Zenji’s No. 1 Lover

Dusk had come and gone by the time you set foot in the Obscuary dorms. 

As unsurprising as it was that you needed a form signed, it was no less tedious for you to acquire said signature—especially when it came to Ed. If it were any other house, you’d already have the documents dealt with and could be on your way back to the cathedral. Instead, you found yourself glaring vehemently at the mahogany wood door before you. No response. 

After a long exchange of irrelevant text messages with Ed, he’d agreed to sign the papers, provided you brought them to him. However, you’d been knocking on his bedroom door for five minutes already, and the option to break it down was gradually growing more appealing by the second. 

With no footsteps to preface the pair of arms coiling around you and pulling you back, the sudden movement elicited a startled shriek from your lips. 

“My apologies, lovely lady.” The familiar voice of the Obscuary captain provided quick relief to your distress. “How ill-mannered of me to keep you waiting. You see, Rui left me all alone today, and I had no choice but to leave my room in search of fresh clothes...” 

“Well, now that you’re here,” you held out the documents along with a pen you had already prepared. The last thing you wanted to do was rummage through his room in search of one, something you knew would occur had you not prepared accordingly. “I need you to sign this.”

“Oh, my.” Not a hint of verity could be heard in his voice. “It seems my eyesight’s been worsening... I can hardly see the print without better lighting. Perhaps we could discuss this in my room instead.”

Though you were certain he could see you rolling your eyes, he made no effort to acknowledge it. 

“Go on, then.” You gestured toward the door. 

“After you.” He opened the door, holding it for you to walk through. The familiar sight of his chandelier was there to greet you, the vermillion glow of its many candles illuminating the maroon walls. 

After he’d made himself comfortable in his chair, you once again approached him with the forms. You’d barely taken a step forward when a pained expression appeared on his face. 

“Ow... I fear old age has been eroding this body,” he complained. “Hardly a day passes without my back aching. It would be very helpful if I could receive a massage.”

“No, and I still need you to sign this,” you replied, your patience wearing off faster than you’d hoped. 

“A pity.” Ed continued his lament with a dramatic exhale, not even bothering to glance at the papers before him. “I have yet to try it for myself, but humans seem to enjoy it.”

“Ed.” Your tone was curt. “Sign the form.” 

“Why yes, the form,” Ed drawled, evidently disinterested. “You see, I am feeling rather under the weather today, and it just slipped my mind.” 

You weren’t sure if he truly was smiling or if it was merely the tone of his voice that gave this impression, but your eye twitched nonetheless in irritation. 

“Ed, sign the form or I will personally drag you beneath the sun myself.”

“You intend on hurting me? How cruel.” Ed brought his hand to his face, index finger resting upon his chin, just beneath the exaggerated pout on his lips. “I am a feeble old man, you know.”

“Then you’ll have a hard time stopping me,” you responded. 

“I remember now...” This time, he made no effort to conceal his smile, his lips tugging upwards into a crescent. “I recently watched a video about something similar. Apparently, the youth these days are fond of dominant women. What was it called again?”

You had no doubt that the pause he made then was feigned, only existing to serve his affinity for theatrics. 

“Femdom?”

You blinked. The term shouldn’t have arrived as unexpectedly, yet hearing it from him still caught you by surprise momentarily. He was smirking, then, clearly enjoying your stunned reaction. How you sought to strangle him, but now your prior exasperation and vexation had been tainted with suggestive connotations, and even the mere thought of throttling him caused your mind to be led astray. 

“Ed,” you repeated, acutely aware of how each syllable sounded as it left your lips. “Sign the form.” 

“No.”

His eyes were gleaming, catching the warm candlelit hue much like a dagger’s edge. Perhaps he’d silently voiced his stigma’s incantation—the resounding word that left his lips went straight to your head, leaving little space for anything else but the thought of expunging the satisfied smugness he possessed. 

Your next exhale was accompanied by the fluttering sound of paper scattering over the lush carpet. Ed watched you as you walked forward, his eyes fixed on you and not at all flinching as you touched your fingers to his chin, tilting his head up. His skin was smooth as glass and twice as cold. His demeanour remained eternally amused. 

“Is that so?” you asked. He only laughed in response, reaching for your hand and raising it to his lips. 

“Why, of course,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I have yet to experience this phenomenon for myself.”

You knew the sensation on your skin was not breath, but it felt similar—small puffs of air conjured by the movement of his mouth as he spoke, albeit frigid compared to the human warmth you’d expect. 

“So, how do you intend to torment me?” The tips of his fangs were poking out, mere millimetres away from your skin as he spoke. “I am the most powerful vampire, after all, and the sun doesn’t reach us here.” 

His teeth sank down faster than you could react. Not hard—just enough for two minuscule droplets to bead up on the pad of your thumb, rapidly vanishing from your sight with a swipe of his tongue. 

Your pulse rang loudly in your ears, the organ in your chest steadily thumping. You couldn’t tell if you were livid or aroused or both when you climbed over his lap, caging him in against his chair as you brought your lips to his. The taste of your blood was vaguely present, rust-petaled poppies blooming on your tongue. 

Ed’s mouth was cold, tasting akin to snowdrops and crocuses. 

Most of your movements went unreturned; he did the bare minimum of kissing you back, instead letting you have your way with a satisfied hum. When your fingers tangled within his hair and his locks were in your grasp, you found yourself softly tugging at the silken strands, but failed to observe any significant reaction. 

You rolled your hips against his lap as you broke off contact. Despite his growing erection stiff against the soft flesh of your thighs, his face was placid. As if there weren’t a string of saliva hanging between the two of you and a glistening sheen on his lips. 

Your fingers trailed down the side of his face, briefly pausing along his carotid artery and pressing against where his blood should be flowing. But Ed’s blood ran still, so you continued your trajectory lower, fingertips brushing against the sharp curves of his collarbones and down to his chest. Briefly, you found yourself wondering how rapidly his heart would beat—would the organ betray his indifference? 

“Rather vigorous for an old man,” you remarked, your hand on his crotch and fingers fiddling with the button of his pants. 

“Your presence restores my vitality.” He made no move to assist you. 

You paid no mind to his flattery and instead focused on undressing him. With his pants undone and only the thin fabric of his underwear remaining, you could feel how hard he was against the palm of your hand. 

You kept your gaze fixed on him, intently observing his reactions as you tugged his waistband down. Your fingers slid along his length; the tip of his cock already lubricated as your thumb swiped across. Another soft hum emitted from his vocal cords as you loosely wrapped your hand around his shaft. Your movements were languid, rhythmically stroking him at a measured, slow pace. 

“What a wicked girl you are,” Ed commented. Although the satisfied smirk stayed glued to his face, you noticed the ever so slight narrowing of his eyes. 

“Apparently, the elderly these days are fond of it.” Without pausing your motions, you leaned into the crook of his neck. His skin carried the scent of rich mauve. 

You permitted a few small exhales to escape your lips, intentionally fanning the warmth of your breath across his collarbones and nape. Ed shivered, much to your delight. 

You trailed your mouth down—lips ghosting over his earlobe before descending to his jugular—before stopping just between his collarbone and trapezius. He twitched in your hand as you bit down, the dull edges of your teeth sinking into his skin. The surface of his skin remained fully intact; there were hardly any dents. 

Yet all you received was another low hum and an insufferable chuckle. 

You proceeded to nip at his throat, pleasantly surprised to see a trail of marks in your wake. The colours effloresced magnificently over his pale skin, reminiscent of plum blossoms amidst a desolate winter landscape. 

A long, pleased exhale left his lips. 

“How kind of you to entertain me like this,” he began, “but I’m afraid you won’t achieve your desired result this way.” 

“Then show me how it’s done.” Your motions came to a stop as you stood up. 

“I would be thrilled to,” Ed said. “Alas, my techniques just aren’t what they used to be, and—”

“—Ed.” You interjected before he could finish speaking. “I’m afraid you’ll need to convince me.” 

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow as he spoke. “Then it seems I have no other choice...”

You noticed the familiar glint in his eyes, seconds before he dipped his head beneath your skirt. The abundance of frigid sensation was almost overwhelming; his hands and lips glacial on your skin. You inadvertently shivered, the warm flesh of your inner thighs sharply registering the contrast in temperature. 

With the frosted caress of his hands on your thighs and his mouth brushing over the damp fabric of your panties, you found the prior adrenaline slowly melting away. You could feel him taking the thin material between his teeth and pulling it to the side. 

A sigh of pleasure escaped your lips as his lips brushed over your clit. Your following inhale was sharp as he flattened his tongue against your clit, sending an unexpected chill up your spine. His movements were unhurried, almost a mirror of your previous actions. Tangling your fingers within his hair, you gently tightened your grip as a warning. You could hear him chuckle against you, sending small vibrations along your skin. 

You couldn’t help but squirm when Ed took your clit into his mouth, softly sucking on it. 

“Fingers,” you told him, doing your best to conceal the small tremble in your voice. 

“My, my. How demanding.” But he said nothing more, complying with your request and lazily slipping a finger inside you. It was quickly joined by another, the two lengthy digits curling in tandem, the pads of his fingers rubbing against your g-spot. You consciously refrained from cursing. 

You found yourself reaching for the back of his armchair, your nails digging into the plush velvet cushioning as he resumed his ministrations. You could feel his tongue swirling around your clit, the gentle suction pressure remaining steady as his mouth warmed up to match your heat. 

“Ed,” you murmured as you felt yourself reaching your climax—you still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The vampire didn’t speak, and to your faint surprise, he didn’t stop, either. He merely continued his actions, allowing the combination of his fingers and mouth to push you over the edge. 

You tried your best to hold up your own weight, but your knees wobbled nonetheless as you reached your peak. Vaguely, you could feel Ed’s hands firmly holding up the back of your thighs, keeping you stable. 

Your breaths came out heavy as you gazed down at Ed, whose movements came to a gradual halt. He tilted his head back, the fabric of your skirt formerly draped over his head now sliding off. His skin was more luminous than ever, your juices slathered over his lips and his fingers slick as he brought them to his mouth, shamelessly cleaning them off. 

“Tired so soon, my lady?” he asked, grinning once more. You shook your head in response. 

“Come.” You gesture to the bed. 

“As you wish,” he complied. “However, I must warn you... I am still feeling lethargic from earlier. I worry this old body of mine wouldn’t be able to handle much physical exertion.”

You hadn’t expected otherwise. You simply rolled your eyes, pushing him onto the bed and climbing over him. 

His gaze was burrowing into you as you fully removed your underwear, carelessly dropping along the side of his bed. 

You positioned him against your entrance before slowly lowering yourself—as unbearably slow as possible. A long sigh left his lips once you had fully taken him in. 

“How delightful you feel,” he murmured. You were yet to hear more earnest words leave his lips. 

“And you too.” Your voice was breathy as you returned the compliment. With your hands on his chest supporting your weight, you rolled your hips against his. Then again. For the first time, you heard him inhale. 

Ed was enchanting—even more so as you leaned down to kiss him. You managed to glimpse the brief image of his eyelids shutting, momentarily seeing the graceful flutter of his long eyelashes before your own sight was whisked away. 

You could tell, amidst the muffled breaths snuffled out of your lungs and extinguished against his lips, that he was nearing climax. 

Increasing your pace, you continued moving your hips for a few moments longer—before coming to a sudden and complete halt. 

You watched as Ed’s eyes opened, scarlet irises burrowing into yours, his lips parted ever so slightly. He stared at you for a moment longer before closing his eyes and heaving out a sigh. 

“You truly are wicked,” he said, almost as if it were a musing of sorts. But his voice was awfully strained for someone who had no need for oxygen, and before your very eyes was the miniature crack in his composure. 

