#~Cursed Curiosity of Immortals~

[slut4megantheestallion]

──Crimson Devotion

Trueform! Sukuna 𝐱 Original Vampire!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings. fem! reader, vampire!reader (Reader is an original) heian era, trueform! Sukuna, smut, rough sex, cockwarming, degradation, possessiveness, fingering, blood drinking, mention of compulsion,finger sucking, edging, Overstimulation, light Aftercare, multiple orgasms, Dom!sukuna.

You had been in Ryomen Sukuna's service for years, though it felt like mere days in the grand span of your immortal existence. Time had little meaning to you after living for over a thousand years. You had seen empire rise and crumble, witnessed men become legends before turning to dust. And yet, in all that time, nothing fascinated you quite like him.

Sukuna was unlike any other being you had encountered. Humans feared him, sorcereers despised him, and even curses cowered in his presence. He was destruction incarnate - both a man and a monster, adorned with four roving eyes and a grin that promised ruin.

You had chosen power to serve him for one reason alone: Power.

As an Original vampire, you were an apex predator, feared in your own right. But cursed energy was something beyond even your kind's understanding. It thrived in ways that defied nature, and Sukuna was its pinnacle. You needed to learn from him, to study him, to determine whether such power could be wielded against your enemies- or if it was a threat to your existence.

Sukuna had accepted you into his court without question, though he regarded you with mild intrigue. Unlike his concubines and warriors, you did not flinch under his gaze, nor did you shrink in fear when he turned his attention to you. You were beautiful, yes- so much so that even his followers whispered about the ethereal maiden in his presence. But there was something else.

Something unnatural.

He noticed it almost immediately. The way you moved too gracefully, too effortlessly, like a wraith gliding through his halls. The way your skin reminded flawless, untouched by time or battle, despite having lived through so much bloodshed. The way you indulged in the lavish feasts at his table yet never seemed to be sustained by them, your appetite always restrained, as if something else - something unseen - was what truly fed you.

Sukuna was not a patient man, but he was a curious one. And curiosity for him always led to something dangerous.

Despite the many souls that lingered within Sukuna's domain, you remained an enigma. You were neither servant nor concubine, not bound to him in the ways others were. He had not claimed you, nor had he given you a position of true power, yet you stood above the others.

A maiden, they called you. Untouched. Pure. Otherworldly.

It was ironic. You were far from innocent, having left a trail of blood and ruin across centuries. And yet, the image suited you well- the delicate, untouchable beauty draped in silks finer than what even his concubines wore. The way men gazed upon you, only to avert their eyes in shame. The way women envied you, whispering about how Sukuna never laid a hand on you, despite keeping you close.

He liked that you unsettled them.

But more than that, you unsettled him.

Sukuna was not the kind of man who tolerated uncertainty. He conquered, he devoured, he took what he wanted without hesitation. And yet, with you, there was restraint. Not by choice, no- had you been like the others, he would have had you beneath him long ago, ruined, and marked beyond recognition.

But you were not like the others.

And that fascinated him.

There were moments - brief, fleeting moments - where he thought he might have glimpsed something beyond the facade. The flicker of hunger in your eyes when blood was spilled in the arena. The way your breath hitched when a warrior collapsed, his lifeblood seeping into the dirt. The way your lips parted, as if some long-forgotten instinct was clawing to the surface, demanding to be fed

Sukuna had never been one to deny indulgence. He thrived in gluttony, in excess, in the destruction of self restraint. And yet, you resisted.

You did not falter. You did not break.

Until the night, he caught you.

── დ ──

It was feast time in the grand hall, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine thick in the air. The low hum of conversation blended with drunken laughter, the sounds of pleasure and indulgence filling the space. Servants scurried refilling goblets, bringing forth more food, ensuring none of Sukuna's favored suffered even a moment of dissatisfaction.

At the head of it all, Sukuna sat on his throne, legs spread lazily, a golden chalice in one of his four hands while the others toyed with the concubines vying for his attention. They draped themselves over him like silk, whispering sweet praises, offering themselves as though they were gifts to be unwrapped. Their fingers traced over his skin, their lips pressed again his arms, his shoulders, hoping to be chosen tonight.

But his mind was elsewhere.

You had not come to the feast.

It was not unusual - you often avoided these gluttonous displays, never outright refusing his invitation, but always making some excuse to slip away before the night fell into drunken debauchery, Sukuna let it slide, entertained by the challenge you unknowingly posed. But tonight, something felt different.

He watched his concubines drown themselves in wine, their bodies swaying with intoxicated ease. The celebration carried on, loud and frenzied, yet his focus lingered beyond the candlelight hall, where the torches no longer reached.

Where were you?

One of his concubine - young, delicate, with flushed cheeks from too much wine - staggered away from the group, giggling as she slipped past the drunken guards. Likely searching for air, or perhaps to steal a moment of rest before returning to her master's side.

She was alone. Vulnerable.

And in the shadows, you watched.

You had been lingering in the corridors, unseen, as you always were. But tonight, hunger gnawed at you in ways you could no longer ignore. The scent of blood - hot, rich, laced with wine - called to you, sharp as a blade against your senses. You had fed recently, but not enough. Never enough. The restraint you prided yourself on wavered, a beast within you stirring, aching, demanding release.

You followed her.

Your steps were silent, effortless, as you stalked through the dimly lit halls. She was oblivious, humming softly to herself, her pulse loud in your ears.

Sukuna, still seated on his throne, lifted his goblet to his lips- but then he stilled.

His four eyes narrowed.

He felt something shift in the air. Something primal. Something predatory.

His lips curled.

So this was it.

This was what you had been hiding.

And he was going to see it for herself.

── დ ──

The young concubine wandered further into the dimly lit corridor, the drunken haze in her mind dulling her senses. Her silk robe swayed as she moved, bare feet padding softly against the cool stone. She had no destination- perhaps she sought a moment of solitude away from the rowdy feast, or maybe she was simply lost.

But she was not alone.

You followed soundlessly, a shadow moving between the flickering torches. You could hear the steady drum of her heartbeat, the sluggish pull of her breath as the wine thickened her blood. She smelled sweet, ripe- a perfect temptation laid bare before you.

Your hunger, once controlled, now prowled within you like a caged beast.

It had been too long. You had denied yourself for too long.

The game began

You let the tips of your fingers graze again the stone walls, just loud enough for the sound to reach her ears. The soft scrape sent a shiver down her spine, her steps faltering.

She turned, brows furrowed. "Hello?"

Silence.

A beat passed. She swallowed, shaking her head at herself, before taking another step forward.

You moved faster. This time, a whisper- so faint, so ghostly - brushed against her ear.

"Are you lost?"

She gasped, whirling around. Nothing.

Her breath quickened. The hallway stretched long and empty before her, the candlelight casting shifting shadows along the walls. A chill ran down her spine, the once- comforting haze of wine replaced by something colder.

Something wrong.

She hurried forward, her steps uneven, the quiet pressing in around her. She could feel eyes on her, a presence lurking just beyond sight.

And then-

"Boo."

You were suddenly there.

She shrieked, stumbling back, hands clutching her chest. Her wide eyes met yours, and then she exhaled a breath of relief, laughing shakily.

"Oh gods, it's just you." She tried to steady herself, but something about the way you stood- the way you watched her- made her skin prickle.

You didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

You simply stood there, still as death, your face bathed in flickering torchlight.

The concubine swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably under your stare. She had always feared you, though she never admitted it aloud. There was something off about you, something that unsettled her in ways he couldn't explain.

"You scared me," she tried to joke, forcing a small laugh. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

Still, you did not answer.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Something isn't right.

Before she could take another step back, your voice finally came.

"Don't move."

The words weren't spoken- they were woven into her mind, sinking deep, commanding.

Her body locked in place.

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Panic flared in her wide, helpless eyes as she realized- she couldn't move. She couldn't screm. She was trapped within herself, unable to do anything but feel.

Feel your fingers brushing her hair aside.

Feel your lips ghost over her pulse.

Feel the sharp, piercing pain as your fangs sank into her flesh.

Her muffled whimper vibrated against your mouth, her body trembling as warmth flooded your tongue.

And god- the taste~

It was ecstasy. It was fire and silk, rich and intoxicating, sweeter than the finest wine served at Sukuna's feast. The pleasure of it curled through your veins, deep and consuming, a hunger you had denied for far too long finally being sated.

Her body slackened, her pulse fluttering under your hold.

You moaned softly, drinking deep, savoring, every drop as her life poured into you.

She was yours.

Completely and utterly-

"Well, well."

A voice, low and amused, shattered the moment.

Your eyes snapped open, fangs still buried deep, as the presence of another loomed behind you.

A shadow cast in red and black.

A smile lined with sharp teeth.

Sukuna.

── დ ──

His voice was deep, threaded with amusement, but beneath it lay something darker- something possessive.

Your body tensed. The concubine in your arms was nearly limp, her pulse weak but still present, your fangs still buried in the soft flesh of her neck. You could feel Sukuna's gaze burning into you, devouring every detail- the way your lips were stained crimson, the way blood dripped down your chin, trailing past your throat to pool at the swell of your breasts.

Slowly, you withdrew your fangs, licking the punctures clean, sealing the wound with a flick of your tongue. The concubine let out a soft, breathless whimper, her body slumping as you finally released her.

A heavy silence hung between you.

Sukuna stepped forward.

Your breath hitched - not in fear, but in something else, something dangerous.

"You've been keeping secrets from me, maiden." His voice silk over steel, teasing yet edged with something sharp.

You turned to face him, eyes dark with hunger still not fully satisfied. "And you've been watching me."

He smirked. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

His four eyes roved over you, drinking in the sight - your heaving chest, the flush of pleasure still fading from your cheeks, the way your pupils were dilated with bloodlust. He inhaled, catching the lingering scent of the concubine's life essence on your lips.

"And here I thought nothing could surprise me anymore," he mused.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, unfazed. "Does this not frighten you, my lord?" You took a step closer, deliberately slow, watching his gaze darken. "Or does this excite you?"

His grin widened.

"Come here."

The words weren't a request. They were a summon.

But you didn't move.

Sukuna's amusement flickered into something sharper, something more demanding. His four arms flexed, muscles coiling like a predator about to strike. "Now."

Still, you met his gaze without wavering. The tension between you thickened, charged, stretching unbearably tight.

And then, in a blur of motion, he was on you.

Faster than you expected, faster than a mortal should be- one of his hands wrapped around your throat, another grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body was intoxicating, his scent laced with wine, blood, and something purely him.

"That little display back there," he murmured, voice dark and velvety as his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "It was entertaining."

His lips hovered dangerously close to yours, teasing, taunting. "The way you drank from her... the little moans you made." He chuckled, low and deep. "Do you even realize how beautiful you looked?"

Your breath shuddered.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt- just enough to remind you who was in contact now.

"And yet," he continued, his tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of blood from your collarbone, "You didn't come to me first."

You swallowed, pulse quickening.

Sukuna smirked.

"Tomorrow afternoon. My throne room."

His voice held no room for argument.

You tilted your chin up slightly, not willing to appear submissive. "And if I don't come?"

His smirk widened. "Then I'll come find you myself."

With that, he released you, stepping back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning away.

You stood still, watching as he walked off, leaving you alone in the corridor.

Tomorrow.

Whatever he had planned, you knew it would be dangerous.

And yet... you couldn't help but anticipate it.

── დ ──

The next afternoon

You had spent the entire day in your chambers, the heavy drapes drawn shut, isolating yourself from the world outside.

Yet no mater how still you sat, no matter how you willed your mind to silence, you couldn't stop thinking about last night.

The warmth of fresh blood trickling down your throat, the way the concubine's pulse had fluttered beneath your lips like a caged bird before it slowed... the way Sukuna watched you, his gaze dark with something you couldn't quite name.

You had fed.

You had savored.

Any yet.. it hadn't been enough.

A dull ache thrumned beneath your ribs, hunger curling are your senses like smoke, whispering, tempting-more, you need more.

You exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the gnawing craving, but it lingered, stubborn and insatiable.

Then, a knock at the door.

It was faint, yet you heard it as clearly as if it had been a thunderclap.

You straightened, smoothing down your robe before moving to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

Uraume stood before you, their expression unreadable as always, yet there was a glint of knowing in their cold eyes.

"Master Sukuna requests your presence."

Your fingers twitched at your side's.

It wasn't a request.

You knew this summons was inevitable, and yet, a silver of unease slithered down your spine. Sukuna was not a man to summon something without a purpose.

And you already knew what this was about.

Still, you maintained your composure, tilting your chin slightly. "Of course."

Without another word, Uraume turned on their heel, leading you down the vast corridors of Sukuna's domain. The air was thick with the scent of incense and faint traces of blood, the dim lighting casting long, shifting shadows along the walls.

Your heartbeat was steady, but your mind was racing.

Last night, Sukuna had seen you.

And he had not been repulsed.

No, he had been entertained.

Something inside you told you that today was a test - a game in which the rules were his to control.

As you entered the throne room, your eyes imma found him.

Sukuna lounged upon his grand throne, the golden light of the torches flickering over his tattooed skin, casting sharps shadows across his sculpted form. His robe was loose, draped over his powerful frame, his four arms resting lazily at his sides.

And beside him, a concubine knelt.

Your gaze flickered to her, she was adorned in delicate silk, her skin flushed from the wine she had no doubt been given, her breaths slightly uneven. She wasn't looking at you- her head was bowed in reverence towards Sukuna, awaiting his attention.

You frowned slightly.

This was different.

Sukuna was not one for subtlety. If he had summoned you here with a concubine present, it was for a reason.

His eyes locked onto yours the moment you entered, sharp and unreadable, but that smirk-that damned smirk- was still carved onto his lips.

"So you did decide to come," he drawled, amusement lacing his tone.

You remained poised, meeting his gaze with cool indifference. "You summoned me, my lord. It would be unwise to ignore such a call."

His smirk widened slightly, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his throne.

"Mm. Obedient today, aren't we?" His voice was deceptively casual, but you could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the way his eyes traced over your form as if searching for something unseen.

You did not respond.

He exhaled a short chuckle, his gaze flickering towards the concubine at his side.

"Tell me, my little maiden... does she tempt you?"

The words were unexpected.

Your brow furrowed slightly. "What?"

Sukuna's hummed, shifting slightly in his seat, his many arms flexing lazily. "Does she tempt you?" He gestured toward the concubine with an elegant flick of his fingers.

The woman remained still, unmoving, but you could hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the scent of her blood mingling with the rich perfume of incense in the air.

Your throat tightened.

You knew what he was doing.

Your hunger from last night had never truly been sated, and Sukuna knew it.

He was testing you.

You kept your expression smooth. "If this is meant to be some sort of trick, my lord, it is a poor one."

He laughed at that, low and indulgent, like he found your resistance adorable.

And then, before you could react, one of his hands moved.

A sharp slash of his clawed fingers- and the scent of blood filled the air.

You inhaled sharply.

The concubine gasped, her body trembling as a thin, precise line of blood bloomed across her throat- not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough to bleed.

Rich, warm, fresh.

Your breath hitched.

Sukuna watched you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"Go on," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, and dripping with amusement. "Drink."

A shiver danced down your spine.

He was playing with you.

Tempting you.

Daring you.

The hunger inside you roared, the scent of fresh blood stirring something deep, primal in your core.

You clenched your fists. "You're cruel, Sukuna."

He grinned. "Oh? But you don't seem very disgusted, maiden. In fact..." He leaned forward, resting his chin upon one of his hands, voice like a purr, "I think you want it."

You swallowed hard.

The concubine whimpered, swaying slightly, her eyes glassy from wine and pain.

You could hear the blood pulsing from her wound, calling to you, enticing, inviting.

And then Sukuna's voice, teasing, coaxing.

"Drink, little vampire. Show me what you really are."

Your breathing was shallow.

You were losing control.

And he knew it.

── დ ──

The moment the scent of fresh blood fully filled your senses, your control snapped.

Your veins darkened, creeping like ink beneath your skin, eyes glowing a deep, predatory crimson. Your fangs fully extended, gleaming under the dim torchlight, and your lips curled into something no longer human- a hungry, primal snarl.

Sukuna stilled.

His breath hitched for just a moment.

And then he grinned.

Pure, unrestrained awe danced across his features as he watched your transformation. His keen eyes traced every shift, the way your bones sharpened, the way your beauty twisted into something ethereal yet so monstrous.

"Now, that... is exquisite."He murmured, voice thick with dark amusement and something else. Something possessive.

Before the concubine could even process what was happening, you moved.

In the blink of an eye- faster than human sight you could track- you were there.

The concubine barely had time to gasp before your hand gripped the back of her head, tilting it sharply, exposing the wound sukuna had so generously gifted you.

"P-Please-" she whimpered, eyes wide, caught between terror and the lingering haze of intoxication.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fangs sank into her throat, piercing flesh effortlessly.

The moment her blood spilled into your mouth, warm and rich, a deep moan rumbled from your chest. The taste was intoxicating - filling, divine, but it was the sensation, the act itself, that sent a wave of pleasure rippling down your spine.

The concubine gasped, her body tensing, then shuddering as you fed. Her whimpers morphed into someone softer, her breath hitching with each slow, deep pull you took from her veins. The mixture of pain and pleasure melted into something blurred, a trance- like state overtaking her mind.

Sukuna watched.

Her fingers gripped the armrest of his throne, his smirk fading into someone darker, something hungrier.

The way you drank from her, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed each mouthful, the low, breathy moans slipping from your lips- it was obscene.

And he wished - no, he ached - for it to be him instead.

"Tch... look at you," he purred, voice dripping with amusement but laced with something thick with desire. "Like a beast finally set free."

You did respond, couldn't.

Not when the hunger was thus overwhelming, not when the concubine's pulse was weakening beneath your lips, the taste of her blood sending sparks of ecstasy through your very core.

Your hands tightened against her trembling form, and you drank deeper.

The concubine let out a breathy whimper, her body sagging as her strength began to slip.

Sukuna chuckled, tilting his head as he observed every detail of the masterpiece before him.

"How many times have you done this, I wonder?" He mused, eyes gleaming. "How many have you lured into your embrace, sinking those fangs into their flesh, making them yours?"

You finally pulled away, gasping sharply, a shudder raking through your body as the last traces of euphoria from feeding faded into someone sated yet still longing.

The concubine's body went limp, slumping into your arms, her chest rising and falling in shallow, weakened breaths. She was still alive, but barely.

You let her drop unceremoniously to the floor, her head lolling to the side, blood still trickling from the wound you left behind.

Your lips were stained red, glistening with the evidence of your indulgence.

A single drop of blood rolled down from the corner of your mouth, tracing the curve of your chin, slipping further down to the swell of your chest, vanishing into the fabric of your robe.

Sukuna groaned, one of his hands clenching into a fist.

"You truly are a sight to behold."

You turned to him, breath still heavy, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You don't seem horrified," you murmured, voice huskier than before, thick with the remnants of your feeding.

Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and full of delight.

"Horrified? Oh, little maiden... you must take me for a fool." He leaned forward, resting his chin upon his palm, his other hands flexing in barely restrained temptation.

"Do you think I fear monsters?" He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I am one."

Your gaze remained steady, though something deep inside you twisted at his words.

"Then why summon me here?" You asked, though you already knew the answer.

Sukuna hummed, eyes raking over you, taking in the lingering traces of your true form, the blood still wet against your lips.

"Curiosity," he admitted. "You have been under my roof for so long, yet I never knew what you truly were. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon such a rare little creature."

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

"And now... I must test you."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Test me?"

Sukuna exhaled a dark chuckle, rising from his throne with slow, delicate movements.

The air in the room shifted.

"Oh, yes," he murmured, stepping toward you, his sheer size and presence making the space between you feel small.

"You see, I am not one to let precious things slip from my grasp." He raised a hand, fingers lightly brushing over your jaw, tilting your chin upward.

"And you, my little vampire... are far too precious."

Your breath caught a sharp, unfamiliar sensation curling in your stomach.

Sukuna's eyes gleamed, his smirk widening.

"Tomorrow night... you will come to my chambers."

A pause.

"And we will see just how hungry you truly are."

── დ ──

The next night…

The hour was late, the palace silent except for the distant flicker of torches lining the halls. You stood before Sukuna’s chamber doors, heart steady, expression unreadable. Despite the calmness you portrayed, there was something else humming beneath your skin—anticipation.

Not of fear. Never fear.

But of what he had planned.

After last night, you knew Sukuna did not view you as something to be feared or destroyed. No—his gaze held something far more dangerous: ownership.

And you were going to test that.

Taking a final breath, you pushed the doors open.

Sukuna sat at the far end of the room, bare-chested, lounging against the grand silk-covered bedding like a king awaiting his conquest. His crimson eyes gleamed with expectation as he observed you enter, slow and poised, yet undeniably predatory in your grace.

