#But the drama!! the pain!! the corruption!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivalabunbun · 1 year

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There Are Nothing But Flowers

Summary: You want to play house and he’s just hungry.

Word Count: 11.3K

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18+), Modern AU, Vampire AU, TW: Death, Terminally ill! Reader, TW: Medical gaslighting, description of medial treatments & corruption, TW: Blood & Blood drinking, vague mentions of violence, Contract Marriage AU, slight! enemies to lovers, Slow burn, NSFW, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Unrequited love?, Vampire! Alhaitham, Dom! Alhaitham, Human! Reader, biting, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation, creampie, slight corruption kink, temperature play? you fall hard, slow fic, tragedy.

Authors note: This is the other side to this work, your side of the story, please read the tags carefully. I wanted to explore the other side of the garden wall and themes of mortality, it’s heavy, please read when you feel well enough to see what lies beyond. Enjoy.

Side note: the aftermath

“Honey, I’ll be off to work now.” A dapper man straightens out his tie, a briefcase in his other hand.

“Dear…aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Are my pants unzipped again?” His eyes darted down as disembodied laughter rang out in the unseen background.

“No, you forgot this.” The pattering of house slippers stops as the woman cradles her lover's face between her hands.

The kiss from her immaculately painted lips melted the wrinkles from his forehead as the taller man leaned into his deserved affection.

“Have a good day at work, my love.”

—

A quiet house on the hill, white picket fences, and a lovely dog wagging its tail in the green yard. Eyes watching the vibrancies dance along a small screen, blocking out the gray in the peripheral.

Everything about this drama was cliché, the plot slow and predictable, just mediocre. So perfectly mundane that your hand itches to grab it through the screen like a thief. But are you really a thief if you steal back what was taken from you?

Before your mind can explore that comparison further a knock drags you out of the immersion, thumb quickly taps the screen to halt the fantasy.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The doctor in his white uniform enters.

“Hello, doctor.”

Two polite smiles greet each other, neither truly reaching the eyes. Your hands neatly folded together, his fiddling with the chipboard which held your verdict.

Observing how his teeth bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes scanned the charts. Your hands remain still even as he takes a deep breath.

“Unfortunately it has spread beyond our initial expectations. The results show that it’s progressed to a late stage despite our best efforts. Right now, you only have a few treatment options left.”

What happened to ‘just that time of the month’, ‘just get fresh air’, and ‘just give it some time’?

“There’s a series of procedures to cut out the spread, however, it might be very difficult as the infection is deep and intertwined with healthy tissue. The success rate is low, and the probability of it coming back is very high.”

What happened to ‘you’re young and healthy, it’s nothing’?

“The next possible treatment would be Kalpalata Lotuses. It has properties to slow inflections and has pain-reducing effects, however, it’s slow and inefficient in the long run. If you choose the first option you’ll have to pair it with treatment two. The first could give you fourteen years, the second on its own might only give you half of that.”

What were these past months spent behind a glass prison all for?

The constant hum of the machines filled in the dead space, the beeps on the monitors counting the passing seconds as two lips remained closed.

From the hallways, the chattering of nurses provided proof that the world in fact has not stopped spinning. Something dreadful filled the room, a silent suffocation. He was the first to fold.

“Please take your time to think this decision over, I’ll leave you to get some rest. Have a good night ma’am.” There was a flutter of pages folding back down to the clipboard.

The doctors were letting you pick your poison, how thoughtful of them.

Just as before two polite smiles that didn’t reach the eyes acknowledged each other, with a nod the doctor took his leave, eager to end his shift, to escape the unseen hands.

Not a word slipped past your lips during the one-sided conversation, tongue unable to string together a single sentence. What is there left to say?

As you lay back down your fingers brushed against the screen, restarting the episode as the laughter of an audience resonated along the sterile walls.

Maybe if the doctors, with their acclaimed degrees and status, were just a little more attentive.

Maybe if they didn’t simply see you as a lady with nonsensical symptoms.

Maybe if they didn’t view you as a statistic.

Then you wouldn’t have collapsed that day at work.

Then you wouldn’t have spent grueling months undergoing diagnosis after diagnosis.

Then maybe just maybe the Pythagorean Cup wouldn’t have surpassed its threshold, emptying out all hope.

The dialogue continues but it’s all but a fuzzy ringing now. Eyes watching the passing car lights dance upon the gray ceiling from the late evening traffic of workers, with their white or blue collars, eager to return home.

You longed for that, to return there. Hands itching to rip out the tube from your arm and the sensor with its pitched beeps.

Fourteen years, fourteen years of what? Bed sores from thin sheets? Chest pains at too deep of breaths? Stitches recovering only to be ripped open again?

Sounds more like a punishment delivered deep underground in a place whose temperature rivals the surface of a burning star.

Was it because you cursed at the man who cut you in line once?

Was it because you stole your college roommate’s sweater?

Was it because you never brought offerings to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?

Were you such a despicable person in a past life that the sins carried over?

Heavy lids closed to soothe the burning in your eyes, letting the warm trails run down your cheek. Reining your senses back from its escapade with a slow breath.

No. It’s none of that. It’s just life, capricious life. Capricious life that took your parents and now is hunting you.

There’s no karmic debt to pay off, there’s no faceless god to pray to. Setting one foot onto the path of true adulthood, only for your eyes to spot the end just over the horizon. What can you do?

The jumbled laughs and fuzzy speeches coming from your phone’s speaker were becoming too much. Thus you rolled your heavy body over to silence it. Once again the world outside the window was in view, the soft orange glow from the office right across leaking into the suffocating grey.

Oh, he’s at his desk tonight.

Wet eyes watch as the ashen-haired being shifts through sheets of crisp paper and his pen moving constantly. It’s strange, a bit mocking even, that an immortal creature could be so mundane.

Maybe that’s why their office is just across the Bimarstan, to taunt those who longed for that reality, beckoning them to sign their names on a dotted line.

Candace’s words were right, it’s a predatory scheme.

Perhaps hold habits die hard, after all, vampires are creatures of the night that once terrorized generations of humans.

Shielded by the panes of glass separating the two buildings, it was safe to continue this strange routine. Is staring at a stranger considered stalking if they’re the only view the windows offer?

He got up from his desk, moving towards the filing cabinet just off to the side, allowing for his profile to come into view.

He’s handsome, features outshining any of the male leads you’ve seen in movies.

Teal eyes, ashen hair like moonlight, tall and broad stature. It’s no mystery why so many heroes and heroines fell into depravity, lured in by their beauty, entranced minds blindly offering up their everything.

You weren’t special enough to be immune. Hence, why you continued to watch the nameless vampire who doesn’t know yours. Resting your cheek upon the stiff pillow, the feeling in your arm decreases like the cars in the streets. The pitched beeps keeping time.

He stood back up from his desk again, one hand grabbing the coat thrown over the back of a chair. Placing pens back into a cup and paper back into folders, he walks to the door before his hand shuts off the warm orange light.

It looks like tonight’s episode has ended on time like always. Rolling back to stare at the drab ceiling, allowing blood to rush back into your arm as the sensation of pins and needles crawled up. It wasn’t bothersome, as tonight's viewing evoked entertaining thoughts.

What a punctual vampire, where does he go after midnight? To a tavern or home?

Is someone waiting at the door for him there? Welcoming him back with soft lips?

Is that why he’s so eager to leave?

Your lids were growing heavy, the view of a blank ceiling wanes your alertness. The sweet curiosities coax you to continue in the realm of dreams, you listened to their call.

Could you be that someone?

“So, how ya feeling?” Dehya places down a container filled with baklava.

“Mmm…”

The metal legs of the visitor's chair scraped across the floor as she awaits your response.

“Would you still be my friend if I was a rock, Dehya?”

“Ahh, not this again.” She rolls her eyes.

Sitting upright in the hospital bed, hands folded together you awaited her response.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll still love you to bits even if you’re a pebble or something,” Dehya sighs, but there’s an upward tilt in her lips.

“I’ll love you too.” You helped yourself to some baklava.

A reward for your diversion of a miserable topic with sweet nonsense and special words. After all, she’s got a difficult job during the night, no need to make the day as difficult. Your mother used to say to save such words only for a special someone, but that’s the point of a word if it's never used?

–

“So, a few weeks ago I took this assignment that–” Dehya’s sapphire eyes moved behind you, gazing out the window where the sunlight poured in.

“Ugh, his office is right across from you.”

“Who?”

“Alhaitham, he’s a vampire I had the misfortune of meeting during a job, not that he’d remember.”

So the vampire’s name was Alhaitham, it felt nice on your tongue.

“Oh? How come?”

“He just always talks in long, convoluted sentences, and in that snooty tone, snooty even for a vampire.” Dehya takes a piece of baklava to ease her from that bitter work experience.

“My, I wonder how his spouse bares with him.” The bait was set out.

“Pfft?! Ahaha! Who? It’s nearly impossible to spend five minutes by his side.”

“Mm, really?”

“No ring on his finger. From what I’ve gathered even other vampires can’t stand that personality of his.” Dehya takes another piece.

Success.

–

The container of baklava now only holds a few crumbs and traces of sweet syrup. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, a sign that your friend’s visit was coming to an end.

After all, she’s got a duty to fulfill as a hunter that maintains the balance between mortals and creatures who dare cross the boundaries of the law.

Right as your hand returns from the air after bidding goodbye, it lands on the cold screen of your phone. In an age of growing cities and ever-advancing technologies, you’re grateful for these developments. As it makes your next actions possible.

It’s hard to miss a name when the letters are written in bold, imposing signs along the building just beyond the panes of glass.

As per Sumeru regulation, all employed vampires must be listed on company sites, an attempt at keeping track of such creatures.

Scrolling page after page until eyes landed upon familiar ash-mint trusses.

Name: Alhaitham

Species: Vampire (Born)

Title: Secretary

Years At Company: 168

Fingers clicked on the next tab.

“To apply for a blood contract, one must bring personal identification, and fill out an application during an appointed consultation with the vampire present. Once the boundaries of the contract are established, it will go through the approvement process.”

Eyes moved to the next tab.

“Seven years is the maximum time for a singular contract, but it can be renewed every seven years. Both parties must fulfill the terms written on the contract. The value of a contract is determined by the amount of blood offered on a regular basis or in a future deposit. Applying for a contract that gives the maximum, 10 pints, in a full sum amount must pass a psychological evaluation.”

Fourteen years is an unjustly cruel fate, but seven… Seven might be tolerable. After all, it’s often called the number of luck, you wonder if vampires were aware of this, maybe that’s why they chose that arbitrary number.

Waiting as the sun disappears behind the horizon with your head resting against the stiff pillow. The warm orange glow from the office across from you signaled the start of tonight’s episode. Observing every stop and start of his pen as two voices wrangled your thoughts.

There was a guest featured in this episode it seems, another vampire enters the office with a fresh stack of paper. He seemed eager for Alhaitham’s approval, even going as far as offering a pen out from his own pocket. However, this plan was foiled by a simple rise of hand by the male lead.

The universal signal for rejection.

The guest seemed dumbstruck. The only explanation the silver-haired lead gave was a simple gesture toward a clock. The guest’s hands were moving frantically as if to convey the urgency of the papers piled up.

However, Alhaitham simply takes his coat from the back of his chair and shuts off the warm light.

In the murky darkness, your eyes could just barely make out the silhouettes of two figures traversing out of the office. Oh, tonight’s episode has ended just on time as always.

How shamelessly punctual that vampire is. Some might even call it selfish. But what’s wrong with being selfish? After all, all true passions in life in the end are thinly veiled excuses for selfishness.

If life wanted to be shamelessly selfish, then why can’t you? With that, it seems one voice has finally emerged victorious.

Your fingers crept towards a button just off to the side, a quiet ding resounding as the bright glow flashed. Breaths counting the minutes before a set of footsteps stopped in front of your room, followed by a polite knock.

“Is there something you need, ma’am?”

“Yes, I want to discharge myself tomorrow, as soon as possible.”

Your eyes traced over the too-long string of zeros printed on the check, hands wanting to crumble up the slip of paper. So this is how much your life was worth. Standing outside the Bimarstan, you peered up at the tall building that once caged you.

Were the administrators looking down at you at this moment from their high offices? Were they watching your reaction to their little bribe? Pushing you to keep your lips shut, so that their mistakes and misjudgments won’t reach the ears of the press?

It doesn’t really matter now, but it was thoughtful of them to hand out an extra bargaining chip. Refocusing your attention back on the building just across the street, there were still some preparations to finish.

–

The time was now 6:30 pm, the sun has ran off into the night allowing for the stars to guide you back to the building just beyond the glass.

A simple bag held your offerings: proof of identity, property documents, doctor's notes, and bank statements handsomely topped off with the help of a certain check.

There’s a jitter in your legs as you stood just beyond the threshold of the sliding doors. Is it really the right thing to do?

What would be the look on the faces of your dearest friends?

Would the handsome stranger show last night’s gesture to you too?

Your lungs steadily filled with the crisp air, pushing their capacity almost to the point of pain, you exhaled.

The right thing to do is to be selfish, they’ll understand sooner or later, and the worst thing he could do is say no.

Even if you leave with your cheeks burning in shame, the burn would only last seven years. Your feet stepped past the threshold and the glass doors parted.

“Excuse me, is Mr. Alhaitham here tonight?” You already knew the answer.

“Hm? Yes… Are you looking for him, youngster?” The receptionist quirks a brow at you.

“Yes, I want to schedule a contract consultation with him right now.” You take note of her name tag.

“Hold just one moment, the secretary-”

“Is his schedule occupied right now?”

“No, but if you’d let me finish, Alhaitham isn’t one of the vampires that usually accept such-”

“Please, Madam Faruzan?”

You weren’t sure if it was the polite address of her name or the plead in your gaze that was the cause of the decisive furrow between her brows. However, her shoulders slumped forward as a huff leaves her lips.

“Alright, please follow me.” She gestures a hand, welcoming you to the elevator just behind the desk.

“Thank you.”

Within the confines of the fancy cart, the blue-haired vampire asks over and over if you had all the correct documents, listing each one out. Your skilled ears tuned every word out, nodding along to feign attention. Finally, the saving grace of a pleasant ding signals the chart’s stop at its destination.

When the polished doors slid apart, you charged out into the floor, your legs guiding you to the office with the clearest view of your old glass cage.

From behind you, Faruzan called out your name as she mutter something about how humans these days are always in just a rush. Your ears could care less about her words.

Gallivanting through the threshold of his open office door, you finally came face to face with the male lead you’ve been fawning over.

As his eyes meet yours, you observed the brilliant shades of teal and ocher in them. Really, the view from across two panes of glass couldn’t detail his true beauty.

“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham.” You beamed your best smile.

The pattering of steps behind you comes to a stop as Faruzan finally catches up exasperated at your impatience.

“Secretary Alhaitham, this young lady here would like to make a blood contract with you.”

The weight of his teal gaze shifted back on your frame after your late introduction, assessing the situation as you awaited his response.

“I see.” He nods while walking out from behind the desk, pulling out the chair in front of it.

The receptionist took her cue to leave the room, shutting the office door on the way out. The room now balanced with just one mortal and one immortal.

You paid no mind to his words as you settled down into the seat, after all, you’ve already read through them. Instead, your ears absorbed his timbre tone and smooth cadence. What a dangerously beautiful voice, it’s beckoning you towards the murkier waters.

“What are your demands?”

“Marry me.” Your lips blurted the truth out before shame got the chance to stop them.

Remember, the worst he could do is to show you the door.

–

In truth, you were preparing yourself to see the open palm of his large hand as he rejects your ridiculous proposal. Yet, here you were, still in his office. Sitting just across the expanse of his dark oak desk, all your documents scattered across it as Alhaitham’s pen guided across a form.

“What are the living arrangements you expect?” He doesn’t glance up from the paper.

“Mm… Would moving into your home be possible? Married couples usually live together.”

“That’s possible. Expectations for domestic and financial responsibilities?”

“I can’t work, so I don’t mind taking care of the house. But, I do want us to share some chores, so I don’t go insane.” You wonder if the ends of his lips would curl at your humor.

“I see.” The pen continues to record the sentences down on the form.

You kept the smile up despite the sting of failure.

“So… How much blood do vampires need?” Best to move on.

“It depends. Humans can give at most two pints of blood safely, and only once every two months.”

“You only need to feed once every two months?”

“Yes, would that be an issue?”

Lips parted, your next sentence dangles just off the tip of it. However, it seems that Alhaitham had already read them.

“Mortal medicine has no effect on our bodies.”