Oh, how you wished you could repeat this over and over again, except for his reaction sent arousal shooting straight down to your core, and he didn’t fail to notice. 

You hardly had any time to savour his reaction, because his expression had returned to its elegant poise. His hands were on your hips, pulling your chest flush against his as he moved his hips against yours. You had hardly managed to tell him before you came, walls clenching and fingers digging into whatever fabric was beneath you. 

Amidst your own partially obfuscated vision, you could see him—eyes half-lidded and lips parted wide as he, too, reached orgasm. 

Your chest was heaving with laboured breaths, and you found yourself slumping against his sternum as you caught your breath. He, on the other hand, appeared not the least bit tired. Not until you spoke, at least. 

“By the way,” you mentioned, “about the form—”

Ed was quick to interrupt you with a yawn, his long fingers splayed over his face as he covered his mouth. 

“Forgive me, I’m rather fatigued from so much physical strain, so if you’ll excuse me...”

Even with his eyes closed, his smile didn’t fade. Perhaps you should’ve flung him into the sun. 

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It was bothersome business. Sunset had hardly passed when Rui came barging in, telling him that he needed a favour—just this once.

An exaggerated yawn stretched his mouth wide, covered behind a single hand with slender fingers the same colour as the bones hiding beneath.

“Oh, dear,” he lamented. “It’s so early in the evening, I’ve yet to fully wake up. This old body is much more prone to exhaustion than it used to be...”

“Oi, Ed!” Rui sounded rather cross when he spoke. “I don’t have time for this today. I have to open the bar, and Y/N needs someone to accompany her back to her dorm.”

You were peeking out from behind Rui, eyes carrying silent apologies, which turned vocal as soon as Rui departed.

“I’m so sorry for the trouble!” The words instantly spilled from your lips. “It’s just a bit difficult to find my way around the campus so late at night.”

You weren’t wrong; with your limited human vision, it would indeed be challenging to navigate your way through the Obscuary grounds, which were shrouded in perpetual darkness. For him, it was much less of an issue—he supposed that was why Rui had chosen him for this task instead of Lyca. That made the situation no less of an annoyance, but it appeared he had no choice in the matter. It would be even more tiresome to deal with a displeased Rui.

“Accompanying a lovely lady such as yourself is no trouble for me at all,” he responded.

“Thank you.” It didn’t escape his notice that your cheeks flushed with a faint hue of rose as you replied.

Edward paid it no mind, instead diverting his attention to the arduous task of getting out of bed. He had just left the comfort of his covers when your eyes widened for a split second before the violet carpeted floor caught your apparent interest.

“My apologies,” he said, realizing he was shirtless. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem!” You waved your hand dismissively, though you were still evidently struggling to meet his gaze.

He knew what it was; human behaviour only followed so many different patterns, and four centuries was more than enough time to witness them all.

A crush, as your kind liked to call it. Flattering, but ultimately meaningless. He was certain it’d pass soon enough—emotions were such fleeting things.

“Shall we depart?” he asked, having finished dressing himself. You nodded.

He held the door open. “After you, my lady.”

“Thank you,” you said again. Your eyes held an eagerness that sparkled, reflecting the flickering candlelit glow in his room. Each minuscule flame extinguished itself when he shut the door behind him.

As he walked down the dimly lit corridors of his dorm, he could feel your eyes latched onto him. You hadn’t said anything yet; the hallways were silent save for the small taps of your shoes on the carpet.

He hoped the entire walk would be this tranquil. It was rare for him to even leave the comfort of his room, let alone travel such a long distance on foot. Despite his body possessing superior strength and resilience to humans, he still couldn’t escape the grievances that came with having a mortal form, for which the subtle ache in his joints served as an aggravating reminder. The walk was a tedious enough task on its own; conversation would simply be an additional chore.

“Do you usually wake up around this time?” you asked. This wasn’t what he had wished for, but he nonetheless humoured your pitiful attempt at conversation.

“Yes.” He ducked down to avoid a low-hanging branch. “I tend to sleep a few hours after sunrise and wake up at sunset.”

“Ah, that makes sense!” You were beaming at him, as if he had not merely answered a question. You looked so delighted, like you were doing anything other than walking through the forked forest pathways with a vampire.

How naïve, he thought. To develop romantic interest in a being such as himself. Then again, it wasn’t like you had full knowledge of what he was. You knew little of the darkness that lurked within his soul, and it would be best to keep things as such.

After all, he knew how you’d react if you ever were to find out, could already picture the horror that would be written across your features.

“Oh, it’s raining,” you pointed out, temporarily ceasing to stare at him in favour of glancing up at the sky above.

Not that it even mattered—cute as you were, he had no interest in romance. Perhaps even a century or two ago, he might have indulged in such an affair, but now, he was more aware than ever before that humans’ feelings were fickle and their lifespans short.

It would be a pointless endeavour; far more trouble than it’d be worth.

“We better get you back quickly, then,” he responded, maintaining his usual mask of detached politeness. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

You nodded. The rain added urgency to your pace, hastening your steps in order to avoid the downpour that was rapidly developing into a storm. He almost felt pity for you with the way you were shivering, the fabric of your clothes soaked through and strands of drenched hair sticking to your face.

Poor thing, he mused. You must be cold.

Indeed, you were—the relief in your eyes was visible as you arrived at the cathedral you resided in, your fingers fumbling for the key and pushing open the door with much impatience.

“Have a good evening then, lovely lady,” he said, turning around to depart.

“Ah, uhm...” You appeared bashful, hesitating before you finished your sentence. “Would you like to come inside?”

“You’re inviting me in?” He raised an eyebrow at the offer. To invite a man you were hardly acquainted with over to your home—perhaps his thinking was too old-fashioned for the modern era, but the brazenness of the current generation never failed to surprise him.

With your behaviour up until this point, he would assume you sought to bed with him, but—

“Yes, I can bring you a towel to dry off or something; it’s raining quite heavily. I’d feel bad having you walk all the way home in this weather.”

—you were much too innocent for that.

Foolish girl, Edward thought. You had no idea who you were letting in, much less what you had invited.

Because at that moment, for a reason he wasn’t entirely certain of, he felt the selfish desire to allow this. Worse yet was his inability to abnegate such temptations. He was fully aware he shouldn’t give in, but that awareness did little for him besides causing guilt to well up within him, feeling ashamed of how weak he was.

He had no need of your hospitality; that much he knew. The stormy conditions would not excessively impede his bat form, and flying was a much quicker alternative to walking. If he informed you of such, it would alleviate you of any worries or concerns regarding his wellbeing.

But then you glanced up at him with hopeful ewe eyes, orbs of innocent wonder that gleamed with a light much too sacred for the likes of him. At the sight of your still-quivering form, he knew—his shame never stood a chance against his coveting, for one was irrefutably stronger than the other.

“How could I say no to such a generous offer?” he smiled, accepting your invitation.

The stained glass cross above his head seemed to stare down at him with contempt.

You were standing so close to him that the scent of your perfume permeated his senses. He couldn’t block it out even if he tried—the distinct fragrance of white lilies and cotton flowers mixing with fresh raindrops, layered on the sweet, sweet smell of your skin.

Your hands, clutching the textured white fabric of your towel, were still trembling from cold as you pressed the cloth to his hair. You hadn’t dried yourself off yet, instead emerging from your washroom with a towel for him. He decided not to point it out, curious as to when you’d pay mind to your own pitiful state.

For a minute, he longed to close his eyes, so that he could focus on the warm, powdery scent emitting from you and the sensation of your palms—colder than they usually would be but still pulsing with life beneath—brushing against his face every so often. But, oh, greed seemed to know no bounds regardless of species, because despite wanting to indulge in the moment, he found himself captivated by your form, unable to tear his eyes away. Water droplets were running down your skin, smaller beads clinging onto your delicate eyelashes and larger drops shattering against the floor with the rhythmic cadence of a metronome.

Against the dim golden luminescence of your living room wall sconces, you bore an angelic likeness—almost as if you had been freshly bathed in holy water.

How amusing. To have a being as pure as yourself gently dabbing away the raindrops on his pale, lifeless skin.

“There,” you said, putting the towel down on your dining table. “This should feel a bit better.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “You’re truly too kind.”

You laughed, the sound reverberating softly within the austere desolation of the cathedral.

“Would you like some tea?” Your question bore such innocence that it was almost painful to hear.

His deep crimson eyes narrowed. The shadows in his soul flickered and flared back to life. Obsidian flames of envy licked at his spine. Possessed by his own darkness, he felt the urge to destroy such purity—to take the glass heart bottling all your hopes into the palm of his hand and crush it to dust.

It was bizarre how you evoked within him a rottenness reminiscent of natural decay, a process he thought he’d cheated. Even stranger was his inability to resist his emotions, deceptively human feelings that were all too despicable to be of the same nature.

“I’ve long since forgotten the taste of human foods and beverages,” he stated. He’d enjoy the satisfaction of finality when he sees your abhorrence upon realizing what he truly was.

You paused, still as cornered prey.

Edward reached out, touching his frigid hand to your face as he peeled a wet lock of hair away from your eyes, tucking it neatly behind your ear. Your skin vibrated softly with vitality, the glove coating his fingertips too thin to shield him from the delightful heat your flesh carried. The warmth emanating from you was far different from any conjuration the sun could offer—something he failed to find displeasing.

“You do know what I am, don’t you?” he asked your frozen form. “I could end your life without a moment’s hesitation if I so desired.”

Human lives were already short. He’d never sought to end one prematurely before. He’d never experienced desire in a way as vile and wrathful as he did now.

He wasn’t unaware of the sin that resided in the marrow of his bones. He knew his very existence was blasphemous; a crude mockery of God’s favourite creation.

But each second of silence steeped crueller than the last, and in your wide, unblinking eyes was a reflection of his fears. For he craved not abolishment but absolution; your eyes, which only saw good, he wanted to preserve. He yearned for you to forgive his sins and pardon his crimes—an impious coveting in and of itself.

“That’s okay.” Yet you spared him still, much to his stunned surprise. You placed a hand, warm and tender, over his, enveloping it with a cathartic embrace. “I trust you not to.”

He felt something eerily similar to a heartbeat; an ersatz emotion he’d long since forgotten.

“Silly girl,” he breathed—though the air he inhaled tasted oddly akin to reverence. “You haven’t dried yourself off yet.”

His fingers were splayed, the skin between them pulled taut as he flapped his wings in a rapid descent.

He could turn back now, he thought, despite knowing such pondering was pointless. He had already ruminated over the situation for two weeks now, having avoided you throughout the entire duration. He felt terribly guilty in doing so, knowing it would undeniably distress you to be ignored so suddenly, especially after he’d entertained your infatuation the way he did.

You had even sent Rui to check on him, asking if everything was alright.

“She seems really worried, you know,” Rui had said. “You should at least text her back.”

Edward had sighed in response before feigning illness and dismissing Rui with a weary smile.

Two weeks of contemplation and yet here he was, flying through the brisk evening skies towards your cathedral.

This was no sane decision; he was fully aware of that. Four centuries and it appeared he still failed to learn from his mistakes. If there was anything that a hundreds-of-years-old existence should have taught him, it was the frailty of human life.

You were no exception to that. If anything, you were the epitome of fragility. Having been cursed to die in a year’s time, your lifespan would be hardly a quarter of the average human’s.

Even had you not been unfortunate, eighty years pale in comparison when measured against eternity.

It was nothing but inane for him to partake in romantic affairs with humans—creatures with such fleeting lifespans. It had been a century or two since he’d decided against engaging in such matters. Prior to that...

He had loved once upon a time. In the days before photographs and mobile phones, days so long since passed that time had eroded not only the memory of her face but also the recollection of her voice.