"Ah," he exhaled, amusement flickering over his lips. "My little monster finally arrives."

You said nothing, your gaze drifting over him. The candlelight cast deep shadows over his sculpted form, illuminating the inked markings that twisted along his skin. His lower arms rested lazily at his sides, but his upper set of hands flexed slightly—restrained temptation in its rawest form.

"You look at me as if you are already planning your next meal," Sukuna smirked, tilting his head. "Tell me, do you wish to drink from me, little fangs?"

Your tongue flicked over your lips, slow, calculated.

"Would you allow it?" you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a low, enticing hum.

Sukuna’s smirk widened.

"For you?" He chuckled, watching the way your eyes darkened with barely concealed hunger. "I may consider it. But first…"

Faster than human sight could track, he was in front of you, towering over your form, his heat overwhelming.

"I must punish you for keeping such a secret from me," he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth as he grasped your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes half-lidded as you met his unwavering gaze.

"Punishment?" You echoed, feigning innocence.

Sukuna laughed, dark and rich.

"Oh, you are far from innocent, maiden."

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his touch deliberate, testing. Your fangs barely grazed his skin as he did so, and his gaze flickered—a brief, sharp glint of something ravenous.

You held his stare, unmoving, unblinking.

Then, you bit.

It wasn’t deep, just a shallow scrape of your fangs over his skin, but the reaction—

Sukuna groaned, low and deep, his grip tightening.

"Fucking hell," he exhaled, eyes dark with something primal.

The taste of him—potent, rich, unlike anything you had ever indulged in—spread over your tongue, warm and intoxicating.

It was addictive.

You licked the wound slowly, savoring the faint trail of crimson left behind.

"So you do enjoy pain," you murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

Sukuna growled, pushing you back against the wooden frame of his bed, his body pressing flush against yours.

"You have no idea what I enjoy, little monster."

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"But I will show you."

A shiver ran down your spine as Sukuna’s lips ghosted over your ear, his voice thick with promise. His fingers trailed along your jaw before gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his crimson gaze.

“You’re trembling,” he mused, a dark chuckle vibrating from his chest. “Excited? Or afraid?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to answer, but the wicked smirk curling his lips told you he already knew.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his mouth crashed against yours—hungry, demanding, possessive. His fangs grazed your bottom lip, threatening to pierce, but he didn’t bite. No, he wanted you to beg for it. Sukuna thrived on control, and right now, he was savoring the way you melted under his touch.

He pressed you harder against the wooden frame of his bed, the solid structure creaking under the force of his body caging you in. His hands roamed over your curves, fingers digging into the fabric of your robes before slipping beneath, seeking bare skin.

“You’re always so obedient,” he murmured against your lips before dragging his tongue along your jawline. “But I wonder… just how much will it take to break that composure of yours?”

One of his hands slid between your thighs, parting them effortlessly. His fingers ghosted over the soft flesh there, teasing. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body betraying you as heat pooled low in your stomach.

“Look at that,” he mused darkly, his fingers barely grazing your core. “You act like a proper little maiden, but you’re already soaking for me.”

Your lips parted, a protest forming, but Sukuna silenced you with a sharp slap to your thigh. Not enough to hurt—just enough to make you jolt.

“Don’t even think about denying it,” he growled. “I can feel it.”

A single finger slid through your folds, gathering the slickness pooling there before he lifted it to his lips, sucking it clean with a groan. His eyes never left yours.

“Sweet,” he purred. “Just like I expected.”

Your face burned, shame and arousal intertwining, but Sukuna wasn’t finished toying with you. His hand returned to your core, fingers pressing against your entrance but not pushing in.

“You want more?” he taunted. “Then ask for it, little monster.”

His words made your pride bristle, but your body ached for him. You bit your lip, refusing to give in so easily.

Sukuna’s expression darkened. “Still stubborn?”

Without warning, he pressed a single thick finger into you, the stretch making you gasp. He didn’t move—just held it there, buried deep inside you.

“Come on,” he cooed mockingly. “Tell me how badly you need me.”

Your breath hitched as he curled his finger, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you. Your legs trembled, hands gripping at his arms for support.

“Sukuna…”

He hummed, adding a second finger, stretching you further. “Say it properly.”

You swallowed your pride, your need for more outweighing everything else. “I need you.”

His grin was pure sin. “Good girl.”

His fingers started moving, slow but deliberate, thrusting in and out of you, slick sounds filling the room. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your moans, but Sukuna wouldn’t have that. His free hand gripped your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“Let me hear you,” he ordered. “Or I stop.”

A soft moan slipped past your lips, and Sukuna’s smirk widened.

“Better.”

His pace quickened, fingers working you open, building that unbearable tension in your stomach. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away.

A whine of frustration left you, but Sukuna only laughed.

“Not yet,” he teased. “I haven’t had my fill.”

His hand gripped your hips, effortlessly flipping you onto the bed. Before you could react, he was on top of you, parting your legs with his knee, his heavy length pressing against your soaked core.

“You’ll take me like a good little thing, won’t you?” he murmured against your ear, teasing the head of his cock against your entrance. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

His voice was pure arrogance, but gods, you wanted him.

“Sukuna…” you breathed.

He chuckled, dark and knowing. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he pushed in, inch by inch, stretching you to the point of delicious pain. Your back arched, a strangled moan leaving your lips as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him. Then his hand found your chin again, tilting your head to the side.

“You want something else, don’t you?” he mused, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

He tilted his head, exposing his throat to you—a silent command.

Your fangs ached, your hunger mixing with the pleasure, and with little hesitation, you bit down.

Sukuna groaned at the sharp pain, but instead of stopping you, his hips snapped forward, setting a brutal pace as he fucked you through the overwhelming pleasure.

Blood and pleasure. Pain and desire. It was intoxicating.

And Sukuna wasn’t finished with you yet.

── დ ──

The taste of him was intoxicating—rich, potent, unlike any mortal blood you had ever consumed. It burned through you, filling you with something far more than just sustenance. Power. Desire. Possession.

Sukuna groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he rutted into you with brutal precision. “That’s it,” he growled, voice thick with pleasure. “Drink, little monster. Take what’s yours.”

Your fangs sank deeper, his blood rolling down your throat like fire, making your body shudder. The pleasure of feeding intertwined with the overwhelming sensation of him stretching you open, filling you so completely it left no room for thought. Just raw, unfiltered sensation.

Sukuna’s hips slammed into yours, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your core. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the dimly lit chamber, mingling with the wet, sinful noises of him fucking you. He was ruthless, taking you like he owned you—like he had always owned you.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back and forcing you to release his throat. Blood smeared your lips, and he took a moment to admire it, his gaze dark with something primal.

“Look at you,” he mocked, dragging a thumb across your lips before shoving it into your mouth. “Greedy little thing. Is that what you wanted? To be filled in every way possible?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your body trembling beneath him. He smirked, pulling it free only to grip your throat again, pressing just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Answer me,” he ordered, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that made you cry out.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice breaking under the pressure of pleasure. “Yes—Sukuna, please—”

“Pathetic,” he sneered, but the way his cock throbbed inside you betrayed how much he enjoyed it. “So desperate for me. It’s almost adorable.”

He shifted, forcing one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to press even deeper, hitting that devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

But just when you were right there, when your release was seconds away, he stilled.

You let out a strangled whine, body trembling, hips bucking against him in protest. “No—don’t stop—”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Oh? You thought you could come that easily?”

His hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing against your throbbing clit, teasing but not giving you what you needed. “You’ll come when I allow it. Until then, you’ll suffer.”

Your body burned with frustration, pleasure denied just as it was about to crest. He watched you struggle, your hips twitching, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, and he reveled in it.

“You look so pretty when you’re desperate,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Maybe I should keep you like this a little longer. Keep you begging.”

You whimpered, your pride warring with your need. But Sukuna was relentless. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, his pace brutal, unforgiving. Your walls clenched around him, trying to pull him back in, but still, he refused to let you fall over that edge.

Your eyes met his, hazy with pleasure. “Please,” you whispered, barely audible.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “Oh, now you beg?” His fingers tightened around your throat, possessive, claiming. “Say it properly.”

“Please, my lord,” you gasped. “Let me—let me come—”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Good girl.”

And then he shattered you.

His fingers pressed against your clit, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher. The pleasure slammed into you all at once, overwhelming, consuming. Your body arched, your vision going white as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Sukuna groaned, your walls clenching so tightly around him that it nearly dragged him down with you. But he wasn’t done yet.

“Fuck—” he growled, driving into you with a few more ruthless thrusts before burying himself to the hilt, his release spilling deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightened momentarily, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you completely.

For a moment, the world was nothing but harsh breaths, the lingering echoes of pleasure, and the warmth of him still inside you.

But Sukuna wasn’t finished with you yet.

His weight pressed down on you, his cock still buried deep, still hard. His smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “You’ll keep me warm for a while, won’t you?”

His hips shifted slightly, making you whimper at the sensitivity. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, little monster,” he purred. “I’m far from done with you.”

── დ ──

Your body was spent, trembling beneath Sukuna as the aftershocks of pleasure pulsed through you. But he had no intention of letting you rest. His cock throbbed inside you, still buried deep, still claiming every inch of you as his.

You barely had time to recover before he moved again, slow but deliberate, his hips rolling against yours. A pathetic whimper left your lips as overstimulation sent sharp jolts through your body.

“Sukuna—”

“Shh,” he hushed, dragging his fingers along your sensitive skin, tracing the marks his teeth and hands had left behind. “You can take it. A little monster like you was made for this.”

His fingers slid down to your already sensitive clit, circling it lazily, teasing. Your body jolted, overstimulated and raw, but you were too far gone to protest. All you could do was cling to him, eyes hazy, breath ragged.

He took his time, savoring the way you twitched and shivered under him, the way your body molded so perfectly around him, like you were made to be ruined by him.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your ear, his voice a dark purr. “My seed dripping out of you? What a fucking mess.”

He pushed your legs further apart, making sure you could feel every inch of him pressing against that devastating spot inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body caught between exhaustion and pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

“Such a needy thing,” he continued, lips ghosting over your jaw. “You wanted to be filled, didn’t you? Now look at you. Too fucked-out to even speak.”

A sharp thrust had your back arching, a gasp ripping from your throat. Sukuna groaned at the way your walls clenched around him, and his control slipped.

His pace turned brutal again, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. He was chasing another release, dragging you along with him whether you could handle it or not.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his grip on your thighs bruising. “Say it.”

You barely had the strength to speak, but you forced the words out, voice broken and hoarse. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Sukuna—I’m yours.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he rewarded you with his fingers pressing against your clit, working you toward another unbearable high.

Your body tensed, teetering on the edge again, and then—

Release tore through you like fire, like lightning, a white-hot explosion of sensation that left you trembling and utterly wrecked. Sukuna followed moments later, spilling deep inside you with a guttural groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You were both spent, breathless, bodies tangled in the aftermath of pleasure. His weight pressed you into the mattress, grounding you, and for once, he didn’t immediately pull away.

Instead, his lips found your throat, softer now, less demanding. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your thigh, his usual arrogance dimmed by something almost… possessive.

“You did well,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his breath warm against your skin. “I might just keep you.”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Might?”

Sukuna smirked, but there was something in his gaze—something deeper, something claiming. He wasn’t just saying it to tease you. He meant it.

“You’re mine now, little monster,” he said, voice low, final. “And I don’t share.”

You knew better than to think he was just talking about this night. This was a declaration, a claim that ran deeper than flesh and pleasure. He had no intention of letting you go.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want him to.

Sukuna pulled you closer, his arms locking around you in a way that almost felt protective. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if memorizing your scent.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “You’ll need the rest.”

And with the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, you let yourself drift into the darkness, knowing that when you woke, he would still be there.

Because now, you belonged to Sukuna.

And he never let go of what was his.

[j-partneringrime]

tr!aimsey is such an interesting character especially their relationship with death, they’re someone who has become so intrinsically linked with death, starting as a morbid fascination with learning more about it which became more and more obsessive until he eventually overstepped trying to directly mess with it. And now it is a more desperate fascination with it and specifically trying to figure out how to reach it for themselves which unlike the normal curiosity that they went too far with, this is the opposite, a much more serious and desperate curiosity which he have basically given up on trying to figure out at this point. Because once death wants something, it gets it, which normally isn’t that big a deal because death normally wants you to die, which is gonna happen eventually, so no big deal. But if you mess with death too much and it decides it doesn’t want you anymore, that isn’t as simple, death actually gets to show its power, so it takes your magic you used to disrupt it to begin with, but that’s not enough for death, so it gives you immortality, or more accurately curses you with never dying since they can still feel the pain and the dying but without any of the relief of death and the pain stays with them even after coming back, with the burns from losing her magic, losing his eye from the enderman/creeper and now the sword slash from ros. They had nothing anymore except their studies and so she put everything into necromancy and learning more about death, and they did good, they got close, so close that death didn’t like it, so then they truly had nothing, not even their magic, they lost everything, even the one thing you always have in life, the certainty of death, was gone.

That could make you become such a deeply lonely person, I mean imagine if you lost everything, had no one, not even death itself wanted you, that would mess you up, but she has had a long time to come to terms with it and grow from it, which also means she’s one of the most intelligent, especially emotionally intelligent, people, which meant that when they did get close to people again, they were a massive help for advice and help for their friends, which is good for their friends but also for aimsey themself, having that connection that they need after so long, having meaningful talks gives a connection you can’t explain, even if those meaningful talks are mostly one way, since aimsey is very secretive about themself and her past and almost refuses to say anything about herself and dismisses any attempt to try to get him to open up, but even with all that, it is still massively helpful for a character who needs connection so much.

Until eventually his friends, especially tr!ros get too strong an idea in her head on what they should do or what she “needs” to do that even though she’s still coming everyday for advice, she doesn’t seem to actually be listening anymore, it didn’t matter how many times they tried to help ros, she just wouldn’t budge from this inherently flawed idea that she is convinced will help her, and everyone else, which isn’t just bad for ros but also for aimsey, who has needed this connection so much and has begun to rely on it, even if it’s annoying that he’s seemingly the only person who actually has common sense or foresight with how much advice she’s having to give out, they’ve gotten used to being able to express their thoughts and opinions on situations and having their friends listen and care so seeing that they’re no longer really listening and are just doing their own ideas anyway would really hurt. Trying to help and make plans to help ros, only to show up the next day and find out she hasn’t actually listened and just took what aimsey said and used their plan instantly without seeing that that wasn’t the actual plan aimsey said to her. So the advice and talks eventually became more desperate trying to get through to ros because this isn’t her, this is her getting tired of what’s happening and needing to fix it so forming an entire idea in her head without seeing that this idea wouldn’t work and already isn’t working because she needs it to work, so it didn’t matter how much aimsey tried to get through to her, it wouldn’t work, until eventually they talk about where this idea in ros’s head is rooted, which is respect, the idea that if she can get them to respect her, they’ll stop, which she is going about doing by making them fear her, even though fear and respect are vastly different things. And aimsey says that to her which leads to the most important question they’ve had, would ros kill aimsey to get everyone to respect and or fear her, and when aimsey asks ros this, their closest friend, the person they trust more than anything, the person they can count on, that they can both count on each other to pull each other back, to save each other from themselves, they ask ros… and ros hesitates, and that’s all they need to know, the fact that ros could hesitate means that in her head there is a part of her that would and that part just seems to be getting bigger and bigger the more she spirals in this idea of respect. And then ros says no, which as much as she says it, isn’t the truth, the truth is she doesn’t know if she would or not, and that’s the worst part, not only would she consider doing it but she won’t admit it, to aimsey or herself, they’re supposed to be helping each other and ros instead of being honest and saying she doesn’t know, lies and says no, of course not, she could never hurt him, which is of course coming from a place of love for aimsey and not wanting to ever think about and especially not say they’d ever hurt her, but to someone as perceptive as aimsey, they can clearly tell ros is conflicted on it and even though know they know ros is a good person, of course she is obviously, that was never in question, but even knowing what a truly kind person ros is, that doesn’t change the pain learning something like that has. So aimsey pulls them up on it and makes ros confront that side of her, for good or bad doesn’t matter, because it needs to happen to help ros, one way or the other, and so they convince her to fight, which or course ros tries to argue about but still tries to make aimsey see her side of it, still not seeing that her side doesn’t really exist, it’s just a desperate attempt to stop the fighting by any means, by any cost, not seeing that no fighting, no threats should ever make them turn on each other, would ever make aimsey turn on ros, especially not to gain some form of respect from the people they already don’t like. Ros is too caught up in protecting her friends that she can’t see her friends don’t need protecting, aimsey doesn’t need protecting.

And you can see how deeply this is affecting aimsey because they’re talk about how they’re glad they chose to be alone, they’re with their best friend and they’re saying how they’re glad to be alone, because right now this isn’t their best friend, or at least not that they can recognise right now, because he has spoke so much about how everyone is killing just to kill and how that is one of, if not the, biggest problems they have with them, so for ros to now believe that she needs to do that to aimsey to “protect” them and gain respect from others, even though she already has aimsey’s and the kingdom’s respect (mostly), is obviously gonna be upsetting for aimsey and a massive loss of trust. And they start fighting, they both swing, and then they both swing again, then aimsey stops and ros swings again and then ros swings one last time and aimsey is dead, but of course, it doesn’t last. Because if one of them was gonna die, they’d rather it be themselves, if that’s because they can’t actually die or because they can’t bring themselves to kill ros, we don’t know (although it’s probably almost definitely both). But either way ros still doesn’t get to live, because she killed aimsey and death doesn’t want that happening, the past times it’s been a mob but this time it’s a player, and they won’t allow that to happen, so it instantly makes one of its already dead kill ros… instantly, because you don’t mess with death or the ones death has already chosen to punish itself. And after the fight, his relationship with death comes back up, with her asking, basically begging, death to let them go and just let them die, but of course, they were denied again, because even after all that with ros, they still can’t have anything, everything they want always so close yet so far, always. And then after they both parted ways after the fight, aimsey when thinking about going to ros, thinks ros won’t want to see them, instead of themself not wanting to see her, after the fight, he doesn’t stew in what ros did and get angry, he just kinda goes crazy (and high and poisoned), both because of what happened with ros and also probably experiencing death again. Because even though, they just fought and definitely lost a lot of trust in each other, they still care about each other and want to protect each other above all else, because the amount of trust they have in each other, one fight, no matter how big, will change that. tr!aimsey is SUCH an interesting and compelling character, and their relationship with death and tr!ros especially is amazing! I can’t wait to see what happens next.

(this is mainly about tr!aimsey so tr!ros comes off a bit bad from their arguments, but I promise I think tr!ros is a genuinely good person, just conflicted right now and she is also an amazing and interesting character)

[lizzyiii]

Our boy Aemond is he gonna turn for our baby Mikaelson? ❤️✨

girrlllll chileeee, you're getting too ahead of the story😝

His Lady Love (11)

pairing | aemond x vampire!mikaelson!reader taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC word count | 5.5k words summary | you finally reveal the truth of your existence to Aemond and Helaena, sharing the painful memories of your immortal life as the youngest mikaelson sibling and original vampire. Through tears and anguish, you expose your family's curse—eternal life without hope—and the deep scars it has left on your soul, as you recount memories of betrayal, loss, and survival.. tags | ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST. klaus mikaelson??? violent death, blood and gore, lowkey mental and emotional abuse, subtle depression. note | actually kind of love this chapter, I just love writing klaus in general. he's just so interesting, but I do think he's too overrated and done some really horrific things but people overlook that because of his charismatic and charming personality

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏��𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Aemond’s patience was a testament to the gravity of the moment, granting you the decency of privacy as you prepared to bare your soul. He remained in your solar, yet, even in the solace of solitude, you found yourself stalling, prolonging the inevitable.

You sank into the warmth of the bath, the fragrant water enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Each splash seemed to wash away not just the grime of the day before but the weight of your secrets, if only for a fleeting moment.

Emerging from the bath, you took your time, each gesture deliberate, each action a shield to stave off what awaited. You braided your hair intricately, each twist and weave a quiet reflection of the centuries that had passed, and you chose a gown—simple, yet elegant.

You stood before the mirror, your fingers trembling as they traced the delicate embroidery of the white gown that fell gracefully over your form. It was simple yet beautiful, much like the veneer you had worn for centuries. The gown’s gold embroidery caught the flickering sunlight, glimmering like the sun.

With a deep breath, you clasped the necklace around your neck, the Mikaelson emblem resting between your breasts like a lingering reminder of your lineage and the power that came with it.

Finally, with resolve steadying your heart, you pushed open the door to your solar. The scent of Aemond lingered in the air—earthy, faintly reminiscent of the dragonrider’s presence, grounding and yet intoxicating.