“Are there any restrictions on affection? Any personal boundaries?” You pivoted to another question.

The pen stops for a moment, his teal eyes shifting off the paper for just a brief moment as he evaluates numerous scenarios, or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

“Deep kisses are not permitted.” Alhaitham’s teal eyes pierced straight into yours as he delivered the verdict.

It’s silly really, you really don’t have the right to demand an ounce of touch from him, you aren’t entitled to his personal space. However, something still made your stomach sink.

“Oh?... May I ask why?”

“There runs the risk of blood contamination through exchanging saliva, our incisors are quite sharp.”

Oh. You read between the lines he penned down. The most sacred law of this age, a time where mortals and immortals walk alongside each other: vampires cannot turn humans into immortal beings.

He’s being precautious, after all the price he’d have to pay for a drop of his blood tainting yours is far greater than anything you could offer. Yet, the greed deep within you wouldn’t stay silent.

“Are closed-mouth kisses okay then?” Haggling the clauses like you were at a market stall.

Once more the pen stops as he contemplates your bargain.

“Yes.”

“The contract has been submitted to the legal department. If you pass the evaluation, it’ll be approved by the end of this month. I look forward to your cooperation.”

And with his disembodied voice over the phone, he accepts your proposal. Alhaitham agreed to play the role of your husband. The anticipation that weighed down your shoulders for the past three days was finally lifted. Hopefully he can’t hear your idiotic grin through the phone.

Success.

—

“No, I won’t accept this.” Dehya slams her glass down, unfazed by the glances from surrounding tables.

“Please reconsider your decision.” Candace gives you her disapproving gaze.

Shifting your eyes over to Nilou, poor sweet Nilou whose wide eyes could only convey the word ‘why?’. The interrogation after showing the ring to your dearest friends was much more intense than the evaluation you underwent to get the marriage approved.

However, it’s to be expected. After all, two of the people at this table were hunters. If anyone knew the true brutality vampires hold, it would be them.

Tapping on the screen of your phone to reveal the time. Of course, you won’t arrive at this negotiation unprepared. Glancing back up to face the counsel of your friends, a honeyed smile on your lips.

“Would you guys have the time to accompany me to a doctor’s visit?”

–

That took longer than you expected, walking out of the sliding glass doors which reflect the everchanging hues of dusk. The cause for this extended session at the Bimarstan was the numerous times your dearest guests made the poor doctor repeat your verdict.

Each time hoping that something different would leave his mouth. Peering up at the building across the street, you wonder if he’s getting ready to leave the house soon.

The closing of the automatic doors draws your attention back to the three figures who followed behind you. Pensiveness eyes downcasted as their minds continued to digest the events that have unfolded.

“Pfft! What’s with this atmosphere?” A giggle leaves your breath, it’s unbefitting for a gathering of friends.

“I won’t force you to attend my wedding if you don’t want to. However, I’ll be quite the lonely bride without any bridesmaids.” There was your honeyed smile again.

They could say no, they could beg you to drink the first poison offered by the doctors, they could ask you to give them more time, to give yourself more time. But they won’t. You knew they won’t.

Unlike you, they’re selfless and heedful, all your fortune in life must’ve been spent on finding such dear friends.

You’re the only selfish one.

There are many things you like about Alhaitham. Even excluding his excellent physique, his starlight hair and beryl-citrine eyes, he’s got the perfect traits of a life partner. He satisfies all the aspects of the ideal husband. Never leaving you wanting or hungry. You could list all his positive traits.

–

One, by simply holding out a hand, he’ll place his black card onto your awaiting palm. Not even batting an eye when you returned home from a ‘simple grocery run’ in a new set of clothes with the tags still on.

When you mentioned to him that a TV would look nice on the empty living room wall, he ordered one on the same day. How dreamy.

–

Two, he’s quite the interesting specimen.

“So, if someone were to douse you with blessed water, your flesh won’t burn?”

“No.”

Alhaitham humors your ridiculous inquires about his species, enlightening you to just how inaccurate those films and shows you loved were.

He even humors the trivial anniversaries, celebrations, and dates inspired by any recent dramas you fancied. The wedding was proof enough: he tolerates your fantasies.

–

Three, what you liked most of all: he’s too smart to ask redundant questions. After all, he’s read the files, he’s seen the diagnosis.

It’s not some secret that shall not be told, not a monster that shall not be named. Just like how there’s no point in telling someone the sky is blue, there’s nothing left to say about the doctor's notes.

No surprises, no sudden alarms, just the artificially sweet lull of domestic life.

–

Performing the part of a doting husband with such spectacular accuracy, you could almost mistake it as sincere.

You applaud the amount of skill it takes. However, costars are meant to bring out the best in each other, pushing one another past their thresholds for an excellent show.

The slightest blunders of lines and facial muscles couldn’t fool your expert gaze. It does take one to know one.

–

“Haitham,” you called out.

Setting down the two servings of biryani on the dinner table, the rich spices perfumed through the halls. It only takes one call for Alhaitham to come out from his library, halting for a second at the threshold of the kitchen before swiftly composing himself once more.

“Dinner is ready, it’s biryani tonight.” You gestured for him to take a seat, a smile ever present on your lips.

“Thank you.” He takes his place.

You take your place just across the table, wasting no time enjoying the fruit of labor after standing over a stove. Every grain of rice perfectly coated in the right amount of seasoning, just the correct level of richness. The recipe you followed online deserved its high rating, it’s delicious.

Traveling across the length of the dinner table, your leaden gaze landed upon the figure who has yet to touch his meal. That must’ve been enough for him to take his cue, bringing a spoon full into his mouth, chewing then shallowing.

“How is it?” Resting an elbow on the polished oak.

“You’ve worked hard on this dish, thank you.” He takes another bite.

Letting out a pleased hum, you released him from this scene. Turning your attention back to your own meal.

You’ll clear your plate in about twenty more bites, and he’ll continue to push the contents of his plate around once in a while faking a bite. Then after you’re finished, he’ll swiftly offer to clear the table and dishes, telling you to retire to the bedroom for rest.

A clever diversion from his ultimate goal of dumping your cooking into the trash. You’ve gone through this script for two years now.

It’s practically impossible to completely suppress one’s true intentions and instincts. Alhaitham can’t fully prevent the corners of his lips from down-turning every time you address him with that botched nickname.

He can’t entirely stop the sigh escaping his lips whenever you call for him to help with menial tasks, unbefitting for such a noble creature.

He can’t suppress the repulsive scrunch of his nose every time your cooking assaults his palate, the same reaction witnessed during the bi-monthly feeding sessions.

The same disgust he has of your blood, you thought mortal medicines has no effect on such beings, an oversight on his part.

He’s not as much of a mastermind as he might think, after all, he’s the one who allowed a piece of paper to be dangled over his head. Placing the power of clauses into the palm of your awaiting hand.

You tell him ‘jump’, and he’ll ask how high with disdain thinly veiled behind brilliant teal.

Humans are defined by their curiosity and greed, mortal hands always playing chicken with a boundary, testing how far they could go. You’re not special enough to be different.

Perhaps the only time he gets the advantage is when you bare your neck for him. Fangs hastily piercing skin, hands a bit too harsh around the neck. He wants it to hurt, you know.

Too bad, months spent at the hospital trained your tolerance to such sensations.

If life wants to entangle its fingers into your hair and cruelly tow you to and fro, why can’t you enjoy that same feeling? You’ll just grasp at any wisp of control, you’re a simple human after all. You’d even grasp onto death to stable yourself.

Mortal self-interest versus immortal apathy, what a disastrous harmony.

Ah, you slept a bit too long. Extended nap causing you to miss a scheduled cup of tea. Tapping a finger along the cool marble countertop you watched the kettle boil.

Frame resting against the counter, each tap against the marble was a futile attempt at distraction. Kalpalata Lotus’ effects can only last four hours, what a shame.

The steady rhythm of taps interrupted now and then by a pulse of pain as the leaves steeped. Starting deep within your core then crawling it’s up to your lungs like a shadow overtaking a frail flower.

This must be your warranted punishment for a transgression committed over the weekend. Dragging a creature of the night into the bright, unwelcoming sun all for a silly farmer’s market. Alhaitham’s slumped figure and worn tone were the cue.

You thought vampires weren’t like how the drama portrayed them, but perhaps there’s some truth, an oversight on your part.

You played chicken with that boundary and got burned, how will you soothe the wounds of guilt now?

Foregoing honey this time, you hastily swallowed the entire contents of the cup. No matter how fast you push the tea down your throat, no matter how many spoonfuls of honey you put into it: it’s unpalatable.

The herbal tang dried the inside of your mouth, yet the bitterness made your salivary glands go into overdrive. This is what purgatory is like, huh?

The chime of your ringtone snapped you back to reality. Glancing over at the screen: Candace. A call so late, she’s at work now, isn’t she?

Swiftly pushing down the bitterness that lingered, clearing your throat before accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, how are you feeling, any discomfort?”

“Pfft! The diligent Candace gets on her phone during work just to check up on me? I’m swooned.” Your bell-like laughter made the pain worse as it rang through the empty house.

From the other side, you could pick up the faint giggle, you envision her fighting back a smile.

“Yes, yes. But more importantly, where are you now?”

“Home, why? Did you want to visit? I got some baklava.”

“Good, stay there.” There’s an instant switch to the mood.

“Mm?” You hummed, passively acknowledging the tension.

“Please stay inside. There’s a rouge vampire at large, hunters are scattered all throughout the city.”

Leaving you with a cliffhanger, she knew you’d want a taste of the details. You’ll bite.

“Oh? That serious, what did they do?”

“He turned his lover.”

Goosebumps ran up your neck in the perfectly tempered room. That vampire crossed the forbidden line in the sand, straight into the ocean of inevitable demise.

The most sacred rule results in the most miserable end. Once caught, his chest will be pierced with silver, heart torn from his body. She doesn’t need to detail those, you already knew.

“Oh?”

“His lover has been located, they’re receiving treatment, unsure of the status. However, you should tell your husband to be careful.”

“I should be saying that to you. Stay safe out there, he’s probably on his way back anyways.” Your eyes glanced at the clock, 11: 59 pm.

“Alright, I will. You should really rest, it’s so late.”

“Mm? Says you, Candace. Tell Dehya I said to stay out of trouble.”

She hums in response. Right after you chimed your farewell and right before she disconnected the call, you slipped in one more line.

“Please stay safe.” Addressed to no one person in particular.

–

The hands on the clock now read 3: 21 am, a fresh cup of tea now rested in between your hands. Eye reflecting back at you, still no message, not a single call. His voicemail now ingrained into your ears.

In an age where humans and vampires now live side by side, it’d be naive to believe that such arrangements are free from prejudice. After all, centuries of fear and hatred don’t just vanish into the air like the vapors of hot tea.

If a vampire is slain during a hunt, a creature unrelated to the true prey, oh well.

It was for the greater good, it was to maintain the peace, to ensure humanity’s safety. You’re not in the mood to debate such flimsy excuses.

–

It’s now 4: 34 am, the blushing hues of dawn were just about to creep through the curtains by the front door. Your legs begged for rest, your shoulders heavy, but you refused to leave your post.

Finally, the clink of keys slotting into place sang through the entranceway. The heavy oak door opens, you don’t need to study his expression, he’s disappointed to see you.

“Where’ve you been?” No chirp in your command.

“I went drinking with coworkers.”

You know, you could smell it on him.

“Why didn’t you call beforehand?”

Alhaitham doesn’t bother to suppress his deep exhale, nor the downward tug at his lips. Disdain meets disappointment, eyes and frowns locked into a staredown as the hands of a clock kept time.

In the peripheral you spot warm orange chasing away the pink, clearing the way for the most brilliant star. Oh, it looks like your wound wasn’t soothed enough. You closed your eyes.

What went wrong with the script?

You.

It’s not selfishness, it’s plain immaturity. Immaturity breeds cruelty. The same immature cruelty of a curious child who ripped off the hypnotically beautiful wings of a butterfly.

Perhaps the corruption of your tissues has made its way into your personality, an unforeseen consequence of that herbal tea. Or maybe your transgressions were the influence of a green-eyed monster. Immortality gives him an overabundance of what you’re deprived of.

But it’s not his fault, it’s not an unseen monster’s fault, it’s your immaturity that’s ruining this performance.

This just won’t do. With the script going awry long ago, there’s no use in trying to follow it, the two of two should conserve your energy.

It’s best to rewrite it again, to say lines that’ll move the scene along in the right direction, to save this domestic drama. You’ll be the first to fold.

“My life’s too short for misunderstandings and messy communication,” you huffed.

Lids opening back up to catch his gaze again, restrained and artificially blank as always. Still, he’s got beautiful eyes.

“I’m your wife, and you’re my husband.” You stated the obvious.

Alhaitham knows that, so his lips remain still.

“So when my husband, who usually arrives home at half past midnight on the dot, didn’t arrive home until dawn without a single text or call, I got worried.”

Another deep exhale from him.

“You don’t need to report every movement to me, I don’t want that either. But if you plan on staying out please give me a simple text, so I don’t have to spend hours worrying about why my husband isn’t answering my calls.”

The discoloration under your eyes, the slump of your heavy shoulders, and the unsteadiness of your knees. He’s observing them all, isn’t he? A pro-actor accesses the situation before deciding how to respond to an ad-lib.

“I understand, I’ll do that from now on,” he answers.

What a typical response for him, but maybe not so much for a husband.

“You’re supposed to apologize, ya know: ‘I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife’,” you advised.

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife,” he parroted.

You’ll suppress your giggles for now, this successful pivot of a dreadful scene caused a grin to break out on your face. One that reaches your eyes.

Arms outstretched you wrapped them around his neck as your lips warmed up his cool cheek, tying the ending together with repetition that’s now become a habit.

“Welcome home, Haitham.”

“Closed… for construction?...” Your eyes trailed across the bolded letters.

The grand garden was blocked off by iron gates and mossy stonewalls, path dimly lit by dull streetlamps.

It’s your third anniversary, to celebrate a new chapter, a reworked script, you planned this special itinerary. The Pardis Dhyai was the grandest garden in all of Sumeru, and they offered night tours. It was perfect, but it seems that you miscalculated.

“It’s negligence on their part for not having this notification on their website.” Alhaitham’s baritone voice draws you from your thoughts.

You must look so idiotic right now. Getting all dressed up and even coaxing him from the comfort of the house just to bring Alhaitham to a wall. You didn’t fight the slump of your shoulders, the fires of shame licked at your cheeks. You feel the weight of his teal eyes.

“The street market is open tonight, would you like to go there instead?”

What a good husband, stepping in to remedy his wife’s mistakes. Finally gathering the courage to connect with his gaze, you notice the faint twitch of his nose as a breeze passed by.

“Do you not like flowers?”

“Their fragrance is overbearing.”

Recalling the times you’ve shoved an excessive bouquet in front of his face during previous anniversaries, the familiar burn of guilt crept up your back. You just can’t do anything right tonight, huh?

“There’s no point in standing around.” He stretched out a hand towards you, palms waiting.

“... Heh, it’s a good thing it’s closed then huh, Haitham?” Placing your warm hand into his cold grasp, a meek smile stretches your lips.

Alhaitham hums in response, mercifully guiding you in the direction of the night market. As you walked along the dimly illuminated path, your eyes traveled back to the stonewall once more, its height towering even over your husband.

“I’ve never visited this place before… what a shame…” The comment slipped your tongue before you could bite it back.

Alhaitham promptly stops, turning back to glance between you and the mossy wall. The lullabies of crickets filled the nothingness, much like they did during the wedding night. The smile on your face grew tighter, he must think you’re whining.

“Woah??-”

Before you could conquer up a line to transition from this scene, Alhaitham had released your hand, only for his arms to hoist you off the ground.

Tender hold balancing you against his firm frame, you had to tilt your neck down to look at his face. Following the subtle motion of his head you looked in the same direction, eyes widening as realization dawned upon you.

The garden wall towered over the two of you, but as one, you were able to peer over the craggy barrier that once blocked your view. Wind blowing the floral fragrance over your face unobstructed.

“What do you see?” The deep vibrations of his chest resonate against your body.

There was no one here tonight. Just a husband and wife enjoying a moment so private, not even the moon dare intrude. Sweetness meddling with bitter guilt, crafting something bittersweet.

“Flowers…very beautiful flowers,” you answered, gazing beyond the stones.

“It’s a garden after all.”

“Pfft!”

The contrast between this gentle scene and his curt response pushes a laugh from your breath.