Humans were truly the most inscrutable of all beings, struggling miserably against their own fate for the sake of remaining human. As if their state of existence held some sort of intrinsic value.

Truly ludicrous.

He had offered to turn her. In the end, she had chosen to retain her humanity, continuing to age whilst he was frozen in time.

During those days of yore, he had left the decision in her hands, which were now reduced to mere bones. Selflessness was a virtue he no longer possessed—gone was the kind-hearted man of the past—for she was dead and he was left to live with her memory. Even that had gradually faded.

Yet here he was, his claws softly grazing against the earth as he landed in front of your cathedral, taking in the sight of the stained glass cross that continued to glower at him with disdain. He returned its gaze with apologetic eyes, knowing his repentance was transient while his sins were everlasting. Steadying himself, he shifted back into his vampire form and knocked on your door.

Would you still let him in?

Edward knew if he continued, there was only one way this could end—for he desired not to carry your memory, but rather hold you in his arms.

Oh, how selfish he truly was, because the sight of your eyes—twinkling with delighted brilliance—and the joy radiating from you in effervescent waves as you opened the door only exacerbated his hunger for you.

Poor little fool, he thought. What good could your eyes possibly perceive in him?

And if you saw the evils lurking within his soul, would you keep believing in him all the same?

It was as if you were reaching into his chest and wrenching the sins out of his still, unbeating heart.

“Ed!” you merrily exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’m really happy to see you, though! Please come in.”

You stepped aside, holding the door open for him. He noticed you were dressed differently from usual—in a white lambswool sweater and a long skirt of the same colour. It made sense, seeing as you hadn’t expected visitors.

He had never seen you in such attire before—only the dark school uniform—but he was nonetheless surprised at how utterly mesmerizing you were, glowing in contrast to the dim, decrepit interior of the cathedral.

“My, my.” A smile crept onto his face. “You look delightful today.”

“Ah, thank you!” Your gaze faltered for a second, breaking eye contact as a warm, coral hue graced your cheeks. “You look lovely too, as per usual.”

“An old man like me?” he chuckled in jest, touching his hand to his chin. “Why, thank you. I was afraid I had lost my youthful charm.”

“No, not at all! You—” The way words tumbled from your lips was adorable. “Uhm, you should come in!”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he observed you. “A lovely lady such as yourself should be more careful about who you’re inviting in.”

“What is there to worry about with you?” A derisible question.

“Many things,” he answered, then with flattened eyelids, “For example, I could stop suppressing the urge to discover the taste of your blood.”

A moment of silence. He longed to hear your thoughts at that moment, wished he could decipher the inner workings of your mind.

“Would it kill me?” You paused before elaborating. “If you were to do so.”

Your question caught him by surprise, though he took care not to let that show.

“Only if it were my intention.”

You laughed—the sound crisp as neroli and sweeter than honeysuckle. “Then there’s no need for concern—”

“No?”

He moved at a speed he knew your eyes would fail to follow. His right hand pressed against the nape of your neck, tilting your head to the side and exposing your jugular. His other arm was snaked around your waist, left palm flush against the small of your back, supporting your weight.

Edward dipped his head down, parted lips ghosting over the crook of your neck, so that each uttered syllable was sure to brush against your skin.

“There’s no need for concern?” He echoed your words. As expected, you shivered—though the sensation of you trembling in his grasp was far more tantalizing than he could ever imagine. Each reaction you gave was another pail of kerosene poured upon an already blazing fire, the mere embers of which were enough to engulf the guilt thrashing about in the back of his mind.

You meekly shook your head. The acceleration of your pulse—the flow of your bloodstream that coursed more fervently with each beat of your heart—loudly voiced its disagreement.

The dizzying scent of white lilies once again invaded his senses, as if the flowers themselves had dug their roots into every crevice of his brain.

The colourful glass cross looming above him seemed to protest. The stained windowpane refused his reflection, cerulean glass swallowing the red of his irises in scornful disapproval.

He swiped his tongue across the surface of your skin, evoking another shudder from you. He repeated the action, albeit slower, this time making sure to drag a sharp inhale from your throat. The third time, the languid glide of his tongue was followed by his fangs puncturing your dermis and sinking into your flesh.

Edward closed his eyes. The cross was banished from view.

A soft gasp left your lips, but the sound was drowned out by the thump of your pulse in his skull, and the bloom of your blood on his tongue.

The sanguine unfurling in his mouth was infused with a fragrant taste—akin to the scent of summer jasmine. You tasted like sweet nothings whispered into a lover’s ear; like letters delivered by doves from eras past.

Your carotid artery throbbed just beneath where his tongue lay flat, your heartbeat captured in the small chamber between his lips.

Edward retracted his upper canines from your neck, sealing the fresh incisions with his tongue. He opened his eyes and licked away the last few ruby beads on your skin, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head after he was done.

His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he silently waited for your judgement. He was sure it’d be any minute now—your rejection. Hands shoving him off like his touch brought forth the plague. Acrimonious words condemning not just his act of gluttony, but the sinful nature of his very being.

“Was the taste alright?” Your words impaled his chest like a stake through the heart.

He didn’t close his eyes, for fear that he’d melt into this dream and never awaken. He dared not raise his head and meet your gaze, either; perhaps the blindness afflicting you might rob him of his sight, too.

He found himself unable to face the depth of your infatuation—something he had not believed in until now. But your trust in him made faith appear so easy, as if his skepticism was the unnatural response here.

“More than alright,” he whispered, his words lacking the usual detachment they contained.

He was unsure whether he should feel relieved or aghast at his newfound discovery. His prayers had been heard, but the guilt churning in his viscera told him that it wasn’t God who answered them.

Over the past month, your trips to Obscuary had increased in frequency. While you were technically here to assist Rui with the bar, Edward was not so oblivious as to believe that was the sole reason.

After all, he felt it too—the same urge compelling him to stop by the bar on the nights you were here.

It wasn’t a place he’d ever visited before; he much preferred the solitude of his bedroom quarters. He had little interest in socializing with the other ghouls who mingled at the location, nor did he care for the consumption of alcohol. Naturally, the reason behind his sudden interest in Rui’s bar was far from inconspicuous. Any attempt to obfuscate his intentions with you would only be insulting to the others’ intelligence, and so he made no effort to pretend he was doing anything other than courting you.

He could only wonder what Rui was thinking, bearing unwilling witness to his conversational dances with you—laden with immorality and sin.

Was Rui judging his misdeeds? He thought it likely, but had no way of knowing for sure. Despite the blonde knowing of his longevity, he hadn’t experienced the solitary nature of immortality for himself. It was probable that he lacked insight about the situation. Even more likely was that he hadn’t paid much thought to it. Edward was not so self-absorbed as to believe his personal affairs were at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

But how he wished it were—because some sick, guilt-infested part of him covertly hoped the reaper would broach the subject. Divine or not, at least then he’d receive some form of judgement.

A coward he truly was, for his fragrant insincerity. Beneath all symptoms of remorse was nothing but a twisted sense of gratitude, an appreciation for the silence that permitted him to further delude himself with presumed vindication. The part of him that sought to be condemned he attempted to suppress, and placating his guilt proved a revoltingly easy task when you sanctioned his every sin.

For that reason, he was unable to defy the gravitational pull that drew him closer and closer towards you. Perhaps the universe had dictated so, itself—written its laws around dying stars and collapsing supernovas—to allow for the intensity with which black holes attract. He could think of no other reason behind a fall so devastating; the catharsis he found in your orbit having blinded him to the event horizon, luring him into an eternal plummet towards the singularity.

Stretched lengthwise while compressed sideways, consumed by and disintegrating into the core of his desires—the description bore an eerie resemblance to Dante’s Inferno, but he could think of few places more fitting for him than the circles of Hell.

He was already past the point of opposing his fate. That was what he convinced himself of when he flew out his window, and then once again as his wings reverted back to arms.

Edward knocked, his knuckles rapping against the wooden cathedral door, his touch light as if not to disturb its sanctity.

The door opened moments later, revealing your face—a sight he had grown horrifyingly fond of. You stepped aside to let him in, enacting the same ritual as before.

Yet he noticed a different cadence in your steps; an uncomfortable shift in your movements that wasn’t present the last time he visited.

He was quick to search for a pattern, identifying your unease as the same odd behaviour you exhibited five nights ago at the bar. You had been clumsier with your words than usual, stumbling over syllables that did not usually tangle on your tongue. And though he hadn’t pointed it out, he had certainly noticed your hands shaking as you poured his drink. A few drops of burgundy had spilled onto the bar top. You hadn’t made eye contact when you wiped it up.

Despite your clear discomfort, you still appeared content with his presence, leading him to conclude that you were nervous for one reason or another. Very likely, you had something on your mind that you were reluctant to inform him of.

His viscera twisted, an instinctual knowledge brewing in his gut. Could it be?

He had no need for oxygen, yet his breath caught in his larynx nonetheless. The realization was quick to settle, and oh, he could stop this now, he could leave before it became too late, he could—

“Ed,” you inhaled through trembling lips. “Can I be honest with you?”

Who was he even kidding? There was no return past the event horizon. Even if there were, he was much too selfish to do anything but stay, enraptured by your presence.

“Why, yes, of course,” he replied, dooming the both of you to an inescapable and infinite oblivion.

“I...” Your eyes held an inexplicable focus, your stare clear and unwavering yet fearful. You blinked, but your eyelids remained closed for a few seconds longer than necessary, almost as if you were in silent prayer. When you opened your eyes, your dilated pupils locked onto him, holding his gaze as if it encapsulated all your hopes. “I have feelings for you.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I just...” As your voice trailed off into something timid, your courage dissipating, the silence that took its place rendered him acutely aware of the guilt festering in his sternum. The frightened expression on your face while you awaited his response was unbearable to look at; a cruel reflection of his own fear as he stood trial before God himself.

He could feel his sins crawling on his spine—spiders burrowing beneath his skin—when he replied.

“My lady,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper. “I, too, have fallen for you.”

Indeed, there is no one on earth who is righteous, no one who does what is right and never sins.

He couldn’t decipher which one it was. All he knew was that if his words were a lie, then he was wrong for deceiving you. If his words were the truth, then he was even worse for damning you.

You blinked. The corners of your lips tugged upwards. Your eyes crinkled in relief. How precious you were, how he longed to cherish and corrupt the purity you continued to devastate him with.

This time, he moved slowly, allowing you to follow every centimetre of distance he closed. His hand, fair and lifeless as chalk, traced over your cheek, caressing the side of your face. Digits wrapped in raven-black cloth swiped underneath your jaw, his index finger settling at your chin as his thumb grazed over your bottom lip.

The scarlet pools that formed his irises met yours for the half-second before he tilted your head upward to meet his own, lowered not in prayer but in an act of desecration as he kissed you. His eyelashes fluttered shut, plunging his world into darkness, leaving only the powdery floral scent that followed you and the sensation of your mouth against his.

Your lips were warm, vitality brimming at their smooth, dewy surface. He took his time to deepen the kiss, not devouring you but rather savouring you. You followed his movements, though yours were clumsy with inexperience. Yet each brush of your lips brought forth thousands of needle pricks, tender as a knife wrapped in silk.

The temperature of your mouth was unlike anything he had felt before, scalding him with such heat that the sun’s rays seemed gentle in contrast. He chased after your warmth with melting ice, for even the flames of Hell could be pleasurable to walk through—so long as the path led to you.

Forgive me, he mouthed against your lips, for I have sinned.

Oh, there was no realm—be it Heaven or Hell—in which Edward could tire of kissing you. But Heaven’s opalescent gates would indubitably bar him from entry, leaving only Hell, where he’d forever burn with the shame of doing so.