There he stood, framed by the soft, dappled sunlight that filtered through the window, his silhouette carved sharply against the room’s shadows. His one eye, always so piercing, was fixed on you—curiosity flickering within the cool violet depths, but also something darker, apprehension, perhaps even doubt.

“Are you ready?” His voice was low, steady, though an undercurrent of urgency rippled through it, enough to set your heart racing.

You swallowed, nodded, and then hesitated, your gaze shifting away from his for a brief moment before returning to him. "Helaena... she needs to be present as well."

Aemond’s brow furrowed, confusion lining his features as he studied your expression. “Why?” he asked, his voice measured but edged with impatience.

You let out a soft sigh, pursing your lips as you answered, “She’s already seen... *what* I am. Or at least, part of it.” You took a steadying breath. "When I killed those men to save Jaehaerys. She saw me—saw what I can become. She just doesn’t know the whole truth yet."

Aemond’s gaze darkened with understanding, though there was a glint of surprise in his eye. “And she just reacted to that without fear?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief, though he kept it soft.

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the awkwardness that had settled between the two of you ever since you revealed your true nature. Every interaction since then seemed unnatural, almost fragile.

"I suppose it was the shock of almost losing Jaehaerys," you admitted. "She was too focused on him to question anything else. But now... I owe her the truth as well."

Aemond let out another sigh, his gaze distant as if struggling with words left unspoken. You turned your face away, uncertainty swirling in your chest. But then, to your absolute surprise, his hand reached out to you, a gesture that felt both unexpected and intimate.

Without hesitation, you accepted it, your fingers intertwining with his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm, steady, grounding you in the moment as he began to lead you out of your chambers.

You followed without question, walking silently beside him, the gravity of what was to come weighing heavy between you.

He led you through the winding halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, his steps purposeful as the weight of the upcoming confrontation hung in the air. Finally, you reached the Queen's chambers.

Inside, you immediately caught sight of Alicent and Helaena seated together, quietly conversing on a chaise. The soft murmur of their conversation died the moment you and Aemond crossed the threshold.

Alicent’s sharp, perceptive gaze shifted to Aemond first, a flicker of suspicion and curiosity passing across her features. You could see the unease in her eyes, sensing that something important was amiss.

Aemond, however, made no effort to meet his mother's gaze, deliberately avoiding her presence as though she weren’t there. His silence spoke volumes, but Alicent’s focus quickly shifted to you.

Her brown eyes softened, and with a graceful rise from her seat, she approached you. Aemond's hand slipped from yours as you stepped forward to greet her.

"Queen Mother," you greeted, bowing your head slightly, unsure of how this moment would unfold.

To your surprise, Alicent did not remain distant or reserved. Instead, she moved swiftly toward you, wrapping you in a tight, unexpected embrace.

Her arms felt warm, maternal, and for a brief moment, the weight of your secrets and the danger surrounding you seemed to dissipate in the warmth of her embrace. She leaned in, her voice a soft whisper in your ear.

"I am so glad you are safe, sweet girl," she murmured, her tone filled with genuine relief. "The crown offers its deepest gratitude for returning Jaehaerys to us, alive and unharmed."

Her words stirred something deep within you—gratitude, perhaps, or the unfamiliar comfort of being seen as more than just what you were. You stiffened slightly in her embrace, though part of you longed to melt into it.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you whispered, your voice faltering as the emotions of the moment swirled around you. Alicent’s embrace felt almost too warm, too human, for someone like you—a creature cursed with an eternity of isolation.

But the sound of a throat clearing broke the brief moment of tenderness. You and Alicent quickly parted, your attention drawn to Aemond, whose eye was fixed on you with a simmering impatience. He stood tall, his presence commanding and unyielding, barely sparing his mother a glance.

"Mother," Aemond said, his voice cutting through the air like the blade of Dark Sister itself, "I need to speak with the Queen in private."

Alicent’s brow furrowed at his words, the slight tension between mother and son palpable. She opened her mouth, perhaps to question or protest, but something in Aemond’s gaze silenced her.

He was resolved, and Alicent, wise enough not to provoke him further, merely pressed her lips into a thin line. Her gaze shifted between you, Helaena, and Aemond, weighing the gravity of the situation, before she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Of course, Aemond," Alicent finally said, her voice gentle but tinged with concern. She gave you one final look—filled with questions she would not yet ask—before turning to leave.

She paused only briefly by Helaena’s side, offering her daughter a reassuring touch, then swept from the room, her presence lingering even after the door had closed behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words. Aemond, still standing with that unyielding presence, took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze impossible to ignore.

Helaena’s gaze, usually serene and distant, was now clouded with confusion. She glanced between you and Aemond, sensing that the weight of what you were about to reveal was far greater than she’d anticipated. Yet, she remained silent, waiting, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as if bracing herself for the truth.

Aemond’s presence, on the other hand, was far more commanding. He stood tall, casting a sharp glance at the maids and ladies in waiting, who quickly scurried out of the room under the silent weight of his glare.

It was only when the door closed behind them, leaving just the three of you in the chamber, that the tension in the room thickened.

You swallowed, steadying yourself before speaking. "Helaena," you began, your voice calm but edged with the gravity of the moment, "do you remember the night I left with Jaehaerys?"

Her delicate features twisted slightly as she recalled the night in question, a memory clearly etched into her heart. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, was now laced with sorrow. "You saved my children… from the rats."

Rats. That was how she had chosen to remember Blood and Cheese—the two men who had threatened her family’s life. A kinder word for the monsters they truly were.

"Do you remember how?" you asked carefully, watching her reaction, feeling the weight of Aemond's unwavering gaze on you.

Helaena frowned as she spoke again, her words as innocent as they were brutal. "You tore the first man’s throat with your teeth… and you commanded the other to stab himself."

The room grew colder with the silence that followed. Aemond’s eye had darkened, his expression a mix of astonishment and curiosity. You could feel him piecing together what had happened, what you had kept from him for so long.

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of Helaena's words. "Yes," you confirmed, your voice barely above a whisper. "That was me. What you saw… was only a glimpse of what I truly am."

Helaena blinked, her gaze softening with understanding, though confusion still lingered in her eyes. "But how?" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

You turned your attention to Aemond then, meeting his gaze directly, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny. His silence was louder than words, and his curiosity sharper than any blade.

"In the beginning, our family was human, five centuries ago now," you began, your voice steady despite the tremor running through your heart.

"Though our mother dabbled in the dark arts, we were mostly a family like any other, trying to survive in a time when survival was far from guaranteed." A faint smile ghosted your lips, though it did not reach your eyes. "And for a time, we were happy."

A heavy silence fell over the room as you turned away from Helaena and Aemond, your gaze drifting to the shadows cast by the flickering sunlight. Helaena rested on her chaise, her eyes wide with curiosity, while Aemond remained at the center of the room, his stance rigid, every muscle poised in anticipation.

"But that happiness," you continued, your tone darkening, "was shattered one night. My younger brother, Hendrik, was killed. Slain by the very creatures who ruled our village’s nights—men who could transform into wolves under the full moon."

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his attention sharp, but he did not speak. Helaena, sitting quietly, clutched her hands together, her gaze never leaving you as you spoke.

"Our family was devastated," you said, your voice cracking as you recalled the memory of your brother’s death. "You see, before I was even born, my parents had already known such pain. They had lost their first daughter, Freya, to a fever one harsh winter. My mother, shattered by grief, vowed she would never lose another child. So, when Hendrik was taken from us, our father forced her to act. He demanded she call upon the darkest of magics to protect us from ever falling prey again."

You paused, letting the weight of those words sink in. "Thus, the first vampires were born," you whispered. "But with this strength, this speed, this immortality, came a curse. A hunger."

"A hunger for what?" Helaena’s voice was soft, laced with the innocent curiosity she often carried, though now tinged with something darker—fear.

You met her gaze, your own eyes hard with the truth you could no longer conceal. "For blood," you answered, the word hanging in the air like a blade waiting to fall.

"We do not require food or water, those are indulgences. Pleasures we once took for granted, now rendered meaningless. What we need to sustain ourselves… is blood. Without it, we wither. We decay, like corpses left to rot in the ground."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Helaena’s face paled, her fingers trembling slightly as she absorbed your words. Aemond’s expression remained unreadable, though the flicker in his eye betrayed the internal storm he was wrestling with.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to continue, knowing that this truth was just the beginning. "The blood lust consumes us if we let it. My family, we learned how to control it, how to live among humans without succumbing to the beast within. But it is always there, lurking beneath the surface."

The silence in the room felt suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight too heavy to bear. Desperate to break the tension, you spoke before your thoughts could catch up to your words. "I could show you," you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond blinked, his singular eye narrowing in intrigue as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. "Show us? How?" His tone was measured, but you could hear the underlying curiosity—perhaps even a touch of suspicion.

"Through my memories," you replied softly. "One of my many gifts." You could feel the energy pulsing in your fingertips as you spoke, the ancient magic within you stirring. "It’s the only way for you to truly understand." You gestured for him to take a seat beside Helaena, who looked between the two of you with wide, expectant eyes.

Aemond hesitated for only a moment before following your instruction, settling beside his sister. His sharp gaze never left you, as if he was weighing every move you made, every word you spoke.

You stood before them, inhaling deeply as you focused your mind, your fingers lightly brushing their temples. The magic flowed, ancient and powerful, as you called upon the memory you intended to share.

The scene that unfolded was vivid, like stepping into a dream. The air was filled with laughter and song, the night lit by the glow of bonfires and candles as your village celebrated one of its strange but joyous holidays.

You had been so naïve then, your heart unburdened, the grief of Hendrik's death momentarily forgotten. You could feel the warmth of the night, the joy in the air as you twirled around the fire, Finn’s laughter ringing out as he spun you in a carefree dance.

The memory shifted—your joy dimming as you realized how late it had grown. You had stayed out far past your curfew, long after your family had returned home.

Panic clawed at your chest as you hurried through the darkened streets, the vibrant festival fading behind you as you made your way toward your family’s hut. The village that had felt so alive only moments before now seemed eerily quiet, shadows stretching long across the ground.

You moved without caution, without thought, only the mounting dread driving you forward as you rushed into the hut. What you saw froze your blood in your veins—a massacre.

You guided Aemond and Helaena deeper into the memory, forcing them to see, to feel what you had felt. The dread, the growing realization that something was terribly wrong.

You could feel Aemond stiffen beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away, his curiosity holding him still. Helaena’s breath quickened, her hand instinctively reaching for your wrist as the memory unfolded.

Everywhere you looked, blood painted the walls and floors, the very scent of it thick and suffocating. The bodies of your siblings lay strewn about, lifeless, their blood seeping into the ground. A scream tore from your throat, raw and filled with the kind of anguish only centuries could numb.

Your eyes immediately found Niklaus, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were closed, and a deep wound marred his chest. You dropped to your knees beside him, shaking his shoulders, your hands slipping against his blood-soaked skin. "Niklaus, wake up!" you sobbed, desperate, unwilling to accept what your eyes were telling you.

But Niklaus didn’t stir. None of them did. Elijah, Rebekah, Finn, Kol—they all lay broken and still.

More cries racked your body, your voice hoarse from screaming as you knelt among the fallen, each heartbeat filling you with an unbearable grief. Then, a sound from behind—a voice, cold and venomous, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

"You know not how long I've waited for this moment."

Your blood ran colder than before. Slowly, you turned, your heart pounding as your gaze fell upon the figure in the doorway. Your father, Mikael, stood bathed in the blood of his children, his face twisted in cruel satisfaction. His sword dripped with the very essence of your kin, your family.

Before you could even draw breath, his sword flashed, and a sharp, searing pain pierced your chest. You gasped, a choked sound escaping your lips as you stumbled back, the life draining from you.

Your knees buckled beneath you as you collapsed beside Niklaus, your body growing cold. The strength seeped from your limbs as darkness edged in from the corners of your vision.

Mikael’s cold gaze remained fixed on you, watching as your life slipped away. Your final breath left your lips in a shudder, your hand still reaching for Niklaus, but he remained still.

The memory surged forth, a vivid nightmare that felt all too close, even after all the years that had passed. It was a dark night, mere weeks since your transformation, and chaos reigned in the village.

The villagers, fueled by fear and anger, sought to rid themselves of you and your siblings after the bloodshed that had followed your awakening—a bloodlust you had barely begun to comprehend.

Finn and Kol had already made their escape. Finn’s voice had been urgent, his grip firm on your arm as he implored you to join him.

But you had begged him to stay, to help your family escape together. Yet his resolve had faltered, and he had slipped away into the night, leaving you behind in a whirlwind of dread and desperation.

Elijah and Rebekah were frantically packing the remnants of their lives, their expressions strained with urgency. You could feel the weight of fear suffocating the air around you, a heavy tension that made your heart race.

The deep-seated hatred your father held for you and Niklaus loomed over you like a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment. It was a hatred that could ignite into violence without warning, and you knew it.

Your heart raced as you realized it was up to Niklaus to persuade your mother to flee with you. You paced, the flickering fire casting shadows that danced on the ground, mirroring the turmoil within you.

Then, at last, Niklaus entered your line of sight. He stepped through the trees, and the world around you came to a halt. There was something unsettling about him; his usual bravado was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability. His hands trembled slightly, fingers clenched at his sides as though they held the weight of the world.

"Niklaus," you asked, worry knotting in your stomach as you approached him, gently cupping his hands in yours. "What’s happened? Where’s Mother?"

His terrified blue eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears. He shook his head, and dread filled the air between you. "She’s dead."

Time seemed to freeze, the world around you fading into a blur. You blinked, disbelief clouding your mind. "What?"

"I—" He swallowed hard, anguish etched on his features. "Father—he—he killed her."

The words crashed over you like a wave, cold and suffocating. Tears welled in your eyes as the harsh reality settled into your bones. "No. No! This can’t be!"

You turned away, desperation flooding your veins as you intended to return home, to your mother. But before you could move, Niklaus’s arms encircled your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. "You cannot go back!"

"Let me go, Niklaus!" you yelled, anguish spilling forth in choked sobs. "Mama! Mama!"

The name echoed in the forest, each cry a plea, each scream an invocation. You expected her to appear, to sweep you up into her embrace and assure you that everything would be alright. But the silence that followed was deafening, a stark reminder of the void she left behind.

You broke down in Niklaus's arms, the weight of your grief crashing over you like a tide. He held you tight, rocking you gently as if you were still a child. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the ache in your heart and the overwhelming emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole.

"A glooming peace this morning brings; the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head," you recited softly, your voice echoing in the dim light of the crypt. The words from the latest play felt heavier in the air, reflecting the turmoil that had once engulfed England.

"Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; some shall be pardoned, and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Your gaze drifted down to Finn, lying in that same accursed casket, the familiar silver dagger lodged deep in his chest. Time had moved on, and yet here you were, five hundred years later, still shackled by the past.

Your family had relocated to Denmark, leaving the ruins of England behind, but the pain of loss clung to you like a shroud. Finn remained as he was, forever caught in that moment, forever untouched by the passing centuries.

Elijah had gifted you the latest work from an emerging playwright, a man named William Shakespeare, with the hope that it would bring you some joy.

You had thought it fitting to share the story with Finn while he lay in eternal slumber, believing that perhaps the beauty of words might bridge the chasm between the living and the dead.

As you reached the poignant conclusion, tears brimmed in your eyes, the heart-wrenching tale resonating within your very soul.

You closed the book gently, feeling the weight of both grief and longing. Your heart ached not just for the characters but for the brother you had lost to a fate more cruel than death.

“That was quite sad, was it not?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at Finn's serene face, still and undisturbed. "Even in the depths of darkness, love remains, yet it always seems to come at a terrible cost."

You ran your fingers gently over the spine of the book, as if the words could somehow transcend the veil of death and reach him. “I wish you were awake to truly enjoy this story with me,” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence of the mausoleum.

A sudden idea ignited in your mind, flickering like a candle in the dark. When you and your family had moved to a sprawling mansion in the lush countryside of Denmark, you had insisted on a grand mausoleum to be built for Finn.

It was a sanctuary for you and a place where Finn could rest peacefully, far removed from the grim dungeons of England that Niklaus had left him in.

Your gaze wandered to the entrance of the crypt, the heavy stone door that concealed the world outside. Then your eyes fell on the dagger lodged in Finn’s heart, its silver glinting in the dim light.

Perhaps? If only for a fleeting moment? The thought pulsed through you like a heartbeat, urging you onward.

As your hands glided over the hard wood of his coffin, they trailed down to Finn’s body, gently caressing his dark hair. You could almost feel the warmth of him again, a reminder of the brother you had lost.

Your heart raced, anticipation mingled with trepidation, as you finally wrapped your fingers around the silver dagger.

In that heartbeat, you paused, caught in the gravity of your decision. Then, with a deep breath, you began to pull it from his chest, the air heavy with unspoken consequences.

“What are you doing!”

The sharp voice sliced through the quiet, causing your hand to jerk away from the dagger and fly to your heart. You turned to find Niklaus standing in the doorway, a gift box clutched in his hands, yet his expression was thunderous, dark clouds gathering in his stormy blue eyes.

You shook your head rapidly, feeling your hands tremble with uncertainty. “Nothing, Nik, I promise.”

In the blink of an eye, Niklaus was in front of you, his speed making him appear like a shadow, silent and swift. The gift he had been holding now lay discarded on the cold stone floor.

His grip tightened around your arms, painfully firm, causing a pained whisper to escape your lips. His gaze bore into yours, filled with a tempest of betrayal and fury as he hissed, “Do not lie to me, sister.”

The weight of his anger made your heart race, and you winced as tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the sight of his hardened expression.

“I-I just thought Finn had been asleep long enough,” you stammered, your voice trembling, trying to explain while knowing there was no real justification that would soothe him.

His grip only tightened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “So you betray me like this?” The raw accusation in his tone stung worse than his hold on you.

“No, Nik, never,” you whimpered, your voice fragile as you shook your head again. “Please, you're hurting me.”

But Niklaus seemed deaf to your plea, his rage drowning out your words. His grip tightened even more, and his voice rose with a venomous edge. “You forget he is daggered because of you! I did this for you!"

“I know, Nik,” you murmured softly, wincing as the pain in your arms deepened, both from his hold and the weight of his words.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” Niklaus bellowed, his frustration clear as his voice echoed through the room, “Why can you not see that Finn would never do the same? He would never go to such lengths to keep you safe!”

Tears spilled freely from your eyes as you turned your gaze away from him, the overwhelming guilt pressing down on your chest. "I��m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of his fury.

His words pierced through you like a dagger, each one sharp with betrayal and hurt. “I’ve protected you,” he continued, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’ve killed for you, sacrificed everything, and still, you go behind my back!”

Sobs overtook you, your entire body trembling as the weight of his anger and your guilt suffocated you. “Niklaus, please,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper, your heart aching with the knowledge of how deeply you had wounded him.

At that moment, his rage faltered, and his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The room seemed to still as his next words fell like a chilling curse, low and filled with a cruel finality. “I should put a dagger in your heart.”

A sob tore from your throat as you shook your head, pleading with silent desperation. Just as you thought his fury would turn violent, the tension snapped.

Niklaus was suddenly knocked aside, and you found yourself enveloped in warm, protective arms. Elijah. His presence was steadying, his voice calm but commanding as he faced his volatile brother. “Niklaus! You are scaring her.”

“She should be scared!" Niklaus roared, pointing an accusing finger toward you, his fury still burning brightly. You buried your face deeper into Elijah's chest, seeking refuge from the storm that was your brother’s wrath. “Does she not understand? If Finn were awake, we’d have been put down by Mikael long ago!”

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to Elijah, your voice breaking under the weight of your guilt. "I'm sorry, Nik. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—”

Niklaus’ breathing was ragged, his rage simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode. But Elijah remained calm, his hold on you firm.

“Niklaus, leave,” Elijah said, his voice quiet yet authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

Niklaus inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering between you and Elijah, his anger barely contained. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “You forget yourself, sister.”

His words cut deep, filled with cold warning. “Finn remains daggered for a reason. Do not mistake my love for you as permission to defy me.”

With that, he stormed out, his presence leaving a void as heavy as the tension still lingering in the air. The silence that followed was suffocating, and in its wake, your emotions broke free.

You collapsed into Elijah’s arms, your sobs shaking your body, the words tumbling from your lips in a fevered rush. “I didn’t mean to, Elijah. I swear, I didn’t mean to. Please, don't let him dagger me.”

Elijah held you close, his touch gentle as he caressed your head, whispering soothingly into your ear. “I won't, sweet sister,” he murmured, his voice a balm to your frightened heart. “I give you my word.”

