Your silent glances turned into lingering moments, and you both felt a connection to each other that you had never felt before. You brushed your fingers against each other as you reached for the same piece of food, or as you passed weapons to each other as you prepared for battle, and each time you saw the monk's smile as a silent response, his face flushed to the tips of his ears, a vision that made your heart pound in your chest.

In time, the accidental caresses became bold, and you both began to rest your hands on each other's cheeks, feeling the softness of each other's skin as the tips of your noses touched. But every time you thought you could go further, a wall of responsibility would fall over Osferth and the monk would leave your embrace. You interpreted his sudden hesitation as mere disinterest in you, but you didn't know that inside him there was a war between integrity and impulsiveness, for you were the devil who broke the chains of God's influence. 

You had known Osferth for long enough that you thought you knew everything about him. Yet, somehow, the once almost monk still managed to surprise you. One evening, while you guarded the children as you were granted accommodations by Lady Aethelflaed estate in Saltwic, he began exhibiting a predisposition towards plants and flowers. You watched as he bent over, his slender fingers gently caressing the petals of a flower before plucking it from the bush and turning to gift it to you, which you accepted happily.

Each flower was different, both in shape and colour: small and with few petals, roses of the brightest red, small wild flowers that he sometimes tucked behind your ear, large and fragrant tulips: they were carefully chosen each time you crossed Mercia, and your intimate ritual continued when you reached Rumcofa, the place you would soon call home. 

You leaned into his spontaneous gestures, consoling yourself a little, seeing them as the closest you could get to a gesture of love. But you would soon find out the hidden secrets that these flowers hide between their beautiful petals.

Spring arrived unusually early in Rumcofa, and while nature was already in full bloom - from the brightest greens of the grass to the most vibrant hues of the flowers - there was still a slight chill in the air, a silent reminder that winter had not yet loosened its grip on the earth. 

The sun was bright in the sky, and Uhtred and the boys patrolled the area, making sure there were no dangers or possible incursions. It was a sudden change of life for everyone, as you had lived in Coccham for many years, but this did not stop Uhtred from making his new piece of land powerful and safe for his warriors’ families.

Fortunately, the scouting had been without any particular difficulty, and after hours of riding, Uhtred decided it would be wise to let his men rest and feed the horses before resuming their activities. So they decided to head for the forest, which was somewhat drier than the dense vegetation that surrounded Coccham, but no less intriguing: the trees were tall and stringy, and the early scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. Birds were calling in the distance, their songs echoing through the treetops, casting small patterns of light on the ground.

Dismounting from your horse, you took your shield and sword from the saddle, carrying them with you in case you needed to defend yourself from an ambush. Deep in the forest, you and Osferth gathered as many twigs as you could find to light a small fire and prepare some food for your stomachs: the scouting had been long and hard, and hunger mixed with fatigue always fooled even the most skilled of warriors.

Having gathered all the twigs you needed, you decided it was time to take a little break. The two of you walked in silence, close to each other, shame and unspoken feelings filling a forest already blooming for the spring season, until you both reached a small stream where you could sit and relax, smelling the scent of wet grass and water plants, along with the chirping of cicadas and the singing of birds. 

You cautiously approached the water, dipped a hand in and lightly wetted your face, enjoying the coolness of the cold hair against your wet skin. Then you sat down, pressing your back against the grass and closing your eyes, surrendering to the peaceful sounds of nature, until a sudden rustling of leaves made you open your eyes. You lifted your head to see Osferth awkwardly gathering some flowers tangled in a bush, the sight so sweet it made you smile slightly.

"It seems you like picking flowers lately," you said with a slight chuckle, watching as the monk froze, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. You could feel one of his hands lightly picking up a small flower, the flicker transferred to its petals. 

“It is an activity I enjoy, my lady, before we come back scouting,” Osferth replied politely to you, and you could hear a flicker of nervousness in his voice. 