Patting his arm, you signaled for him to place you down, and carefully he follows your instruction. Once your feet touched the solid earth again, you pressed your face into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s our anniversary.” The justification of his actions.

“Of course… now let’s go, I want to try the samosas there!” The brightness returns back to your lips.

This time, you lead the way. Warm hands mingle with his cold ones, creating a comfortable temperature as you gallivanted along as one. Under the moonless sky, you told him your first true lie, a full lie.

–

How troublesome, you said you’d clean the library tonight. Looking around at the piles of books littered all throughout and the coating of dust. If only a nap didn’t eat away at the day, then maybe you wouldn’t be so pressed for time.

Oh well, rolling up your sleeves to begin your promised duty. No use in mulling over it, and no use in blaming the nap either. It’s to be expected, after all, tea time is now every three hours.

Alhaitham’s collection of books is nothing to scoff at, in fact, you’re willing to wager his collection rivals those of academic archives.

How long did it take for him to gather them? What criteria must they fit to catch his interest?

Small inquiries bloomed through your thoughts as each journal slid back into its rightful shelves.

It can’t be helped. Finally, after four years, you’re now allowed past the threshold of his library. The last corner of the house which was wholly his. You’re allowed a glimpse into his sanctuary. The exhilaration from this privilege was enough to outweigh the tediousness.

Eyes switching back and forth between the two covers currently in your hands. So focused on deciding between which shelves to place them your ears failed to pick up the poised footsteps coming your way. It took a pair of adamant hands on your shoulders to wake you from these thoughts

“Why weren’t you at the door?” A familiar baritone voice.

Oh, you weren’t mindful of the time at all. Meeting teal irises as you glanced back over a shoulder, not missing the ghost of a furrow between his brow. Alhaitham isn’t one who’s fond of deviations from a practiced script.

“Sorry, sorry I got caught up in these books.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

Placing the books back down and spinning around, cradling his face between your warm palms, you carefully placed a kiss on his cold lips.

“Welcome home, Haitham.” You whispered against them.

Alhaitham hummed as his eyes closed, savoring the sensation of your warmth transferring to him. How unbefitting of such a noble creature, melting into the touch of a mere mortal. What a beautiful view to witness, so lovely in fact, a certain phrase clawed its way to the tip of your tongue.

“I...” You waited for his brilliant beryl eyes to reveal themselves again.

The soft trills of crickets creep in through the window, a call back to a night when an executive decision was reached by both parties to remove necessary lines from the script.

“… wonder if you collect books in place of company.” You’ll heed their warning.

There was a sigh that filled the distance between you.

“They’re great stimulants for the mind, perhaps you should read some.” No hesitation in his sardonic counter to your playfulness.

“Pfft! Haitham, I can’t read half of these languages.”

It’ll be redundant to reinstate such words into a script that wasn’t written for it no? A part of you wonders if the quip was supposed to be a diversion from the faint downward pull of his lips.

The windows were cracked ajar allowing the crisp night breeze into the sanctuary of the bedroom, the new air circulating through helped push out the stuffiness. However, Summer was always too hot for you.

“Haitham.” Under the glow of a waxing moon, your hands reached out.

Soon, the cool cheeks of your husband settled into the space between your palms, taking away the excess heat. You brought him closer, allowing your foreheads to touch.

To never be bothered by the polar extremes of temperature, how nice it is to be born of the supernatural.

“Mmm… It’s been a while, aren’t you hungry?” You broke the comfortable silence.

“I’m fine.” Two firm arms pulled you closer.

His gray lashes were still shut, concealing away the teal stained with hints of scarlet. A tell-tale sign. It’s about five years too late for him to lie to you. Like a stubborn child refusing to take his medicine, where did the arrogant vampire go?

It’ll be best to change tactics, everything must have its fair compensation, a principle Alhaitham follows to its core. Sliding your hands away from his face and down along the contour of his body as your face rests into the crook of his neck.

“It’s really hot tonight.” Warm palms sneaking under the barrier of a shirt.

There’s a hiss that sounds next to your ear as two hands firmly grasp your hips. Emboldened by his reaction, your hands continued to explore his sculpted frame, icy skin stealing away the warmth that smothered you. Alhaitham’s fingers kneaded your hips in contemplation. Moving closer to his ear, your breath ghosted over them.

“Haitham, can you make it go away?” The final push.

A deep growl reverberated against his chest, a sign of his surrender to your whims. A gasp is knocked out of your lips as your back meets with the plush mattress. This time two icy palms traversed the sweltering outline of your skin, goosebumps trailing behind his every touch.

You hummed at the sensation as his hands travel further up, pushing the troublesome fabric of your shirt out of the way, exposing your soft breast to the air. A moan slipped off your tongue as Alhaitham gropes at the soft mounds, placing a kiss in the valley between them, cold fingers playing with the nipples now perked.

Wrapping your legs around his solid frame, your hands tugged at the shirt that blocked your view of his godly body. A silent whine for him to take it off, and like the good husband he is, Alhaitham complies. In return, your shirt was also stripped from your frame, a fair trade. Cheeks stained red from shame your mind was too muddled to process, you blame it on the heat.

More icy kisses trailed along your chest and neck, as cool fingers sneaked under the waistband of your shorts. His icy touches land straight against your puffy lips, labia glistening with slickness. You flinched at the sudden temperature change against your pussy, and his hand twitched at the small surprise.

“Wet already, and nothing underneath…” Alhaitham’s baritone voice reports his finding against your ear.

“Mmm,” you sounded out, shivering at the combination of his voice and teasing fingers.

“How lewd.”

“You don’t like it?”

Instantly, a stiff mass was pressed against the softness of your thighs.

“Do I seem displeased?”

Entangling your fingers into ashen locks, you let a giggle flutter your chest against his. Two hearts beating on opposite sides. Shorts pulled off the length of your legs and kicked to the side, leaving you bare underneath his mercy.

Rolling your hips against his cool palms to generate some friction, your clit begging for an ounce of attention. A quick slap against the sensitive bud jolts your body as you moan, a swift punishment for your impatience.

As if to soothe the lingering sting, his fingers circle the bundle causing your legs to shiver as pleasure runs up them. Your folds release more of their essence, Alhaitham’s fingers collect it, tracing your entrance with fleeting touches. The heat engulfing your body was beginning to become too much, your walls clenching around nothing desperately. Your legs pull him closer, attempting to spur on the tempo.

Your feeble strength is nothing against his, Alhaitham effortlessly pulls away from your trap. A whine left your throat as even his ashen locks freed themselves from your grasp.

“Shh, let me have a taste first.” He pulls you toward the edge of the bed.

Vascular hands gripping onto your thighs, spreading them open to allow him unobstructed access to your dripping greed. A firm hold denies you the opportunity to slither away from the cool breaths hitting your pussy lips.

Alhaitham’s tongue teases its way between your folds, collecting your escaped honey into his mouth as he releases a satisfied grunt. Licking stripes along your pussy, cool lips brushing against your sensitive clit. Your fingers found their way back to his silken locks, the back of your hand blocking your mouth.

Objecting against your cruel act of denying him the privilege of your moans, a finger was abruptly thrusted into your soaked walls with a squelch, causing your back to arch off the sheets. Hand no longer able to withhold the sinful sounds from his awaiting ears.

Another finger soon makes its way into your gummy walls, sliding to curl against that one spot deep within before sliding out and repeating. All the while his lips closed around your delicate bud, suckling and abusing it with his brutish tongue.

He was supposed to cool you down in this unbearable heat, yet your body only burned more under his ministration. Your walls desperately clenched down as your fingers tightened their hold on his ashen hair, trying to find any perch for your sanity to cling to.

Your actions only spurred him on, harsh sucks to your swollen clit and fingers increasing their pace. He wanted to ravish you wholly, to leave you a mess beyond saving. White flashes shoot up your trembling legs still held apart by his iron grip. If he continues then you might really fall beyond the grace of help.

“S-slower.”

Your slurred speech must’ve made your words incoherent, as Alhaitham only added more force behind his movements. Your slicked walls clenched around his fingers as they continued to pinpoint your weak spot, the messy licks and sucks at your clit causing the knot in your core to grow tighter and tighter. Or maybe your husband is just too famished to know mercy.

Back raising off the bed, no matter how hard your fingers cling onto his hair and the messy sheets you couldn’t stop the fall off the edge as your eyes saw the back of your head. A broken moan resounded through the room. Hopefully, it’s too late for anyone on a late-night stroll past the open window. Every fiber of your being shivering and nerve overwhelmed with hot flashes of pleasure. All the while Alhaitham’s tongue never stopped its torture.

Laying bonelessly upon the ruined sheets, hands limp by your side. Your chest heaves trying to remember how to breathe as a large figure looms over you. Your quivering pussy reluctantly released his fingers as a string of slick connected them.

Unfocused eyes watch as your husband’s tongue cleans the essences off, making sure to clean every inch.

You felt so empty inside, the heat between your legs only escalating as your walls clenched around nothing. Was it the heat or pleasure that’s melting your mind? You don’t know and were too desperate to care. You wanted relief from the heat and judging by the hard shape pressed into your thigh, he needed relief too.

Wordless your nimble fingers reached down, curling over the waistbands of his pants and boxers you pulled them down. Finally freeing his cock, it slaps against his naval as the leaking precum spears across his exposed skin. Playfully, your finger toys with his swollen tip, gathering up the precum as a hiss leaves his clenched teeth.

Making sure to look directly into his piercing eyes, you brought the finger into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the digit and then pulling it out from your lips with an audible pop.

Your shameless behavior earned you a guttural growl from Alhaitham, soon your hand was pinned above your head. His face was just inches away, the brilliant teal of eyes now wholly glazed over with crimson. Everyone is warned to never play with fire, but it’s just too addicting to resist.

“Brazen girl,” he snarls.

You countered with a grin, cheeks a deep red, but what’s there to hide from someone who’s laid you bare numerous times before?

Sucking in a gasp as his thick tip rubbed against your negligent folds, your leaking walls trembling with anticipation. Longing for the stretch only he could offer you.

“Beg.”

Of course, nothing ever comes easily when it comes to him. Self-control honed by years of experience, all held by the iron grip of his analytical mind. A battle you’ll never win, so it’s best to sacrifice your self-respect in favor of your aching pussy. A fool for pleasure, gone far beyond the point of saving.

“Please… I want you to ruin me… please ruin me.” Sinful words rolling off your tongue.

Words that finally snapped the last thread of self-restraint Alhaitham had, instantaneously his hips met yours. Your gummy walls, long ingrained in his shape, welcomed the familiar stretch, clamping down as a wet slap resounded through the room. Alhaitham pushed his cock in further, pinning your body deeper into the mattress, hissing at the heat that engulfed his length.

Your mouth falls open, pleasure shooting through overstimulated nerves, the bed creaking underneath you as his hips pulled away just to snap back. Setting a more punishing pace than usual, the bed shook in protest as your pussy welcomed each thrust, slick walls wrapping around his girth.

Moans flowed out of your mouth like how water flows through rivers, any semblance of embarrassment drowned out by molten pleasure. Two bodies connecting and mingling together to create a private heaven.

Alhaitham’s hand abandons its grip on your wrist in favor of getting more leverage on your hips, purple marks promising to appear in the morning.

Before your muddled mind could process it, icy lips crashed into your plush ones, a tongue crossed the line. Sloppy and hungry was how his mouth devoured yours. Tongues clashing and dancing as he shallows each moan of yours.

He pulls away momentarily as you took the opportunity to steal a few breaths. Scarlet-hazed eyes observe the transgression just committed before his lips moved back to reconnect with yours.

It’s clear he doesn’t give a damn about that arbitrary rule anymore. Why must forbidden acts always feel so good?

Free hands now found purchase on his broad back, nails digging into the smooth skin trying to balance out the onslaught of pleasure invading every fiber of your being. Legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the sheets with you never once interrupting his savage pace.

Your attempts at staving off your independent orgasm were futile, teary eyes rolling back as your walls clenched and your body shook.

Alhaitham released your lips in time to savor the broken symphony of a moan leaving your throat, the sheets underneath you a soaking mess, proof of your fall from cloud nine.

Despite this, your husband doesn’t slow down in the slightest. The sight in front of him only heightened the hunger in his eyes.

The solid oak bed frame swayed in time with the pistoning of his thrust, tight walls clamping down yet giving no resistance as his thick tip continued to bully that sweet spot. His chilly breath against your nape, tongue running a wet trail to prepare the area. Sensations your melted mind could barely register.

His fingers dig deeper into your hips as he pulls them flushed against his, thick cock pressing further into your wanton core.

A sharp prick shoots up your nape before the sensation of your walls being filled beyond capacity distracts from it. Your pussy pitifully attempts to suck in every last drop before succumbing, letting his essence join yours in making a mess of the sheets. Trembling hands run along his muscular back, pulling him closer to your heaving chest.

Your pants counted in time with the hands of a clock, shards of your sanity slowly returning to you as gulps moved down Alhaitham’s throat. With a satisfied sigh, his incisors released your neck, tongue lapping over the escaped drops of scarlet.

Slowly pulling away from your embrace, his untainted teal eyes scan over you. Hair fanned out behind you, chest still heaving, and cheeks still violently flushed. You must look absolutely ruined, just as you asked of him.

Carefully, he pulls out from your gummy walls, trembling walls allowed to gather their senses again. Detangling your legs from him with tender hands he repositions your droopy body comfortably along plush pillows.

Humming in gratitude as you rolled onto your stomach, face buried into the luxurious pillows which held his opulent scent. The aftermath of passion gradually faded away from recovering nerves. The space next to you dips down as his frame joins you, a cool hand resting along the curve of your back.

The soft sways of leaves in the night breeze, slowing pants, and the sweet lull of nothingness filled the air of this private haven. Two hearts, one mortal and one immortal, beating together.

“Would you want more time?” Came a question that broke the silence.

A hushed invitation slipped to you behind the watchful eyes of the divine. A lure towards deep waters by his beckoning voice.

Perhaps your curiosity has influenced him as well. All your innocent inquiries must’ve muddled the line, question after question brushing away at the definition until misunderstanding took its place.

This won’t do. Your time is too short and his time too precious to be wasted on miscommunication.

Since it was you who muddled the line, it shall be you who reestablishes it.

“I was born a human,” you began.

Pausing to enjoy the feeling of his cool fingers drawing unknown shapes into your back and the gentle vibrations of his hum.

“I will die as one.”

With those simple words, the line was once again clearly drawn in the sand.

Separating you from him, and him from you. Just as the laws of morals, nature, and this world dictated.

After all, it was you who said: “For a fraction of your time, I’ll give you all of mine”. Not the other way around. The price he’d have to pay is far greater than anything you’re willing to sacrifice.

No, you’re too selfish for that.

Under a waning moon, the market was lively tonight. Bright lanterns and stringed lights challenged the radiance of the sky’s stars. The twinkling momentarily distracts your mind from the cries of your muscles and the aches of your bones.

What a simple thing you are, or perhaps you’re just a human in the purest sense. So entranced by the beauty of a rose, it distracts from the sting of thorns.

Such drab comparisons have no place in your thoughts tonight.

As if to run away from them, your legs moved with volition, weaving in and out of the surges of crowds with clumsy grace, some haggling, some laughing, some yelling.

Glazing up at the moon above, it was as if she was following your every step, watching, judging the performance of this daydream.

It wasn’t long before the volition faded away as you slowed to a halt, lung greedily trying to hog all the air they could. A herbal scent found its way to your senses, a quick glance to your left confirms your suspicions.

It looks like your legs couldn’t carry you far enough in the end. Stopping right in front of a display of dried Kalpalata Lotuses, the moon must be laughing right now.

You weren’t sure which one tasted more bitter, the herb or the irony.

Straightening your posture back up, ready to push through the burn of your muscles once more before a cold grasp grounded you back into reality.

Whipping your head around, bewildered eyes connected with placid teal. There was a furrow in the brows that framed the hypnotic azure.

“Don’t go where my hand can’t reach.” Alhaitham’s atonal voice carried over the chatter of the streets.

Bringing your husband out of the house, only to then leave him alone in a sea of people. What a capricious wife you are.

Perhaps Alhaitham foresaw this exact situation, that’d explain the recent spike in his reclusiveness. Seeing this, a giggle bubbled up in your throat.

“Oh?~ Someone’s been watching my dramas. Where’d you learn that line from?”

As he sighs your giggles only increased, cold fingers loosening around your wrist.

“It’s exceptionally crowded tonight, be mindful of your surroundings.”