The next morning, you woke with a dull ache in your chest, the familiar weight of sadness pressing down on you like an old wound that never healed.

The grand four-poster bed, with its silk curtains and velvet drapes, felt like a prison—beautiful, but suffocating. You turned over, pulling the heavy covers tighter around yourself, but the pain lingered, gnawing at your heart.

It always ached. That deep, unshakable sorrow had taken root long ago, twisting itself around your soul. You wondered, in those quiet, lonely moments, if you were going mad.

The only thing tethering you to sanity, to something real, was Elijah—his steady presence, his unwavering devotion. Without him, you feared you might fall apart completely.

As you shifted, your gaze caught something on the edge of the bed that made your breath catch in your throat. There, resting on the quilt, was the same gift box Niklaus had held the night before. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, bringing it onto your lap as if it might break or vanish in your hands.

The lid opened with a soft creak, revealing a small, velvet jewelry case. Your heart stuttered as you lifted the lid, and tears welled in your eyes. Inside was a simple silver pendant, its surface gleaming faintly in the morning light. Encrusted in the center was an ornate "M" for Mikaelson.

Niklaus always did this. After the rage, after the terrifying outbursts, after he screamed at you and made you feel small—he would leave an apology gift, never speaking a word of the pain he caused.

It was his way. He never asked for forgiveness. He just assumed you would give it, time and time again.

And you did.

Every single time.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the pendant from the case, letting the cool metal slide through your hands. With a resigned sigh, you fastened it around your neck, the chain resting against your skin like a silent promise. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also a reminder of the cycle you could never escape.

As the pendant settled against your chest, you wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over, whispering to yourself, “He did not mean it.” You had said it so many times before, hoping that if you repeated it enough, you might actually believe it.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Niklaus loved you. In his own broken, twisted way, he loved you and your siblings more than anything. But his love was a storm—wild, uncontrollable, and dangerous. And every time you forgave him, you found yourself standing in the eye of that storm, waiting for it to rage again.

Slowly, you pulled yourself back to the present, forcing Helaena and Aemond from the depths of your memories as you stepped away. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and your trembling hands wiped the dampness from your cheeks. You had lived lifetimes hiding this pain, but tonight it had clawed its way out.

Helaena’s face was pale, her own tears mirroring yours. She trembled, wide-eyed, as if the weight of your confession threatened to break her. And Aemond... Aemond’s single eye bore into you with a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something far more devastating.

He stared at you as if you were a ghost, a shadow of the person he thought he knew. For the first time, it seemed, he truly saw you—broken and damaged in ways that not even centuries could mend.

You forced a tight, bitter smile, the words catching in your throat as you truly introduced yourself, "I am the youngest child of the original witch, Esther Mikaelson. My siblings and I are the first of our kind—vampires born from blood and magic. We are the strongest creatures in this world, and yet..." Your voice wavered, betraying the sorrow that clung to every word, "we are damaged beyond repair."

You looked between them, your eyes hollow, carrying the weight of endless centuries of pain. "We live without hope, but we will never die. We are the definition of 'cursed'."

The room fell silent, a heavy, oppressive stillness that mirrored the truth of your existence. You swallowed hard, repeating the words that had once been a promise but had long since turned to chains, the mantra that bound you and your siblings to each other.

"Always and forever."

Reader's Wardrobe

(she's wearing the middle dress in this chapter)

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

@urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @moonymoo1 @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @ln8118 @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite

@baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @Lokisgoddessofpower @anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader @feelingfaye @sxlsvv @crystal-siren @no-one0804 @tojisprincess @meraxesruin @supernaturalstilinski @talilosha @emerald-error20 @athanasia-day

@mynameisbaby9 @lexi-anastastia-astra-luna @siriusblackrunmeover @shilphy87 @moonstruksandco @mysticalfridge @pugalore @inkandarsenic @ninihrtss @kaitieskidmore97 @boywivlove @rosechvnel @motheroffae @cluelessteam @whiteoakoak @thatrandomfeministgamer @kermitcrimes @aelora-mills-targaryen @baneofarthropodsiv @foreverdebbie

[admiringlove]

falling stars. the sixth part of @angstober is here! i really loved writing this one, ugh. anyways, happy reading <3 masterlist of the event can be found here.

being immortal was both a blessing and a curse.

zhongli had always been the god of contracts. it was the essence of his existence, a purpose etched into the very marrow of his being. he wasn’t always the composed, reserved man who carried the weight of centuries with quiet dignity, his gaze heavy with the nostalgia of eras long past. no, once, he had been sharp and unyielding—a man who lived and breathed duty. his loyalty to liyue was unshakable. liyue came first. always.

duty was his creed, his unwavering religion. the god of stone and earth, as immovable as the mountains he shaped. whenever his focus wavered, that mantra echoed in his mind: liyue comes first. duty comes first. it was an unrelenting rhythm that kept his soul in check.

but then, somehow, you happened.

you were the anomaly, the gentle rain that smoothed his jagged edges. he never quite understood how you slipped past the walls he’d spent millennia building. the god of contracts, once as steadfast as the stone he commanded, found himself softened—worn down not by time but by your presence. you were like the tide, subtle yet persistent, shaping him with a patience he didn’t know could exist. his rigid mountains melted into quiet hills, his soul drenched in the warmth of your laughter, the soft glow of fireworks, and a nostalgia he had never allowed himself to feel.

and now, for the first time, zhongli questioned where duty ended and where you began. you weren’t just a fleeting moment in his never-ending timeline. no, you were something far greater. you held his entire existence in your hands, like magic woven into your fingertips. you weren’t just his past—you were his present, his future, everything all at once.

and he hates that he’s slowly forgetting you. hates that he's still here, living, while it’s been eons since he last heard your voice, since the scent of you clung to his memory.

your scent. it was the first to fade, slipping through his grasp as the years stretched on. he remembers fragments—how you always smelled of the river, like the waters of qingce village clung to you. you loved the water, always said it felt like home. he’d once joked that you should have been born in fontaine, where the tides ruled, but you loved him long before you knew who he truly was.

you loved your god, and your devotion to rex lapis was so pure, so sacred, that it unsettled even him. most revered him with fear, with trembling awe, but you—no, you loved him as effortlessly as breathing. it's how he'd found you, standing before his statue, lighting incense in the stillness of prayer. he approached as zhongli, hands behind his back, watching as you offered your quiet supplications.

"did you know he's the eldest of the seven?" he murmured, his gaze lifting to the likeness of himself carved in stone. there was something serene in your posture, a calmness that baffled him. most would pray with reverence or dread, but you. you smiled softly as you waved the incense in the air, placing it at the statue’s base.

"everyone knows he's the eldest," you replied, casting him a sideways glance, "but most people don’t realize that barbatos is the second eldest."

zhongli blinked, a flicker of surprise playing at his lips. it was true—his old friend, the carefree anemo god, was the second oldest, though few knew this because of barbatos’ lighthearted demeanor.

"you seem well-versed in the ways of the gods," he remarked, curiosity piqued as he watched you. you chuckled, the sound light and warm. "my father’s a priest. i suppose that’s why. but i think rex lapis is different from the others."

zhongli’s interest deepened. he tilted his head. "how so?"

"you’ll laugh if i tell you," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips before you looked back at the statue, "but i think he’s a romantic. being the eldest must come with so much responsibility. i imagine he’s tired, weary from the weight of it all. from all of us."

zhongli frowned, something in your words striking a strange chord within him. "but that is his duty, is it not?" he asked, his brow furrowing, unsettled by the way your insight crawled beneath his skin.

you simply shook your head, smiling to yourself. "duty and purpose don’t always align, you know. rex lapis is a magnificent god, strong and wise. but i like to think he’s also present in the small moments, like an old friend. sometimes, i talk to him about my day."

zhongli’s gaze sharpened, a mix of amusement and suspicion in his eyes. "do you now?" he asked, voice low. "then perhaps he’s listening."

"if only," you laughed softly, the sound like wind brushing through leaves. "gods are mysterious creatures. i doubt they have the time to listen to a priest’s child ramble on about their mundane life."

if only you had known how closely he listened, how deeply your words had taken root within him, like seeds planted in the fertile soil of his heart. you were like water—gentle yet unyielding—flowing into the spaces between his thoughts, shaping him without him even realizing. after that day, you became something he could never quite shake, lingering like the soft glow of a lantern after dark—an ever-present warmth, like coming home after centuries spent wandering.

he finds you again, unexpectedly, sitting alone by the harbor in liyue city. there’s a heaviness to your expression, your brow furrowed as your eyes gaze out at the endless stretch of the sea, as if seeking solace in its waves. the wind tugs at your hair, carrying the salt of the ocean in the air, and you sigh—a quiet, resigned sound that makes something tighten in his chest. he watches you for a moment longer before making his way toward you.

"it’s you," he murmurs, his voice soft as the breeze, "from qingce village."

your head lifts slowly, and at first, your gaze holds no recognition, dulled by the weight of your troubles. but then, your eyes widen, lighting up with sudden relief. "you! by rex lapis, am i glad to see you."

his amber eyes, with their distinct diamond-shaped pupils, flicker in surprise. he hadn’t expected that reaction. you press on, your words tumbling out with a mixture of frustration and desperation. "this city is impossible. my father sent me here to assist a doctor with medicinal herbs, but i’m completely lost. and not one statue of morax inside the city! not one! where am i supposed to go every morning to pray?"

a small chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he tilts his head slightly. "that is true. the nearest statue is just beyond the city’s borders, but it can be a dangerous journey. perhaps... you could join me for tea each morning instead. madame ping brews the finest oolong, and we often sit together in the high grounds before i start my day. you might even find your doctor there."

"really?" your face lights up, like the skies of liyue igniting during lantern rite, a spark of hope rekindled in your eyes. "you’d do that for me? include me in your routine, even though you barely know me?"

he smiles softly, settling onto the bench beside you. "you’re fond of rex lapis, aren’t you? so is madame ping. and so am i. i believe you’d make for good company."

"that’s... incredibly kind of you," you murmur, fingers loosening their tight grip on the straps of your bag, a hint of vulnerability slipping into your voice. "i never got your name, though."

he turns to face you, his gaze steady, the sunlight catching the red liner beneath his amber eyes, making them glow with a soft, almost ethereal light. "zhongli," he replies, watching you carefully, as though gauging your reaction.

you take in a slow breath, your eyes widening slightly as you look at him, something shifting in the air between you, fragile and significant all at once. "you know," you say, your voice a little softer now, "zhongli, you have a very familiar face."

he chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the quiet of the harbor. "do i, now?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. "i’ll take that as a compliment."

and so, the friendship between you and, unbeknownst to you, rex lapis began. you spoke of him in the way a devout follower might speak of their deity, yet with a warmth, a familiarity, that zhongli couldn’t quite grasp. it was as if, in your heart, rex lapis was not a distant god ruling from on high, but a cherished friend; someone you could confide in without fear. and that comforted him in a way nothing else had. for once, someone revered him not out of awe or terror, but out of love. someone placed rex lapis on a pedestal for reasons beyond his power, beyond his duty. simply because they cared for him, deeply, genuinely.

perhaps that was why fate had woven your paths together. to teach him that he was more than his role, more than the weight of his eternal duty. to remind him that his purpose did not need to be solely bound to protecting liyue until the end of time. there could be more—there was more.

"i don’t think i can love anyone as much as i love the god of geo," you once confessed, after finally mastering the confusing streets of liyue harbor. the two of you were descending the stone steps after your usual morning tea with auntie ping—though now, you had grown fond enough of her to call her that. zhongli’s brow raised at your words, his steps slowing to match your pace, for you were always a little slower, always taking your time. "what do you mean by that?"

"i don’t know," you sighed, your gaze flickering to the distant horizon, "i have this... strange relationship with rex lapis. i love him. i idolize him. i think of him as an old friend, someone i can share my burdens with. but i also feel that... if someone were to love me, it would be hard for me to return the same intensity. i think it would pale in comparison to the way i love him." your voice trailed off, quieter, more uncertain. "it’s strange. like i said, a strange feeling to have. i don’t even know why i’m telling you this."

zhongli’s eyes softened as he watched you, his lips curving into a gentle, knowing smile. "i believe the word you’re searching for is sacred," he said quietly.

you blinked, surprised by his response, and for a brief moment, you narrowed your eyes at him as if trying to figure something out. because that familiar feeling tugged at you again—like a jigsaw falling into place, though you couldn’t quite see the whole picture yet. the way he smiled at you, the way he seemed to understand. it made your heart skip, just a little.

and, without realizing it, you began to favor a certain funeral parlor consultant over the god you once idolized.

he made you smile wider than you ever had, more than you ever did for rex lapis. zhongli had quietly woven himself into the fabric of your life, so seamlessly that it left you baffled, wondering when it all began. your days started to revolve around him—sometimes even your nights. he would tell you stories of liyue’s ancient history as if he had witnessed every moment himself, painting vivid pictures of a time long past. it left you in awe, admiring him more with every tale, until the realization struck like a wave crashing against the shore.

you had come to love zhongli more than rex lapis.

the thought gripped you with quiet terror. the way his eyes would crinkle with a knowing smile, the way his soft chuckles echoed in the silence after you mentioned your god—it all made your heart stumble, beat after beat. he was hiding something, you knew it. and it wasn’t just you who noticed. even auntie ping, with her ageless wisdom, seemed in on the secret. zhongli had once called her an old friend, but just how old, you couldn’t quite tell.

"how did you meet auntie ping?" you asked one evening, crossing the bridge near the funeral parlor, heading towards dinner. he paused, a flicker of hesitation passing through his amber eyes. "i don’t quite remember anymore," he said quietly, "we’ve simply been friends for a very long time. there was another once, but... she’s gone now. her name was guizhong."

"was she beautiful?" the question left your lips before you could stop yourself. "was she clever?"

his soft laugh carried through the evening air. "immensely," he said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "we miss her, every now and then."

"did she..." your voice faltered as you stopped in your tracks. "did she pass away?"

he nodded, a touch of sadness lingering in his expression before he resumed walking. you remained rooted in place, pieces of a larger puzzle scattering through your mind. but it was as if your thoughts grew foggy whenever you were near him—like familiarity slipping through your fingers, just beyond reach. zhongli glanced back at you, tilting his head ever so slightly. "aren’t you coming?"

you murmured a soft “yes” and quickened your steps to catch up, brushing away the weight of your thoughts. "how did morax befriend cloud retainer?" you asked, steering the conversation back to familiar ground. he seemed to know so much more about your god than even your father, things lost to time.

and with every answer he gave, you found yourself more bewildered than before.

your curiosity always brought a quiet joy to zhongli, a chance for him to indulge in your questions, your wonder. at first, he thought nothing of it, simply an opportunity to share the knowledge he had gathered over centuries. but slowly, he found himself captivated, drawn to you in ways that puzzled even him. he started accompanying you outside the city, watching you in silence as you lit incense and knelt before the statue of rex lapis. but today, something was different. your expression had shifted, lips set in a thin, guilty line. like a river running cold, your posture stiffened as if weighed by an unspoken burden.

"is something troubling you?" his voice was gentle, though there was a faint edge of concern as he watched you stare up at the stone likeness of the god. you blinked, shaken from your daze, shaking your head with a quiet denial. but zhongli had known you long enough to see through the facade. "you’re different today. while you pray."

your throat tightened, words tangling within you. how could you admit that the man beside you, the one you’d come to know for mere months, had taken up more space in your heart than the god you had worshipped all your life? it was a storm within you, like water crashing through the valleys of your soul, eroding the bedrock of belief you had built.

"i can’t tell you," you murmured, turning your back to him. "this is between me and rex lapis."

"am i not your friend?" his voice was soft, almost too soft. "am i not as close to you as rex lapis is?"

he faltered then, realizing the weight of his words. what had he just revealed? he hoped the slip of his tongue wouldn’t shatter the delicate line he had walked all this time. you were clever—more clever than anyone he’d known—but perhaps your heart would refuse to see the truth.

yet why had he even said it? he was rex lapis, wasn’t he? so why did it matter that zhongli, the mortal, had become more important to you than the god? why did he feel envy, for his own self?

"you are not him," you whispered, a note of disturbance in your voice. "you are mortal. he is my god."

"he is your friend," zhongli replied quietly, searching your face, "and so am i. if something troubles you, something that disturbs your prayer, why not tell me? i don’t want to see you unhappy like this."

"i can’t," you insisted, your shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "why don’t you understand-"

"but why not?"

"because i’m in love with you!" the words bursted from you, raw and trembling in the space between you both. your voice did not crack with tears, but the defeat in your eyes spoke of an agony deeper than tears could show. "and you’ve taken up more space in my life than my god. and that... that breaks me."

the confession hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, as if the world itself had stilled in the wake of your words.

"oh," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "i am sorry."

he watched as your face twisted in thought, a realization settling behind your eyes, something heavy and final. "i know," you murmured, turning away, your voice distant. "we should head back into the city before it gets dark."

"wait, i must tell you-"

"no, zhongli." you shook your head, your defeat palpable. "i know you don’t feel the same. it’s alright. i shouldn’t feel this way either. i’m supposed to love him more."

"but i do feel the same," he said, his voice suddenly firm, cutting through your words with a softness that startled you. "i feel the same, so why shouldn’t you?"

your mind went blank. his words left you utterly speechless, like the world had tipped sideways. you blinked up at him, confusion written across your furrowed brows, eyes glassy as you struggled to make sense of what he had just said. it felt almost sacrilegious. zhongli stepped closer, his hand finding your shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend. "it is why i want to spend every moment of my life with you. why i want you to stay by my side until my last breath. is that not fair?"

you stared at him, blinking rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill. how could this be real? how could the man who had become your constant, your guide, feel the same way you did? he spoke again, his voice steady and warm, as though wrapping you in a promise. "if you love morax so much, then let’s draw a contract between us. that you will love me with the same intensity as you love him. and in return, i’ll help you love him more. i will tell you stories about him, i will show you more of liyue harbor, i will take you to the temples, and pray alongside you until your last breath—if that is what keeps you content."

his words washed over you like a tide, a promise carved from stone and time. you felt the weight of it, the gravity of his offer. this man, this mortal, who had unknowingly become the center of your world, was offering himself wholly to you—not in opposition to the god you revered, but alongside him, like two halves of the same whole. it was a contract, a binding of hearts, one that felt as sacred as the prayers you had once whispered at the foot of the statue.

and so another chapter of zhongli’s infinitely long life began. but you were not infinite—you were fleeting, a moment in time that would fade. you aged like the finest wines of mondstadt, while he remained the same: tall, revered, handsome. your hair greyed, lines formed at the corners of your eyes, and soon, you grew older than auntie ping. and then, just like that, you were gone.

the scent of you vanished with the passing breeze, the smell of the rivers from qingce village where you grew up, the fragrance of old history books you lovingly stored, cleaned, and kept in your home. all of it—gone.

but zhongli remembers. he remembers every lantern rite spent by your side, watching the fireworks burst in the sky, but always, always watching you instead. the way your eyes lit up in awe at the colors that painted the night sky—he treasures it more than any celebration. and even after you were gone, liyue continued to bustle, unchanged. and zhongli stayed the same.

he lived on, because immortality was both a blessing and a curse. every year, he would stand on the high grounds, watching the fireworks bloom in the heavens with a weight in his chest that only grew heavier with time. and every year, he thought of you—your boundless curiosity, your devotion that never wavered.

he remembers the day he found your letter, tucked away like a relic, jagged edges and all. the curiosity that once led you to him now led him to unfold that paper with trembling hands. your words were simple, but they cut deep.

you had told him to live a long life—how ironic. as if he could do anything but. to eat well, as if you were still there, cooking for him each morning and night. to drink tea with ping, because you knew the weight of his loneliness. and you told him you loved him, as if he didn't already know, as if he couldn’t feel it in the way you breathed life into everything around you.

and then, what struck him most, what lingered in the back of his mind even after centuries passed, was how you signed it.

"thank you for everything, rex lapis. i leave you with love."

it was the last thing he had from you, and yet it was more than enough to keep your memory alive—because in the end, you had known. you had always known.

in his long life, he had done countless great things, and shall do countless more still. as they say: the waters change course, but the mountains move not.

so zhongli continues to live. carrying your love with him like an echo in his heart, as eternal as he was.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[yanderes-galore]

rose quartz (SU) with human darling (Platonic/Romantic) Hcs 🪲 [Shiny Bug Anon]

Oh cool :0 This could be fun, lol. I haven written for Rose before...!

Yandere! Rose Quartz with Human! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Condescending behavior, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Isolation, Blood mention, Dark themes, Jealousy, Forced companionship/relationship.

Rose has been known to have a fascination with humans.

This is evident in the show where she's curious about them, often learning about them through Greg.