It was quarter to midnight when he’d arrived at your cathedral—much tardier than usual, but he didn’t come with the intention of staying. He was merely dropping off some confectioneries he’d brought for you.

How easy would it be if he could convince himself of his own lies? How much simpler it would be if he could refuse acknowledgement of the reprehensible inclinations tickling the back of his mind. How much better it would be for the both of you if he could feign ignorance to the insidious hope scratching at his chest, the one wondering if perhaps you’d be awake and interested in company.

And you...

You never disappoint, do you? It was something beyond even his otherworldly comprehension—how you never failed to grant a single one of his forsaken prayers, callously fanning the embers of hope he’d tried so, so hard to extinguish.

He wondered if you were truly divinity fallen into the wrong hands, or if his wishes were slowly accumulating sins in a place he was unable to see. If somewhere, concealed in a locked room, a painting of him became further disfigured with each visit he paid.

If that were the case, he had no means of repentance—for his heart had long since stopped beating. Death could not come and cleanse him.

You had been getting ready for bed. The white long-sleeved nightgown that you wore—its ruffled edge hanging just above your ankles—made your plans evident, but the dewy gleam of your skin indicated that your face was freshly washed. More likely than not, you had been putting on some face cream at the time of his arrival.

You smiled with a small, sheepish grin as you greeted him.

“Good evening, Ed.” You stepped aside, holding the door open. He entered, shutting the door behind him as if it would hide his sinning from divine sight. The disdainful gaze on his back remained all the same. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How flattering,” he replied, “but the pleasure is all mine.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss—an act so pure had there not been a cross of coloured glass hanging above his head much like a guillotine’s blade, its watchful eye judging the scene below.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, the sound resonant as church bells in the empty cathedral yet light at the same time, possessing the same melodic tune as a dove’s call.

“I’m merely stopping by with some confectioneries,” he proceeded to explain, sliding the small ivory box with scarlet embellishments into your hand. “Worry not, I have no intention of disturbing your rest.”

These words were nothing but falsehoods; he was well aware of that. He had every selfish intention of disrupting your sleep, so long as you permitted him to do so.

“No, no,” you responded with a shake of your head. To his astonishment, you then reached towards the hand he was retracting, the heat of your fingertips brushing against his skin—fair as porcelain and twice as cold. It was almost as if you had preemptively attempted to prevent him from leaving, despite him not having moved an inch. How adorable you were. “Do disturb my rest. I’m having trouble sleeping, anyway.”

The sigh that left his lips was one of quiet, reposeful awe.

“You shouldn’t give in to all my whims so easily,” he jokingly chastised. There was something about his sentence that sounded more solemn than he’d have liked. “Whatever will I use my theatrics for now?”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be lacking opportunities with Rui around,” you said with a chuckle. He laughed too, the sound so natural—almost as if such joy could be inherent to his existence—when you were the one coaxing it out of his vocal cords.

You stepped away from the entrance, circling over to your dining table—a round, small piece of wooden furniture—before placing the sweets down. The rustic chandelier hanging above you brought the illumination you needed to examine the packaging.

“White chocolate truffles with blackberry ganache?” You read out the label.

“I thought you might like them,” he replied, following you to the side of your table.

With delicate caution, you untied the sanguine ribbon binding the lid of the box to its body. He noticed that you made sure not to tear any of the packaging when removing the circular tape sticker.

You picked up a chocolate, popping the grape-sized confectionery between your lips. For a minute, you were quiet, inanimate save for the small movements of your jaw that he was able to glimpse.

Though his recollection of human food had deteriorated far too much for him to be certain, he doubted that any worldly taste could parallel the sheer sweetness saturating your smile.

“I do,” you stated, with such sincerity that the lifeless organ in his chest almost seemed to throb in response. “Thank you, Ed.”

You turned to him, stepping forward and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

He could leave it at that, and the thought did cross his mind, but only for a brief second before it drowned beneath his boundless, all-consuming greed. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he drank in the taste of your lips.

Indeed, he could never bore of indulging in this sin.

It could only be his imagination, but between your saliva and the barely discernible taste of white chocolate, he swore there was a hint of sorrow on your tongue.

He tentatively pulled away to ask, “What’s keeping you up, my dear?”

From the moment you told him you were struggling to sleep, he already had an inkling of what was on your mind. Your consequent sigh confirmed his suspicions; the breath you exhaled was heavy, with a weight not even he could carry.

Edward was no stranger to the reality. He dreaded it, too. He had confined it to the back of his mind—the ineluctable countdown signifying the end of your life.

The grim reminder of your mortality inflicted on him a plenitude of distress. However, it was not the thought of you passing away that tormented him so, but rather the fear that even your affection—benevolent as it was—came in a finite supply.

Love, despite being the emotion that mankind valued most, was the most fragile and evanescent sentiment of all.

“I’m just tired,” you muttered. The weariness was visible in your expression, and he had no doubt you were exhausted.

“But it’s not slumber you seek, is it?” he asked, as if he had not already premeditated your response.

You shook your head. Truly, he was detestable, seizing the opportunity he had sinned for, his words coiling around your vulnerability like a serpent, forbidden fruit in hand.

“Then tell me, my love,” he started, words akin to heresy, “What is it that you desire?”

A pregnant pause; long seconds that seemed to stretch the very fabric of time. At last, you raised your head, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

“I want to live,” you whispered. Your words were hushed, as if confessing a sin.

But Edward was no priest, and it was not salvation that he’d provide. Immortality was no blessing, he knew, yet he still compunctiously yearned for a forsaken eternity with you.

“I know.” He spoke with saccharine tenderness. “What if I told you there was a way?”

You were quick to infer the meaning behind his words, shaking your head once again, a somber smile present on your lips.

Smart little thing you were, and yet so foolish all the same.

He had expected your response—you were still human, after all—but it pained him no less to bear witness to a struggle so pitiful. He found it truly asinine how humans clung so desperately to mortality while at the same time fearing death.

“I fear this old heart of mine would not survive the devastation of losing you.”

He wondered if thunder would strike in the very next moment. If the roof of the cathedral would collapse down upon him, raining wood and hailing stone. If the vibrant azure glass that had been glaring at him so vehemently would finally shatter and sever his head from his body.

Yet God’s hand did not move to strike him down. A question made its way past his trembling lips.

“If I were to be selfish, could you still find it in your heart to forgive me?”

You ought to condemn him—indisputably so. It was nothing short of impiety to ask you for such a thing. But he worshipped you so dearly, he was unable to resist.

You didn’t flinch. No, you didn’t even blink after perceiving his abominable nature.

“It’s not like you to ask such absurd questions,” you replied pointedly, a poor attempt at concealing the current of fondness running through the undertone of your voice; your words gently staking through his ribcage.

He had made a habit of watching over you at night.

It wasn’t something he hid from you; he knew you could see him perched outside your window in the evenings. The first few times you had noticed him, you’d scooped him up—your palms so delightfully warm around his body—and brought him inside.

He discovered that you were rather enamoured with the bat body he inhabited, having intently observed him before asking to pet him. Unable to form words with the shape of his tongue, he had simply nodded.

His bat form was one he used for convenience; very rarely did he interact with anyone while in it. Never before had someone caressed his fur, let alone done so with as much tenderness as you. Although the sensation of your fingers gliding over his body was strange, he hadn’t found it unappealing. If anything, it was comforting, almost lulling him into a slothful trance, his eyes closing in somnolent bliss despite him having woken up mere hours ago.

After his third or fourth appearance on your windowsill, you had started leaving the window open for him. But entering the cathedral without explicit invitation was trespassing on sacred ground, and so he’d wait for your merciful hands to guide his winged body into the sanctuary of your bedroom.

You had fondly chastised him for subjecting himself to unfavourable temperatures. He could’ve told you that his fur provided sufficient protection from the brisk autumn air, but it’d require him to deny his indulgence in your coddling, which he had no desire to do.

To abjure the warmth of your palms cupping his body would be ludicrous. Unfathomable was it to reject the opportunity of pressing his muzzle against your upper body, so soft and enticing with your heartbeat steady in his ears. He’d let you warm up his undead body that way, often stretching out his wings to wrap around your digits. With his much smaller thumbs, he’d cling to you as he memorized the rise and fall of your chest—an ephemeral motion he attempted to engrave into his memory.

Time was an apparition of the liminal space where cruelty and mercy coalesced; it erased not only his recollections but also, eventually, the pain of forgetting.

You had presented him with a small stack of books, evidently rented from the academy’s library.

“I was worried you’d get bored staying here while I sleep,” you had explained.

“Bored around such a lovely lady? I’m rather offended you’d think so lowly of me,” was his response, tinged with exaggerated hurt.

He took to reading the books. The vast majority of them he’d already read, but revisiting old tales was no issue for him, considering he’d forgotten much of their content. It differed little from experiencing the story for the first time, and the fact that you had deliberately chosen these titles added additional significance, layering sentiments onto its text that the pages previously lacked.

You usually went to bed at half past midnight, today being no exception. Prior to falling asleep, you had been restless with worry. The anxiety revolving around your curse was ceaselessly plaguing your mind.

He had read out one of the books you lent him, line by line until your conscious mind was submerged in the dense waters of sleep.

You were utterly enchanting. Even your sleeping form was mesmerizing to watch. He simply could not resist the opportunity to perceive such beauty—was the lie he had spun.

In verity, he was but a demon in disguise, a wicked creature waiting for the precise moment to tempt your fall from grace.

With less than three days remaining—the uncaring swing of the pendulum in your room counting down each dreadful second—the opportunity was soon to ripen. He’d be present to lead your hand towards the tree of life and guide your lips to the flesh of its fruit.

He had made up his mind, but he felt no less guilty for the conclusion he had come to.

Edward was suspended in a strange concoction—lost in his shameful thoughts, processing the printed words of the book he held, and captivated by your resting figure in his peripheral vision—when he heard your bedsheets rustling. The sound of your shifting positions while asleep was not unusual, though he glanced at you nonetheless.

The usual semblance of serenity in your expression was nowhere to be seen. Your features were distorted in visible distress, eyebrows knitted together and lips pressed thin in a grimace. You whimpered—a small, feeble sound.

Condensation had started beading on your forehead, the slight dampness creating a soft sheen, which was further illuminated by the moonlight streaking through your bedroom window. Bathed in the moon’s gentle radiance, the white of the nightgown draped over your body appeared reminiscent of a lamb’s coat.

You were trembling as you thrashed about in your covers, your duvet struggling to follow along, instead starting to bunch up behind you.

He guessed you were having a nightmare; it came as no surprise that the stress and fear you’d been tormented with brought about sleep disturbances.

A truly pitiful sight. You appeared so distraught that his chest tightened.

He could wake you up and relieve you of your suffering. He should wake you up.

But the cold luminescence of the moonlight cast upon your faintly glowing figure rendered you so angelic, the picture before him possessing the biblical allure of a Renaissance artwork yet painted with the intricate brushstrokes only the present could offer.

Utterly captivated by your seraphic image, he could do nothing but stare, his body paralyzed in awe of the glory before him.

A loud sob tore through the room as you woke up, your eyelashes fluttering and tears bursting out the corners of your eyes. Your hands rubbed at your rapidly swelling eyelids, your actions unaffected by his presence for the few seconds before your awareness returned, slipping through the cracks of your drowsy mind like the first rays of sunlight filtering through blinds.

You stopped your actions briefly, as if you were attempting to regain your composure with his perception in mind. The thought appeared to be discarded no more than a minute later, as another wave of emotions visibly wracked your shaking body.

“Ed,” you cried out—a plea.

For what, you didn’t specify. Nevertheless, he stood up, placing the book on the chair he had been sitting on, before slowly approaching your bed.