You simply nodded along, a sign to him that you’re only absorbing half of his words, another sigh from him and another giggle from you.

“A bag of Kalpalata Lotuses for the two of you tonight as well?” The vendor, ready with a fresh paper bag, intrudes on this raillery.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, silencing your giggles as your eyes trailed over the dulled hues of the dried herb.

Four hours went to three went to two and now down to one. Each cup becoming more and more unpalatable. There comes a point when a bucket can longer keep a sinking ship afloat, perhaps it’s better to gaze upon the starry night as one disappears under the waves.

“Actually… Padisarah tea tastes better, I want a bag of that instead.” A honeyed smile dawned upon your lips as you glazed back up at him.

Alhaitham parts his lips, a response ready to fall off his tongue, but he closes them just as swiftly. Returning a hum of acknowledgment at your request, handing over the mora in exchange for the bag of dried Padisarah.

Your attention has already shifted away from this scene, eyes avoiding the dull hues, finally landing upon wood carved with much creative liberty. There’s enough space for another sculpture no? It’d be nice to add more company to the home.

Before the muscles in your legs could budge, a hand twitched, reminding you of the loose hold still around your wrist.

A good partner should respect the wishes of their spouse. Warm fingers slide into the space between cold ones, intertwining like the lights above with the sky.

All it took was a soft tug for a human to move a vampire through the bustling crowd.

A common phrase uttered to unwell patients is ‘mind over body’.

However, there’s only so much the body can take before it rebels against the mastermind.

Even your own body had enough of your selfishness.

Protest taking the form of wheezes, lethargy, and that piercing ache forever present deep within. You were always the one to toe the line, pushing your luck to the limits and beyond, only stopped by a towering wall.

It’s time to lay rest under silken sheets and plush pillows. Something you’ve been doing very often these days. Perhaps your body is just practicing for the ending.

The cumbersome duvet fails to capture the wisps of warmth only a Sumerian Summer can offer, it fails to prevent the chill from penetrating deep into your every bone.

Dull senses alert you to a shift in weight on the mattress. Fighting against the leaden weight of your lids, you opened your eyes to the sight of your husband.

Ashen hair slightly trussed and button down wrinkled as his frame lays next to yours. He must have come here straight from the door, a once-practiced tradition slowly faded away much like strength from your limbs.

The muscles on his face relaxed, neutral by default, yet his eyes were downturned much like the corners of his lips.

Your husband must be deep in thought. His thumb is digging into his palm again, it seems that Alhaitham has developed a new habit. Hazy eyes carefully focused on how the nail threatened to break the surface of his palm.

That’s no good.

Ignoring the exhaustion, you slipped your fingers in between his, shielding his palm from the assaults of his thumb, settling into a gentle embrace as two rings clinked together.

The weight of a teal gaze centers on you.

“My husband is such a handsome actor.” Breathy voice barely a whisper.

Chest protesting against your action with wheezes, but you needed to finish this script, it's what a co-star should do.

“You don’t have to play this role anymore.” Exposing your neck to him as your lashes fluttered shut, it was time to pay your dues.

Much like the clauses written on parchment signed by two names, the ending of this script must be followed, your body already taking its cue.

At least the doctors were accurate this time, how punctual your body is.

A brisk breath brushed against your nape, skin reacting with a trail of goosebumps as you feel the presence of sharp incisors draws near before grazing against your delicate neck. Your mind counts back, ready for the final pierce of pain to come.

Three… Two… The pressure of his fangs disappears from your skin. Replaced by the touch of gentle lips.

Opening your eyes with confusion and lost anticipation, you were met with stoic eyes.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back.”

“I’m not holding myself back,” Alhaitham answers without the slightest pause.

Your chest wheezes once more at your lung’s clumsy attempt at gathering a breath.

“What a silly vampire,” you giggled, the crimson hues were obvious even to your dimming vision.

After the numerous questions you asked and the innumerable answers he gave these past seven years, you still couldn’t fully comprehend him. Neither of you were the masterminds you thought you were, huh?

In the end, both of you were fools trying to perform a stage play.

Your mind ponders this revelation as Alhaitham tugs the covers up your body, gentle hand running along your body through the thick fabric barrier.

The faint ticks of a clock pull a buried secret from the guard sanctuary of your thoughts, dusting off the obscurity to reexamine the details in full clarity.

What was the end of the path like? Well, just like the scene blocked off by a garden wall under that moonless night, it’s all the same.

Maybe tonight you’ll tell him the truth.

What was over that wall? With its stones piled high and with moss creeping through its crevices, a wall that only creatures born within the grace of an undecided god could peer past. What did it conceal?

Nothing.

A nothingness so empty, ultimate peace could reside.

Seems like you’ve discovered something new in the end, you shameless fool. Death is nothingness in the end, a nothingness that fingers pass right through.

So instead of holding on to nothing, you’d rather grasp a cold hand as nothingness envelopes you. He didn’t seem to mind.

You wanted to tell this to the creature who humored your daydream for all these years. If he doesn’t want your blood then you could at least impart this priceless insight to him.

Oh, it’s such a shame that your tongue just won’t move anymore. Instead, you’ll offer him a smile. In hopes that Alhaitham could decrypt the curvature of your lips with his seven years of experience. To translate your silent message into a language known to man with his lifetimes of wisdom.

It’s all you could do to thank him for holding your hand as the dirge of Summer crickets fade out and the last first rays of a grieving sun kiss the horizon. The final wisp of warmth escaping down your cheek.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

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gimmethatagustd · 3 months

Text

ultra thin & extra sensitive | kth + jjk

It takes an impromptu trip to buy condoms for Jungkook to finally confess his feelings to Taehyung.

○ Pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, smut, fluff

○ 10 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Grocery Store)

○ Word Count: 4,557

○ Warnings: Dick jokes lol, Jungkook is so needy, relationship drama, "what are we?" painful moments, groping, anal fingering, protected anal sex, car sex

○ Notes: I hope you all enjoy this strange fic about condoms. I'm so behind on this drabble challenge, and I don't even wanna think about it 😅

○ Post Date: March 12, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? Bambi - BAEKHYUN

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk.”

Jungkook smirks as Taehyung whimpers and tosses back his pretty blonde head. Jungkook has him pressed to the wall with one of his legs hiked up and hooked over Jungkook’s hip, opening him up so Jungkook can grind their clothed cocks together.

They’re both hard, Taehyung in his straight-leg jeans and Jungkook in light gray sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. Not that Taehyung needs to imagine what Jungkook’s cock looks like; he’s seen Jungkook naked plenty of times in the few months they’ve been hooking up.

Although the foyer of Taehyung’s apartment is dark, the moon casts enough light through the windows to illuminate the men as they rut against each other. It’s Jungkook’s first time here, but he’s too preoccupied to look around.

Despite their familiarity with each other, Taehyung is still shy around Jungkook. He squeezes his eyes shut when Jungkook sucks hickeys against his throat as though he’s afraid to see how devoutly Jungkook wants to devour him, chin tilted to the ceiling, and pretty pink lips parted so more whimpers can slip from them. A blush spreads across Taehyung’s cheeks like spring tulips in bloom, and Jungkook wonders how he possibly got so lucky to have something so sweet.

Jungkook nips at the curve of Taehyung's ear, and Taehyung curls his long, pretty fingers around Jungkook’s shoulders to hold himself up. Taehyung’s innocence makes Jungkook want to bite into him even deeper.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook whispers hoarsely.

“Hmm…?”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

A breathy whine is Taehyung’s response, and even though it isn’t what Jungkook is looking for, he quietly laughs under his breath.

“You’re so fucking cute, you know that?”

“I’m not,” Taehyung protests with a gentle sigh. It isn’t true, but Jungkook leaves him be.

Jungkook lets go of Taehyung’s thigh to work on unbuttoning his jeans. Once they’re unzipped, he glides one of his hands inside Taehyung’s jeans to palm his ass over his briefs. Using his other hand, he loosens Taehyung’s fingers from his shoulder. He brings Taehyung’s hand to the back of his neck and slowly slides it upward until their intertwined fingers slip through Jungkook’s hair. Curling his fingers, he forces Taehyung to grip his hair and lets out a satisfied groan when Taehyung experimentally tugs on the dark strands.

“Anyone ever fucked you like this?” Jungkook asks in between hickeys sucked along Taehyung’s neck, leading up to the corner of his jaw. “Up against the wall?”

“No,” Taehyung sighs against Jungkook’s lips when he kisses him.

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t surprise Jungkook. Everything they’ve done has been pretty tame, mainly because Taehyung has little experience. Although Jungkook isn’t the type to get off on corruption, there’s no denying how his cock twitches when Taehyung trembles from his touch like it’s the first time he’s been held and kissed.

Jungkook sucks Taehyung’s bottom lip into his mouth and tugs gently, pulling back far enough for Taehyung to chase his mouth. When Taehyung pouts in frustration, Jungkook laughs.

“Stop teasing me.” Taehyung finally opens his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks deepens when he locks eyes with Jungkook.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be nice,” Jungkook promises with a shadow obscuring half his devilish expression.

Surging forward, Jungkook captures Taehyung’s lips again, shoving his tongue in his mouth to swirl it around Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s whimpering gets louder, and Jungkook groans into the kiss. He grinds their hips together even harder, spurred on by how vocal Taehyung is.

“Where are your condoms?” Jungkook asks in a breathy voice. He’s somewhat shocked by how worked up he is with just a bit of kissing and groping.

Their lips lightly brush against each other as they pant, chests heaving in tandem. Taehyung has to clear his throat before he can properly speak.

“What?”

“Your condoms?” It’s Jungkook’s turn to whine. He presses his forehead against Taehyung’s and tries to calm himself down. “You don’t get it, Tae, I need to fuck you so badly. I’ll get them for you. Are they in your bedroom?”

“I… I don’t have any condoms,” Taehyung admits meekly, turning his head to the side to force Jungkook to pull back. “I thought you had some. Y’know, in your wallet or something.”

“Fuck.” Jungkook tips his head back and lets out a drawn-out groan. “God fucking damn it, Taehyung. Why don’t you?”

“I don’t know! We always go over to your apartment; why would I need any here?”

If Jungkook wasn’t uncomfortably hard, he would find it sweet that Taehyung only associates needing condoms with being with Jungkook, meaning he clearly isn’t bringing home anyone else to fuck him. It makes Jungkook’s chest swell, knowing he’s the only one who gets to have Taehyung like this, all pink in the face and disheveled, pretty fingers tangled in his hair and cocks pressed together.

But Jungkook is uncomfortably hard and doesn’t have the patience for this.

“Let’s go.” He shoves his hand down his pants to adjust his cock. There doesn’t appear to be any precum stains on the front, but Jungkook is beyond caring.

“Go where?” Taehyung stumbles forward when Jungkook steps back and releases his grip from Taehyung’s waist.

“To the store to get condoms.”

“W-What? Right now?”

Jungkook looks up at Taehyung as he stomps his feet into his boots.

“Yes, Tae, right now.”

“But, we could just…”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows and stands with his arms against his chest, waiting.

“I could suck you off?”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook sighs and pulls him over to zip up his jeans for him, “I don’t want you to suck me off. I want to fuck you. So, please, put your shoes on so we can go to the store before I start crying.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but a small smile plays on his lips as he slips into his shoes. They’re all-white Converse with the backs smashed in from how many times he’s walked around without entirely putting them on. Nearly all of Taehyung’s shoes look like that. Jungkook finds it rather ridiculous, but it’s somehow also endearing.

Much of what Taehyung does is endearing. For example, he lingers in the doorway with Jungkook’s car keys hooked around one of his fingers and his mini leather backpack slung over one shoulder, even though a box of condoms is small enough for Jungkook to carry in his hand. The flush on his face has lessened, and he runs his pretty fingers through his hair to flatten it down. Jungkook enjoys looking at him when he’s put together or ruined.

Outside, the air is thick with humidity from a hot summer rain earlier in the day. This frizzes Taehyung’s hair and dampens Jungkook’s upper lip with perspiration. The weather does nothing to calm the heat building in Jungkook’s groin.

Driving isn’t necessary when the closest 24-hour convenience store isn’t very far away, but Jungkook isn’t interested in getting sweatier than he already is from the short walk from Taehyung’s apartment complex to Jungkook’s parked car.

“Do you like me that much? That you’d go to the store in the middle of the night when it’s so gross outside just because you want to fuck me?”

Taehyung looks at Jungkook curiously, his head slightly cocked to the side and his hands in his back pockets.

Do you like me that much?

Their relationship is about more than just a good fuck, but Jungkook is afraid to say it, and Taehyung is afraid to directly ask. Instead, he skirts around the question, asking others that are parallel but never intersect the way they should if either man wants to be honest.

Instead of answering, Jungkook grabs the strap of Taehyung’s backpack to yank him into a bruising kiss that hopefully tells him everything Jungkook wants to say but can’t.

When they finally reach Jungkook’s car, he holds the door open for Taehyung like a proper gentleman because Taehyung is sweet and soft and deserves the gentlest side of Jungkook, even if Jungkook likes being a little mean when they fuck.

“AUX?” Taehyung asks, already twirling the cord between his fingers once Jungkook slides into the driver’s seat. When Jungkook gives him the okay, he chooses a playlist that Jungkook recognizes after two songs.

“Y'know, I’ve got a Pavlovian response to our sex playlist,” Jungkook comments. He briefly looks at Taehyung before returning his eyes to the relatively empty road as he drives.

“What happens to you?” Taehyung asks like he knows the answer already.

“My dick automatically gets hard.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Taehyung brings his hand up his mouth when he laughs, his lips brushing against the back of it.

“Yes, it does. Want to check if I’m lying?”

Taehyung scoffs, but it only takes a few seconds before he’s palming Jungkook’s thigh. He’s hesitant when he does it and slow once he slides his hand between Jungkook’s thighs to gently squeeze his hard cock.

Taehyung’s next exhale is audibly shaky, and Jungkook grins but doesn’t look away from the road again.

They’re silent the rest of the short drive, Jungkook thinking about Taehyung’s hand on his cock and Taehyung lost in thought while he watches the city lights through the window and nibbles his bottom lip. It’s cute how flustered Taehyung gets, even when he does it to himself.

The embarrassment even follows Taehyung into the store. He tries to avoid standing in the aisle where condoms and other sex-related products are, but Jungkook insists that he helps choose which brand to get.

“What kind do you like? These are the ones I get, but if you want something else, we can try it out,” Jungkook says with a tap of his finger on the box he usually buys – ultra-thin and extra sensitive because he likes feeling as much of Taehyung as he can.

Taehyung skeptically eyes the boxes. He picks up one that boasts a pleasurable texture of ribs and dots on the outside of the condom.

“Does it really make a difference?”

Jungkook scrunches his nose and takes the box from Taehyung to return it to the shelf.

“Everyone I’ve hooked up with has said textured condoms are too thick and don’t feel like anything, or they hurt.”

Taehyung looks away quickly, but Jungkook notices how his expression falls into something sad, and he knows he’s fucked up.

“Tae–”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you by doing the things you’ve already done with everyone else,” Taehyung says curtly. He reaches for a seemingly random box and turns on his heel.

Groaning, Jungkook grabs a bottle of lube and his usual condom brand and follows Taehyung down the aisle.

“Tae.”

“Let’s just go.”

Grabbing Taehyung’s forearm, Jungkook tries to turn him around to face him, but Taehyung yanks his arm out of Jungkooks hold. He watches Taehyung claim one of the self-checkout registers. The force with which Taehyung jabs the touchscreen to select his payment once he scans the lube and two condom boxes is concerning for his index finger, as is how violently he shoves the items into his mini backpack.

“You should have let me pay for them,” Jungkook says quietly once he’s caught up with Taehyung, falling in line with him as they exit the store and walk toward the back of the parking lot. It’s late enough that only a handful of other cars are in the lot, most likely the employees’.

“Why? Do you buy condoms for everyone else?” Taehyung snaps as he squeezes the car door’s handle.

Frustrated with the sour turn their night has taken, Jungkook covers Taehyung’s hand on the handle with his own and crowds Taehyung against the side of the car. A ball of anxiety sinks to the pit of his stomach when Taehyung refuses to look him in the eyes, and Jungkook realizes he’s never considered what it would be like to no longer have Taehyung in his life. He has taken advantage of how dependable Taehyung is, knowing he’ll always be there when Jungkook needs him.

Eventually, people grow tired. Jungkook can see that weariness and wariness in Taehyung’s eyes.

“I bought condoms for everyone else,” Jungkook admits quietly. When Taehyung scoffs, he pushes on, “But I buy condoms for you.”