She sees humans as cute and funny... they're adorable little creatures to her.

I imagine she gets with Greg at some point for the sake of Steven, but imagine if she was fond of another human first?

Before she and Greg got together officially, she found you.

You're younger than Greg and might even be curious of her like she is of you.

Rose is described as caring and loving of those she's close to.

She's curious and sees beauty in all life.

Yet humans seem to be her favorite.

When she looks at you, she thinks you have a natural attractive beauty to you.

She wants to know you more.

In fact, it's canon that Rose isn't quite sure how human love works compared to Gems.

Be that platonic or romantic love... she isn't quite sure how either works.

Which makes her unsure how exactly to act upon her feelings towards you.

I can see Rose accidentally being condescending towards you.

She tries her best to see everyone as equal... but she can't help but coo over you like a pet.

She just thinks her human is so darn cute.

Although... she does worry about getting attached at first-

After all, you're human.

Your lifespan is so short compared to her.

But we'll get into that later....

Eventually she can't help herself.

You're too interesting for her and she can't help but be drawn to you.

Due to her curious nature, Rose may also be a bit... invasive.

She struggles with boundaries, often curiously prodding at you and asking invasive questions.

You try your best to keep up with it... she is an alien, after all.

Rose listens to every word you say with sparkles in her eyes.

She likes to learn more about you and humans in general.

She's adventurous and may even want to take you along on exploration.

Well... on anything that won't get you hurt.

Rose doesn't seem that bad, she's actually caring and adores you...

Unfortunately, things do take a darker tone eventually... this is still Pink, of course.

Rose is deceptive and a bit selfish.

She worries she'll lose you due to how fragile humans are.

She know doubt learns of your fragility by an accident.

Imagine Rose took you out to explore an area, only for you to get hurt.

The Gem freezes when she looks you over, seeing blood seep out of a few cuts you have.

The good news is she can heal... but seeing you with anything from bruises to a broken bone freaks her out.

It reminds her that humans aren't like Gems.

Your life can end much easier than hers can.

Rose's obsession is not just driven by curiosity... It's also her fear.

This was the reason she didn't want to be attached in the first place.

But... she can't help it.

You look so cute in her arms... your curiosity reminds her of herself.

Rose would do anything to protect those close to her.

Such a trait sounds selfless... yet towards you it's selfish.

Why?

Well, Rose refuses to acknowledge that all life... including yours... has an end.

A known power of Rose, other than healing, is resurrection.

If she doesn't want something to die... she'll change it.

Imagine if Rose is so scared of you dying... She makes you immortal.

She's too fond of you to just let you die.

Which means she'd use her powers to make you live longer.

Sure, you'll be a pink color now...

But you'll still be hers, in fact, the color you have now only proves it.

Yeah, this is what makes her behavior selfish.

She curses you with a longer lifespan to keep you as hers longer.

Not only that, but she probably begins to isolate you.

She is definitely one to tell you that all of what she does is for your benefit.

In reality... she doesn't want to let her human go.

It only works in her favor when people distance themselves from you due to your changed appearance.

It's true... that pink tint you have now is like some sort of brand.

Soon you're not hanging out with many other humans other than Greg.

Rose is always around you, when she can't be, the Crystal Gems are around you.

Rose is selfish about her human.

She purposefully takes your attention away, often feeling jealousy towards you interacting with other humans.

It's a... toxic emotion.

She knows she should allow you to thrive with your kind.

Yet in the end she claims you as hers, again, oddly like a pet or toy.

Perhaps she keeps you at the temple/beach house?

She is still very affectionate and curious as ever... even if you feel dejected due to what she's done to you.

She doesn't let you leave her home.

Maybe she even keeps you in her room?

She can create whatever you want there.

Rose just wants you to be happy.

Although... it often seems like she prioritizes her own happiness most of the time

When you're alone she holds you close, her touch delicate and soft as though you'll break.

When you ask to go outside, she turns it down.

The only time you're free from captivity again is when she makes Steven.

Imagine if you were still affected by her obsession even after she creates Steven.

She does imply in the show that she influences Steven's emotions (iirc-).

So... what happens if her obsession develops in Steven?

I'm talking Steven feels drawn to you but isn't sure why.

Of course it's platonic for most of the events of the show.

But it could change in Future when he's older.

You're cursed with being forever young... all because you got too close to an alien.

Now you have a Gem/Human hybrid who won't leave you alone.

But that's just a thought!

Overall, Rose may seem very interested and kind with her human obsession.

Yet catching her attention isn't really a good thing...

Especially if it means you'll never leave her... even when she's gone.

[syoddeye]

Idk if you take requests, but I am ✨obsessed✨ with davey jones Ghost and was wondering if you have more thoughts about him? Esp if you have Ghoap or Ghoap/Reader thoughts 🙏👀

well, i didn’t have any thoughts until now! i mean. yeah. imagine the ten year curse cycle inflicted on both of them. lightly edited.

cw: blood/violence, non-consensual touch, implied but not depicted eventual noncon

they don't think much about the drawbacks of immortality or their land-based limitations. they don't consider the madness that gnaws at the edges of their minds or the insatiable hunger that regular slaughter can't satisfy. how the blood sours in their mouths after years of excess.

not soap, with his appetite for violent spectacle, or ghost, who savors it like a gourmand. no. they careen through decades, gleefully unmoored from consequence.

then they see you.

the ship is anchored in the bay of your coastal town, rocking gently in the waves despite the atmosphere. lanterns swing in the breeze, casting light across the deck as the sun sets. the crew drinks and gambles away the hours until the decade burns out when their leaders can, at last, join them on land, chomping at the bit for their share of blood and gold.

a few shots ring out as they pick off the fools attempting to escape by boat. on shore, a harried militia fumbles to barricade the town, a pitiful display that amuses soap to no end.

he paces, barking laughter, the row of spines down the center of his skull rippling with the sound. ghost leans against the mast, idly loading his pistol. he doesn't join in on the festivities, though soap knows he's just as eager for the bloodletting to begin. it's what sustains them best, after all—carnage.

"you'd think they'd learn," soap clicks his tongue, watching through a spyglass as another group tries to skirt past their ship in a dinghy, wailing as they slump one by one. his cloudy eye rolls loose in its socket as he pans toward shore, looking for the tortured faces of their loved ones and—

he freezes.

"steamin' jesus."

"what?" ghost doesn't bother looking up.

soap lowers the glass just enough to flash him a grin, a different sort of hunger glinting in his eyes. "you've got to see this." he tosses the scope.

ghost catches it with a bored grunt. he expects the same old scene: villagers sobbing, soldiers struggling, someone drowning themselves in the shallows. instead, he finds you.

stockings and shoes stripped off, skirts gathered high to keep them dry, showing your bare legs braced in the surf. you stand alone, a fair distance from the panicked men crowding at the docks. one hand flat over your eyes, shading them, as you strain to get a better look at your town's doom. pretty mouth curved into a worried frown.

"what do ye think she's doin'?"

"don't know." ghost adjusts the focus, trailing the glass down to your bare, breakable ankles, the way the water curls around them, before dragging his gaze back up. "doesn't matter."

maybe you're overly confident in your soldiers. maybe there's nowhere to go inland, no path that doesn't end with their blades at your back or another tide. or maybe it's much simpler than that—maybe you have a morbid curiosity, something only they can sate.

you look soft. smooth. utterly defenseless, a lamb right before its throat is slit. fearless or stupid. ghost hasn't decided yet.

behind him, soap mutters a low curse, leaning over his shoulder like a child begging for another turn. "she's perfect." he murmurs, his tongue flicking over his sharpened, brine and rust-colored teeth. 

ghost lowers the spyglass, gripping it tight.

"think she'll run if we call out?" soap asks, already moving toward the longboats. "might be fun to chase her down."

"no."

soap stops mid-stride, turning with a hollow-eyed grin. "what d'ye mean, no?"

ghost doesn't answer immediately. his gaze drifts back to the shore, to you, alone in the surf, transfixed by the evil before you. oblivious to what you've done. to what they are. the sort of personal attention you've invited. 

he knows in the marrow of his bones. the way hunger knows the taste of meat.

"no," he repeats, jaw clenching, reaching down to adjust himself. "you're gettin' ahead of yourself. we've got 'ours, still."

soap huffs, bleeding anticipation and impatience. "what if she runs for it? we cannae—"

ghost cuts him off, taking a single step to hook his good hand around the back of soap's neck. he drags the other man in close, pushing the cold metal of the spyglass's eyepiece into the soft spot under soap's chin.

"if she runs, then we catch 'er. bring 'er aboard. simple as that."

soap stares for a moment, the muscles in his jaw working like he wants to argue. wisely, he does not. "fine." he concedes, though he looks to the longboats again. "we wait."

"good lad. now," ghost squeezes soap's neck, fingers pressing flesh and carapace, and then he pushes, guiding the man to his knees. then he lifts the spyglass again, fitting it snugly against his socket. you're out of the water now, seated, hurriedly rolling your stockings up. he wets his cracked lips at the brief flash of the underside of a thigh. you really think no one's watching. "we've plenty of time to warm up."

they leave the pillaging and razing to their men, the chaos in the town spreading behind them like fire on dry grass. smoke rises in thick, black columns, and the screams of the dying and the terrorized carry across the streets. they don't care for riches or ruin, not tonight. they're hunting for you.

every house and hovel is torn apart by their hands, windows shattered, doors broken off their hinges. soap, wild-eyed and feral, tears through the streets like a storm, leaving splinters and wreckage in his wake. ghost grows just as frenzied as him as the hours march toward dawn. 

but, as it turns out, you truly did believe in the uniformed men of your town. your first mistake. your second was that you did not run far enough.

they find you.

tucked into a cramped hiding space of what must be your home, they pry you out like a pearl from an oyster. it's soap who finds you, his grin splitting wide as he hauls you up, your face tear-streaked, a laugh rattling out when you lift your chin.

"better up close," soap says, pressing his nose to your temple and inhaling deeply. he spins you to face ghost, his damp cheek pressing to yours. sea salt mingling with the scent of sweat. desperation. "smells good enough to eat."

ghost draws a line from the curve of your cheek down to the hollow of your neck, fitting his thumb to the divot of your throat. how odd it is to feel a heartbeat he does not want to immediately stop.

"then let's have a taste 'ere," he murmurs, voice rough as your pulse kicks up. "then a feast on board."

[aphroditesmoon]

death grips

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!vampire!reader.

summary: you live vicarously through passing mortal's eyes as a creature of the night, doomed to a life of immortality, and jacaerys is the hand that extends, an opportunity you're reluctant to welcome.

warnings: biting, blood drinking, descriptions of assault, mentions of self harm, vampire esque violence, writer!reader, reader's characterization is highly inspired from the book "Woman, eating."

wc; 5.7k

special dt for my babe @hxtd

YOU HAVE NEVER felt so hungry. It has been at least two weeks and a half since you fed.

You have suffered longer weeks before, impressive lengths of starvation that you held on to the same way mortals do with air. It was a test at first. You wanted to see how far you could take it, how much until it would finally kill you.

The answer was disappointing. You had walked around the city aimlessly for almost 3 months, staggering as you moved, hands trembling and eyes wild as your stomach churns and begs for blood.

But you did not die. You merely suffered like a living corpse.

Once the realization set in, the starving had soon morphed into a form of self-destruction. A penance you inflicted upon yourself.

Death would never take you. No matter how hard you've tried, your curse was to never have an end to your suffering.

Even as the scars healed and the monsters died. The sorrows and the horrors you've endured replays themselves like clockwork in your mind everyday.

To try and enjoy life like humans do was impossible. Life did not feel worth living when you've died a thousand times, but your body refused to rot.

You thought you knew grief when your mother died, but the universe played a cruel joke on you on the day you were turned a vampyr. A young girl you were, still growing, and kept growing even after you were turned. And yet once you turned 18, your body's growth froze itself, and you then had to learn how to mourn the girl that you were, and the girl you could've been if it had just never happened.

Now, you merely endured.

I've grown weaker somehow, you thought to yourself. The pit of your stomach burned as you rested your head against the hard brick of the nightclub building. You could hear the loud music bouncing through the walls, the tunes so vivid in your ears.

You figured you'd make your attack inside, surrounded by drunken visions and easy targets. No one looked twice at the girl with her face buried a random person's neck in a club at saturday night. But then you heard him before you felt him. His ragged breathing. He watches from afar, predatory eyes and a perverse mind, coming up with ways he would entrap you.

So you make your way to the side of the building where the wind is soft against your skin, making a rise of goosebumps. And like a dog, he followed you.

He thinks he's quiet with his steps, but you can hear arrogance a mile away, and with those impatiently big steps, you feel bloodlust in your veins and on your tongue. You clench your jaw as you feel his presence next to you.

"What are you doing out here when the fun's all inside." His scratchy voice spoke up. You could smell the vodka coming out of his breath, and more importantly, you coulf smell the tangy metallic scent of his blood.

You moved only your gaze up to meet his eyes. And at once, you were ready to pounce. He was so near. So big and so weak, unknowing on what is about to happen. But as his quick hands moved to snake around your waist, another voice intervened, suprising both of you.

"I would think twice before touching her." The other man spoke.

He looked straight at your meal, standing only a few steps away from him. When did he get so close? You did not hear him.

"Walk away man, this is my girl." Your almost victim answered back in annoyance. You tilted your head to get a better view of your supposed hero, curiosity overcoming the hunger.

"Right, that's why you were staring off at her for 3 whole minutes from the other side of the road before you got here." He sassed back.

"Why the fuck were you staring at me for 3 whole minutes ass face." Your meal shouted, his patience thinning.

You wanted to shove his face against the concrete when he had the audacity to grip your waist. But instead, you just cracked his fingers apart from you as he yelped out in pain. "The fuck-"

"Walk away until your legs fail you and forget this ever happened." You muttered at his face before pushing him off of you.

The shock in his fave dissolves slowly, he turns to the other man and back at you in confusion before walking off like you compelled him to.

You watched him until he disappeared from your eyesight, hunger returning again, now that the entertainment has ended. Maybe you'll just eat this one, you thought.

No, you shook your head slightly. You don't kill good men. But a bite would not hurt.

"Are you alright?" He asked you, you could tell the concern was genuine. He neared you until he could see you clearly under the night sky.

He had a regal looking face, one could even say royalty, and a tinge of sincerity in his eyes that added to his charm. You nodded your head once and looked him up and down.

"Not to sound like that kind of guy, but being in a dark, empty space alone in a place like this is like a death wish, isn't it?" The corners of his eyes crinkles as he questions you.

"Maybe I'm suicidal." You retorted in a monotonous voice. "And this is really how you wanna go?"

A smile forces its way on your face, no more arguments left in you.

"Does my saviour have a name?" You shouldn't have asked. Not when you're planning to drain him in a few minutes. As much as your kind claims to be the creature of the night. When the doors are closed and the bloodstains are washed off, guilt washes over you the same way they do to anyone. Attachment is never a good idea.

"Jace. Jacaerys." He had a small smile of his own. "Jacaerys." You enunciated every word with a raised brow. "You must be someone's rich son with that kind of name."

His face flushes and he immediately shook his head, eager to change the subject. "And what's your name?"

You gave him your real first name and felt a small sense of freedom released from your hollow soul.

Everything went quiet then. He looked at you as if he had more to say but his lips were currently sewn. It was either now or never, you've done this a million times, and your aim isn't to kill anyways. But at this very moment, you just noticed that you had completely tuned out the music, the honking cars and the chattering voices. You only heard your own slow beating heary, thumping gently by your chest.

----

Everyone has a little voice inside of them. The voice of reason, voice that intrudes, the voice that weighs the good and evil.

But the voice in your head took the form of the younger version of yourself on th day you were turned. Tha child had been strongly hurt. And you'd like to think that you've quite moved on from what happened, and yet, stuck in your nervous system, like a ghost that haunts, she speaks to you like she is her own person, apart from you.

And as of right now, as you let Jacaerys walk you home, the voice is yelling out insults and scratching at imaginary doors as if imprisoned.

He isn't like that. You tell her. I can tell, i can see it in him.

The voice gives up, all she does is ask one last question before you shut the locks on her completely. And how has giving a strange man the benefit of the doubt served you before?

Your mother died when you were only 8. She was no saint, but she was the only person in the world who had a single goodness to offer you.

After her death, your father's violent tendencies worsened. You had to walk to school for 45 minutes back and forth every day for scraps of education. Every penny he made had been used for liquor and weed. Food became a privilege you had to earn, not a right. If you're lucky, you'd get to eat at least once a day from a portion big enough for a rat.

Because he did not care for you anymore. It was evident then that you could either be invisible, or abused. And for a long time, neither options were something you could just wake up and choose for.

It depended on his mood that was rarely well. And it's worse on nights he's drunk of his ass, insisting that you are the mirror of your mother.

The day you were turned, was the day everything changed.

You were 13.

13 and walking back home from school. And there he was, your maker.

It was dusk then. The sun had sank down. Not that it would make a difference, The heat would've never burned him to death.

And as the dark angel approached you, with red eyes and sharp fangs, like a story you've heard to keep children off the streets after sunset, you're shaken, halted in place.

He was terrifying, but he had looked at you with what could be interpreted at that time as adoration.

But he was no father of the orphans, nor is he a lover of the helpless. No, he was a perpetrator. He is the evil that mothers warn their babies of. He wasn't some wretched creep wanting a feel like all the other men. He was worse. He perversed innocence, and intimacy, you understood it immediately as you're left to pick yourself back up from a back alley, bleeding and gnawing with your newfound teeth, hours after he had drained and fed you.

Despite the newfound strength you had gained becoming immensely helpful when it came to your father, you would never claim it to be a gift. For every defense it had a hand in, it also took, and took and took from you. You were a changed woman at the age of 13, that was the cost of naivety.

"I am not so stupid now", you whispered under your breath.

"Hm?" He looked to you, eyes wide. You hummed ignorantly, facing the road again.

The streetlights brightened your path as you made your way to the large apartment building. Jacaerys struggled to find words to keep the conversation going, but you could feel the screws and gear going off in his pretty head, itching to come up with something smart.

If he were to ask questions, you'd give one word answers and it'll be back from square one. If he were to talk alone, that would be egoistic and irritating.

So instead, he chose to try and make his own assumptions. "You are an artist." He said confidently.

A smirk shadowed your features. "What makes you say that?"

"Most masochists are." You laughed then. Something you haven't done in a while. "I'm a writer." You corrected.

Understanding flowed through his eyes. "Of course you are." He smiled, nodding to himself. "So are you the kind that writes of murder fantasies or are you more of a torturous poet kind of girl?"

You liked him, you decided then. There are lots of things that can make a man attractive, observance is one of them. "A little bit of both. Poetry is essential, and sometimes from the torture and the poetry, a story can be born."

He hummed attentively. "You are a student too, i assume?" You nod. "That's where I study." You pointed a hand towards the glowing building of your university, a sight ti be seen from miles away. "No shit?" He laughed.

"I go there too." He follows up after. You weren't suprised, he looked the typento be able to afford to study there. In a different universe where you were a common girl, neither of you would have ever bunpedinto eachother in this kind of setting. Money had always been an issue back then, and before you had been cursed, you would imagine years of school work being flushed down the toilet as you knew that your dream to further your studies would never be funded.

But now your father's funds and your mothers inheritance are fully under your responsibility as your deadbeat old man lies in a nursing home all the way back in your village.

And if those funds run out, scamming rich men would become your career. You can even start with this one, you joked to the voices.

"And let me guess, finance?" You nudged him with your shoulder. He scoffed and rolled his eyes teasingly. "Business major actually."

"Of course you are." You used his own sentence from before.

His grin was endearing, you almost flashed one of your own back, teeth and all.

The two of you stopped right in front of the main doors and felt disappointment lingering. Should you have talked more as you walked before? No. You did the right thing, to fawn over some business student with great hair isn't a you thing to do, you guard your boundaries strictly.

And yet, as long as you can remember, you have never met anyone that made you want to talk this much.

He looks at you with eyes that were begging you to invite him in, but if you do, there would be no going back. You would eat him, or you would string him into your mess of a life that he could never understand.

So you gave him one last glance before you began to enter the building. "Thank you." Was the last thing you said to him before you returned to your seclusion, and his deep brown eyes was the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep.

—

He felt his heart beating fast as he watched you disappear into your apartment building that night, a sense of regret washing over him regret of what, he's not so sure. Or was it longing that he actually felt?

It doesn't matter. He had done what he's supposed to, what conflicting emotions he's left with after was not your responsibility, it is his own to look after them.

Jacaerys knew who you were when he saw you that night, or the right rephrase for the sentence is, he remembered you.