You rolled to the other side, your arm supporting your head as you watched Osferth pluck flowers from the ground and gently gather them into a small bouquet. With no small hesitation, he approached you, sat down on the ground and silently leaned the bouquet towards you, his blue eyes looking at you with their usual intensity and longing, betraying the decorum of his religious beliefs. 

You found yourself admiring the improvised floral composition, lost in its beauty: the flowers were large, probably larger than those he had given you in the past, the petals soft as silk to the touch, painted a vibrant pink with muted shades of pale pink. You had never seen such a beautiful flower in your life. 

“Osferth,” you breathlessly broke the silence, your eyes shining with contentment: you were a warrior woman, but even you had a soft side, “I do not know what to say. They are-”

“Peonies,” the monk interrupted you, his cheeks turning red while watching your bewilderment over his gift, “They are peonies. Very beautiful flowers, if I dare to say,”. 

Osferth paused for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued, "From the writings of the monastery, I have learned that peonies are rich in symbolism and have many meanings. One of his fingers pointed to the flowers in your hands, his thumbs gently stroking the petals, "Some believe it has healing properties and symbolises protection, others believe it is the symbol of honour and nobility,” 

Suddenly, he took one of your hands, and with incredible kindness he placed it on his chest, and you felt his heart beating wildly inside his chest, “And they are often given when you want to tell someone you love them,” 

Silence fell over you as you took your time to absorb Osferth's words, his words hitting you like an arrow shot to the chest: you were used to Osferth's elusiveness on these subjects, as you had caught him praying in solitude, asking forgiveness for sins he had not committed. But his gentle touches, his unspoken tender gestures and the flowers he gave you: he told you he loved you without thinking to touch you, so that his soul could live in peace. 

Your lips curled into a small smile as you brushed Osferth’s chest with your fingers, “Is this why you always give me flowers, when we get the chance?”, you asked softly, your own cheeks turning red as Osferth nodded shyly.

“I do,” the monk replied, his hand squeezing yours, “But I know this is wrong,” 

With a quick but delicate gesture, Osferth lowered your hand and stood up, pacing nervously and mentally reciting prayers of forgiveness. His behaviour left you both confused and broken, and after gently placing the flowers on the grass, you stood up and approached him, holding his hands in a way to calm himself down.

"It's wrong, what?" you asked calmly, hoping that your voice would bring him back to reality. But you knew from his gaze that he was somewhere else than with you, "Please, Osferth. Talk to me. Is it because I am a Dane?"

“It is because I desire you,” Osferth snapped, more in panic than anger, and the grip on your hands tightened, “It torments me to see you every day and wonder what it would be like to touch you and love you without feeling the burden of my faith,”

He then leaned one of his trembling hands, resting it on your cheek and brushing it gently, “All the flowers I gave to you, they were the sign of my love and commitment towards you without feeling God’s voice telling me it was wrong,” Osferth confessed with a soft sigh, closing his eyes as a way to hide his shame, “But now that I exposed my secret I do not know if he will grant me-”

“Is God watching us?” You asked out of the blue, interrupting his nervous stream of consciousness while your own hand rested on his cheek as well. Your question left Osferth surprised for a second, but a little chuckle escaped from his lips, amused by your apparent innocent question.

“My sweet lady, both your Gods and my God are watching us right now,” he replied sheepishly, and his answer satisfied you: it was what you wanted to hear.

“Then let them watch us,” you whispered with husky voice, your finger tracing the contour of his face, your touch sending him shivers down your spine, “Let them watch us consuming our love, only them as witnesses,” 

His breath caught as your soft touch lingered on his skin and the air suddenly became thick with tension. It was as if the war between righteousness and temptation was intensifying within him, the seed of sin blossoming into a small sprout destined to grow, fuelled by your carnal passion. 

And for the very first time, the devil won. 

His lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss, releasing all the dormant passion he used to vent in the solitude of his room, reaching his climax when he cried out your name in his moments of lack of lucidity. Unable to restrain his hands, he gripped your waist in a surprisingly tight vice and moved you until your back was pressed against the trunk. He broke the kiss abruptly as guilt rose again in his chest, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“You need to stop me, please,” Osferth breathed against your lips, but you silenced him by teasing his upper lip with your tongue. 

“I won’t,”, you replied in a hoarse voice and put your hand behind his neck, “I have waited for so long, Osferth. I need to feel you,” 

With your last words, everything rational in Osferth's mind disappeared and your lips were locked in a heated kiss. A little hesitant at first, he grew bolder as the tip of his tongue tentatively demanded entry, which you gladly accepted. A wild and sensual dance exploded in your mouths as his hands slid all over your body, squeezing your soft breasts and forcing you to moan against his lips. With a confident movement, he undid the laces of your skirt, exposing you to the cold air of early spring. Your mind became dizzy as you felt Osferth's mouth run over your skin, tormenting first your neck, then your collarbone, until he indulged on your breast: with the tip of his tongue he teased your nipple, hardened by the cold and the rise of your arousal, while his hand teased the other with a pleasurable pinch. 

"You are tempting me, Lady," his shy and trembling voice contrasted with the bold movements of his hands, and you could only respond with whimpering and rambling words, your eyes closed as you rested your head on the trunk of the tree, drunk with the pleasure the innocent monk was giving you.

Leaving your chest, his hands slipped into your breeches, his fingers trembling and clumsy as he tried to find your pulsing core, wet with anticipation of what was to come. But as you felt the tip of his thumb caress you in a circular motion, two male voices called out to you in the distance, forcing you both to abruptly pull away from each other, hiding all evidence of your relationship. 

But all your attempts were in vain, as you realised with horror that Finan and Sihtric saw almost everything. 

"Looks like our baby monk is no longer a baby," Finan's teasing voice broke the awkward silence, supported by Sihtric's sly grin. Osferth's face turned bright red as he tried to cover you and save you from further humiliation. But he knew it was too late. 

“I-I swear I can explain,” the monk spoke with a quivering voice, but Sihtric was quick to interrupt him.

“Lord Uhtred gave the order to resume the scouting. Collect your things, both of you,” the Dane tried to stay as neutral as possible, his smirk betraying the seriousness of his words. 

“You will hump your lady later as a reward,” the Irishman added, and with a loud slap on the youngest's back, he and Sihtric turned and walked away from you. 

With a hint of embarrassment in the air, you tried to compose yourself by arranging your clothes and combing your hair into more tidy braids, and with a soft brush you told Osferth that everything was fine and that you were enjoying these little moments together. 

Gathering your things, you quickly rejoined your group and resumed your exploration of Rumcofa's surroundings, riding tirelessly until the orange sun disappeared behind the mountains. And as Finan said, your love and affection was the reward Osferth received after a long day, ignoring the guilt of his faith that whispered in his head as your naked bodies joined as one. 

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Osferth Taglist: @zaldritzosrose @legitalicat @sylasthegrim

[onboardsorasora]

Just a quick one, a little cuteness and fluff

Part 1 | Part 27 | Part 29

Part 28

Daniel sat in the back of the garage, out of the way of all the cameras, mechanics and engineers. Max was getting ready to start free practice and the team didn’t need any distractions. Daniel looked down at his bare thigh, his shorts rode up as he sat, and grinned to himself. Max had already told him that he was a distraction on a good day, apparently today he was a temptation. 

Daniel had already sucked him off in his driver’s room, and it seemed Max had been ready to go again almost immediately. Brad knocked on the door before things could escalate though and Max had poutily changed and left. Not after running his thumb against Daniel’s mustache. 

Max liked it more than Daniel thought he would. He had been prepared for some laughter and being told to shave it off (that's what happened with the last person he was dating). But no, Max had gone feral instead. It was sweet– sexy as fuck– but sweet.