You scooted over, pressing yourself up against the wall behind you to make space for him. He sat down on your bed where you’d made room, as you’d invited him to do. He was long since beyond saying no.

Your hand latched onto his blouse, tugging him towards you, clearly insistent he come closer. The look in your wide, frightened eyes was all too delectable. And he, much too hungry. This time, he brought his body fully onto your bed. The shifting weight sank down on his side of the mattress. Though it would only be righteous if it occurred, no void opened up beneath him to swallow him whole.

You instantly buried your face in his chest, fingers still twisting the dark fabric of his shirt as you clung onto him.

Edward reached over to your back, pulling your discarded covers over your body. Your hand left his blouse for a brief moment to tug the duvet further to blanket him. He made no move to protest. Instead, he took your shuddering body into his arms, delicately holding you as you sobbed against his chest.

“Shh,” he whispered, raising his hand to the back of your head. He stroked your hair in smooth, rhythmic motions; he pressed his lips to your still-damp forehead before assuring you, “Everything will be okay.”

Your cries intensified into wails, muffled by the proximity of his body.

“I’m going to die,” you wept, your voice cracking.

He was quiet, jaw tightening as he swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. His next words would be the final nail in the coffin sunk beneath Hell’s soil.

“I’m sorry.” Though he apologized through quivering lips, his voice did not waver. He spoke with resolution, for he was no longer asking. There was no point in continuing his meretricious questions. He knew he was a sinner in the eyes of God.

Yet he cared no longer for divine judgement that wasn’t yours. Long had he revered you as such; now, he ordained you his God. You were his deity, and he needed naught but your exoneration. “But I can’t allow that to happen.”

And you’ll grant him that, won’t you?

No words left your lips, but your cries were gradually diminishing.

“I know I’m a sinner,” he murmured into your hair, the soft strands tickling his skin. The hand stroking your locks came to a still. “I know these are all wrongdoings. But so long as I have your forgiveness, I would fain plead guilty countless times again.”

His voice was hardly audible when he next spoke.

“My lamb, I worship you so.”

You took a minute longer to regain your composure. When your sniffles ceased, you spoke with utmost clarity.

“I forgive you.”

Edward shook his head, a wry chuckle escaping his throat.

“Don’t forgive me now,” he said. “I’ve yet to finish sinning.”

The grandfather clock struck three.

The solemn toll of the Westminster chime rang through the air, its melody reverberating within the aging cathedral walls, as if the space itself was pleading for heavenly intervention.

You lay beside him, the residual traces of tears—still fresh on your cheeks—catching the moon’s grace in a glistening display.

He crawled over you, much like an amblypygid, long limbs settling on each side of your body. Beneath him, the bed creaked in protest. He deemed it nugatory, much too mesmerized by the sight of your tear-stained face.

He leaned down, touching his lips to the corners of your gently closing eyelids. His movements were light, ghostly caresses that cast shadows over your skin as he trailed his lips down your cheeks. Your tears were still warm against his lips, and so was your mouth, your heat engulfing his perpetual frigidity.

When you returned the kiss, it was without the timidity you previously possessed; in your demeanour was an urgency carved by death’s scythe. Your hands found landing in his hair, warmth emanating from your fingers and soothing his scalp. You parted your lips, a gesture he understood as an invitation for him to deepen the kiss. He entwined his tongue with yours, the cold muscle brushing against the much hotter flesh of your mouth. Each glide of your tongue against his left a scalding trail of fire, but he didn’t flinch away. Instead, he chased after you like the morning star once pursued his pride, and you sought him in return.

He slowly raised his head, mouth parting from yours with a string of saliva hanging in between, clinging onto both your lips like spider’s silk.

His head dipped down again, but this time, his mouth was on your neck, kissing along your veins and feeling the flow of your bloodstream. The steady yet anticipating beat of your pulse resonated in his bones, keeping him grounded amidst the cotton flora blooming with each inhale and fogging over his mind.

The sound of your heartbeat was louder than ever as his mouth grazed over your chest, continuing the trail of kisses down to your stomach. You radiated irrevocable incandescence; even the fabric of your nightgown felt warm against his lips.

He continued going lower—past your navel and down to your pelvis—before pausing. His face hovered just above the junction of your thighs as he waited for confirmation from you. The covers draped over his back slid further down his spine when he glanced up to observe you.

You blinked at him in confusion, though your eyes lit up with realization shortly after.

“You can continue if you’d like,” you said.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in believing it was his time, for it must’ve been Mammon that the hour had summoned instead. No longer was he satisfied with simply having your permission. He coveted your instigation, wanted you to invoke the sins already festering in his soul.

“Won’t you tell me what you desire, my lady?”

“Oh, Ed,” you sighed endearingly, shaking your head. You smiled while feeding his cravings. “As if you don’t already know how much I want you.”

And you were right; he knew. He was well aware, but he enjoyed hearing you say it no less.

You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your nightgown, touching the scorching hot flesh of your upper thighs. He pushed the fabric upwards, allowing it to pool around your waist, before gently nudging at your knees.

After your legs fell to the sides, he brought his lips to your knee, kissing his way down to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The temperature of your skin increased as he neared your core, an unbearable warmth he wanted nothing more than to be immolated by.

He mirrored the path down your other leg before settling between your thighs, his head bowed down in prayer.

Amidst the faint sound of the clock’s movements, he could hear your breath hitching in response—a prelude to the gasp you let out as he took the fabric of your underwear between his teeth, tugging them to the side.

He gingerly swiped his tongue along your slit, eliciting another sharp inhale. The same delightful sound left your lips when he took your clit into his mouth, swirling slow circles around the bud with his tongue.

How divinely you sang for him. How ravishing you looked, too—eyes half-lidded and mouth parted slightly as you mewled, echoing an aria only befitting of a saint such as yourself.

Your sounds he drank in and your taste he consumed as sustenance, his tongue lapping up your juices during a brief hiatus before he returned to your clit, lips wrapping around the sensitive nub in gentle suction. Your nectar was no less ambrosial than your blood; he imagined the fruits in the Garden of Eden must have shared such a flavour.

His mouth temporarily left your clit as he removed his gloves, deftly slipping off the fabric. He gingerly slid his index finger inside your opening, watching as the long, slender digit disappeared into your heat.

You gasped, body tensing for a moment as you adjusted to the cold intrusion, though it wasn’t long until your insides warmed his skin. His mouth latched back onto your bud as he pressed the pad of his fingertip against your inner walls, gently rubbing. He waited for any lingering tension to dissipate before he inserted another digit, coating both his middle finger and his index in your arousal.

When your hands entwined in his locks and your moans increasing in volume, he could tell you were close. He couldn’t help but smile as you ground your hips up against his face, observing you intently as he continued devouring your core, fingers working in tandem.

Your grip tightened in his hair. You clenched around his fingers. Your mouth opened as if to say something, but you only managed to let out a wail as your body shuddered.

He was so captivated by your expression—contorted in pleasure as you reached your peak—that it wasn’t until you whimpered that he remembered to slow his movements so as not to overstimulate you.

As your orgasm settled, only a single question left your lips.

“Ed, are we going to?...” Your voice trailed off into uncertainty, but the implication was clear.

Edward gently retracted his fingers and brought them to his mouth. They were still coated in your juices.

He cleaned them off with reverence, momentarily closing his eyes as he relished your taste.

“Only if you so desire,” he answered.

“I do.” You reached out, your fingers tenderly grazing his cheekbone as you brushed away stray strands of hair.

“Then I’d be a fool to refuse,” was his reply. He took your hand in his, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense.

In fluid motions, he undressed himself, discarding his pants and underwear. Your bashful gaze upon his bare skin did not go unnoticed; the sight was eerily familiar.

“I haven’t done this before, so...” you mumbled, your words once again lost to your diffidence.

He leaned down and pressed reassuring kisses to your forehead—each more sullied than the last.

“I know,” he responded. “Tell me if it’s too much, will you?”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He positioned himself at your entrance, wetting the head with your fluids before slowly pushing in.

His hands held your waist steady, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as your walls gradually enveloped his shaft, centimetre by centimetre.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from feeling any discomfort, you still winced as you adjusted to his size. Summer jasmine ensanguinated the once untainted sheets beneath you, its scent unfurling into the air.

Once he was fully sheathed within you, he paused, giving you time to adjust as well as taking a shuddering breath himself. The lining of your walls, plush and velvety, hugging his length, felt utterly divine. Four centuries of existence and never had he experienced such bliss before.

Vampires could never go to Heaven, but he’d found paradise all the same.

Upon the subtle nod of your head, he began moving, pulling his hips back before burying himself within you once again. The pace he set was slow, which further accentuated each languid roll of his hips. Your chorus—moans sang to his antiphony of pleasured exhales—filled the room. The counting of the clock dwindled to the wanton hymn you vocalized.

Your hands went to his face, tenderly cupping his cheeks as you lifted your head to kiss him. He permitted himself to melt into your mouth, his hips speaking in his stead as he continued thrusting into your all-encapsulating heat. Though muffled, he could hear you sharply gasping against his lips, your dominant hand travelling to the back of his head.

You had just pulled apart for oxygen when he found the right angle, the tip of his length pressing against the very spot that caused the hand in his hair to curl into a fist.

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

Edward stopped. He held your gaze with a fervent stare, locking your eyes with his own.

“God isn’t answering, my love,” he declared. “Perhaps you should call my name instead.”

And it was his name you cried out as he resumed, mercilessly sending you into the throes of ecstasy.

With his mind already hazy from the intoxicating jasmine aroma, the messianic melody with which you chanted his name and the tightness you held him with only served to push him further past the brink of madness.

Yet it was with clarity and not delirium that he committed the ultimate transgression. As if this very moment had been prophesied in the scriptures themselves, he brought his hand to his mouth, sinking his fangs into the thenar eminence. And as if what he’d just bitten into was not his flesh but rather the fruit of knowledge, a deluge of shame coursed through his veins.

But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.

He held his hand out above you, his blood streaming out from the two puncture wounds he’d just created. Drops spilled onto your skin, brilliant splashes of scarlet staining your face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, as reminiscent of a yearling as ever. Your gaze was glassy as you parted your lips, allowing his blood to fall onto your tongue.

Guilt should not feel as good as it did.

The sight of you drinking exacerbated his lust, sin shackling his soul while he neared his end. He could hear the faint sound of you swallowing, your bodies in complete coalescence as you called out his name.

Around him, your walls clenched and fluttered. Each contraction of yours launched him further and further towards the singularity. He allowed it to pulverize his very being.

The cries of the stained glass cross went unanswered.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision returning to him. Bathed in the afterglow of your shared climax, he carefully moved aside to fondly gaze down upon you. Your eyes were still closed. The colour was gradually draining from your complexion as the poison formerly running through your veins was replaced by another.

Your breathing—ragged and erratic just a few moments ago—was now slowing down. Eventually, it came to a complete standstill.

Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.

Edward watched over you, trepidation gnawing away at his mind as he waited. He reached over to your wrist. There was no pulse beneath his fingertips.

Somewhere in the near-silent bedroom, he could hear the pendulum swaying. For a while, nothing else moved.

Eventually, your eyelids twitched, eyelashes fluttering. At last, your eyes opened.

Your irises glowed a deep crimson, much like the droplets of red coagulated on the white sheets. A juxtaposed sight—akin to blood upon fresh snow.

He nestled himself beside you, resting his head on your chest. Though you were as soft as always, he could no longer feel the familiar warmth emanating from your skin. The organ tucked inside of your ribcage was now deceased; no longer was there a pulse against his cheek. All that remained was his act of sacrilege.

Amidst the forsaken tranquillity, you uttered only two words.

“I’m answering.”