It’s a horrible way to tell a guy that he likes him, but Jungkook is the first to admit that he’s terrible at this shit. Swallowing a lump in his throat and rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants isn’t enough to calm himself down, but Taehyung’s glare hurts more than the anxious ache in his stomach.

“There isn’t an everyone else, Tae,” Jungkook’s nearly pleading as he tilts his head to follow Taehyung’s gaze when Taehyung tries to look away. “It’s only you. I swear on my life, it’s just you.”

“Really?” Taehyung’s eyes are narrowed, and skepticism taints his pretty features, but Jungkook sees the vulnerability hidden behind the hard exterior Taehyung is so accustomed to crafting.

“Yes,” Jungkook breathes as he leans forward to kiss Taehyung’s forehead. “You can, I don’t know, go through my phone. Read my texts and look at my photos. See that I deleted Grindr. Whatever proof you need.”

Taehyung is silent for a few seconds. Jungkook keeps his lips lightly pressed to his forehead and breathes in the comforting scent of his peppermint and eucalyptus shampoo. He clings to that and finds it grounding when Taehyung’s following words shake him to his core.

“I went on a date with someone,” Taehyung whispers and Jungkook feels his chest constrict. He tries to breathe slowly and lets his grip on Taehyung’s waist slacken slightly.

“How,” Jungkook pauses to clear his throat, “How did it go?”

He feels Taehyung shrug, but he keeps staring out into the empty parking lot.

“Pretty good. He was nice and really cute. We went to lunch and a new art exhibit and then hung out at his place.” Taehyung’s voice is steady as he talks, but there’s an implication behind admitting that he went to this other man’s home.

Jungkook feels like he’s suffocating.

“He wasn’t you, though,” Taehyung whispers as he leans back slightly to look Jungkook in the eyes. “He was nice, but we didn’t click, I guess. He wasn’t thoughtful like you are. His jokes weren’t as funny and his music taste was horrible. And… he didn’t touch me like you do.”

Jungkook bites at his lip piercing and tries to ignore the thunderous sound of his blood rushing to his head. He can’t stop the images that flood his head of some mystery man his imagination conjures for him, touching Taehyung, kissing Taehyung, fucking Taehyung.

That mystery man wouldn’t know that Taehyung can cum untouched but isn’t fully satisfied unless he cums again with external help. He wouldn’t know that he needs to hold Taehyung after because he gets emotional sometimes, especially after a hard fuck. He wouldn’t know that Taehyung worries about being enough and how important it is to affirm him during sex.

“You don’t need to look for what you need in someone else,” Jungkook murmurs as he runs his hands up and down Taehyung’s sides.

Taehyung leans in to whisper against the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, “I need you.”

The kiss Jungkook pulls Taehyung into is frantic and rougher than how Jungkook usually kisses him. He buries one hand in Taehyung’s silky hair and grabs Taehyung’s hip with the other, pushing him against the car so he can mold his body to Taehyung’s. He wants to feel every inch of Taehyung’s body on his, to know that he has all of Taehyung, just him and no one else.

Jungkook loves Taehyung.

He has known it for a long time, but he stamps the truth so deeply inside himself that sometimes he convinces himself that he’s forgotten. But then, in moments like this, when Jungkook is flinging the car door open and crawling over Taehyung’s body as they climb into the backseat, Jungkook is forced to acknowledge the swell of love he feels when Taehyung stares up at him with such a tender expression. Taehyung’s face disappears momentarily, obscured by his t-shirt when he pulls it off and tosses it onto the floor. He slips his hands beneath Jungkook’s shirt and runs his palms up his toned abdomen, stopping when he reaches his pecs to flick his thumbs over his nipples.

“Take this off, please,” Taehyung asks sweetly, and Jungkook is a goner.

The back of the car is cramped, and two grown men trying to maneuver on the narrow seat is more than what the space is made for. They make it work with Taehyung lying on his stomach, his jeans pulled down around his knees. He keeps his legs together so Jungkook can straddle his thighs, one of Jungkook’s legs slipping off the seat and forcing him to half-kneel, half-stand. It’s an awkward position, but Taehyung seems comfortable with their shirts balled up under his lower stomach to lift his hips and his crossed beneath his head, and that’s all Jungkook really cares about.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook whines when he pulls out the random box of condoms from Taehyung’s backpack. “You bought the fucking fire and ice ones. These things will genuinely light my dick on fire.”

Taehyung snorts and turns his head to the side to get a better look at Jungkook.

“I don’t know. I just grabbed it because the colors on the box were pretty.”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook tosses the box onto the floor and pulls out his preferred brand, tried and true. Setting it to the side, he opens the new bottle of lube and squirts some onto his fingers.

Jungkook assumes the fit will be tight due to Taehyung’s position since his legs are pushed together, but Jungkook is patient. He holds Taehyung open with one hand and rubs his lubed-up fingers against his rim.

Taehyung groans into the crook of his elbow and squirms from the cold lube, but he can’t move with Jungkook’s body weight on him.

“Stay still,” Jungkook murmurs with a light squeeze of Taehyung’s cheek.

The satisfaction of getting a reaction out of Taehyung dissolves when Jungkook easily slips his finger past his rim. With a shaky breath, Jungkook pulls out and adds another finger without resistance.

Taehyung never said when he went on the date, but he’s stretched enough that Jungkook massages his prostate with three fingers after only minimal stretching. He spends some time tapping and swirling his fingertips around his walls until Taehyung tries pushing against Jungkook’s fingers.

“Jungkook, please,” Taehyung whimpers, and something snaps inside Jungkook.

“Jagiya,” Jungkook rarely uses the pet name, but he knows it makes Taehyung quiver when he does. “Say my name again, jagi.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung moans when Jungkook speeds up his fingers.

The sound of his palm smacking against Taehyung’s asscheek and the squelch of lube harmonizes with Taehyung’s breathy chant of Jungkook’s name. He leans forward until his chest is pressed against Taehyung’s back, and his teeth can graze against the curve of Taehyung’s ear.

“You said he didn’t touch you like I do,” Jungkook repeats and lets out a slight hum when Taehyung nods. “Tell me what you like about how I touch you.”

When Jungkook pulls away, he leaves kisses across Taehyung’s shoulders and down his spine.

“You touch me like I’m special,” Taehyung says softly, his statement punctuated by a quiet whimper when Jungkook pulls his fingers out of him.

“What else?” Jungkook asks before tearing a condom package with his teeth.

“You’re gentle, and you actually care about how I feel. I can trust you,” Taehyung’s voice cracks when Jungkook spreads his cheeks to finally sink his cock into him in one slow but smooth thrust.

Planting one hand on the seat beside Taehyung’s waist and grabbing Taehyung’s waist with the other to press him into the seat, Jungkook leans forward and grinds his pelvis against Taehyung’s ass.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, “Am I too heavy on you?”

Taehyung shakes his head and reaches down to adjust his cock so it rubs against the seat at a comfortable angle every time Jungkook thrusts into him.

Despite being adequately stretched, the position makes Taehyung’s grip on Jungkook’s cock hot and tight. They’ve never fucked like this, with Jungkook straddling Taehyung’s thighs. Even though Jungkook can’t reach as deep as he likes to, the tight heat and softness of Taehyung’s ass, as well as the intimacy of having to hover over Taehyung, makes up for it.

“Feels really good,” Taehyung says softly, his eyes scrunched shut. “You’re right there.”

Jungkook knows what that means. He maintains the current angle of his hips when he thrusts into Taehyung again, the head of his cock hitting Taehyung’s prostate directly.

“Yes, fuck, Jungkook, stay there.”

Taehyung’s moans are pretty, so deep and airy that they seem to whisper a secret meant only for Jungkook. Jungkook should be the only one who gets to hear Taehyung like this. His heart yearns to call Taehyung his own, to be the person Taehyung can go to for support, to give him affection freely without feeling as though this is all just temporary.

It’s why the sex is so good, Jungkook thinks as he picks up the pace, fucking Taehyung just the way he likes it. The pace is hard and fast because Jungkook needs this. He needs to be as close to Taehyung as he possibly can and needs to mold himself until they become one, two halves making a whole. He needs to hear Taehyung moan his name when he’s on the verge of tears because Jungkook fucks into him relentlessly and latches his lips to every inch of bare skin to leave his mark so Jungkook can’t look at Taehyung without remembering that he yearns.

“Can you cum like this?” Jungkook leans down to murmur in Taehyung’s ear, drawing a string of expletives out of Taehyung that are moaned so quietly that Jungkook can hardly make them out.

“Y-Yeah, yeah.”

“Gonna cum on my cock, jagiya? Let me feel how good I am to you?”

Dirty talk embarrasses Taehyung, but Jungkook knows it turns him on anyway.

“I will, I will.”

Taehyung lifts his chin so Jungkook can kiss him. It’s sideways, and Taehyung keeps rocking up and down across the seat from each smack of Jungkook’s body against his, but it feels good to taste Taehyung while he’s inside of him.

Another thing Jungkook knows about Taehyung is that he likes to stretch out. It’s like he builds up tension inside of him, then curls into himself when he cums. It reminds Jungkook of a cat stretching after a long nap. Taehyung doesn’t have much room to do that in Jungkook’s car, but he reaches his arms above his head to grab the edge of the seat and hold himself in place as Jungkook fucks him.

Intertwining their fingers, Jungkook brings one of Taehyung’s arms behind him, bending it at the elbow so his hand rests at the small of his back. Jungkook keeps holding his hand, even when Taehyung starts squeezing it and digging his nails into his skin hard enough to hurt.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung gasps with one particularly hard thrust. “A little faster, please. I’m close.”

“God, you’re so cute, I love you so fucking much.”

The confession is so natural that it slips out without Jungkook even realizing it. The reality doesn’t sink in until he hears Taehyung moan, this time with a higher pitch and whinier, a sound Jungkook has never heard from him before. It sounds broken and desperate.

Surprisingly, Jungkook doesn’t feel the anxiety he thought he would when he considered eventually confessing. Perhaps because it is natural, something that should have happened so long ago.

Jungkook gives Taehyung what he wants, making sure not to hold him down too hard so he can move his hips to meet Jungkook’s thrusts, further stimulating his cock trapped between his body at the seat. It doesn’t matter that Jungkook’s seats are black. When Taehyung cums with a wet, sputtering sob as tears stream down his cheeks, Jungkook knows nothing matters except him making Taehyung feel good.

Pulling out, Jungkook rips the condom off and sits back on Taehyung’s thighs as he pumps his cock. His orgasm hits him so hard that he’s silent, only uttering a small groan when the last of his cum spurts on Taehyung’s ass.

“Shit,” Jungkook sighs, throwing his head back and taking a deep breath.

The car windows are so foggy that condensation drips down them, creating streaks that expose the city's lights around them. The air inside the car is muggy, smelling of sweat and cum. Jungkook may be weird, but he likes the smell of sex when it’s with Taehyung. Maybe he’s that pathetically whipped for Taehyung. If he is, he doesn’t care.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung calls hoarsely, lifting up the top half of his body so he’s resting on his elbows. “Can you clean me up?”

He’s shy when he asks, and Jungkook wonders if he’ll grow out of it. It wouldn’t matter to him, though. Jungkook loves Taehyung regardless of if he’s afraid to say cum or not.

In the front console is a disorganized stack of napkins Jungkook has collected from eating fast food far too many times. He grabs a handful of them to clean Taehyung up and is acutely aware of Taehyung watching his every move. It’s nerve-wracking because Jungkook knows what Taehyung is thinking about and thinks he knows what Taehyung will say. It will be exactly what Jungkook hopes for, yet he’s still scared.

The two men watch each other get dressed and exchange shy smiles when Jungkook smacks his head on the ceiling, and Taehyung accidentally crushes the box of fire and ice condoms. Jungkook feels like a teenager sneaking out of the house to hook up with his high school sweetheart, parked somewhere they shouldn’t be. He can’t believe he’s well into his twenties and just had sex in a grocery store parking lot.

“Do you only love me during sex? Or all the time?” Taehyung finally asks once he and the seat have been cleaned up as best as Jungkook can, and they both are fully clothed.

“All the time,” Jungkook confesses with Taehyung sitting in his lap, straddling his thighs and draping his arms over his shoulders.

“Did you say it because of my date?”

Jungkook runs his hands along Taehyung’s sides and takes his time to think about the question. It’s a valid one, but Jungkook doesn’t like the implications.

“I loved you before the date.” It’s an easy answer to give.

Taehyung runs his pretty fingers through Jungkook’s hair and kisses his forehead.

“I went on the date because I love you, and I thought you wouldn’t want to commit to being with me,” Taehyung presses his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck and breathes him in, sweaty skin and all. “I fucked myself over, though. I left the date loving you more.”

Jungkook never planned for Taehyung to enter his life and completely turn it upside down, but as he holds the back of Taehyung’s head and wraps his arm around his waist to keep him against his chest, Jungkook’s thankful for the part of him that gave him permission to love.

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Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

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lucistarrrrs · 3 months

Text

I'M SO SICK OF MYSELF

Lucifer Morningstar x Daughter! Reader

(platonic)

Genre: Drama, Comedy.

Summary: Athaliah is the second daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith Morningstar. Lilith sees Athaliah as a spare of heir to the throne of hell, as they grew up Athaliah felt a little envy and wrath. Until she awakens her powers almost destroyed hell and killing every sinner the corruption spreads wide through hell even the seven rings.

Part 1

Charlie Morningstar the oldest and delusional daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith Morningstar then Lilith was pregnant again with a girl. Charlie was happy that she had a baby sister and she sang her sister a lullaby they named her Athaliah.

When Athaliah reached 109 years old she was a daddy's girl and a little bit too powerful. When Athaliah felt jealous of Charlie cause Lilith saw her as a spare of heir to the throne. Now Athaliah reached 116 years old she was losing control and slowly went insane as she destroyed everything in hell and everyone. Lucifer just watched his young daughter as she went mad. Charlie was crying that the sinners were screaming and trying to survive.

As Athaliah reaches her insanity Lucifer calls the seven deadly sins. they gather around Athaliah and summon chains around Athaliah, sealing away her power. Athaliah screamed in pain, though Lucifer still continued despite her daughters' painful screams, he felt his heart sinking.

The seven deadly sins were struggling to seal her power. Athaliah was trying to escape the chains.

"LET ME GO YOU IMBECILES, YOU LOW LIFE DEMONS!! I WANT TO SEE THE WOMAN WHO NEGLECTED ME! WHO LEFT ME TO THE SIDE!" Athaliah screamed with a distorted voice. Lucifer was still trying to keep her powers sealed.

"SHIT LUCIFER YOUR DAUGHTERS' POWERS ARE EXTREMELY POWERFUL!" Mammon shouted as he was trying to keep the seal.

"JUST FOCUS ON THIS MAMMON" Asmodeus yelled at Mammon. As they finished the sealing of her powers, her sealed power turned into a ring, Lucifer caught it.

Lucifer looked at his daughter who was exhausted and she passed out. Beelzebub runs towards the girl "She's in coma but I don't know when she'll wake up" Beelzebub said in the concerned tone Lucifer runs towards Athaliah and caresses her face filled with bruises and some chains left on her.

After that Lucifer was talking with Lilith and they ended up splitting up. While Athaliah is not waking up Lucifer takes care of her and Charlie is with her mother.

Lucifer looks at the ring that Athaliah powers are in the ring he looks at Athaliah in a coma. No one knows when she's gonna wake up.

All the pentagram city and rings of hell were getting rumours that the second princess of hell almost destroyed everything in hell.

THREE MONTHS LATER...

Athaliah is woken up from her coma and Lucifer was there for her.

Lucifer tried to calm her down but it wasn't an easy task. Athaliah saw the family portrait and was even more irritated, but Lucifer finally got through her by saying "Athaliah, your mother loves you" Lucifer some comfort words to Athaliah.

"NO SHE DOESN'T ALL SHE CARE ABOUT THAT MY DELUSIONAL OLDER SISTER WANTS SOME REHABILITATED SINNERS AND THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!!" Athaliah screamed, and she was stressed.

Lucifer sighs, and he sings her favorite lullaby. She flinched that his dad was singing her favorite lullaby. Athaliah looked at her father.

As Athaliah calmed down, she laid her head on Lucifer's lap, and Lucifer caressed her long hair. "Dad, I want to cut my hair," Athaliah said out of the blue. Lucifer was shocked at this then he agreed.