You clearly don't recognise him, but he still remembered the first time he laid eyes on you during an unremarkable welcoming frat party on the first week of his semester. You had appeared on the staircase, leaving Dalton Greyjoy's room. The boy had been absent for the rest of the party that night.

Jace wasn't sure just what it is about you that had stood out to him. You dressed just like any other girl, you walked just like any other girl, and yet he noticed how dead your eyes were, not a single shine nor expression. It almost felt sociopathic to look that uncaring. It was alluring.

And yet, a few nights ago, when he had walked you home, your dead eyes glowed slightly under the moonlight, and your rare smiles occasionally made an appearance. He decided then, to retract the opinion he had made before knowing you.

Whatever it was about you, he wanted more. He wanted to know more, to experience more. To be the one who filled sparks in your dull orbs and to be the one who knew how to fish out a laugh from inside.

And so he decided to look you up. All he had was your first name and your course name, even with the privilege of being the dean's son, going through the list of over a hundred thousand people with the same name was a chore, but he was willing to put in the work.

But gods, how disappointed he felt when he couldn't find you after hours of scrolling. There was only 150 students with the name, and none of them were you, and all had different courses.

He wondered if maybe he had spelt your names again and had come up with a list of different variations of your name to try again. By the time he finished, it had been 2pm, and he had remained unsuccessful in his pursuit.

Jace slumped on his chair, closing his eyes as he ran his hands over his face in frustration. This was incredibly stupid. You probably lied about your name because you didn't like him. Why didn't he think about that before?

And trying to hunt you down using his mother's official email adress was starting to explain why you were right to do so.

The right thing to do right now was to leave it up to fate. He saw you once, and then twice. What are the odds of a third time?

That has always been a fatal flaw in Jacaerys' personality. He wanted to believe that things that are meant for him will find him, but he is also very impatient. Always eager for the feeling of control. Fate is only fun as a concept.

But accepting fully that you might not get the things you want the most because it's just not for you is harder than it looks.

He wanted to believe that if he were to try enough, he'd get what he wanted despite the universe's intervention.

And right now, what he wanted is to find you, to learn the proper way to know you, to really know you. While his presence had been seen as amusing to you, yours have bewitched him. If you were to tell him to leave you alone, he would. But first he would try.

Jacaerys opened his tired eyes again, facing the bright screen of his laptop. The battery was dying. Jace stood up to pull out the charger before plugging it into his laptop, watching it brought back to life again before he sat back down on his chair.

He could go back to sleep now, or he could try again for the 4th time. He wanted to try again, bit as his eyes fluttered sleepily, fighting against his will, he decided to give in and turned off the device before climbing onto his bed.

Let fate intervene, and if he never sees you again, he'd learn to live with that.

This is just an infatuation, he told himself. Infatuation dies when you don't feed it, and so this too shall pass like everything else in his life. As he lets sleep overtake, he dreamt of empty oceans and hollow skies hovering above, sand through his toes as he walked closer to the body of water. And your voice, speaking from behind him, saying: "you don't survive loneliness, you accommodate it."

—

The water under the bridge was so clear that you could see the small shape of your reflection from above.

It's 3AM, and the quiet is calming. It's hard to find peace of mind as someone whose senses are heightened. And what other time do you have for a walk anyway?

You've stood here for a good hour now, just staring down while your thoughts run wild, Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale playing in your airpods on repeat. It's been 3 days since you fed. After you were walked home by Jacaerys, you found that your only option was the security guard on a smoke break by the bathroom.

Ever since then, you have resumed your routine of boredom. Attending your afternoon classes and walking for hours in the evening until night, imprisoned by your thoughts.

You were sure that there was no one in the world who loved revisiting the past as much as you did. After all, the past is all you have.

When you were first turned, there had been no words to describe how it all felt. The overwhelming hunger and confusion, the survivors guilt, blaming yourself and going over the scenario over and over, trying to imagining how different each outcome would be if you had acted differently, if you had ran faster, pushed harder.

Amd even now, there are no words. Was this how Laika the dog had felt? Saved from the streets of Moscow to be sent up to space as the pride and joy of Russia in the space race, but doomed to die by the narrative from the start. To think that you've finay been saved, just to be pushed into a much worse and scarier circumstances? That must be it.

What am I doing? Compare myself to a dead dog. At least Laika died. You can't even do that.

Shoving yourself away from the railing, you decided it's time to go home. So you turned yourself to your right and began to make your way to your apartment.

Funnily enough, you felt your ankles ache as you moved. Your feet is heavy in your one inch heels, that's a first.

You smell the smoke of cigarettes as you crossed an alley, the cold breeze enhancing the scent. You've always had an addiction to them, smoke scents, gasoline scents, bug spray scents, there was something soothing in it. You slowed your steps down and took in as much as you could before exhaling slowly and oicking up your pace.

Something has changed recently. But you can't quite put a finger to it. It was just that you were beginning to feel more pain than usual, you were also feeling more lost and conflicted than usual.

You had always known what your life plan would be like, how once you've reached an age that you aren't able to explain non existant ageing, you'd start all over again until you make enough money to buy yourself some privacy and isolation.

You'll spend the thousands of years to come reading and writing until your hands fails you and your fingers break.

But these past few days, your resolve has been cracking. Is that really what you want? To be so goddamn lonely forever, so alone that not even death can be honoured to it.

It's not about what I want, it's what's going to happen anyways.

Footsteps. Loud and clear footsteps. You stop on your tracks and crane your neck to look behind you. There is no one there.

Absolutely nothing.

You look back to your front and tried to start walking again, but you're stuck, like you're being held back.

It's hard to see in the dark, since when was it hard to see it in the dark? The panic hasn't settled in yet, you were still rational. Or maybe just too tired to freak out.

But when you heard the voices, Your body shook. It was as if your whole world jas been frozen in time, and shadows loomed over your shoulders, taunting you, speaking to themselves in languages you can't understand.

Loud and clear, you feel the darkness around you and you hear their chatter. What is going on?

"Stop it." You muttered out. Thats was supposed to be a scream. "Stop it." You repeated.

Why can't I fucking move? "Stop it stop ot stop its stop it stop it-" You couldn't find the scream in your throat. You had obly your trembling legs and arms as prove that this was real.

When you cracked your head and you're finally able to spin around, every single vision and noise faded into nothingness by a second, and the alley was just an alley. Not even the smoking man was there anymore.

The last thing you saw from your hallucination before it turned into air was a white line, by your feet, like a moving animal that vanished when you flashed it with your phone screen.

"What the fuck." This could not be happening. You looked around you with furrowed brows, your stomach growled. "Jesus fuck."

You hear ambulance sirens away from where you're standing and physically flinch. Was that real or a hallucination, too?

It has been long since real fear had ever crept into your cold soul. But now, your head is dizzy, and every little thing you see and hear feels like an attack.

I need to move. You force yourself forward, counting from 1 to 50 over and over as you walked in the direction of your apartment. But you're weirdly slow, and nauseous.

You pause again like you've been struck by something and looked up to the sky. The dark clouds hung over you moved slowly but surely as it's supposed to be, you find comfort in knowing that the stars are at least real.

And then you felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped. "Fuck."

It was him.

You faced him with an annoyed expression, wondering where he came from. He spoke your name once. Your real name, not the one you give to everyone else.

"Are you following me?" You snapped at him.

His face went from worried to defensive. "No, god no. I'm just heading over the uni library to work on a late assignment that's due this morning, and I saw you walking. I was gonna leave you alone, but you were stopping a lot, and you don't look very good."

You studied his face for any deceit and found none. "I don't feel so good." You admitted honestly.

"What are you doing up at 3AM?" He shook his head.

"Taking a walk." You mumbled while massaging your temple with your thumb.

"Taking a walk?"

"Yes, and I'm leaving now, so you can go do whatever you're about to do." You did not wait for his answer and left immediately, but just as you silently expected, he followed you.

"I'll walk you home." He offered, or stated moreso.

I don't need you to walk me home like some guard dog, you wanted to say. But deep down, you were kind of grateful for some company after what had just occurred.

"What about your assignment?" You asked. The route you were using was the opposite of where he's going.

"It's not important." He assured, fixing his laptop bag on his shoulder.

"Not important?" You shot him a glance. "I can cram it in 2 hours before the submission time." You'd argue in a different night, but it wasn't this one.

The first few minutes of the walk, you were resigned to being silent, going over what had just happened to you over and over. Your first thought was that something more evil and monstrous than you cursed you for something you had done.

You wouldn't call yourself the devil, but you haven't exactly been the nicest person to people around you. Had you bitten a witch's man or something?

The second assumption that so far has sounded the most logical, is that you're insane. You've had hallucinations before of course. Little voices in your head. Hearing things that aren't there, seeing shadow people. But they always disappear on second glances, fast enough for you to blame it on the trick of your mind.

But the recent one? It was vivid, and clear. It was real. Or at least to you it was.

You were glad Jacaerys wasn't forcing a conversation either, but once you reached your apartment, you turned to him and asked him the one thing you wanted to the first time you met him. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes." He answered, too quickly. "Okay."

You made him a cup of tea as he politely sat on the couch, bag on the floor. "Sugar or no?"

"Sugar." You added sugar.

You'd get him something to eat too but in truth, you have nothing. There are stale biscuits that exists in your kitches as fillers to the empty space and some fake fruits on the counter, but nothing truly edible.

"Here." You placed the cup into his hand, your fingers brushing together.

You move casually to the seat opposite him and laid down on the cushion, facing him.

He had questions. That was obvious.

"Cig?" You offered, pulling out a pack and a lighter from your back pocket. "No thanks." He declined politely.

Your hands shook lightly as you struggled to light the cigarette, balancing your elbow on the material of the couch, you try again and succeeded this time. You feel the whole day's exhaustion catch up to your tired body.

"So what happened back there?" He spoke finally. You looked up to him. "What?"

"I saw you then, you were just standing. You looked lost, what happened?"

"Oh that." You shrugged. "I thought I saw something." He nodded slowly, taking in your words. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" You raise a brow. "Saw something."

You gave yourself a second to really think before you answered, "Yes, I did."

He did not push for more answers surrounding the situation, accepting your response as it is.

He leaned back against his seat, relaxing properly. The small dim light that shone down on the righy side of his face makes his eyes look like they're golden, the same way yours would be sometimes when you fed.

The idea of Jace as a vampire is conjured in your head for a moment, you imagined he'd be the good kind. The type to suffer guilt for every kill and never get used it. Or perhaps you're wrong and he's much more resilient than you think.

As you settle into your thoughts, finally having the space to unravel from you earlier fears and shock, you notice just how disheveled he looks. It wasn't that he looked a mess, but more that he's such an open book to the poinf that his emotions are all over his face against his will.

"You look tired." You chose your words carefully, trying to open through his cracks.

He shifts slightly, looking up to you from the carpet. "Tired? No, no I'm good."

You gave him a few seconds, letting the silence push him.

"I'm just a bit frustrated." He continues. "Oh?"

"I had a fight with my mom this evening." You hummed, letting the context of it all fall together. "What did you fight about."

"She says I'm distracted- from my classes." Jace shrugs.

"Are you?" He raises a brow. "Distracted, i mean."

He hesitates but then chooses to deny it by shaking his head. "Sometimes there are things you can't help but be completely average at. There are classes I excel in, and there are those I just can't force myself to."

"I'm sure that's not true. You put enough effort, you do good in it even if you believe you won't."

"Maybe." He idly agrees. "But what if I don't think it's important enough for me to put all my energy in until it drains me too much that I can't do what I like?"

You offered him a small smile and copied his earlier shrug. "Then you just don't do it. I guess in the end, it depends on how much you want that thing to happen or work. And if you don't want it that much, then it shouldn't matter."

"Exactly."

Quietness seeps into the are again very slowly, but before it could catch up into awkwardness, Jace spoke again.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" You asked, amused.

"Do you often see things that aren't real." Whatever response you had in mine died in your throat and was replaced by a suprised laugh. "Excuse me?"

He grinned. "Just making sure you're not schizophrenic."

"And what if I was, is that a turn off for you?" You retorted teasingly.

"No, of course not. I like my women neurotic.”

"And I like my men credulous."

You stood up and grabbed his empty mug to clean it at the sink, but his own hands were wrapped over yours, stopping you. But before he could offer assistance, you said; “Let me get us something stronger than tea.”

—

You awoke the next morning, comfortably on the right side of the bed with your blanket over your shoulders, a position you rarely place it in.

The soft sounds of footsteps force your eyes open immediately as you twist yourself to face the ceiling. You push yourself upwards using your elbows, looking fixatedly on his naked back that's hovering over your desk.

"You're still here." You stated the obvious.

"What's the rush." He mumbled back, you can hear the sound of paper being flipped in his hands. " 'I could drown in those eyes. So it's summer, so it's suicide.' Did you write this?"

You snorted, pleased be thought so. "No, that's Richard Siken for you." He responds with a soft 'oh' before turning around to see you.

"When can I read yours?" He asks gently. You see the way his gaze lingered on your face, refusing to look anywhere else. "Usually that happens after a few dates."

"And do you wait after a few dates first before telling people your real name or?" You frowned, confused.

"The name you gave me when we met, it was never in the university system."

"Why were you looking for me in there?" He clicked his tongue, averting his eyes somewhere else.

You weren't really worried that he had tried and failed miserably in an attempt of stalking you, in fact, you felt a sense of glee fill your hollow soul at the thought of it.

"I didn't lie about my name." You confessed after a while. "I changed it a long time ago into something else."

"I see." He relaxed visibly. "So you just have two names?" You nodded. "Then what do I call you?" He genuinely asks. "Whatever I ask you to." Not meaning for it to sound as scandalous as it did, Jace's face broke into a smirk. "Right, you like your men credulous."

"Come back to bed." You demanded, placing your head back onto the soft pillow. "Whatever you want, my girl."

It was at that moment, as you feel the bed shifts and his hands reaching for your waist, did you realize just how satiated you hunger has been since last night.

You were sure that this was doomed to end in a devastatingly ugly way. The love between two humans itself often destroys itself despite efforts against it. A love between a cursed being and an innocent soul is a one way ticket to never being the same again for either of you.

“And what happens from here?” A different voice speaks from behind him. A voice you dreaded to hear. Your maker tilted his head, judging the circumstances with humor.

I don't know. You figured you had your whole life worked out for you. Your mundane immortality wrote its own story before you could put pen to paper. And this boy is an unexpected chapter.

[sweetfushi]

fluff, some angst | satoru gojo x reader.

vampire!satoru whose ears perk at the sound of the large doors of his castle creaking open. he hasn’t had visitors in years - centuries. who has now breached his sanctuary, is the question he asks you. you, who stand in the middle of his entrance hall with an anxious yet gullibly curious expression on your face.

vampire!satoru whose brow furrows at the sight of such a meek mortal staring him in the face. you ask him to feed you the knowledge he holds of countless decades that have passed, whether it be about medicine, society, or pure legend. satoru quirks his brow at this; your tone sounds as if you are demanding this of him, not asking.

vampire!satoru who appears in front of you in an instant, wrapped in a dark cloak that reaches his shoes. his hands remain behind his back, under his cloak, as he circles you and questions why he should do such a thing. “i know who you are, what you are. what is the purpose of your immortality if not to share your experiences?” you tell him.

vampire!satoru who, rather reluctantly, allows you to scour his endless libraries. he’s slightly bothered that he now must provide food for someone, as he himself does not eat. though he himself does not cook, his servants do. no, he doesn’t refer to them as servants. his companions.

vampire!satoru who, hears you knock on the door of his study only to enter without being permitted to. you take the chair diagonal to him and place the thick book you’ve been reading on your lap, before hurriedly turning to a specific page. you ask him about the book and listen intently to his comprehensive responses.

vampire!satoru who, at some point, finds himself looking forward to you interrupting him in his study, even when he's sleeping at his desk or reading his favourite book. he becomes hungry for your curiosity and indulgence in information only he can provide you.

vampire!satoru who falls so deeply in love with you that he makes you his wife but spares you the curse of immortality by not turning you into a vampire. though he wishes to keep you by his side forever, he cannot bare to have you fall into the darkness that is vampirism.

vampire!satoru who kisses you so deeply, a hand always steadying you against his larger frame as he feels you shiver when his fangs graze your soft lips. you can barely keep up with his desire and the way his fingers press so firmly into you, as if he's terrified of losing you (because he is, he just doesn't want you to know that and worry yourself).

vampire!satoru who assigns you a personal companion who tends to your every need - food, drink, comfort, guidance around the castle that you have still yet to memorise the rooms of. despite this companion, you still seek satoru's presence the most, even for the smallest of things.

vampire!satoru who doesn't know how he would have happily continued living in solitude if you hadn't stormed into his castle and demanded that he indulged you. satoru would change a lot of his past choices, but in every life would he admit you into his castle and allow you to replace it as his sanctuary.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[florapocalypses]

Imagine dottore with a cursed reader, cursed to be immortal but forget everything after a hundred years. Due to this, in your akademiya days you've started a hobby in writing, pen scratching paper as you wrote down all the contents that have happened withtin the days that slowly blend in the eyes of your own. After a few long years, you made your own secret archive. When you met Zandik as Dottore, you had to keep re-reading your books about him, trying to see where your friend is within that man. Wether he still carried the same childish curiosity as you both did once was a question you fear.

The fatui found your very archive, their motive under his directions and command. Reporting your location back to him as he plots down a way to get under your skin the same way he did once.

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

[usagiarchive]

angel of the codeine scene — [09] over and and over again

prev / masterlist / afterword

sypnosis. [ 1.6k words. epilogue ] — The end of the suffering and the beginning of a new start.

usagi's note: HI i hope u guys read my afterword, there is so much i wanna say, but in case u guys, don't read it, i just really wanna say thanku for choosing to read this, ily guys, thanks for reading until the end <3

Rex Lapis was not indifferent.

He tries really hard to give Liyue and its people the epilogue after the war, to preserve the peace they protect, and to give his remaining yaksha the epilogue he deserves.

He tries, really.

Because he couldn't give the same to himself.

In a war where you are blessed to find love, you will be cursed to choose who to protect. Yourself? Your people? Or your lover?

There are no multiple choices, you can only choose one.

Rex Lapis had to find out the hard way.

He sends for Baizhu-yisheng and Changsheng-xiaoren again, just to make sure his warrior doesn't lose hope.

To make sure he doesn't have regrets.

To make sure he gets his own epilogue.

At sunset, they perform the ritual once again.

…

The hair on the back of Xiao's next rose once he saw the golden beacon of light once more.

He's seen this once.

Back when…

He… it… he doesn't want to hope.

The Conqueror of Demons hears his god's summons. He goes.

…

“Are you sure it's alright to do this…?” Baizhu asks as he helps clothe your…? (was it still you?) body…? into new garments.

“To do what?” Rex Lapis asks as he ties your hair up.

You- or rather what Baizhu thinks is a reincarnation of you, has been blinking sleepily for the past half hour, leaning over to Liyue’s Archon.

“To bring her back to life?”

“Hm…” The Archon thinks as he pets your head, “She's not dead, hasn't been at all,”

Baizhu's eyebrows knit together, waiting for the man to explain.

“But, the scene at Luhua Pool?”

He merely laughs, “Simply to immortalize her,” he says, “Luhua Pool is a door to a different plane of existence, it serves to preserve her memories and soul,”

Rex Lapis’ eyes stare at him and smile, “This right here is only a body, a… shell of sorts,”

Baizhu feels horrified at this but at the same time he is intrigued, with this kind of creation, would it be possible to immortalize a normal human?

“Worry not, this has been done many times before, I've done this with Ganyu, too, though her place of transmission was different, Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver have gone through a similar process back in the war,”

Changsheng hisses amusedly at her companion's reaction.

“Baizhu-yisheng, Changsheng-xiaoren? Would you accompany me to Luhua Pool?”

…

There are only a few times Xiao has felt sick to his stomach.

The first was when he was told to eat dreams for the first time.

The second was when he lost you at the river.

The third was when he learned that the other Yaksha had succumbed to death.

And the fourth was when he realized he killed you.

Seeing Luhua Pool again, with Rex Lapis' back to him, was the fifth.

The Archon knew of his presence even before he neared the ground.

“Xiao,” he greets.

“Morax,” Xiao kneels.

“Stand.”

Weapons do not question their wielder. Servants do not question their masters. Demons do not question their gods-

He faces his Archon, “Why?”

Rex Lapis steps aside and he sees…

You.

Zhongli lets out a small sad smile when he sees the warrior buckle at the knees at the sight of you.

“I… How… Is this… Is this a mockery? A punishment?” his warrior says as he tries his hardest not to show emotion in front of his god.

“No, Xiao,” he says as he places a shoulder on his and guides him to you, “A solace.”

“A reprieve.”