“For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” — Revelation 7:17

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

Considering you’re his assistant, Romeo simply cannot afford you having another distraction, especially not with something as trifling as dating. That’s all it is.

You’re sitting next to Lyca on a bench in the courtyard, with a textbook nestled in your lap. The vice-captain’s grip tightens considerably on the rod attached to his glasses, when he watches you pat Lyca’s head affectionately. Like always, the brat’s face flushes a deep red and he pretends as though he took offense to the gesture.

…What a little fool. Acting like a lovesick puppy.

He’ll have to put it in Mickey’s head to give Lyca more tasks at the bar.

Surely you wouldn’t pursue him of all people. The werewolf behaves far too juvenile. What security could you possibly find in such an entanglement? It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“A worker’s union…?”

“Yeah. It’s like an organization that protects an employee’s job security, wages, workplace conditions, and enforces anti-harassment policies. Some employers will try to force you to work overtime, without adhering to the labor laws in the constitution,” You explain to Lyca.

The werewolf nods slowly and writes something on his notepad. “…Harry is always overworked. I don’t think he’s paid well either. He says that's why he drinks so much.”

“Er… Haru is a special case. He’s kind of forced to do all that because he’s the captain. And he’s more hardworking than the others in his house.”

“...So do you have one?” Lyca looks up, his gaze fixing on yours. “A union. You work for Romi, you said.”

Romeo’s mooks in a union? That’s laughable. You’re pretty sure that he doesn’t even have human resources for the casino staff.

You let out a giggle and shake your head. “No, not at all. That kind of thing isn’t really a thing in Darkwick. Just the working class outside of the island.”

“You should probably make one anyway,” Lyca suggests resolutely.

Looks like Lyca’s been seeing too much of Romeo at the bar. He’s not exactly wrong. That man fires people for petty reasons at the drop of a hat.

“Pffft… Yeah? Why do you say that?”

“He might be trying to make you work during class hours. That messes up your ‘work-life balance’, right?”

You blink owlishly. “...Huh?”

Lyca’s gold eyes flit to somewhere behind you. “He’s been watching you with those glasses for a while.”

Your jaw goes slack at the announcement and you hastily flip around. Just as Lyca said, you find Romeo sitting at a table on the terrace alone, opera glasses in hand.

Since when is he ever in the area, if not to hound Kaito for his debt? He doesn’t even appear to be having a lunch break– the tyrant is literally just watching you!

“What the fuck…???”

“I thought you knew,” Lyca mutters, unsure what to make of the interaction. “Maybe he’s coming down here now.”

You raise an eyebrow in the vice-captain’s direction, but he tilts his head elsewhere, as if you weren’t the target of his surveillance. After a few long seconds of larping, Romeo moves the glasses from in front of his face and decides to make eye contact with you. His expression is rigid, yet not quite angry. You don't know what to make of it.

The two of you browbeat each other, until he eventually tears his gaze away and moves out of sight.

“...Maybe,” You reply skeptically.

Unlikely. But it will certainly be a lengthy conversation later.

“I have nothing to hide!” You clap back irritably. “And since when do you casually hang out here?”

“All the time,” Leo fibs. He turns his head back to petulantly jut his tongue out in your direction. “Maybe I just wanted to visit you, Honor Roll~♡."

“Obviously not. How’d you know I was here, anyway?"

Leo bats his eyelashes innocently, before relocating his attention forward. “Lucky guess, duh.”

“Bullshit.”

It isn’t long before Leo slows to a stop, his head slanting slightly to the left. His slender fingers migrate to wrap tightly around yours. You can only assume he’s eavesdropping on something that’s out of your human range. His eyes narrow at whatever he’s hearing, but you’re not able to decipher the emotion behind it.

“Is it Su–”

“Shut up,” Leo snaps, more harshly than necessary. He doesn’t even bother looking back at you.

You huff, pinching his hand in retaliation. Of course, he doesn’t even flinch.

…

“...Sounds like they’re coming this way,” Leo says after a few beats.

What excuse would you have for Subaru? Showing up after having said your goodbyes, with your hand tangled with Leo’s? Maybe he’d be understanding, considering the vice-captain’s track record. But you also know that they’re pretty obviously NOT on good terms…

Unthinkingly, you slide back the door to a nearby supply closet and push Leo inside.

“--Hey…!”

You follow him in and shut it behind the both of you. It’s dark, but spacious. Your immediate instinct is to huddle by the corner in case anyone gets suspicious. Ushering him in further, you hear Leo suddenly curse and sway backwards. The vice-captain is unsuccessful at maintaining his balance and falls to the ground.

You realize too late that he kept you anchored to him. 

Rather than the hard wood floor, you collapse directly on top of Leo. He groans on impact, in a way that seems embellished for the sake of theatrics.

“...What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispers irritably. 

You can’t make him out in the darkness, but he’s close enough that his breath tickles your skin. With how hot your face feels, you’re grateful for the lack of visibility. 

“...This is your fault for wanting to spy! You should be thanking me,” You sputter out dumbly.

“Thanking you for what, exactly? Straddling me in a musty ass supply closet?”

“......”

Your mouth snaps shut at that, as the embarrassment really begins to stew.

“...Wow. Nothing to say, huh? Didn’t realize you were so dirty.”

You can just hear the smugness oozing out of his voice. He probably has a dumb, egotistical, grin plastered on his face too. Ugh.

“You act like this was planned… Shouldn’t your reflexes be better, since you’re a ghoul? How the hell did you trip from that?” 

Whatever that is. You didn’t even see or hear anything. 

Before Leo can argue his case, you hear Subaru’s voice faintly in the distance. Someone else is speaking to him, but you don’t immediately recognize the other person.

“...Better not make a noise, Honor Roll. This’ll be way more incriminating on your end,” Leo taunts in his evil, rat-like, drawl. 

Your glare at him in the darkness, hoping it will telepathically reach him. If your dynamic with him were different, you might just find this exciting. With your body quite literally on top of his, it’s difficult to ignore the legitimate dirty thoughts you’ve had about the influencer in the past.

Your body lifts subtly with the rise and fall of his chest. If you listen close enough, you can even hear his heartbeat. You attempt to wriggle your captured hand out of his grasp when you feel your palms starting to sweat, but Leo holds on tighter.

Footsteps begin to approach the closet door, preventing you from verbally protesting. Your head tilts, eyeing the thin line of light seeping into the otherwise black space from the bottom of the door.

“......”

Leo stays eerily still beneath you. 

Shadows pass by and you whip your head forward again. Your lips unexpectedly graze something soft, like plush skin. Heat ghosts over your mouth and you barely suppress a yelp of surprise. Your fragile composure is threatened even more when you feel Leo’s lips part deliberately against yours. 

As if you were a deer in front of headlights, you don’t dare move. The vice-captain takes it upon himself to capture your lips in what starts as a chaste kiss. Your free hand clutches the fabric of his cardigan, and he takes it a step further by nipping your upper lip.

“Le–”

His tongue dissolutely brushes past your lips, silencing you again. The metal bar embedding it clacks noisily against your teeth, causing your anxiety to heighten. Leo’s hand cups your face as he continues his assault that you clumsily begin to keep up with. 

L’Occitane body lotion– that’s what he told you he wears. Scented like cherries and almonds. The thought occurs to you that he smells almost as sweet as he tastes.

Your body trembles over him the longer you two continue to kiss. His other hand runs along your waist and you begin to wonder if he’s completely abandoned the eavesdropping he pulled up for.

“--Did you hear something…?”

You still abruptly and feel Leo smirk against your mouth. Without warning, he sinks his teeth into your lip, more harshly than necessary. An involuntary whimper leaves you, but muffles against the vice-captain’s lips. You dig your fingernails into his palm in warning and Leo trembles as he suppresses his laughter. 

“I don’t think so…?” Subaru replies in confusion.

“...Huh.” 

The footsteps continue to distance themselves from the closet, until they’re no longer in the same hall. Breaking away from Leo, you breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“Pffft… Looks like you got lucky,” Leo teases.

“I can’t believe you did that…!” You whisper back.

With the lack of distraction outside, the shock begins to settle in. Why on earth would he suddenly start kissing you now of all times?

“Makes sense. You sure are slow.”

“Oh, can it…!” 

You lift yourself off of him and attempt to open the door, but Leo tugs you back. 

“--Hey…!” You protest. 

The vice-captain clicks his tongue. “We aren’t in the clear yet. Give it a few minutes. Trust me.”

It’s not like he has any reason to lie. Well… Unless he plans on continuing this makeout session. Now you have to sit here and ignore the fact that he’s pitching a tent against you for another five minutes.

… 

“Haha… Really? You said that last time, didn’t you? It doesn’t even have its case yet.” Mio picks up a square remote from the desk next to it and presses a button. The robot squats, following the command. 

“This guy is pretty mobile. I wanted to put extra ‘oomph’ in the joints. As far as I know, it might end up being put to work,” Mio explains vaguely. He tampers with more buttons on the handheld, causing the robot to pivot. It reaches for a combination wrench and wraps its fingers around the middle, before lifting it and standing upright.

You can’t help but smile as Mio guides the robot to hold the tool out in your direction. After offering your open palms, it relinquishes the wrench over to you.

“So, it’s completely controlled by a remote?”

“No. This is more of a back-up in case there’s issues. And to test it out,” He adds, as he directs the robot to stand tall in its default position. “It’s got anomalous intelligence too. I don’t plan on letting it pilot itself yet. Not until I’m finished and can do some more trials. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get it to Hyde within the next few days.”

“You really are incredible Mio,” You praise in awe. 

Mio rubs the back of his neck sheepishly with his free hand and avoids your gaze. “...I’m really not. My stigma does a lot of the work.”

“And so do you. I wish I could do something like this.”

Mio smirks a little at that. “Careful. I might just take you on as an apprentice.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” You say, as you lean on a nearby stack of crates. “I just don’t know if I’d have time between playing inspector and missions.”

“True. That curse takes first priority anyway.” Mio sets the remote back down on the desk, right by the robot. What he says next comes out like a hopeful drawl. “And speaking of inspector duties… I may need a favor from you.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I have to try and get my hands on some loctite. Didn’t realize I was out until about ten minutes ago. You don’t have to come with me– I know you’ve been running around a lot today.” Mio gently taps the robot on the head. “But if you could, maybe keep an eye on this guy? I just don’t want anyone messing with it right now. If it takes damage without its casing, there’s a good chance I’m gonna have to redo it.”

You have a feeling you know who that ‘anyone’ might be referring to. Shion hasn’t made an appearance yet, but it’s likely because he’s holed up in his room right now.

“Sure thing,” You readily agree.

Mio flashes you a grateful smile, as he prepares to step towards the elevator door. “Thanks, seriously! I shouldn’t be gone for more than half an hour. An hour max! I’ll buy you lunch sometime this week to make it up to you.”

Before you can insist on that being unnecessary, Mio’s already striding to leave. You watch the door immediately slide open upon him hitting the button. The both of you exchange waves as he boards the platform. Then, it shuts and takes off. 

“An hour max huh…?”

You stand up straight and suppress a yawn as you lift your arms to stretch out your tired joints. This time of day, the clockwork room is always relatively vacant, and today isn’t an exception. In fact, the last artisan that had been lingering around is now retreating up the staircase. 

Other than the ambient, rhythmic, sound of clicking gears, it’s pretty silent. You could watch videos to fill the silence for now.

Reaching into your blazer, you pull out your phone, and plop onto a nearby crate that’s low to the ground. After some indecisive scrolling through your apps, you settle on Tiktok. Leo had stopped you to film a quick video earlier, so you wonder if he actually uploaded it…

Ugh. Sure enough, your face is in the thumbnail of his latest video. An unflattering shot, not to mention. Leo would probably lie and say it was preselected, or bullshit that it was the best still he could find. When you click on the video, Leo’s high-pitched, nasally, voice sounds from your speakers.