Lucifer grabbed some sciccors and started to cut Athaliah's long hair into a jellyfish haircut then she wears that something she wants. She bought everything like baggy pants, cargo pants, an oversized t-shirt and some video games. She stays at the penthouse for....a long time she doesn't go out much.

Lucifer taught how to control her powers and teach some new powers that evolve around her. Athaliah stares at the family portrait Lilith, Charlie, Lucifer, while Athaliah is behind at Lucifer being a little shy kid she looks at Lilith.

The music background starting Athaliah listen to the song O Children by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.

Lift up your voice, lift up your voice

Children

Rejoice, rejoice

Hey little train, we're jumping on

Athaliah tries to resist her tears every time she sees the pictures.

The train that goes to the kingdom

We're happy, Ma , we're having fun

The train ain't even left the station

Hey little train, wait for me

I once was blind but now I see.

Lucifer heard the song in Athaliah's room, and he was guilty about his family being split up. Athaliah was crying but she found a way to cope with her stress playing videogames the whole night.

In the morning...

Athaliah heard her door knocking she opened the door is her father Lucifer bringing some rubber duck that looks like her, She had a lot of rubber ducks in her room like plushies.

"Hey...umm... Athaliah why don't you go outside for a bit" Lucifer asked his daughter to go outside "No." Athaliah said directly and closed the door.

Lucifer sighs that his daughter is not a sociable person and active now she's an introvert and despises the sinners.

One time Lucifer heard banging and rushed to Athaliah's room "WHAT HAPPENED ATHALIAH?!" Lucifer shouted open the door to her room.

"I LOST 50/50 DAD I WANT NAHIDA THAT MOTHERFUCKER LONG RED HAIRED ASS BITCH IS GETTING ME IRRITATED," Athaliah shouted, punching the plushies. Lucifer was dumbfounded when she looked at the gacha game that she plays, and Athaliah was addicted to it.

Athaliah was wearing some white oversized hoodie with skeleton on the back and some baggy pants. She had some posters around like anime and games.

"Dad do you have a meeting with...the first man shit alive like...Adam maybe you should give that to my delusional older sister Charlie" Athaliah asked as she continue to play genshin impact Lucifer was confused by this "I'm a little a busy cause I got a meeting with the deadly sins" Lucifer answered he thinks for a moment then he took his phone and calling Charlie.

"Yeah.. whatever I'm gonna play some genshin impact see you later Dad and buy me some books" Athaliah said as she was on her PC.

As she eats some pancakes for dinner like some fried oreo she always orders her father to cook some pancakes.

Athaliah was struggling to control her powers and Lucifer looked at her and walked towards her she taught her how to control and how to fly.

Then..Six months later

Lucifer slammed the door open Athaliah fell to her bed "Dads stop... doing...that" Athaliah was annoyed and yawned with her canine teeth.

"WE'RE GOING TO YOUR SISTER HOTEL" Lucifer was excited to meet Charlie "Not going" Athaliah said as she went back to her bed.

Lucifer put his hands in his waist and tapped his foot two Athaliah eyes widened when she heard her father tapping footsteps.

" Fine I'll go..." Athaliah sighs as she gets ready her outfit white polo with a red vest and high waisted pants.

"Why do I have to go?" Athaliah asked to her father and she fixes her hair and she flips her hair upward and Lucifer was also fixing his hair.

"You haven't met your sister in a long time, so what's the harm in doing so?" Lucifer explained to her daughter, Athaliah was irritated by this.

As they teleport to the Hotel "Hazbin... Hotel?" Athaliah looked at the signs and cringe by this and the designs of this hotel.

Athaliah looked at the door and she felt something off about this place, she quint her eyes as the door opened.

To be continued

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #charlie morningstar #angst #angst with a happy ending #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin niffty

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h0c-if · 11 months

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HOUSE OF CARDS: THE CRIMSON COURT is a character driven romance interactive fiction set in a realm that resembles earth. The story follow you, a noble from the kingdom of Argonia sent to the kingdom of your enemies in an arranged marriage, all in the name of peace.

This game depends and focus heavily on the component relationships, Complex Relationships, and choices.

MAIN-THEMES (GENRES): Court Intrigue, Romance, Historical Fiction, Drama.

SUB-THEMES: Family Saga, Revenge/Vengeance, Cultural Clash.

TAGS: Betrayal, Manipulation, Assassinaution, Complex Family Relationship, Affairs, Arranged marriage, Discrimination.

War. The malevolent force that breeds corruption, inflicts pain, nurtures hate, and reaps death, casting a dark shadow upon all that is good. Can love find a way to bloom within its merciless grasp?

SUMMARY:

As fate would have it, you find yourself torn from familiar shores and thrust into the clutches of a kingdom that has long been embroiled in conflict with your homeland. And to further complicate matters, your partner in this arrangement is none other than the Commander of the enemy's fleets, a name that reverberates with terror throughout the land. Whispers of their ruthless prowess in the merciless ways they dismantles their foes, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake and etching a chilling image of their power.

As you journey towards your own path. Will you rise to the challenge and become a beacon of hope and peace, or will you succumb to the siren song of ambition and greed?

Only time will tell, as the fates of kingdoms hang in the balance.

Follow the story of the noble House Scion as they traverse the complex web of politics, alliances, and betrayals. Will they prove to be worthy, or will their own desires and flaws consume them, leading to the downfall of all they hold dear?

Immerse yourself in a richly detailed world inspired by historical fiction, where court intrigue and political machinations shape the destiny of nations:

As an influential figure, what kind of reputation do you want to build for yourself? And as a character, what personality will you adopt? Play as the dove of peace, a brutal iron fist, a sly snake, or a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Romance three main characters, each with their own relationship dynamics. Plus; a possible secret Ro: Experience a captivating romance that defies societal boundaries, or would you rather find yourself entangled in a forbidden love that challenges loyalties and tests the limits of your own heart.

A diverse cast of characters to build and form relationships: Deepen or sever relationships with a number of important characters and; betray, befriend, antagonise or kill.

Your choices will impact both your personality and the game's story: Make choices that will have far-reaching consequences, shaping the course of the story and influencing the fates of both individuals and empires. Interact with the world and discover who you truly are. Will you be able to forge a new future for yourself and those around you in the midst of this chaos?

There are always hands playing in the shadows. Play their game or make your own: Navigate a world filled with people striving to feed their own agendas. Engage in strategic alliances and tactical decisions, as you use your wits and cunning to navigate the dangerous waters of war and diplomacy.

ROMANCE TROPES: Love at First Sight. Fake relationship. Rebellious Love. Amour Fou (Mad Love). Domestic Affair OR Friends to lovers. Enemies to lovers. Forbidden Love.

THE COMMANDER [M/F]

ELISAE ROWAN DELACROIX:

Elisae is hailed as a war hero in Borgia. Born to the King's second sister, the Grand Duchess of the North, Elisae followed in their mother's footsteps and joined the war from a tender age. Their valor and strategic brilliance earned them numerous titles and led the kingdom to many victorious battles. They played a vital role in shaping Argonia's destiny.

[DESCRIPTION]: Elisae is a formidable presence with a commanding stature, standing tall at 6 feet. Their piercing grey eyes, sharp as steel, hold a depth of determination and wisdom. Their ebony hair, meticulously styled and slicked back, contrasting against their tanned skin.

Have you begun to devise a plan to melt the icy barrier encasing your spouse's heart? Or do you intend to shatter it into fragments?

DUCHESS/DUKE[F/M]

JADE MAXIMILLIAN WINTER:

Jade is a figure of grace and elegance. As the esteemed Duke/Duchess of House Winter, Jade's political stance differs from your spouse's, which created a strain in the relationship of the two childhood friends.

Renowned for their esteemed position among the nobles and loved for their charming and easygoing personality, Jade exudes an aura of refinement and unyielding confidence. Their presence commands attention, while their subtle gestures and expressions hint at a depth of emotions and hidden desires. With a captivating charm and an enigmatic aura, Jade leaves an indelible mark on those who cross their path.

[DESCRIPTION]: Jade's mesmerizing eyes, a striking melted honey color, exude an air of mystery and intelligence. Their ash hair, cascading in waves, complements their fair complexion, imbuing them with an ethereal allure.

But what does that flaming smile hide? Can you withstand the searing heat of their radiance and still dare to draw near?

THE ESCORT [F/M]

RAINE HAWTHORNE:

[ABOUT]: Raine is a figure of quiet strength. With a quiet confidence and a sense of duty ingrained in their every action, Raine emanates an aura of reliability and protection.

Raine is assigned as your escort by the House of Delacroix upon your arrival in Borgia, Raine appears indifferent, showing little interest in anything. However, when it comes to protecting you and ensuring your safety, Raine is unwaveringly dedicated.

[DESCRIPTION]: Raine stands at an average height. Their piercing green eyes, sharp and discerning, hold an intensity that mirrors the depths of their soul. Their chestnut hair, tousled and windswept, adds a touch of ruggedness to their appearance. Raine's bronze skin bears the faint marks of battles fought and hardships endured. As a guard, they possess a lean and agile physique, honed through years of training and dedication.

Beneath the stoic facade lies a well-guarded heart. Can you unravel the secrets that lie within Raine's enigmatic gaze?

[SECRET RO]

♧LINKS♧

DEMO TBA. ROs MASTERPOST.

THANK YOU!! FEEL FREE TO SEND YOUR ASKS!!

#if wip #interactive fiction #twine game #cog #dashingdon #if game #interactive novel #intro post #choices game #play choices #interactive story #intro post if #interactive game #choice of games #cyoa game #if games

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thepringlesofblood · 1 year

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look i get why some of yall wanted a darker ending for neverafter but my interpretation is that all of their past lives and all of their sacrifices and all of their pain still exist in memory. like maybe not on an immediate conscious level, but Snow White was right about one thing, trauma makes it so that any story you tell after the experience will be affected by it. But that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth telling.

what the finale said to me is that healing is possible, and it doesn’t erase what came before, but adds to it, because all you can do is keep moving forward and trying your best. it’s clear that they do remember their past lives to some degree - they all visit each other and seek each other out. they’re choosing new lives, but the trauma is still there.

what it meant to me was that what they sacrificed was worth something - the hardships they endured were not for naught, because they allowed a new story to take place. after all, the corruption of the authors was pain without meaning, horror without change, suffering for no reason. it’d be kind of shitty to end the season with killing everyone or failure while condemning the authors for doing the same thing.

instead, this story says “everything that you suffered, and every moment of determination you had to move forward and choose to hope and choose to care in spite of it, every moment you pushed through the pain because you believed in a better tomorrow was worth it. your sacrifices and your work were not in vain.”

also, tis the nature of improv to sometimes not work out in a narratively perfect way. personally I think this ending is fitting for the mix of comedy and drama that the intrepid heroes bring to the table.

#neverafter spoilers #neverafter #d20 #d20 spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #original post #meta #neverafter meta

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ariadne-mouse · 5 months

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Okay I'm on more of my Scavengers Reign bullshit. Let's talk about Fiona, specifically the vision!Fiona that the Hollow uses to communicate with Kamen, and the thoughtful detail the show puts in her evolution from episode to episode, and her eyes in particular.

At the very beginning when Kamen first encounters the Hollow, she is hazy, pulled from real memories, and then very simply adapted into a scene. I get the impression that the simple feel-good/motivation vibe is what happens for the simpler creatures the Hollow is usually manipulating in a symbiotic survival relationship. Notably, her eyes are visible through her glasses. The tone is warm.

Next, Fiona is clear, in full color, and conveying more complex ideas while appearing in the real environment. She gives directions but is still friendly.

But then we start to get shots where light reflects on her glasses and just partially obscures her eyes:

Periodically we see a variety of real memories where Fiona is herself (albeit memories selected by the Hollow to convey certain ideas), but the evolution of the conjured Fiona has a trajectory. As the mutual corruption continues between Kamen and the Hollow, with the "hallucination" version of Fiona we see her eyes less and less.

As she gradually becomes less recognizably Fiona and more Other, an arbiter of the Hollow's desires and a refraction of Kamen's own guilt and self-hatred, her glasses are always opaque with reflection. After all, it's not Fiona looking at Kamen, it's (partly) Kamen looking at himself. And a well-earned dose of anime glasses drama, of course.

By the end, her affect is cold, and we don't see her eyes through her glasses at all, even from an angle.

Her message, too, is pointed: "Your brain is poison. You've always known that. Remember?"

But underneath the cruelty is something I think the real Fiona and Kamen agree on: "It's time for you to come out of hiding and accept that. Look at yourself."

Kamen can't keep hiding in the Hollow, hiding from his guilt and pain and utter despair. He has to face it. And he tumbles out into space in his vision, hurtling towards the planet and Consequences. And out in the real world, we see a symbol of that illusion finally breaking in the real Fiona's glasses, emphasizing the reality of her death:

The Hollow continues his rampage - there is too much momentum to their feedback loop now to just stop without outside help - but Kamen at least is no longer deceiving himself.

#op #scavengers reign #scavengers reign spoilers

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aquilaofarkham · 7 months

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Dying Has Never Frightened Us: Intergenerational Trauma, Healing, & the Burden of Legacy in Castlevania

An analytical and interpretation essay that discusses how the concept of family legacy and duty can lead to intergenerational trauma in the Castlevania franchise. Focuses primarily on the Belmont who found strength from his pain by honouring his family’s legacy no matter how heavy it felt or the burden that came with it and the Belmont who found his own strength from the ones he loved and who loved him in return.

☽ Read the full piece here or click the read more for the text only version ☽

THE BURNING NEED FOR RETRIBUTION: INTRODUCTION

The world has trauma. It is deep, collective, spanning its roots over centuries and territories dating back to when the borders of today never existed, and it has largely gone untreated—but not undiscussed.

From children’s cartoons to award winning dramas, trauma has become one of the most common topics for media to discuss, depict, and dissect. It makes sense given the sort of physical and mental gauntlet which society has been through in the past five years. Sometimes even in just the past twenty-four hours. From an uptick in disasters stemming from climate change, the rise of publicised policy brutality, genocide as a result of settler colonisation, new developments coming to light after decades of denial regarding the residential school system in Canada, and of course a global pandemic which is still making ripples. Then there is the recent examination of generational trauma which differs from culture to culture. The open wounds we’ve already left and will be leaving for future age groups.

Seeing how fiction reflects reality and vice versa, it isn’t any wonder that movies, television shows, and video games find ways of processing this worldwide sensation of frustrated ennui along with the need to find answers as to how regular citizens can fix things, including ourselves, when politicians and world leaders cannot. When reality cannot provide satisfying resolutions, when we are left confused and even angrier than before due to the apparent shortcomings of institutions meant to provide relief towards the average person, it’s natural to look towards specific media. Whether for coping mechanisms, validation for this collective and personal trauma, or simply for cathartic release so the emotions don’t have to remain bottled up.

Castlevania , both its original 2017 series and the most recent entry of Castlevania: Nocturne (as well as the video games which the show is inspired by), is no stranger to this popular trend of storytelling and characterisation. Yet this trend also comes with its own controversy. When done with a deft writer’s hand and a layer of empathetic critical thinking, trauma in fiction and how we heal from its intergenerational effects can be a powerful tool in raising awareness in regards to something left forgotten by the larger public or it can allow viewers to look inwards at themselves. Done poorly or with a lack of empathy and taste, then the floodgates open.

But beyond the usual discourse surrounding trauma in fiction (how to portray a “realistic” panic attack, what makes a “good” victim, the problematic connotations of forgiving one’s abuser, etc.), Castlevania has its own things to say about the lingering effects of grief, guilt, and pain over the course of thirty-two episodes (now a fourty episode runtime with the inclusion of Castlevania: Nocturne season one). The series—particularly the first which ran from 2017 to 2021—has now gained a reputation for being one of the darker animated ventures tackling themes of religious corruption, abuse, sexual manipulation, and injustice among many others. The value and thoughtfulness of each depicted theme ranges from being genuinely compelling to delving into mere shock value yet the series is also known for its uplifting ending and cathartic release from such dark themes.

One could write entire dissertations on each complicated character and their developments. From Dracula’s suicidal tendencies as a result of unchecked grief to Isaac’s conflicted redemptive journey beginning with his unflinching loyalty to the king of vampires and ending with him forging down his own path in life. How characters such as Carmilla, consumed by her inner agonies and burning hatred towards the world to the bitter end, was left isolated from her sisters until she was forced to choose the terms of her own death, while others like Alucard, Sypha, and to an extent Hector rose above their individual torments in favour of hope and survival. However, this examination will focus on the series’ titular family of vampire hunters. Namely, the Belmont who found strength from his pain by honouring his family’s legacy no matter how heavy it felt or the burden that came with it and the Belmont who found his own strength from the ones he loved and who loved him in return.