“I don't- I don't understand- why would-”

“Would you like to do the honors of bringing her back to you?”

You stare at him with curiosity as Zhongli guides Xiao to you.

You're quiet again.

“Dip her in the water, she already knows what to do, you just need to hold her, I'll take care of the rest,” his voice ever assuring.

“Qingxin…”

Xiao carries you in his arms, the same way he did when he brought you here to rest, he slowly eases you into the water, eyes on you the whole time, watching for any sign of discomfort.

But you only stared back at him, holding nothing of the memories from before.

“Close your eyes, okay?” he murmurs.

Once he sees you nod and your eyes flutter shut, he lowers you deeper into the water until your face is submerged and Rex Lapis begins to chant with Changsheng.

“Qingxin,” Xiao closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours under the water.

“Come back to me.”

…

In the dusk, among the quiet of the night, Luhua Pool glows with beauty, the fireflies string around to illuminate and enhance the reflection of the moon above.

…

Your hand catches onto the back of Xiao's neck and he lifts your face above the water.

The chanting from the two has already ended and they stand to watch as the conqueror of demons wipe away the water from your face as you cough a bit.

His hand stays to cup your face.

“Xiansheng?”

Tears drip onto your face without him even realising it.

“Forgive me,” he chokes on his words, “I never- I never meant to- to hurt you, or- or to lose control, I- I should've been faster, I should've- should've asked for- asked for he-”

“Hey, hey, no,” you say as you pull him into your neck, “I'm fine, I'm here, I'm with you,”

Xiao sobs even harder into your neck, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry,” he repeats over and over.

You pull Xiao, your Xiao, into your arms and give him the tightest embrace you could muster with your current strength right now and he bunches the back of your hanfu as he hugs you loosely, not wanting to hurt you with his strength.

As he buries his face into your neck, you're caught with the sight of Morax looking at the two of you with a smile, Baizhu-yisheng and Changsheng-xiaoren nowhere to be found.

“Thank you,” you mouth.

He nods and leaves in a trail of golden light.

You thread your fingers into Xiao's hair and he sighs the last of his sobs into your skin.

“Xiansheng, should we go home?”

Xiao pulls away from you and nods, wiping at his face with his hands, you giggle as you help him, his eyes still rimmed with red.

“Come now, we have a lot to talk about,” you say and he warps away.

…

That night was the most you've ever heard Xiao talk, or at least according to your memories, which were still a bit fuzzy, but you remember enough from your first reincarnation.

The memories from your time with Xiao in the war were even fuzzier now, as if they were books you've read but can't remember the context of, only returning in feelings or scents.

Xiao has apologized more than eighty times that night, his tears endless as you comfort him in your arms.

“Don't worry, now that the whole reincarnating thing is an option, you won't get rid of me so easily,”

“I wish not to be rid of you at all,” he says, voice still stuffy from crying.

“How cute,” you say as you pinch the cheek that wasn't resting on your chest, “The conqueror of demons all so soft,”

…

The two of you talk for the rest of the night, helping each other understand, and taking the time to make him understand that it wasn't his fault.

Xiao promises never to hurt you again and you promise never to leave his side for too long.

After all, his karmic debt, even if significantly reduced by your previous incarnation, was still active.

You decide to get tea with Morax the next day.

…

“Ah, that,” he says as he pours a fruit blend tea, sunsettia and apple tea, “Well, to be frank with you, I haven't the slightest idea of how you reduced his karmic debt,”

“Wait, you mean to tell me that you created me to 'heal him', but you yourself have no idea how to?”

It was… a bit unnerving for Xiao to hear you question his Archon so openly.

“Yes, forgive me, dear, I only wanted a reprieve for your beloved,” he says and takes a sip of his tea.

“That's so… hmph,” you huff and take a sip of your tea.

“Well, what about how I heal him?” You ask a different question.

“I have my suspicions that it aided your untimely death,” Morax says.

“What?”

“Well, the universe must find balance, to take is to be given, and to be given is to take.”

Xiao's brows knit together, “Are you saying she died because she healed me?”

“Yes, Xiao, although I can bring her back, so I do not think it will be an issue, on another note, too, the karmic debt does not further resurface after she somehow heals it,”

The warrior holds his head, that was… a lot of information to take in… he takes a look at you and sighs, this will surely be your topic for the night.

“Wait, I don't get it, if you could bring me back, why didn't you bring Guizhong-xiangsheng back?”

The Archon smiles sadly.

“Because her body didn't have a medium to preserve her memories,” he paused, “She did not want to be reincarnated, she told me so,”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” you apologize as you pour him another cup of tea.

He laughs at that, “No worries, my child, it is in the past, I'm sure wherever Guizhong is now, she is happier and at peace,”

He looks up at the sky and feels the breeze flow through his hair.

As you look at Xiao, who seems to enjoy the breeze of the wind, too, you think.

You'll choose Xiao.

You'll choose to reincarnate.

You'll heal him and rid him of his karmic debt.

Over and over again.

Until you both get the epilogue you deserve.

prev / masterlist / afterword

usagi's note: ITS 😭 OVER 😭 I 😭 CANT 😭 BELIEVE 😭 IT 😭 im so thankful to everyone who read seriously ily all, to those in the taglist, tysm, i never would've imagined people would actually read this, pls read the afterword if u have time!! im gonna say a lot there, i hope u all take care mwa !! see u next time gbye!!

taglist (open!! green can't be tagged): @irenedoesthings @cherrysnows @makuzume @smoochi-modest @bvtterflyyy @original-person @aphxdea @iratempestatis @constellationguy @lloversss @femaholicc @arietheyluv

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[nostalgicacademia]

Dark Academia Writing Prompts

A group of students stumble upon a hidden portal to a faerie realm in their college library. They slowly return from the faerie realm, corrupted.

A student uncovers a hidden society within the university's classics department. They are preserving an immortal being who used to be worshiped as a minor deity by the Ancient Greeks.

A secret society of faeries attend an Ivy League university, keeping their identities a secret. 

A love letter exchange unfolds between two strangers who communicate solely through notes left in the university library. However, if they ever discovered each other's true identities, the romance would break, and they would be horrified.

A mysterious playwright's lost manuscript is discovered in the dusty archives, revealing a dark and twisted tale that mirrors real-life events on campus.

A cellist sacrifices everything, even their morals, to join an elite orchestra. It's the pinnacle of their career. However, they left one string untied, and it threatens to expose everything they did.

A professor's death sparks an investigation that reveals a web of academic rivalries and betrayal. At the heart of it all is a plagiarism case.

A history major begins to unravel a murder that happened 100 years ago on campus. 

A witch disguises herself as a professor in the occult studies department, using her position to recruit students for a secret coven. 

A psychology professor uses hypnotic techniques to explore the past lives of students. During the hypnosis sessions, a student reveals something awful that their past life did. Something that's had a profound impact on the professor. 

A cursed painting in the university gallery comes to life at night. The characters within it seek the help of a talented art history major to break the spell. They work together to uncover what dark forces made this happen in the first place.

A professor's fascination with ancient folklore prompts a mischievous faerie to seek their help. The faerie asks them to help unlock an ancient riddle. The professor does it, fuelled by academic curiosity, but this turns out to be a huge mistake.

A group of history students uncover evidence of a witch trial that took place on campus centuries ago. One of the victims shown in the painting bears an uncanny resemblance to a current professor. As they investigate, it becomes clear someone’s trying to stop them.

A student journalist investigates a series of mysterious deaths linked to an exclusive literature club. The murders seems to be drawing inspiration from works of literature.

A rivalry emerges between two aspiring poets who will sink to depraved acts for the coveted position of poet laureate. They'll do anything to get that prize, including murder.

By: schoolofplot

My articles on Dark Academia:

Dark Academia aesthetic

The imaginary of Dead Poets Society

The Secret History a key fandom

[bloodyinkandquill]

Firebrand x pheonix/immortal Reader

this one really cool phighting x reader ARTIST i like liked some of my posts i genuinely screamed, like i fucking shouted i was so happy that they thought my writings were good enough to like THREE of them dvsishksgdishsja

immediately after writing that i went to check twitter and saw aidn’s tweet, no spoilers but i have never an to my laptop faster and stimmed so hard.

anyways onto the actual thing you guys are here for, the x reader hcs!

- Cursed, you were cursed. That was the only way to see it, whatever curse your gear had given you made you miserable, it was cool the first few times, after dying you came back in a flame, rose from the ashes, but after centuries you were so tired and lonely, you got attached to mortals too much, attachment was futile, you’ll watch them pass on while you remain on the Inphinity

- You gave up on civilization, living in a remote cabin far away from any other demons, but every once in a while, wether that was months or years, you’d take a day trip out to the Inpherno, it could change so much between your visits or barely at all

- It was on one such trip where you were just walking around looking at what vendors had to offer, couples passing by, kids on their way to cause trouble that you heard something odd, a male voice saying your motto, attachment was futile, overcome with curiosity you followed the loud voice till you saw the source, you weren’t an idiot, if you lived in the Inpherno and didn’t know what the deities looked like that was idiotic, in front of you was not one but two of them, Firebrand and Icedagger

- The taller of the two was knelt down to be on the shorter’s level and was clearly comforting him, he was telling him that he needs to learn, mortals die and that he mustn’t get too attached, he would loose them eventually, but the snow god cried anyways

- You understood his pain, loosing so many people you had foolishly come to love, you were the likely only one besides for the swords that understood that pain, as far as you knew you were the only one with that curse, the curse of being the pheonix

- As you observed you accidentally stepped on something, a paper bag that crumbled and made noise alerting the two gods in their private interaction, they both instantly turned towards you as you raised your hands in show of not meaning any harm, you apologized for interrupting their conversation, but Firebrand had a strange look on his face, he said something to the affect of you felt different than other mortals, you had a deep sadness in your eyes, which like ouch, fair, but ouch

- You tentatively asked if he had heard the urban legends of a demon from centuries past given the name pheonix, he nodded and you revealed that that was you, an immortal mortal, he looked a bit skeptical but could also see the years and pain behind your eyes, similar to that of him and his siblings, Icedagger spoke up saying he didn’t know of the legends, you explained the stories people told of you, a demon cursed by their gear to forever walk the Inphinity, anytime you shall die you’re swallowed by the flames and emerge again anew, never allowed to pass on

- Icedagger asked if that meant you knew how he felt, the pain of becoming too attached to people you were destined to loose, watch grow old and fade away as you had so many times before, you said you did, you believed only you, him, and his siblings knew the feeling

- Firebrand spoke up asking if you’d want to accompany him for tea, he had heard the legends form mortals of you but never believed them, thought they were just stories the mortals told, you agreed and things spiraled from there

- Now you have someone you can love without fear of loosing them, and likewise, you knew the pain of loving someone who you would be helpless to save, and now that you had each other you and him wouldn’t have to experience it as bad as you had before, he thought it might have been fate, you’re reborn form the fire, his fire, it could not have been coincidence

- You loved each other wholeheartedly, knowing that you could till the end of time, even as others died and turned to dust, cities fell and crumbled, you would have each other, it was the most amazing thing you could have ever asked for, someone who understood your sadness but would never cause you that same sadness again, maybe, just maybe, your gear was a blessing, and not a curse

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS FAR MORE POETIC AND JUNK THAN I INTENDED, like holy shit i had a basic idea for what to do, then i’d do regular writings of like dates or whatever, instead i wrote that fucking masterpiece, it’s 1 am and i just channeled fucking william shakespeare i swear bros, anyways uh, thanks for reading ill either go to bed now or get one more request done, we shall see i have class tomorrow but i really like doing these requests so…

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 2: Mortals and Immortals

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Feyre returns to her sisters from the Spring Court with too many feelings. Rhys fights a losing battle with his family after returning. Feyre and Rhys navigate their emotions when the Archeron sisters become the topic of conversation.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Feyre felt like she was dying as she reached the new residence of the Archerons. A bit of her life leaving her body with every foggy breath. Tamlin had kept his word and provided for her family. A bit too lavishly, perhaps. The residence was a sprawling estate with lush lawns and well-maintained flowers Elain had undoubtedly involved herself in. Feyre had no sense of anything except for the flowers which reminded her of the Spring Court. Of Tamlin.

With Feyre now back, Nesta wanted answers. She had clearly seen the beast take her youngest sister away, citing some Treaty and something else that made no sense to her. Nyra would want answers too. Whatever stunt that the fae had pulled, whatever magic they had cast which resulted in Elain and their father having new memories of a non-existant aunt, Nesta needed answers about all of it.

Feyre was quick to flow away with her thoughts ever since she had returned. Elain was simply happy that her sister was back, safe and sound and was listening to her about her plans for the new flowers she had recently planted. Nesta was suspicious but she did not push much after Nyra's insistence.

The only time Feyre gave anyone her attention to the maximum was when the physician came for Nyra and recorded a very slow but thankfully steady improvement in her health. One thing wrong and the heavily-bellied man claimed it would threaten Nyra's life.

"Let her tell us herself." Nyra had said when Nesta's curiosity grew. "What if it is something she wishes not to recall?"

"Whatever it is, it has affected her. She hardly pays any attention during conversations and mindlessly agrees with everything asked of her. That ghastly shade of yellow does not suit her and yet, she agreed to it before the seamstress without so much as a glance at the fabric." Nesta did not like it when someone wore the wrong shade. It was something their mother had insisted and something she cared for since it was one of the few useful things the deceased woman had actually bothered to teach her.

"How long do we wait before we ask?" Nesta once asked Nyra and when her twin did not have an answer, the interrogative mood of the former awakened. She found Feyre and confronted her and that led to a long story.

Nesta and Nyra looked at Feyre when the youngest had concluded her story and then looked at each other. To be in love with a fae much less a High Lord was unthinkable. Even then, they knew that this sister was a reckless girl.

"And now what? You are here and not there. What is your fate?" Nyra asked. Feyre took her time comprehending the question but had no answer for it even after understanding it. It seemed to her that there were multiple gaps in her understanding. So many things had been hidden from her in Prythian. They had called Amarantha's curse a bloody blight.

The twins knew that Feyre probably did not belong in this world of mortals and maybe, she did belong in Prythian. Every word spoken about this fae named Tamlin was laced with a sort of affection they had never witnessed for any human.

A part of them hoped that Feyre would live with them in the safety and comfort of this estate. That she would lead a normal, mortal life. Another part of them knew that the connection between Feyre and Prythian had yet to be severed. And in pursuance of that connection which she believed was her love for Tamlin, a few days later, Feyre Archeron departed from the mortal lands with a final goodbye.

****

Amarantha was dead. Rhysand was back. A few days had passed and Azriel had noticed that something was still not right. Something other than the trauma from those forty nine years had been inflicted on his brother. Something that was probably his mate, the newborn fae. He wasn’t exactly discreet about it when he told Mor right after he returned. For the first few seconds, Azriel had hoped to all the spirits that Rhysand was not referring to Amarantha as his mate. But then, Mor had managed to somehow calm her cousin. And then, Rhys told them his story.

Azriel took it upon himself to study humans and fae and trace back records of any transitions as had been the case with the Cursebreaker. He had enlisted the help of the priestesses from the libraries of the House of Wind. Everything was hectic these days. Hunting down the traitors who had joined forces to rebel in the High Lord’s absence. Reviving his network of spies after decades of inactivity. Resuming trade and commerce and travel between courts and with the rest of the world. All of this was just the beginning. He was tired. Everyone was tired. And yet, everyone continued.

The Cursebreaker, he’d learned, was a female by the name of Feyre Archeron. A human who received a kernel of every High Lord’s power to be brought back to life. That itself brought the possibility of her inheriting powers. If she had indeed been successfully revived, then she could probably have a fragment at least.

“She rarely leaves the manor.” Azriel spoke. Cassian looked at him in confusion while Rhys barely looked up from the disturbing amount of paperwork. “Unhealthy and haunted by nightmares.”

Rhysand slammed the pen on the table. That was meant to be a warning but Azriel could care less. Rhys glared at him as though he was ready to rip him apart. “Call in your bargain. Tamlin is making things worse for her.”

To Azriel, this female, his brother’s mate had already become someone to be cared for. On the verge of becoming family. In his eyes, Rhys had to take her from her misery. And he had to push his brother to do that. What would life be worth if not for a mate? He was already waiting for the Bone Carver’s words to come true.

Cassian did not want to say much. He quietly watched as his brothers glare at each other. He knew why this conversation was taking place. He knew why Azriel was pushing Rhys to be there for Feyre. Because they would have done the same thing in case of Azriel and his mate. The mate who was Rhysand’s deceased sister. The mate who would be reborn.

“I will bring her when I deem fit.” Anyone could see how heartbroken Rhys was when he said those words. The beast within him raged at him to stake his claim over his mate. The more rational side of him preached respect. Something his mother had taught him.

“By the time you deem fit, what if it’s too late?” Azriel was quick to ask. The High Lord’s power rumbled before them and they weathered it like any other rainstorm.

“She’s surrounded by the rogue Vanserra and that mannerless priestess who once requested a visit.” The mention of the priestess was made with his own power rumbling. A shadowsinger was a truly mysterious creature. Cassian looked at Azriel in disgust at having even mentioned that female.

“And a High Lord who has no interest helping her settle into this new life.” Cassian spoke. Rhys met the General’s gaze. “This is not just any female, Rhys.”

“She’s the saviour of Prythian. I know.”

“She’s your mate.” Cassian emphasized on that word. “Anyone could have been the saviour of these damned lands. Only she can be your mate. She is family, you stupid piece of shit.”

In that moment, Rhys remembered what he felt back when Feyre had defeated the Wyrm. How he felt Cassian’s spirit manifesting nearby and shouting at him to marry this girl or he would do that himself. He let out a wry laugh. Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, wondering whether their brother had gone mad.

Rhysand stood up and started pacing behind his chair. He stopped and resumed pacing every now and then. “We knew about Azriel and my sister.” He knew he had to tread very very carefully with this. He might be the High Lord but the shadowsinger was not to be trifled with in any manner. He saw how Azriel had stoned his features at the mention of his mate. “So I assumed that we would witness your mating bond first when she was reborn.”

“It could be another century or even a millennia before we meet her again.” Cassian remarked, remembering the Bone Carver’s words.

“You should focus on your own mating bond right now.” Azriel added, not wanting to remember his mixed feelings for his mate.

“I know she’s upset and she has nightmares and she vomits all the food and that ignorant asshole does nothing to help her.” Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure and failing miserably. The opening of the door had the three males looking in that direction. Morrigan walked in, ever the picture of power and beauty.

“What are we talking about?” Mor casually sat on the sofa, her legs on the seat with the silk of her dress dropping to the ground like a wisp of magic.

“The Cursebreaker.” Rhys answered. He would call her anything but his mate.

“Your mate.” Mor corrected. Cassian grinned at her and even Azriel breathed in relief at the growing support. “You made a bargain with her. Why haven’t you called it in?”

“None of your business.”

“She is family.” Mor spoke sharply and and her rage began quickly. She had recognised how her cousin was beginning to be somewhat of a stubborn child but this was not a matter which could be addressed with such immaturity. “And her health is our business.”

“You may identify her as family but I have no intention of claiming her.” Rhysand looked like he would vomit at his own words soon enough.

But the High Lord knew what his family felt for Feyre Archeron. They were undoubtedly grateful to her for reuniting them after forty nine years. They were grateful to her for saving Prythian because Cauldron knew how long they could have kept the Night Court afloat in his absence. And they did not even want to delve too long about other courts.

The mortal who was now fae.

The female who was his mate.

The female Rhysand was now in love with.

“You love her.” And that was the truth. Simple and clear. Azriel and Cassian looked at her in mild surprise. They hadn’t known that. And now that they did know that, Feyre Archeron was indeed a person of great concern. “We know you won’t claim her like she is property. She is not family not just because she is your mate. She is family because you love her.”

“Mating bonds are not fairytales. Couples don’t end well. You knew my parents.” Rhysand was not strong enough for this. He could not win this. Not when this was about Feyre. Sweet, beautiful Feyre with her human heart and powerful feelings.

“Your parents had a miserable union. The difference is that you love this girl. And we also have Azriel who waits for her.” Azriel closed his eyes, knowing that Mor would now continue this battle. That she would wield more powerful words for attack. The mention of his own mate was one of those weapons. Mor had just looked at the Spymaster once before he confirmed with a nod that it was okay to speak of his mate. “Your mating bond does not have to reflect what your parents had.”

“That’s it!” Cassian slammed his hands on the table. “You!” He looked at Rhys, eyes focused into a glare before continuing, “are a fool.” Rhys opened his mouth to speak. “Everything you’ve spouted so far has been an excuse.”

“She’s marrying him.” Rhys sounded pained as opposed to the indifference he tried to put forward.