“I’m about to go on a date with my girlfriend for our two month anniversary, guys! I know you guys keep asking to see her again, sooo~♡!” Leo wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses your cheeks together for the shot. 

You roll your eyes. It’s clear you’re caught off guard by the gesture, so it’s a wonder his fans buy this fake relationship bullshit.

“Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch…”

Your heart catches in your throat when you hear rustling coming from somewhere behind you. On instinct, you put your phone to sleep, ceasing the video.

“Vepar.”

Your breath hitches as your phone vanishes from your hands and gets replaced with a small, slimy, salamander. The creature writhes around, nearly slipping to the floor, so you hastily set it on the ground before it hurts itself. You rise to your feet and flip around, only to find Shion standing close behind you. He's staring at your phone’s screen with a mixture of confusion and agitation. Ocher eyes flick to meet yours.

“It’s locked.”

Shion steps closer, brows pinched together. You notice him stow away the phone in his vest pocket.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Shit. You hope Shion didn’t see your face in that video. There’s no way he’s going to respond reasonably, especially considering the way he acts over Jin’s general presence in your life. 

Your lips downturn and you force an exasperated look, in spite of your trepidation. “I’m not hiding anything. You just startled me, because I thought I was alone. Why were you– Hey…!”

Shion closes in on you and roughly grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He squints, studying your expression.

“...You’re lying.”

Your stomach drops. Are you for real cooked this time? 

Getting your throat cut by a ghoul that imposed a one-sided pseudo marriage on you? Not exactly how you pictured things turning out here. How the hell are you going to weasel out of this?

“I already told you that you can’t hide things from me. And yet, here you are. Looking like a fearful, cowering, rabbit. I wonder why that is.” A crooked, humorless, smile splits Shion’s face. His next words come out low and chilly. “You are family. And I cherish my family. Unless…”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” You blurt out.

Shion blinks, his smile faltering. 

“I was watching a video of this Tiktoker treating his girlfriend for their anniversary… Ours is coming up, so I was trying to get ideas. I’m not good at this sort of thing on my own.”

“......”

Shion stares at you with an unreadable expression. His fingers relax slightly, and suddenly, his lips are curling upwards again. This time you think he’s actually amused. 

“How long has it been now? You lose track of time when you’re having fun.”

…Fuck. You made that up on the spot. When did you meet Shion again? He might consider that to be the day. 

“Ah… Three months,” You guess. “I figured that’s a long enough milestone that we could do something to celebrate.”

Shion tuts in disapproval. “A celebratory event that’s purpose is to strengthen or commemorate a bond is just a worthless sentiment. True loyalty doesn’t rely on such trifling shite.”

Gulp. At least he didn’t question the accuracy of your answer. 

“So… No date?” You ask, quelling the hopefulness that threatens to leak in your tone. 

“Something else. Like a game.”

“A game?” You echo. 

“To establish a greater sense of trust and strengthen our bond,” Shion says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Are you familiar with ‘The Minefield’?”

…A blindfold game where someone guides your path through verbal instructions? You have a bad feeling about this.

“I am, but–”

In the blink of an eye, Shion releases your face and pulls out a black swath of fabric. He spins you around and wraps it around your head, tying it securely in order to block your vision. You feel a sense of vertigo from the abrupt movement. His sinuous drawl buzzes just centimeters from the shell of your ear, causing your hair to stand on end. 

“How is it? Pitch black?”

“Shion… I’m supposed to be doing something for Mio. This isn’t the time for games.”

You hear Shion click his tongue in agitation. His presence seems to recede.

“Mio. Mio, Mio, Mio, Mio. You’re always doing something for Mio! On our anniversary, no less.”

You’re about to argue that today technically isn’t the day, but you’re not even sure if that’s the truth. A part of you wonders if Shion really believes it himself. You’ve just given him the perfect excuse to act up on a silver platter, after all.

“You know that it’s under Darkwick’s orders.”

“Lucky you, then. I’ve come with fun new orders!”

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear something hefty hit the ground, followed by the sound of objects spilling and rolling all about. Likely a bucket of scrap metal. If you trip on that it could leave a nasty wound. 

The familiar sound of an artifact being activated reaches your ears, and something thin and sharp is held close to your neck. 

“Walk,” Shion demands. 

Through pure self preservation, you take a step forward. And another. You feel his presence follow you closely with every step.

“Left.”

You cautiously side step to the left.

“Forward.”

As you continue, you hear a hydraulic hiss, followed by a loud clatter.

“Shion–”

“Right.”

This time you feel something roll into your ankle from a light misstep. Luckily not hard enough to do damage. You feel his hand on your waist, pivoting your body slightly to the right.

“Go. Until I tell you to stop.”

You continue walking. Slowly, because you don’t fully trust his instructions. It’s at least ten steps before Shion speaks again.

“Stop. We’re here.”

The elevator dings, indicating Shion pressed the button, and the door slides open on its own. A hand pushes your lower back, causing you to stumble onto the platform.

“Press the button to go up and wait for me.”

You want to tell him no, but in spite of bonding with Shion, you don’t fully know what he’s capable of. At least Mio will understand, surely. But that clattering sound you heard earlier makes you wonder if Shion did something to the robot that you were meant to watch over.

Swallowing your reluctance, you carefully reach for the elevator’s operating panel and hit the button. The door closes and you brace yourself against the wall as the lift takes you up. 

…

After making you wait on ground level for a suspiciously long amount of time, Shion meets up with you. Much to your irritation, he continues guiding you with verbal directions for a while, and you start to suspect that he’s just making you go in circles. His latest command falls on deaf ears when you come to a halt and flip around to face him.

“Shion. We’ve been walking for a while. This can’t count as the same game anymore. There’s not even any obstacles.”

“Oh, no need to fret over that. I have another lined up.”

You reach for your blindfold, but Shion beats you to it. He pulls the knot loose and carelessly tosses the fabric onto the floor. You’re met with his pretty, mischievous, face once again. And it looks like you’re in the performance room too. 

You frown. “What do you mean?” 

Shion wordlessly flicks his gaze ahead and nods. You follow it, squinting as your eyes adjust to the direct exposure of the bright stage lights. Training equipment hangs from rigs in the ceiling, as if it were currently in use. No one is around, but you do notice something hanging from an aerial hoop. 

“... Shion.”

The unfinished robot Mio entrusted you with has its hands clamped around a hoop that’s suspended ten meters above ground. This confirms your earlier suspicions. He must have taken the remote at some point during this nonsensical game. Shion still has your phone, so you can’t even look up how to lower it.

You face Shion again with the sternest look you can muster. 

“That robot doesn’t even have its protective casing. If it falls, it might shatter, and Mio worked hard on that!”

“That’s right. He’s been toiling away at that thing for hours now.” Shion tents his eyebrows as a gleeful smile spreads across his face. “How do you think he will feel after witnessing its destruction?”

“Bad. And you know what I mean by that. Come on, help me get it down from there. Safely!”

Shion narrows his gaze at you. “Hmm… I am your husband. So, I should take your desires into consideration. Right?”

“Yes! Yes, you should,” You retort impatiently. 

Unexpectedly, Shion wraps an arm around your waist and closes in on you. As his face lowers towards yours, you feel your heart beat violently against your ribcage. Your eyes snap shut at the last second and you feel a pair of soft lips press against your cheek. 

“Vepar.”

The next thing you know, your hands are clenched around an aerial hoop and you’re dangling piteously in the air. Your eyes flutter open and you let out a startled yelp that echoes against the walls of the chamber. Shion still stands at ground level, the robot safely tucked in his arm. He gawks at you with a hand fanning over his face, as if it serves to contain his excitement. 

“A noise like that… I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“SHION…! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You squirm in place, attempting to quell the panic rising as your palms begin to sweat. “I’m gonna fall!!!”

“With that frame of mind, you just might. As much as I enjoy the performance, all of that writhing around isn’t doing you any favors.”

You’re pretty sure Shion’s actually fucking lost it. He’s usually doing mean-spirited shit, but this is on another level. And you don’t trust him to save you this time.

Using your upper arm strength, you make an effort to at least try to pull yourself into the hoop. Adrenaline courses through you as your arms tremble and you nearly lose your grip in the process. Fueled by sheer survival instinct, a sharp yelp leaves your lungs when you secure an arm over the hoop. 

Despite now having somewhat of a lifeline in this fucked situation, hot tears begin to well up, and the ground below becomes blurry as you sway in the air. You blink them away and attempt to regulate your breathing. 

“Say, [Name]... You need me, don’t you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?!” You yell back, anger overriding the fear for a moment. 

“Say it for me, will you?” Shion calls back to you. 

A ‘fuck off’ is resting at the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it down. Today’s not the day you die. 

“I need you, Shion. Help me… Please.”

“Hmm… I suppose you’ve convinced me. As it turns out, I don’t want my precious family splattered on the floor. Stay right there.”

…Where else would you go?! 🤬🤬🤬

Shion moves out of sight for a lapse in time. You close your eyes and feel your arms start to really strain without the distraction of him talking to you. 

…

By the time he speaks again, it comes from your left side. 

“Take a look. Impressive, isn’t it?”

You open your eyes and follow the direction of his voice. There you find Shion, holding onto an aerial silk adjacent to your rig. His shoe seems to be wrapped strategically into the fabric, holding him in a standing position that’s close to your height.

“... You know how to use that?” You ask skeptically. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” Shion holds out a gloved hand, while the other balances his position on the ribbon.

Not really, you don’t say. 

“...Yes,” You reply instead. 

“Good girl. I’m going to swing ‘round your way. Don’t cling to it, unless you’d like us to both go tumbling. Little Mio would be devastated by the mess.”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah… Got it.”

Shion begins to swing around, guiding the rig in a circular motion to build momentum. Once he picks up speed, Shion flies your way. An arm wraps around your waist from the side, eliciting an involuntary gasp out of you. Recalling his words, you let go, allowing Shion to whisk you away. 

“Shit…!” 

You throw your arms around Shion’s neck, clinging desperately, while he supports the majority of your body weight with just one arm. 

“You’re trembling,” Shion murmurs by the shell of your ear. He clicks his tongue repeatedly in mock pity. “Are you happy to be in my arms like this? Does it soothe you?”

“Yes,” You manage, sounding a bit winded. As unsettling as it is that you’re both still swaying around, you mean it. For the most part.

“And I suppose you’d like to get down.” He sounds too smug. 

“Of course.”

Shion hums. “I will oblige, if you fulfill something for me.”

There’s always a catch. 

You sigh against the crook of his neck. “Something easy, I hope. My limbs feel like they’re about to give out.”

“Effortless,” Shion insists. 

You draw your head back slightly, catching a glimpse of his face. “Okay… What is it?”

“Kiss me.”

Without hesitation, you kiss Shion’s cheek. Once, twice, three times, for good measure. 

“......That’s it?” Shion asks with unmitigated disappointment. 

“Is it not enough?”

This worked when you wanted the snow globe…

“How many people have you kissed that way? Is it even special?”

“Uh… Is that a trick question?” You ask dumbly.

Shion’s eyes narrow in mild irritation. “I’m your husband. That means I am owed a proper kiss.”

Your jaw goes slack and you feel your face heat up as the implication dawns on you. “...What? You seriously want me to kiss you on the mouth?”

“So, you won’t do it,” Shion presumes.

“I– Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

The grip supporting you slackens and you begin to slip. Another impulsive shriek climbs up your throat and you cling tighter to Shion, even grasping at his clothes for extra leverage. If you don’t do what he asks, he may actually drop you. 