Note: this essay will delve into speculations and purely interpretative hypotheses stemming from the author’s own opinions in regards to how they personally read the presented text. It will also discuss heavy spoilers for the majority of Castlevania games and the first season of Castlevania: Nocturne.

—

WHAT A HORRIBLE NIGHT FOR A CURSE: THE CYCLE OF TRAGEDY IN THE CASTLEVANIA GAMES

This examination begins in the exact same place as the show began with its inspirations and references: the original video games developed and distributed by Konami Group Corporations. It’s easy to get swept up in the notion that because of the technological limitations with video games at the time, the Castlevania games are devoid of story or characterization. Yet even the most bare bones of a story found in the games can still have something to say about the burden of legacy and how trauma left unconfronted has the possibility of tearing down that legacy. The most prominent example being Castlevania: Symphony of the Night , arguably the first game to begin delving into a deeper story and character driven narrative. It follows the events of Castlevania: Rondo of Blood , a game which portrayed its protagonist Richter Belmont as a force of nature in the face of evil, always knowing what to do, what to say, and emerging victorious without so much as breaking a sweat (or candelabra).

In keeping with the time of its release and the landscape of popular media particularly in Japan, Rondo of Blood feels like a traditional 1990s action anime complete with brightly coloured cutscenes and character designs reminiscent of Rumiko Takahashi and Rui Araizumi (despite the usual classic horror elements present in every Castlevania game). This is most evident with Maria Renard, the second playable protagonist who attacks with her own arsenal of magical animals and even has her own upbeat theme music during the credits when players complete the main story in “Maria mode”. Richter also shares many similar personality traits with his counterpart, namely his optimism in the face of danger and the confidence that he will be the hero of this narrative.

Of course all this changed in the direct follow-up to Rondo of Blood , the aforementioned Symphony of the Night . Arguably the new staple of future Castlevania games to come, not only did it change the gameplay and aesthetic, it changed the very core of the characters as well. The game even begins with the same ending as Rondo of Blood where Richter fights and defeats Dracula with the help of Maria. Then during the opening crawl, we discover that during a time skip, Richter has vanished and Maria is searching for him. Surely this will be nothing less than a heroic rescue and the most powerful Belmont of his century will be restored to his rightful pedestal.

Yet for the first half of Symphony of the Night , the player is faced with a sobering realisation—the villain we’re supposed to be fighting, the one responsible for conjuring Dracula’s castle back into existence, is Richter himself. No longer the hero we’ve come to adore and look up to from the previous game. Of course, the player along with new protagonist Alucard both know that something isn’t right; perhaps Richter isn’t in his sound mind or some nefarious force is possessing him to commit evil deeds. But unless the player solves the right puzzles and find the right in-game items, Symphony ends with Alucard putting down Richter like a rabid dog. However, this ending can be avoided and a whole second half of the game is revealed.

Richter’s canonical ending is left ambiguous at best, tragic at worst. He laments over his moment of weakness, claiming the events of the game were his fault despite Alucard’s insistence that confronting Dracula was always going to be inevitable. Still, the tragedy of Richter’s fate and how he is portrayed in Symphony of the Night comes much later, when it’s implied the Belmonts are no longer capable of wielding the fabled Vampire Killer, a leather whip imbued with supernatural properties that has been passed down generation after generation. One mistake and misjudgment left the Belmont legacy in a perpetual long lasting limbo with the titular hunters themselves seemingly disappearing from history as well, leaving others such as the Order of Ecclesia to pick up the fight against Dracula’s eventual resurgence. It isn’t until the height of World War II (the setting of Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin ) when the whip’s true potential is finally set free thanks to the actions of Jonathan Morris, a distant relative of the infamous vampire slaying family. However, the only way in which Jonathan can reawaken the Vampire Killer is by defeating a manifestation of the person who last wielded it and also whom the whip abandoned nearly two hundred years prior—Richter Belmont.

Yet players and fans don’t get to see it in the hands of another Belmont until the events of 1999 when Julius Belmont defeats the latest incarnation of Dracula and seals his castle away in a solar eclipse. Even then, he loses his memory until thirty years pass and he’s forced to do battle with Soma Cruz, an innocent transfer student who is also the reincarnation of Dracula. If the protagonist of Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow succeeds in defeating the cosmic threat that has awakened his supposed “evil” destiny, then Julius can finally lay down the Vampire Killer in peace (until the sequel Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow , of course). If not, the game ends with Julius keeping his promise to Soma should he lose sight of his human side and let Dracula be reborn once again. In a scene that directly mirrors the beginning of Symphony , Julius enters the castle throne room, Soma throws down his wine goblet, and the screen goes black. The cycle continues anew. Julius has upheld the duty of his family name but at what cost.

The theme of tragedy getting passed down through different generations, permeating from person to person even with those who are not Belmonts, is a staple of later Castlevania games following Symphony of the Night . In some instances, pain and trauma is what jumpstarts the story moving forward. Castlevania: Curse of Darkness begins with its protagonist Hector in a direct parallel to Dracula swearing revenge on the one responsible for the murder of his wife; an ultimatum that follows him every step of the way, fuelling his rage and determination up until the penultimate moment when his goal is within reach. Yet even then he cries out, claiming this “murderous impulse” isn’t truly him—it’s the result of an outside force he himself once aided before defecting before the events of the game.

Something similar occurs in Castlevania: Lords of Shadow , an alternative reimagining of the franchise that while still a topic of division amongst most die hard fans has also seen a resurgence of popularity and reevaluation. It begins with Gabriel Belmont grieving over the death of his own wife (a trope which is unfortunately common amongst the majority of Castlevania titles). This is a wound that follows him throughout his journey until an even more painful and shattering twist regarding Marie Belmont’s demise is revealed to Gabriel later in the game.

However, there is one example from the games that stands above the rest in regards to the sort of damage which generational trauma as a result of familial duty and legacy, upheld to an almost religious degree, can inflict. So much so that even a declaration of retribution can evolve into a generational curse.

—

HUNT THE NIGHT: LEON BELMONT & THE MYTH OF FREE WILL

The Castlevania timeline didn’t always have a set beginning. An inciting incident by which all future stories, characters, and inevitable calamities could base themselves off of. Rather it changed from game to game until a definitive origin was settled in 2003 with the release of Castlevania: Lament of Innocence . For at least two games, the starting point was supposed to be with Simon Belmont, making his way through a labyrinth of dark forests and cursed towns, before finally traversing the ever changing fortress in Transylvania to defeat Dracula. He even went as far as to gather the remains and resurrect the eponymous lord of his own choice just to rid himself of another curse entirely.

Castlevania protagonists are always cursed by something. Whether it be the cause of Dracula’s influence, their own actions as seen in Lords of Shadow , a curse of the flesh like how Simon had to tackle his own ailment in Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest , or something else just as common as Dracula’s curse: the burden of honouring a family duty.

A basic yet iconic 1986 entry followed by a sequel that had potential especially with the first appearance of the now famous “Bloody Tears” track but suffered from a rather confusing and lacklustre end product. Then suddenly the starting point for the franchise timeline changed drastically. Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse despite the numerical inclusion in its title stands as more of a prequel, detailing the exploits of the Belmont who came before Simon. Not much was altered in the grand scheme of things; the titular vampire hunter still essentially slays Dracula with the help of three other playable characters, said final boss having been driven mad and more violent than ever by humanity’s slight against him. However, not only were the methods by which Dracula is defeated changed but players were given more insight into the sort of burden placed upon the Belmont family name.

When the story of Dracula’s Curse begins, protagonist Trevor Belmont isn’t revered as a legend or hero but rather a blight on larger society who the people only turn to as a last ditch effort against rising evil. The regular god-fearing people of Wallachia now fear the Belmonts and their power (it is also implied that some still feared the barbarian-esque Simon despite his legendary status) so the family is excommunicated. Trevor is forced to enlist three other outcasts—or simply two other fighters, depending on which version of the story you examine—in order to carry out the family business. Even when the rest of the world has shunned them and there are plenty of others just as capable of stopping the forces of evil, a Belmont still has a destiny to fulfil.

Yet once a series has gone on for long enough, things within the established canon are bound to change—again and again. Whether through re-examination in order to line it up better with present day morals and sensibilities, or through good old fashioned retconning in favour of something more interesting, more thought out, or less convoluted. Other times, it’s simply because either the creator or viewers wanted it to happen. In 1997, this occurred with the release of Castlevania Legends on the GameBoy, a prequel to Dracula’s Curse that was meant to serve as the actual origin for the Belmonts, Dracula, and even his son Alucard. Instead of Trevor, the very first Belmont to fight Dracula is now his mother, Sonia Belmont, seventeen years old and already burdened with the glorious purpose of her bloodline.

Sonia is undoubtedly the protagonist of her own story with agency and drive. However, the game ends with a stark reminder of why the Belmonts have a place in the Castlevania universe. The last we see of Sonia in Legends is in the form of an epilogue where she holds her newborn child and states that one day when he’s grown, he will “be praised by all the people as a hero”. Despite her triumph over Dracula—a monumental feat itself—it seems that her purpose in the end (the purpose of most Belmonts other than to forever fight evil in fact) was to merely continue the bloodline so that descendants can carry out a promise made centuries before by another Belmont—someone that neither Simon, Trevor, Julius, or Richter ever knew.

The inevitability of sudden retcons within long-running media was not as kind to Legends as it was to Dracula’s Curse . Because of how the in-game events conflicted with subsequent entries (for example the implication that Trevor is actually the son of Alucard, thus further tying the Belmonts to Dracula through blood as well as duty), both Legends and Sonia were completely removed from the canon timeline. This is merely one reason why the next attempt at creating the definitive origin for the franchise, now a cult favourite among certain subsections of the fan community, was regarded with some animosity. However, twenty years after its release, Castlevania: Lament of Innocence is considered by many as an underrated entry. It is certainly the darker title where both the hero and villain stumble through their own hardships yet neither emerges completely victorious by the end.

The opening narration crawl of Lament of Innocence describes the lives of Leon Belmont and Mathias Cronqvist. They spend most of their lives as reflections of each other; one grows into more of a fighter while the second is coveted for his intellect and ambition. Both are valorous, honourable, and products of their own respective plights. Despite his service to the church, Leon is soon systematically stripped of everything save for the clothes on his back because he wouldn’t follow their orders blindly. While Mathias is forced to watch as an uncaring god (the very same god he serves) takes away a figure of pure virtue and love. This figure, Elisabeta Cronqvist who appears to be a splitting image of Dracula’s next deceased wife Lisa Tepes, was the last remaining tie Mathias still had to whatever bit of morality he still feels, which he eventually throws away when deciding to drag his only friend and everything he holds dear into hell alongside him.

The difference is how both men react to those personal horrors and how they let it govern their pasts, presents, and futures not just for themselves but for others who follow after the dust has supposedly settled. Two men, two best friends turned hateful enemies because of an interlinked tragedy. Not only that, but also because of their perspectives, morals, and the way they view a world that is unkind to them. Both were spurred by the death of loved ones, both used it as a conduit, or rather a catalyst for the radically opposing directions in which their choices take them and their families. Leon chooses to struggle onwards towards a world free from darkness and horror despite his pain. Mathias chooses to revel in that very same darkness and pain with a fire that would burn for aeons. In the end, one thing is absolute. A single thing the two men can agree upon as they flee down adverse paths: one of them will destroy the other.

Yet the timeline of Castlevania proves that this choice comes at a great cost for the Belmonts in particular. By the end of Lament of Innocence , Mathias has revealed himself to be the great manipulator pulling the strings behind the scenes. Due to the immense grief he felt over losing Elisabeta to a presumably common illness made untreatable because of the time period’s medical limitations (coupled with his own arrogance and narcissism), Mathias finally becomes Dracula. Dominion over death and even god by has been achieved by doing what Leon’s righteously moral mind cannot comprehend: transforming himself into an immortal creature driven by bloodlust. All he had to do was lie, cheat, and cruelly outsmart everyone else around him. That of course includes Leon as Mathias’ manipulation tactics were also the cause of the mercy killing of Sara Tarantoul, Leon’s fiance, to stop her from turning into a vampire herself. After watching his former friend escape before the sun can rise and disposing of Dracula’s constant right hand man Death, Leon finally feels his anger over such a betrayal boil over. He gives one final message to Mathias, now the new king of the vampires: “This whip and my kinsmen will destroy you someday. From this day on, the Belmont Clan will hunt the night.”

This is how Castlevania: Lament of Innocence ends. Unlike other entries like Symphony of the Night, Aria of Sorrow, or Harmony of Dissonance , there is no good, neutral, or bad ending that can be achieved if the player is aware of certain secrets and tricks. There is only one for Leon and Mathias. The inclusion of multiple endings in some Castlevania games versus a singular set ending in others may seem like a small coincidental narrative choice in conjunction with evolving gameplay, but it matters in the case of Lament of Innocence. From the moment Leon enters the castle to rescue his fiance, the wheel has already started turning and his fate is sealed. Mathias has already won and Sara, along with future Belmonts, are already doomed. And Leon’s ultimatum made in the heat of the moment would go on to have repercussions centuries later. “Hunting the night” gave the Belmonts purpose but it also burdened them with that exact purpose. While Dracula deals in curses, so does the Belmont family—a curse of duty that gets passed down throughout the bloodline.

Leon Belmont was of course never malicious or cruel like Mathias was. He never wanted to deliberately curse his family because he suffered and so should they. His choice was made out of anger and retribution. Still, it goes on to affect Simon, Sonia, Julius, and others in drastic yet different ways. Yet in the case of specific Belmonts like Trevor and Richter, we see how this family legacy can have varied consequences in far more detail through the introduction of animation and serialised writing into the Castlevania franchise.

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SOMETHING BETTER THAN A PILE OF RUINS: TREVOR BELMONT & STRENGTH FROM LEGACY

If there’s one thing that Castlevania makes abundantly clear with its four season runtime, it is that trauma does not inherently make people better or more virtuous. We of course see this from the games with Mathias and his personal crusade against god which leads to the complete dissolvement of his closest friendship. Or with Hector and the rage he feels towards his wife’s murderer, who also happens to be his former comrade under Dracula’s employment. Even Leon’s promise to both his friend, now his most despised enemy, and future descendants can also be an example of how gut reactions to pain, grief, and betrayal can have damaging consequences in the long run. This particular dissection of trauma when it affects a survivor negatively and in almost life-altering ways while still giving them a chance at achieving their own method of healing is most apparent with the animated representation of Trevor Belmont.

At its core, the first season of Castlevania airing in July of 2017 with four episodes in total is inspired by the events of Dracula’s Curse with the following seasons taking more from Curse of Darkness along with original story elements. It begins with the brutal execution of Lisa Tepes after she is falsely accused of being a witch. Shortly afterwards, Dracula declares war on all of humanity in an explosion of grief-riddled vengeance (a declaration that is not dissimilar to Mathias’ cursing of god after Elisabeta’s admittedly more natural death). Hundreds of civilians are slaughtered in the capital city Targoviste and hoards of night creatures descend upon more townships across Wallachia.

This would be the perfect opportunity for a Belmont to stand up and fight back except there is one problem: the Belmonts have been eradicated from this world on false grounds of black magic and aiding the vampire lords instead of hunting them—much like how Lisa was slandered and paid the price with her own life.

The only Belmont left surviving is Trevor himself and his introduction does not paint him in the most optimistic or even heroic light. In the midst of being excommunicated by the church, he’s been wandering aimlessly for the past few years while languishing in whatever tavern he stumbles upon. In one particular bar Trevor finds himself in, he overhears the other patrons cursing the Belmonts and blaming them for Dracula’s siege upon humanity. He tries to stay out of it and not bring too much attention to himself until one glance at the family emblem stitched into his shirt breast is enough to ignite an all out skirmish.

Trevor hides his true identity not because he’s ashamed of it, but for his own safety and self preservation. In fact, the opinion he holds of his family is the total opposite from disdain for the sort of legacy they have saddled him with even in death. He reacts strongly to false accusations directed towards the Belmonts, angrily correcting the bar patrons by stating that his family fought monsters. However, he quickly realises he’s said too much and tries saving face by once again detaching himself from possibly being connected to the aforementioned Belmonts.