It made him think of their last night in Texas. It had been a quick turnaround because of the nature of a triple header, but Max had gotten their flight pushed back to Monday morning. He’d taken Daniel to this small almost hole in the wall bar where no one recognized them. They had a blast eating more bbq and Daniel had the most delicious fried chicken sandwich.

Then they’d slow danced to a random country song that was playing on the ancient jukebox in the corner. 

Not exactly how Daniel figured Max would want to celebrate 50 wins, but he can’t say he was complaining. It had been, to use one of his boyfriend’s favourite words, lovely.

The car left the garage to cheers from the crowd, Daniel could make out the chants of ‘Checo! Checo!’ as both cars went through turn one. The screaming grew in intensity though, which didn’t make sense to him until he looked over and saw his face on the nearby screen.

Daniel Ricciardo #1 World Ranked Tennis Player/Max Verstappen’s boyfriend

He grinned at the camera and gave a thumbs up and it was as if every grandstand lit up with cheers for him. It was surreal and weird. And he was thankful when the coverage went back to the cars that were circling the track.

Now that their relationship was out there and known, it was as if a switch flicked. Daniel saw their names and photos everywhere; in the sports headlines, in the news news. Blake told him about the barrage of interview and collab requests since the kiss in Qatar. Also his sponsors had all sent in requests to renegotiate his contracts; Nick his agent said the changes mostly seemed to be to lock him in for longer and to offer more bonuses. Since he was now a global star and not just a tennis pro, the money was different apparently. Plus no one wanted a competitor to offer him anything better.

It made his head spin, he’d had fans before but now he had Formula 1 fans. Which was insane. 

He was chatting to Blake, gesticulating about something or another, when Max was wheeled back into the garage. He hopped out of the car and walked over to GP. Max nodded distractedly a few times at what GP was explaining, before patting him on the shoulder and walking over to the back of the garage where Daniel and Blake sat.

Max leaned sideways onto the short railing and Daniel immediately turned to him like a sunflower to the sun. He grinned happily at his boyfriend, enjoying his tousled hair and the lines pressed into his face from his balaclava.

“Hi Daniel, hey Blake” Max greeted with a quick scrunchy smile.

“Hey Maxy.” Daniel felt his shoulders peak upwards with his blush, unable to hide just how in love he was with this man. He could feel Blake’s eye roll behind him.

The cheers exploded around the track again and Daniel didn’t need to look to know a camera was pointed on them. He didn’t want to look anyway, he had the best view in the house and couldn’t take his eyes away.

[ltofoceania]

very kind of you to tag me @helleluj <3 thank you

nine albums or songs I've been listening to lately x nine people I’d like to get to know better x tag game with no name

1. why did you choose your url? back in high school i'd read Orwell's 1984 and had also found the 1954 Peter Cushing version of it, and was obsessed. and in that text USA is part of Oceania and LT is a nickname as well as my initials so I am LT of Oceania (in the Orwellian context)

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them. none. this is my only blog.

3. how long have you been on tumblr? since at least 2013???

4. do you have a queue tag? i do not

5. why did you start your blog in the first place? my best friend had one and would send me things, and so rather than lurk on the outside i created mine and have been here ever since

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp? it me

7. why did you choose your header? sherlock holmes is a bit of a cornerstone of who i am and my jv soccer coach took a picture of the baker street station when she went to england one summer because she knew i loved acd's works

8. what’s your post with the most notes? i don't really post anything original, but i am pretty sure it is a dirk gently's holistic detective agency (2016 - 2017) related post

9. how many mutuals do you have? not sure, sorry

10. how many followers do you have? 162

11. how many people do you follow? 362. oh that's funny that it's only 200 more than my follower count

12. have you ever made a shitpost? i have not

13. how often do you use tumblr each day? not as often as i have i think

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? nope

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts nuance....

16. do you like tag games? they're alright i suppose (depends on the subject) but i also never know who to tag

17. do you like ask games? eh

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? humanjeff

19. do you have a crush on a mutual? don't think so

20. what is the last song you listened to? hell above -- pierce the veil

21. what are you currently watching? nothing at the moment, but trying to find something.