“Just because she’s marrying him doesn’t mean he’s worthy of her.” Azriel was grumbling at this point. None of them cared about Rhysand’s self loathing opinions. They cared about the girl who had no one to help her when she needed it. The girl who was his mate. The girl who was almost family. She was not a cruel person. She was the reason Rhysand was back after so long. And they had a feeling that she’d be good for him and that he’d be good for her. Azriel had suspected as much after his spies from the Spring Court had been planted and resumed activity.

Two days later, Rhys had scheduled a trip to Rita’s with Cassian only to winnow away without prior notice right before they had entered. The same night, Feyre Archeron had been brought to Velaris.

****

It took time before the Cursebreaker had started to warm up to the Inner Circle of the Night Court. One fine night as they lounge around after dinner for a night to drink, Feyre took a few sips.

In her curiosity, Morrigan asked. “How was life as a mortal?”

Feyre looked at Mor for a few seconds, trying to process the question. When she did, she opened her mouth and paused. She began by talking about her early childhood, the days of poverty and how her family was now rich. She had kept her story short, giving nothing more than a summary of her mortal life which couldn't have been more than a paragraph.

“So, you have sisters?” Cassian asked, curious about the people she shared her mortal life with.

“Three older sisters.” Feyre affirmed as she stared at her wineglass. The faint imprint of her lipgloss was there at the edge and she kept staring at it. She took a moment to remember each sister and smiled with such gentleness that made Rhysand a little jealous.

A little.

Just a little.

Not even noteworthy.

Very negligibly so.

An inconsequential bit of jealousy for a smile that was not directed at him.

Mor took extreme delight in seeing her cousin's face. She quietly motioned to Cassian. Azriel and Amren had already noted the change in Rhys's expression.

“And what were they doing when you went out to hunt?” Mor's question brought everyone back to the harsh reality that Feyre went out to hunt for her starving family as a child.

Feyre did not answer. She did not look at anyone. She kept her gaze at the rim of her wine glass where the stain of her lipgloss was from when she’d taken sips of the drink.

“Nesta was angry at a lot of things. Mostly at our father. And then, at me. We were always at each other’s throats. Elain is more of a gardener than a huntress. Nyra has been sick since we were children.” Everything was begining to sound like a poor defence for her sisters.

Mor had sobered up. Cassian and Azriel were quiet. Mostly because they knew that any wrong move or word from any of them and Rhys would rage. His mate had led a life of poverty and had thrown herself into the forest to hunt and free her family from starvation. Her family, incapable in different ways to help her. The youngest who had risked her life over and over again for them.

Rhysand was close to breaking his wine glass. One of those sisters was a gardener more than a huntress. A gardener than a huntress. What about Feyre? She was an artist more than a huntress. And had anger not consumed the other sister enough to do something about their situation? And a sick sister who could do nothing. A burden. All of them were burdens on Feyre. Why save a family like that?

Family was not always blood bound. He knew that. Rhys looked at Azriel, the prime example of someone who had family because he had chosen them and not because he was related to them. Azriel met his gaze, silently questioning him. Rhys shook his head despite the suddenly growing brotherly affection for the shadowsinger.

“Why save a family like that?” Amren finally asked, having spoken for the first time since dinner. Rhys turned to her in mild surprise for having voiced his thoughts.

“Because they are my family. My father who had lost all hope. Elain, who sees good in this world no matter how many ugly sides of it has been presented to her. Nesta, who kept me angry and made me want to fight against circumstances. Nyra, who guarded my heart against all odds.”

A traitorous tear traveled down her cheek. Feyre closed her eyes as another tear made its appearance. At the end of the day, she missed her family. And the Inner Circle could relate to that. They had missed each other for so long and they had just reunited only to be faced with the prospect of war which could ensure permanent separation in the form of death.

“Do you wish to visit your family?” Rhys finally asked. Everyone looked at him in mild surprise for various reasons. At the sight of her tears, the High Lord had softened. The cold fury within him had thawed and nothing but affection and the will to do something to make her happy remained. He took in each of their expressions before explaining himself. “You’re an immortal now, Feyre darling. Time moves slowly for us especially when compared to mortals. They are still human. Surely you must know what that means.”

It only meant that Feyre would live with this young and strong body while her family grew older and weaker and finally died. And Nyra. Mother knew if she would ever live a normal life. Whether her health would improve.

What if something did go wrong?

What if she could never see her again?

What if Nyra...

****

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Cursed

Warning ⚠️; blood, murder, cursing.

Pairing; Micheal Myers/Witch!Gn!Reader

Summary; Micheal’s mother and you got into an argument. Sadly for the woman, she didn't know you were an immortal witch and you swore to destroy her family by cursing her son.

Note; I’ve been rewatching all the Halloween movies and loved the idea of Micheal being somewhat cursed and not fully human anymore.

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

There were things in this world that not everyone knew or understood. You were one of those things. You and your people had walked on Earth for centuries, hidding among the mortals and terrorizing them. Some called you demons others witches and none were wrong. Some cultures even created rituals or festivities to appease you or ward off their community from you.

Like the Irish with Samhain.

But in those modern days, people had forgotten about the old ways and why those festivities and ceremonies were made. Worse, your kind had been pushed to the side, your very existence turned into legends and stories to scar children. It was almost insulting.

Almost.

Because now no one remembered how to keep you away. There were still old wives' tales of course, but no one listened or applied them anymore, leaving you free to do as you pleased and go wherever you wanted.

You favoured the United States since its people had all but forgotten the old ways, except the Natives. You never approached them, preferring targeting and walking around the ignorants. You had fun messing around with them, filling their lives with chaos or even making deals without them noticing until it was too late.

But like anyone, you also had your bad encounters.

Deborah Myers was a woman you wouldn't forget anytime soon. The stripper was a strong woman, you couldn't deny it, but she also was a rude one. You got a taste of her tongue one night after accidentally bumping against her. It was one of those day where everything was going wrong and it might have been the case for her too.

Words and degrading gestures were exchanged and Deborah Myers sealed her fate after she hit you. Tasting your own blood, you saw red and returned the gesture, collecting hers in return. You left her on the ground, face bruised and nose bleeding and walked away swearing to make her life crumble before her very eyes.

That next day you hunted for her family. You found her daughter first and the young woman was of no interest for you. But when you saw her son, oh! You knew you had the perfect weapon. Even has a teen, Micheal Myers was full of potential and you would make sure to cultivate it all.

From the shadows you watched the tortured teen, keeping an eye out for everything he did. He amused you by targeting small and defenceless animals. Their screams of pain were disgusting and their end worse, but it showed you what the boy was capable of. Given the right tools, he would be an unstoppable force.

With the right words and time, he would be yours.

When nightfall came, you approached the boy as he walked in the woods, trying to go home without crossing the path of some bullies. You saw curiosity in his eyes and for a brief instant, fear. Children were sensible after all and he must have felt you weren't fully human.

You gave him your gentlest and brightest smile as you leaned above him, pulling a little bag of candies from your pocket. Instantly you saw hunger and joy fill Micheal’s eyes.

- “Hey kiddo, here’s a bag of candies for you. I know it is too soon for Halloween, but I won't be in town to give out candies, so I do it in advance. You are a lucky one, because it's my last one.” You said, chuckling as the boy grabbed it.

- “Thanks, weirdo!” The teen said before leaving you laughing.

You laughed both because of his remark and because it had been easier than expected. Those weren't normal candies after all; you had made them especially for Micheal and the boy was right, you were a weirdo. But once Micheal has eaten those candies, he would be cursed. Cursed to lose all humanity only to become the perfect killing machine.

A modern-day boogeyman.

Your revenge against Deborah Myers.

Halloween came quicker than ever. You watched the town change as the inhabitants decorated their houses and commerce and the trees lost their leaves. The air become cold and crispy and the morning came with a light fog, giving a mysterious aura to the place.

You watched as Micheal began to change. He was slowly becoming more cruel and would snap so easily. He was getting ready to fully transform and that night would be a vital moment in his transformation. It amused you how his family, particularly his mother, saw nothing. None of them noticed the subtle changes in the boy, only the school. Teachers and students seemed to feel it, the kids more than the adults and yet the bullies were still being stupid.

You watched with pride as the cursed boy made his first victim in the very woods where you first met. You smiled as Micheal beat to death to bully before going back home. You grabbed the corpse and dragged it away, hidding it under dried leaves and twigs. You didn't want your new puppet to be found yet. He had much to do tonight after all.

You stayed outside, hiding in the shadows as you stared at the house. Inside you knew Micheal was making a carnage and you couldn't wait until his mother came back to see it all. When Micheal walked outside, his baby sister in his arms, you walked out of the shadow and joined him. You sat by his side and passed your fingers in his hair. His eyes were dark and empty, your curse taking over him.

- “Soon Mickey. Soon you'll forever be like this and you won't feel any remorse or those pathetic emotions. Nothing will be able to stop you or stand in your way.” You leaned down and kissed his hair before leaving him alone on the stairs.

You were filled with satisfaction when Deborah came home. Her screams made you smirk and laugh, the sweet taste of revenge lingered in your mouth as policemen had to restrain her when the corpse of Judith came out of the house.

Deborah Myers had fucked around and now was finding out. Her nightmare wasn't over yet.

As weeks and then months passed you kept track of Micheal. The boy didn't remember anything as your curse had blinded him, transforming him into a mindless killer for a moment. But the curse was still there, growing like cancer and its tentacles wrapped around his young mind and soul.

It wasn't long until his transformation was over.

You were sitting in a coffee shop when you read the news that Micheal had killed a nurse and had been quiet ever since. You knew that your curse was completed and nothing was left of the boy but an empty husk, a killing machine. Now you just needed to sit and wait for him to grow into a man,

Until then, you weren't finished with his mother.

Deborah Myers was at her lowest and yet it wasn't enough for you. You kept tormenting her, filling her nights with nightmares of her bloody daughter haunting her and of Mickey’s murders. Her bills kept piling up and she couldn't keep up with them. Soon she would lose her electricity and the bank would come after her.

After Micheal’s crimes, no one dared approach her. She was the Devil’s mother after all and no one wanted to take a chance. What if she was just like her son, a ticking bomb ready to explode? She only had her baby girl and even then it wasn't enough to keep her sane.

The day of her suicide you drank to it.

You had gotten not only your revenge but also her soul. She was yours forever and some fate are worse than death and hell combined.

All that was left to do was now to wait.

The next fifteen years passed somewhat quickly. You kept an eye and ear out about everything concerning Micheal and even bought the book written by Loomis. The thing was pathetic, a money grab and laughed more than anything. The poor doctor didn't know the truth and probably would never. He was so far from the truth, but his fear of Micheal was justified. But not how he treated him.

It didn't matter if Micheal was cursed, he was still a human being but no one seemed to keep it in mind when whispering awful things about him or treating him harshly. You even saw articles talking about how he should be put down like a mad dog.

It was tragic and you almost felt bad for ruining Micheal’s life.

Another part of you knew you just accelerated his fate. He was always meant to become a killer, you just moulded him into something bigger.

You learned of Micheal’s escape the same night as it happened. You were in his hometown, keeping an eye on his little sister when you overheard a policeman talk about it. You knew Micheal was coming home and you got the place ready for him. You furnished it with a bed and put back his mask under the floor with his knife. You knew he would want them back for old-time sake.

Then Halloween came and so did he. You saw his silhouette walking the streets and heard the screams of his victims. The boy had grown into a fine man and he exceeded your expectation. You admired the corpses he left behind, staying in the shadow and not revealing yourself yet.

You wondered if Micheal would recognize you.

You were surprised when you saw Micheal in need of help. You did not expect his little sister to put on such a fight or for Loomis to arm himself and come fight Micheal. So you stepped in, followed by the wind rising and howling as dead leaves swirled around you.

All eyes turned toward you as you clapped. Angel or Laurie as she was now called, looked at you with something like hope until despair filled her eyes when Micheal walked up to you, dropping his knife.

The Shape had recognized you.

- “My, my! Mark me as impressed. I never expected anyone to outpower Micheal, but I guess I should have seen it coming. After all, he is still inexperienced and has a lot to learn.” You said, turning your gaze on Micheal.

He was bleeding from the gun wounds, but you knew he would be fine. They needed more than firearms to stop Micheal and they had since long forgotten how to stop you.

- “Who are you?” Laurie asked as you waved at Micheal, signalling him which way to go. “Why are you helping it?”

- “Him.” You corrected, tilting your head to the side. “And wouldn't I? I didn't create Micheal and waited fifteen years just to watch him drop dead on his first excursion out.”

- “Created him?” Laurie asked with a small voice before she screamed.

You laughed as Loomies emptied his gun on you. Your blood splashing everywhere as holes were left in your clothes. In seconds the wounds closed and any drop of blood dried and turned into dust. You raised a finger and moved it left to tight as if you were scolding a young child.

- “Tut tut tut, that's not very nice of you Doctor. Do you usually shoot people in the street like that?” You asked as you heard the police’s siren coming closer.

- “No, just the monsters.” He hissed, unimpressed by how unfazed you were.

- “Well then, keep your toy charged and don't forget to look under the bed. We will meet again my friends, take care until then!”

You waved them goodbye before leaving. Micheal had waited for you a bit further and joined your side when you walked next to him. You led him to your car and quickly drove away as the police arrived. You knew they wouldn't be able to track you and Micheal wouldn't go out until Halloween next years.

As you drove, you felt Micheal eyes on you. Empty yet intense, you knew he was judging you. You chuckled as pulled out a new candy bag from your pocket and gave it to him. From the corner of your eye, you saw Micheal staring at it before he took one. He pushed it under his mask to eat it.

- “I am happy that you recognized me, Mickey and Im even happier to see how much you grew up. Gone is the little boy that called me a weirdo, huh?” You laughed as Micheal turned his head and silently stared at you. “Do not worry, I know I am still a weirdo.”

You waved your hand in front of your face as if chasing away some bad thought. But Micheal stayed silent and you knew he would never speak ever again. You couldn't help but wonder what his voice would have sounded like; deep or not? Sadly, there was no way to know. But at least he wasn't fully human anymore, he was your perfect little creation.

For proof his wounds had already stopped bleeding even tho he was soaked in his and others’ blood. It would leave a mess in your car, but nothing you couldn't take care of.

- “You know Mickey, I’ve been waiting fifteen years for tonight. Fifteen years of waiting for you to come out of that damned building and take your place by my side. I enjoyed this Halloween and the spectacle you gave me. You are as ruthless as me, aren't you? I guess you got it from me.”

You laughed cruelly this time. Yes, Micheal had slaughtered those poor kids and parents and you didn't care. It was bound to happen and more blood would spill in the years to come. You relaxed as you noticed Micheal slowly falling asleep next to you. Tonight had been full of drama and exhausting. You weren't surprised that Micheal was falling asleep so quickly. He was in a safe environment after all and he deserved it.

- “Sleep my sweetling. You did great tonight, I am proud of you and everything you did. You went beyond my expectations.” You told him, voice gentle as Micheal rested his head against the door’s window.

It wasn't long until you heard his slow and deep breath somehow deepen as he fell asleep. Yes. Tonight was just the beginning and your years of waiting were finally over. Micheal was now where he belonged; by your side. You knew more adventures awaited you and not just mindless killing. You had opened a door to the dark and not just Micheal had stepped in. It wasn't the last time you met with Loomis and Laurie, it was just the first of many encounters.

And you couldn't wait until the next.

[7squidgy7]

✧.*Woo new page*.✧

Close ups and ramblings below:

Just redrew flaming june as Narinder. Its just such a cat nap pose I had to draw him as it, plus the fabric and colours are just so nice. You can see a bit of my rambling about the painting here.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

Was at a firework show other day and was thinking about how fireworks would work in the cotl universe, they've been around for a long time in our world, but how would the react to the magic of the world.

They most likely exist in the bishops domain but it's a special thing reserved for big events, so many people don't know they exist, except for a few specialists. Lambert for sure doesn't know fireworks exist, so when they accidently firing off a fireball while holding some copper and it makes a green flame they begin to experiment out of pure curiosity.

They just start burning bunch metals and materials to see how they react. The first fireworks show the cult had was just Lambert throwing a bunch of materials in the air and burning them to make pretty colours or effects, but to the cultists it's some of the most magical stuff they've seen.

Forneus was taking care of Ramya during this festival and the 2 watch from a distance at the display. Forneus probably gave Lambert a few proper fireworks with the instructions of light these and run so they got quickly upstaged by the real thing later on.

They're probably able to recruit a cultists who was a pyrotechnic at some point and learn how to make proper fireworks themselves. They use curses to get shapes and effects as well. You tend to pick up a lot of hobbies when your immortal.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

Also Knucklesbones with the baby. She got passed around like a lucky charm a lot. Not at all that the knuckle bones crew wanted to hold her.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

[perfectlyoongi]

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who didn’t believe in long-distance relationships until he met you. how was it possible to maintain a loving relationship when kilometers separated you? how could you show love and devotion if you were separated by screens? it was impossible to love someone you had never been with. it was impossible to love someone without really knowing them. so how were people falling into this trap and deluding themselves with fake love? how co— wait. but you… you were different, weren’t you? you managed to attract Taehyung. you managed to make Taehyung question his entire sense of reality. but you weren’t there. you were in another world. but still… in a way, you. “tell me what spell you cast on me. i want to get rid of this curse and talk to you again without thinking about how much i need to be with you.”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who always has a virtual date planned for you every month. Taehyung was a romantic by nature and, with you two being worlds apart, he had to find another way to express all his love and devotion to you. thank god there are several museums with online visits; thank god there were chat rooms with different games for you; thank god we lived in a time where the internet was the answer to all our prayers. once a month, Taehyung would take you to see and experience the world without leaving the comfort of your home, always guaranteeing and promising that one day all those experiences of yours would be lived in person next to him. “today we see this museum through our screens, but there will be a day when i will be able to take a photo of you next to your favorite piece of art just so you can see which of you is truly a masterpiece.”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who writes down all the dreams he has about you in a notebook. Taehyung’s mind was in constant motion when he slept, taking him on complex adventures and strange expeditions. and, in so many wild dreams, it was almost a certainty that you would pay Taehyung one or two visits; and it was these adventures that Taehyung remember the most, sharing some of the happiness he had felt in the dream in real life. but the dreams were so many and quite confusing that before telling you, Taehyung needed to write down each moment of the dream in a notebook, making sure that nothing was missed and that everything was perfectly clarified. “this dream is going to be a little confusing, so pay attention. you were at the top of one of egypt’s pyramids, but instead of sand there was only water. so, i showed up there in a little hot air balloon and…”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who becomes desperate with the distance between you. Taehyung swore he would start banging his head against the walls just to ease the pain he felt in his chest. why were you so far away? what cruelty did Taehyung do in a past life to be suffering immensely in this reality? would the gods be upset that Taehyung loved you more than they loved their immortality? were the stars jealous of all the memories you shared from past lives? would the universe itself be resentful because your and Taehyung’s love was purer than any of its creations? how could Taehyung live every day if you were so far away from him? he just wanted to hug you, kiss you, hold you in his arms, make you happy and make you feel loved and important. and he only wanted you. there. beside him. in this life. was this too much to ask for? “i swear to you that i’m this close to getting on a plane to go see you. i don’t care about my work and i don’t care about my friends. i just want you, i just need you. urgently.”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who never says goodbye to you. it was a small habit of Taehyung’s, a small detail that always weighed on your mind: why did he never say goodbye to you when you finished talking? when you realized this little curiosity, you went to talk to Taehyung, a little interested in the possible answer he could give you. but, out of so many scenarios you created in your mind, none of them matched the reality of the facts. it was with a serious and expressionless look, completely offended by your question, that Taehyung answered you, giving a little clarity to your heart. “our story is not over yet. why should i say goodbye to it?”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who offers you a stuffed bear and a bottle of his perfume. when the distance was crueler and there was a need to feel close to each other, Taehyung would ask you to spray the stuffed bear he offered you with his perfume. in a way, that idea of Taehyung managed to deceive your poor heart; when you hugged that bear with Taehyung’s scent, your heart fell into the illusion that you were next to Taehyung and, for small seconds, everything was okay. “i know i’m far away, that’s why i offer you this bear. it may not be very big, but when you spray my perfume, it becomes part of me.”

LONG-DISTANCE!TAEHYUNG who bought you a weekend in your dream city to meet you for the first time. when Taehyung showed you your flight tickets for the same day and the same city, you didn’t understand his idea; it took Taehyung to say that he would wait for you for you to understand that small gesture from him. he had remembered that city you so wanted to visit. not only that, but he also remembered the dates of your vacation. and booked a short stay in that city on your vacations. a stay with Taehyung. you were going to be together for the first time in that city that called you so much. your dream was about to begin. “just a few more weeks, my love, and then we can be infinite.”