It’s only when Trevor is backed into a corner and is fresh out of snappy drunk retorts (thanks to a few hard hits to his nether regions) does he finally admit to his real lineage. As mentioned earlier, Trevor finds himself caught up in the first real brawl of the series not because of the pride he feels in himself but the immense pride he feels for his bloodline. All the while, he’s given up trying to hide what he is—a Belmont—and what he was born to do—fight fucking vampires.

Every time Trevor has the opportunity to bring up his bloodline whether in a fight or in conversation, it’s usually spoken with some bravado and weight even when he’s inebriated. However, when visiting the ruins of the Belmont ancestral home in season two and thus directly confronted with what little remains of his family legacy, Trevor loses all that previous bluster and becomes far more contemplative. He doesn’t reveal much of what it was like to actually live as a Belmont, only that it was “fine” and “no one was lonely in this house”. Even when staring up at the portrait of Leon Belmont, he says nothing and instead firmly grips the very weapons which his ancestor must have also wielded.

It’s clear that Trevor feels no shame, bitterness, or lack of respect towards his family history despite the hardships that have come with it. Still, it’s difficult for him to truly accept the duty of being a Belmont and Trevor continually struggles with it over the course of two full seasons. Upon arriving at the ruined city of Gresit which is under constant threat of night creature attacks, Trevor doesn’t seem particularly concerned with the people’s plight or with helping them. He inquires about what’s been happening by speaking with a few local merchants but it’s only in order for him to gain a better picture of the situation that Gresit finds itself in. Otherwise, he’s simply passing through on his way to another tavern, fist fight, sleeping spot, or all three. Until he puts aside his own needs for self-protection in favour of saving an elder Speaker (a fictionalised group of nomads original to the Castlevania show who have made it their mission to help less fortunate communities and pass on their histories via oral tradition) from a potential hate crime committed by two supposed men of the cloth.

This moment acts as a representation of the first chip in Trevor’s carefully maintained armour. During the bar fight, he claimed over and over again that he was a Belmont in both skill and purpose. However, Trevor hasn’t done much to prove such a proclamation. Because of his ennui and poor coping mechanisms due to lingering trauma, he’s been all talk and not a lot of action—until this point. At first he tells himself to walk away, this sort of confrontation doesn’t concern him. Then he remembers where he comes from and uses the very same family heirloom to help someone physically weaker than himself.

Yet when he accompanies the elder back to where the other Speakers have found shelter from the monsters repeatedly demanding their heads as well as future night creature attacks, Trevor’s metaphorical walls are erected back up. He won’t take any part in this eradication of humanity whether as a victim or perpetrator and especially not to stop it. The people of Wallachia made their choice in the unjust murder of Dracula’s innocent wife, they made their choice when they decided to massacre what was left of his family, and the church made their choice when they decided to fight Dracula’s armies themselves without the Belmonts. Why should he lift a finger (or whip) to save the masses?

Despite this nihilistic attitude, Trevor proves to be a poor defeatist. He still desperately wants to protect the Speakers and warns them of an oncoming pogrom planned for them. A massive hate crime fueled by superstition and facilitated by the corrupt Bishop of Gresit which will supposedly save the city from night creature ambushes (this can be interpreted as a direct allegory meant to comment on how minority groups such as Jewish and Romani communities were used as scapegoats during the Mediaeval period). However, the Speakers refuse to budge and decide to face the angry and misled crowds head-on. They instead tell Trevor to leave in their place which, in a burst of frustration, spurs him to finally act like a member of his clan should.

What follows next is one of the most defining moments of the series for Trevor, cementing his place as a Belmont. Another corrupt member of the church demands to know what he could possibly stand to gain from fighting back considering his downtrodden state and the fact that he’s entirely outnumbered. Trevor’s answer is simple: nothing. The Belmonts don’t protect everyday people for any great reward or because of any strong personal ties. They do it because it’s their duty and the right thing to do. Trevor even mirrors something which the elder Speaker told him; a family mantra that encompasses the very purpose of the Belmonts, dating back to Leon: “It’s not the dying that frightens us. It’s never having stood up and fought for you.”

Trevor’s healing journey does not end at this moment. He still has moments of hesitation where someone like Alucard has to forcibly remind him of his place as Belmont, saying he needs to choose whether he’s really the last of a long line of hunters or a drunkard. This leads to a fight sequence that nearly spans the length of an entire episode where Trevor further proves himself by taking on at least three different creatures all with varying degrees of strength, skill, and fortitude. Episode six of season two is the ideal example of not only Trevor’s determination but also his quick thinking. Moments such as him wrapping his cloak around his hand so that it doesn’t get cut while his sword slices through the throat of a minotaur or using a set of sticks to beat against an adversary when his whip is knocked away. Being a Belmont means using one’s intellect (no matter how unconventional it may seem) as well as one’s muscles.

There is also another albeit less violent instance at the start of season three where he still feels the need to hide his surname while in an unfamiliar village. Then there is the revelation that malicious stories about the Belmonts and their supposed demise still circulate amongst rural Wallachian communities. Yet despite coming from a family of old killers (a term Trevor uses before facing off against Death in the final season) his family name remains his strength and the weight of both the Vampire Killer and Morningstar whip keep him grounded rather than burden him. The Belmont name carries such weight throughout the series that by the end, there is strong consideration from Alucard of naming a new township nestled in the shadow of Dracula’s castle after that family.

Trevor deals with his pain and trauma quietly, almost numbing it with the assistance of alcohol and dodging the harder questions regarding what his family was really like. He still finds strength in remembering what the Belmonts are here for despite the tribulations that come with the family name. Hardships that continue and evolve nearly three hundred years later.

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THE THINGS THAT MAKE ME WHO I AM: RICHTER BELMONT & STRENGTH FROM LOVE

Depending on what sort of mood you might find the author of this essay in, their favourite Castlevania game will vary. At the moment, it’s a three way tie between Symphony of the Night for its artistry, Lament of Innocence for its story and characterisation, and Aria of Sorrow for its evolved gameplay. However, one personal decision remains relatively consistent no matter the mood or time of day: Richter Belmont is the author’s favourite Belmont and the inclusion of him in the latest animated adaptation Castlevania: Nocturne has only cemented that fact.

It makes sense from both a narrative and marketing standpoint as to why we’ve suddenly gone from the events of Dracula’s Curse/Curse of Darkness depicted in the previous series all the way three hundred years later to Rondo of Blood . Narratively, Richter and his companion Maria Renard already have a direct link to Alucard through the events of Symphony , which Nocturne will most likely cover and be inspired by in its second season. Marketing wise while also appealing to the largest demographic possible (even those less familiar with the games), amongst more recurring characters like Dracula and Alucard, Richter is arguably one of the most recognisable Castlevania figures right down to his design.

Certain traits and visual motifs of other Belmonts have changed drastically over the years and with each iteration. Meanwhile, from Rondo and Symphony , to Harmony of Despair and the mobile game Grimoire of Souls , to finally Nocturne and the inclusion of Richter as a playable character in the fighting game Super Smash Bros Ultimate , specific elements of Richter never waver. This includes his blue colour scheme, his tousled brown hair, and his iconic white headband. All of which carry over in the first season of Nocturne which not only expands upon Richter’s character first established in Rondo of Blood but also further examines said character.

For example, Richter’s true introduction directly following the downer cold opening is without a doubt the farest cry from Trevor’s. While Trevor’s first scene acted as a sobering depiction of what happens when physically/mentally damaging coping mechanisms mix with unacknowledged grief, Richter’s first fight gets the audience’s blood pumping, complete with a triumphant musical score and a showcase of his skill with the Vampire Killer. Richter is cocky, but not reckless. He’s sarcastic, but not sullen like Trevor was. Because of his upbringing after the death of his mother, filled with positive affirmations, he values the wellbeing of others along with their fighting experience. Yet his confidence does not overshadow his acknowledgement of the family burden. Richter is well aware of how heavy the Belmont legacy and duty can weigh upon an individual’s shoulders along with how closely it can tie itself around a person’s life and their death—a reminder as well as memory which haunts him for nine years.

When Nocturne begins, its first major fight sequence takes place between Richter’s mother Julia Belmont (an original character for the show) and the vampire Olrox, an enemy taken from Symphony of the Night now reimagined as a seductive, complex Indigenous vampire on his own path towards vengeance against the very person who took away the one he loved most in this world—just one of many thematic parallels to the first series, this time referencing Dracula’s motives and justification for his grief. Just when it seems like Julia has the upper hand thanks to her magical prowess, Olrox transforms and ends her life in a swift yet brutal manner. All of which happens right before ten-year-old Richter’s eyes.

Julia was simply doing her duty as a vampire hunter and her life as a Belmont ended the same as most of her ancestors did: in battle while fighting for the life of another. Why then did it hurt Richter most of all? Why does it haunt him well into his early adult years? And why was it seemingly more so than how Trevor’s trauma haunted him? There are two probable answers to this, one being that Richter was only a child, directly confronted by the cause for his mother’s sudden and graphic death with no way of fighting back despite being a Belmont.

In the case of Trevor, although he was a few years older than Richter when his entire family and ancestral home were burned in front of his eyes presumably by the same people they were supposed to be defending, the circumstances which followed them afterwards are vastly different. For nine years Richter was surrounded by those who loved and cared for him whereas Trevor only had himself and the hoards of average Wallachians who hated him because of superstitious rumours and the church’s condemnation. Trevor had over a decade’s worth of experience in becoming desensitised to his pain and trauma, masking it beneath self deprecation and numbing it with alcohol. He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was a deeply sad and lonely individual until Sypha pointed it out to him.

Despite his bravado and brighter personality than his ancestor, Richter is also an incredibly sad, hurt person who suffers somewhat from tunnel vision. He obviously has empathy and wants to protect people from monsters, vampires, and the like. More so than Trevor did during his introduction before his moment of self-made rehabilitation. However, he doesn’t seem to care much about the revolution itself or what it stands for. He attends Maria’s rally meetings but he doesn’t take active part in them, opting to stay back and keep a watch out for any vampire ambushes. He admits that he doesn’t really listen to Maria’s speeches about liberty, equality, and fraternity. And in the most prominent example of his disillusionment with fighting for a larger righteous cause, when given a revolutionary’s headband, he shoves it into his pocket and mumbles about how tired he is of everything.

This could be interpreted as defeatist if Richter wasn’t already trying so hard to uphold his family duty and maintain a level head. He needs to have a sense of control and almost achieves it until Olrox so casually confronts him in the middle of a battle which Richter and his friends seemed to be winning until they’re forced to flee close behind him. When Richter runs away and emotionally breaks down the moment he’s finally alone, it isn’t because he’s weak or cowardly. On a surface level, it was due to his fear and panic over not being able to face his mother’s killer (someone who has proven to be much, much stronger and more powerful than any Belmont). Yet it was also a form of harsh admission to himself. He couldn’t maintain that aforementioned sense of control and perhaps he never will, not where he is right now at least.

It isn’t until he’s reunited with his grandfather Juste Belmont (long thought to have died, leaving Richter as the final Belmont) that this negative mindset brought on by unresolved trauma begins to shift. In many ways, Juste is another callback to what happened with Trevor. He suffered an immense tragedy in the past and has since spent his entire life drifting from tavern to tavern, avoiding his own grandson and instead leaving him in the care of people far more capable of raising him and instilling better morals within the youngest Belmont.

Other mentor-esque characters appear in Nocturne such as Tera who raised Richter alongside her biological daughter Maria. There is also Cecile, the leader of a Maroon group which Annette joins after escaping slavery. Despite their individual pains, these two women maintain the hope that humanity can be changed and the evils of the world can be defeated. Meanwhile, Juste has thoroughly lost his own hope. He reveals to Richter that “evil will always win” because of how it permeates everything and is far stronger than any Belmont, even the most magically inclined members. No matter how many Draculas, Carmillas, or Lord Ruthvens are defeated, it will always find a way to creep back to the surface whether through the upper class of France or through the very colonisation that nearly wiped out Olrox’s people or enslaved Annette’s family.

One of the first things that Juste says to Richter directly references the sheer weight of the Belmont legacy, all of which culminates within the whip itself. This can also be a reference to the Vampire Killer carrying a living soul as Leon Belmont was only able to awaken its true power by sacrificing Sara Tarantoul. The whip has both a metaphorical and literal weight which the Belmonts must come to terms with.

Yet for Richter, family is maintained not through blood ties, which can easily die out or be abandoned because of generational trauma, but through the people we find and attach ourselves to. Under the immediate threat of losing his found family, all of Richter’s pain and anguish explodes when his magical powers violently return to him in one of the most visually impressive and cathartic moments of Nocturne season one, complete with an orchestral and operatic rendition of “Divine Bloodlines” taken straight from Rondo of Blood as he ties the same headband he nearly discarded earlier around his head. Then once the dust settles and Richter is asked by Juste how he managed to tap back into that great power, he simply responds with the most obvious answer he can come up with: there are people who love him and he loves them in return.

This is reiterated when Richter is reunited with Annette and describes the same revelation when she asks how he was able to regain his magic. Not just a mental revelation but for Richter, it was a physical sensation as well. Just when he believed he had lost everything, something reminded him of all the things worth protecting in his life and all the pain he’s had to endure.

Richter finally donning his iconic white headband is symbolic of not only his decision to actively join the French Revolution but also his revelation that the love he feels for Maria, Annette, and Tera is his own righteous cause. That, to him, is worth defending just as much if not more than the concept of a centuries old curse turned legacy.

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SLAVES TO OUR FAMILIES' WISHES: CONCLUSION

Richter, both his game depiction and his recent Nocturne iteration, acts as a reflection and subversion of what a Belmont is along with what that family duty means to different members. Trevor found healing from his trauma through his duty. Richter found his healing through love. Of course Trevor loved Sypha and Alucard in his own way, but throughout the entire first series, from the moment he removed his cloak at the end of season one to standing up against Death in the finale, his driving motivation was always to preserve his family’s legacy despite his own shortcomings. The Belmonts were all but gone and Trevor had been exiled, excommunicated, and turned into a societal pariah. Had he given into despair and continued with his vagabond ways, who else would wield the Morningstar, the Vampire Killer, or any of the knowledge cultivated by previous Belmont generations?

But for Richter, family legacy is more of a nebulous concept. It gets mentioned in conversations and we see its varying effects on individuals, but even when Richter is reunited with Juste, the immediate priorities of his found family takes the place of his blood family. This, according to him, makes him a Belmont.

It is also important to consider that we are still only on the first season of Castlevania: Nocturne with season two having been renewed and in production merely a week after its initial premiere. With the reveal of Alucard as a last minute cliffhanger in the penultimate episode, it will be interesting to see how his own characterisation as well as his close tie with both the Belmonts and his own family burden will further develop especially after three hundred years within the show’s timeline. One of the biggest possibilities is that in contrast with his youthful brashness and instability that was the crux of his character in the first series, Alucard might serve as a sort of mentor figure or perhaps his own generational pain will bond him further to Richter and Maria, more so than he was in Symphony of the Night . Then there is the question of whether Richter in the midst of the apparent losses he suffered during the finale of season one will follow down the same path that his video game counterpart did.

In 2020, the author wrote another Castlevania -centric essay which detailed the visual, thematic, and aesthetical shifts of the franchise from its inception during the 1980s all the way to the 2017 adaptation through focusing on how these changes affected Alucard. By the end of that essay, it was mentioned that despite the show being renewed for at least one more season, the overall future of Castlevania remained unknown. This is still the case for now.

Though one can make educated assumptions and theories, there’s no way of knowing what sort of direction season two of Nocturne will take with its themes and characters. This is doubly true for the games themselves. Despite the anticipated releases of the Silent HIll 2 and Metal Gear Solid Delta: Snake Eater remakes, as of now Konami has not revealed any official decisions to remake, rerelease, or produce new Castlevania titles. One can hope that due to the success of both shows along with the anticipation for Silent Hill and Metal Gear Solid remakes that something new will be in store for Castlevania in the near future.

Castlevania , both its games and animation adaptations, prove that there is a place in this world for every kind of story. In the last episode of season one airing in July 2017, Alucard states what could very well be the thesis of the entire franchise: “We are all, in the end, slaves to our families’ wishes”. Yet even if we cannot escape the narrative we’ve been latched onto or, for dramatic purposes, cursed with, there are ways in which we can combat it and forge our own healing process.

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MEDIA REFERENCED

Castlevania (1986)

Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest (1987)

Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse (1989)

Castlevania: Rondo of Blood (1993)

Castlevania Legends (1997)

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (1997)

Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow (2003)

Castlevania: Lament of Innocence (2003)

Castlevania: Curse of Darkness (2005)

Castlevania: Lords of Shadow (2011)