22. sweet/ savoury/ spicy? savoury

23. what is your current relationship status? single

24. what is your current obsession? my dissertation?? but i had a resurgence of ted lasso recently, and i think danny kaye is making a comeback right now. we'll see what happens

25. what are nine albums/ songs you've been listening to lately?

according to my phone so like the last 9 songs played... hell above -- pierce the veil hot dog -- limp bizkit separate ways (worlds apart) -- journey & steve perry oh, pretty woman -- roy orbison fallin (temptation) -- grandson maneater -- nelly furtado go down deh -- spice red right hand -- nick cave & the bad seeds start the commotion -- the wiseguys

26. tagging @tinavy35 @metronomeblue (no obligation to do this!)

and anybody who wants to!

nine albums or songs I've been listening to lately x nine people I’d like to get to know better x tag game with no name

(thank you for the tag @lianhuajing !!)

1. why did you choose your url? uh. it was a play on "rose tinted glasses"

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them. nope!

3. how long have you been on tumblr? I think 2022? i knew about it before, just never bothered to make a blog

4. do you have a queue tag? don't kill me, what's a queue tag?

5. why did you start your blog in the first place? I had some Thoughts about Blue Lock and wanted to post meta for it

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp? uhh Flora.

7. why did you choose your header? Reo is one of my Blorbos and I just really liked that panel of him

8. what’s your post with the most notes? probably the "do you download fics" poll

9. how many mutuals do you have? about 20? i don't remember

10. how many followers do you have? 120?

11. how many people do you follow? 91

12. have you ever made a shitpost? yes. i think.

13. how often do you use tumblr each day? an hour?

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? nope

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts meh. some of them are funny i guess

16. do you like tag games? yep! it's nice interaction

17. do you like ask games? i do! but uh. it's a silent empty void here. an echo chamber, if you will.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? i have no idea but i see @kingsandbastardz a lot in the mlc community

19. do you have a crush on a mutual? nope

20. what is the last song you listened to? 若梦 by 周深

21. what are you currently watching? i just finished The Double! probably starting on Dashing Youth next

22. sweet/ savoury/ spicy? savoury!

23. what is your current relationship status? single

24. what is your current obsession? The Double,,,,

25. what are nine albums/ songs you've been listening to lately?

若梦 by 周深

如故 by 张碧晨

如初 by 张碧晨

借过一下 by 周深

万物不如你 by 张杰

Our dawn is hotter than day by Seventeen

Hitorijana by Seventeen

my music taste is kinda...i tend to stick to a few artists...

26. tagging (no obligation to do this!) @randomingoftherandomness @good-vs-evo @chrysofightme @bbcphile

[editsnocturne]

SWEET TEMPTATION HEADERS

• like or reblog if you saved | (c) @folknswift on twitter ♡

[womenstuffs]

sweet temptation headers

like if you save

or credit on tt @ judescruel

[literaredits]

━ sweet temptation headers

like/reblog if you save it. ©️ rosecalioway on twitter.

[wwithpsd]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬: sweet temptation

𝐟𝐚𝐯/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 if you saved

𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @pensbridgrtn 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

[emptyspacedits]

sweet temptation headers

moved to @literaredits​. like/reblog if you save it. ©️ rosecalioway on twitter.

[softheadrs]

sweet temptation by cora reilly headers

🇱​🇮​🇰​🇪​ 🇴​🇷​ 🇷​🇪​🇧​🇱​🇴​🇬​ 🇮​🇫​ 🇾​🇴​🇺​ 🇺​🇸​🇪​/🇸​🇦​🇻​​🇪

​© @rosieieblanc

[rowanzahra]

sweet temptation headers

credits to persycillians on twitter

[dearholder]

Sweet Temptation headers like if you save/use | if you use © dearholder on twitter

[adrianvokov]

headers cassiogiulia like