“Urgh, fine…!”

Steering your neck forward, you shut your eyes and crash your lips against Shion’s. 

There’s nothing romantic about it, really. In fact, you’re pretty sure you might get a swollen lip from the hasty impact. Lacking stability, you quiver against him, while he stands on the silk wrap– eerily still. Notably, he has yet to start supporting you again. His arm shifts and you hear something drop below.

Deciding you’re in the clear, you begin to draw back. 

Suddenly, Shion’s free arm is scooping underneath you– supporting you just below your butt. Just like when you kissed his cheek the first time, his face is dusted pink. The ocher color in his eyes is overshadowed by two dilated pupils. You realize his signature hat is gone too. 

“I like this,” Shion confesses. His brows begin to paint the beginnings of a pleading, pitiful, look. “Do it again.”

Encouraged by the current security, you go in for another one– this time parting your lips in tandem with his. The kiss starts with slow pecks, delicate and cautious. Shion’s hand pulls you in possessively as the kiss drags out, and you start to feel your body react involuntarily to the touch. Your midsection warms and a hoard of butterflies invasively rattle around, nearly making you nauseous. 

Shion begins to understand the tempo, and he pushes his tongue past your lips. You taste something vaguely sweet as your tastebuds press against each other clumsily. Shion attempts to mirror your advances, entirely propelled by voracious curiosity. For what he lacks in experience, he certainly makes an effort to recover in enthusiasm. 

A sharp tooth grazes your lip and you push out a noise that’s a cross between a preemptive squeak and an embarrassing whimper. You abruptly break off the kiss and avert your gaze.

“Okay, I did what you said. Please get us down from here now. The fabric moving around has me feeling dizzy.”

“Vepar.”

Just like that, your feet are on the ground and you’re standing by the aerial silk. Shion is still high up, but his hat has made a comeback. You watch him smoothly unwrap the silk from his foot and loop the fabric around his back side. Both of Shion’s hands hold onto the sash as he gradually descends, legs moving in a way that gives the illusion of a staircase beneath his feet.

Once he drops to the ground, Shion bows theatrically. And despite the insanity he just put you through, you find yourself applauding him anyway. 

“That was impressive,” You admit earnestly. 

Shion straightens his posture and gives you a bit of a sour look. “Yet, not incredible.”

Your hands slow to a still and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Huh?”

Shion simply pouts with a hard stare, neglecting to provide a verbal response. 

……

….

“...Oh.” 

You said that to Mio earlier, didn’t you? It only makes sense that Shion was secretly eavesdropping. He’s gotten clingier with you ever since the snow globe incident. A part of you wonders if that’s what triggered all of this. 

"Yes, of course it's incredible," You assure him.

Shion’s irritation seems to subside, and he beams from the praise. “You have me to thank for making your dull evening invigorating.”

“Right. You have the remote, don’t you? Mio should be back any minute.”

“It is in my possession,” Shion says.

You move over to the robot and crouch down by it, inspecting it for damage as you continue talking. “You both have your strengths, by the way. As does everyone. I didn’t even know you could do that, Shion. Thank you for showing me... Even though you got me up there against my will. Now I need a shower from sweating up a storm.”

“Okay. Let’s head back to the basement. We can have it walk with us to the elevator.”

Shion doesn't say anything in response. And as far as you can tell, the robot is as it was before.

“Have it your way," Shion acquiesces.

Shion’s ocher eyes narrow sharply at Mio. He crumples up the bag that held the treat and tosses it onto the wooden table. Mio watches it roll off the edge and fall onto the floor. Finally, Shion speaks.

“You don't think he fancies her, does he?”

Mio gives him a tired look. “I wouldn’t know that.”

Shion’s gaze turns glacial.

Not this again…

Mio shakes his head. Something tells him that if he lets Shion stew in this, the outcome will be grievous. “Look, Jo makes stuff for everyone. That’s probably not the case.”

“Really? Since when does he wrap yours or mine in a pink bow? There are hearts on this tag.” Shion flips it over to show Mio, before he’s crushing the thick paper into a tiny ball. “Does he think I'm a fool?”

“Eh… Girls like pink. Hearts too,” Mio tries, as he bites out of his share of the cornbread. The texture is moist and sweet, sort of like a muffin. Maybe changing the subject would distract him from doing anything reckless. “It’s good though, isn’t it?”

Shion shuts his eyes, brows furrowing in disdain. “No. It's disgusting. Foul. The color of a filthy urinal.”

He’s definitely lying… Mio knows this is exactly up his alley. 

“A urinal?” Mio makes a face, but continues eating anyway. After pulling an all-nighter without eating all day, nothing is deterring his appetite. He washes it down with some ‘bog water’. “Most corn products are gonna be yellow, you know.”

“He’s trying to steal my wife with frivolous gifts. I’ll have to kill him.”

“...!” The next bite Mio takes of the cornbread nearly goes down the wrong pipe. He takes another drink of his coffee, and a brief coughing fit follows. “Your… coughs…! What, now?!”

“Surely she won’t betray me… We are family,” Shion mutters to himself.

“You can’t just–” Mio cuts himself off. “... Does she know you call her that?”

“Yes,” Shion deadpans. 

Mio has been knowing about Shion’s fascination with you. The ‘wife’ thing? Not so much. 

“Also, you can’t kill anybody. If you even try that, the institute is going to put you in confinement. And then you definitely won’t be able to see [Name].”

Shion presses his lips together in a thin line. That, he doesn’t want. Not anymore. “How do you propose I put a stop to this… This courting behavior?”

Mio wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You can’t always control what people do. If it bothers you, why don’t you try to do something like that for her?”

“She’s already mine. Why should I be courting her?”

“...”

Mio massages at his temple. He really hasn’t had enough sleep to properly navigate a conversation like this with Shion. There’s no point in telling him to stop doing what he’s doing now. Like Mio told Shion, you can’t control everything people do. And God knows how stubborn he can be once he has his mind set.

“You know, everyone does nice things for their… Partner...” Mio figures it’s best to avoid entertaining the ‘wife’ narrative. As much as he can, at least. “Ideally, you want to keep them happy. It makes you happy when you have breakfast ready for you in the morning, doesn’t it?”

“.....” Shion fails to respond, but the way he’s staring down at the table makes it seem like he’s thinking, at least.

“And not the crying, terrified, kind of happy. I mean, like, actually happy. If you do something nice for [Name], she might not shy away from you as much, you know?” Mio remembers Shion griping about her moving away from him a few times.

“... So, I should bake her sweets.”

Mio pales at the idea of Shion operating the kitchen equipment. Jo would not be happy about that, even if he’d brush the aftermath off. And it’s not like Mio knew how to guide him– he’s not much of a cook.

“Uh, maybe not that. She would probably be happy with anything, you know? It doesn’t have to cost money. I’d help you make something.”

“What will you make for a gift?”

Mio hums. “Well… I dunno. Snow globes have simple mechanics. I could probably make that in no time.”

Shion perks up at the mention of snow. “Snow? Inside of a globe…”

“Yep. You just put decorations inside of a base with glass over it. It’s filled with a water and glycerin solution to simulate the snow fall effect. I’ll even put a feature that will make it so the snow moves on its own. Could do music too.”

“When will it finish?”

“Well, if you give me an idea of what to print to the base… Probably by tomorrow evening.” Mio reaches under the table to pick up the plastic Shion dropped earlier, as he throws the last bit of cornbread in his mouth.

Shion stands up suddenly, his expression carrying newfound determination. “A pretty globe for a pretty wife… What shall we put in it?”

…..

For once, it isn’t due to Jin throwing random tasks at you, or even a mission. With finals approaching, you overstayed at the academy’s library. It almost feels pointless to try and catch up on studies with a curse as severe as the one you have, but if you do make it out of this alive, having any amount of education from Darkwick could be beneficial to you in the mundane world. At least it’s a free ride at a prestigious academy, even if not all the classes are applicable to a normal office job.

Another long day. 

You enter the cathedral and rigorously shake off the rain from the umbrella outside, before shutting the front door and locking it. For some reason, it wasn’t locked upon entering. You could have sworn you did that upon leaving today.

After hanging up the umbrella and taking off your shoes, you make your way up to your room. You silently thank Mio for the work he’s done on the building in order to make it possible to step around with just socks. No protruding nails or splinters to worry about anymore. 

…Weird. 

Much to your relief, the lights are still off when you enter your room and nothing appears out of place. It is unusually chilly in the building, though. 

Well, it is downpouring… So maybe that’s just normal. 

You ignore the apprehension in your gut and flick on the lights, before collecting your night clothes from your wardrobe. It’s high time for a hot shower. 

You wrap yourself in a heating blanket to fight off the cold, with a bowl of popcorn at your side. The couch in your room isn’t the most comfortable thing ever, but you’re not tired enough for bed yet.

…

Should you watch a movie? Or a new show…?

Shion watches TV around this time, right? You wonder what kind of things he likes. Probably horror or something, you would think. He really is a bit of an odd ball, but he’s growing on you. 

The mean stuff he says can be kind of funny, especially knowing it’s mostly to get a rise out of you. Then there’s the wife thing… 

You don’t take it seriously. It’s almost like he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he says it. Or maybe you just feel that way because he doesn’t have the personality you’d expect of someone that wants a wife. The way he acts sometimes reads like someone learning how to be human.

You try not to dissect it too much. 

Eventually your channel surfing brings you to some movie called “How to Ditch Your Husband in Ten Days”. A comedy looks like. You’re about to click the play button when a familiar, melancholy, instrumental reaches your ears.

“.....”

Is this ‘Takeda Lullaby’?

The sound is sort of faint… But like it’s coming from below you. Goosebumps prick your arms as something brushes against your ankle. Your breath catches in your throat as you look down… Only to find a half-gloved hand beginning to wrap its fingers around your ankle.

“...Shion,” You start, your tone uneasy. 

The music continues to play but the hand stills over your limb. You exhale, feeling mild relief. 

“Shion.”

This time it’s chiding. And the music stops. 

A few moments pass and the culprit slides out from under the couch in one fluid motion. You lift your feet unconsciously as he does. 

“Have you been there the whole time?” You ask in disbelief. 

Shion lies flat on the ground in his uniform, with what looks to be a snow globe perched on his chest. His hands station it protectively in place. Golden eyes imbued with disappointment flick to meet yours. 

“You’re not happy,” Shion comments, whilst appearing unhappy himself. 

“I’m pretty happy right now. As long as you’re here to be good.” You’ve learned that appearing unbothered with Shion is the best way to quell his antics. Not that it’s always effective. This man is a total wild card.

“What do you have there?” You ask. 

Shion glances at the snow globe, before snapping upright almost mechanically. Again, he deflects the question.

“Does it interest you?”

A warm feeling brews in your chest. Something about this interaction feels different. “It does. I haven’t seen you with something like that before. You like snow though, right?”

Shion flips a switch at the bottom, causing the snowflakes to flurry rapidly inside the globe. Upon more careful inspection, the interior seems to be circus themed. A melody begins playing from it, solving the mystery of the phantom sound. 

“It’s very beautiful,” You murmur. “Did you buy it somewhere?”

“No.”

You hum in understanding, even though you’re still confused.

Shion narrows his eyes at you, as a mischievous smirk pulls at his lips. “If you fancy it, I will give it to you. But nothing comes free.”

…Ooh. So, did he bring this just for you?

Your gaze melts instantly. As rude and unpredictable as Shion can be, it makes more and more sense as to why Mio and Jo look out for him so much. You decide to play along. 

“What would you like for it?”

Shion pinches his eyebrows together in sadistic delight. “Why don’t you shed a few tears for it?”

“But I’m not in the crying mood,” You argue. 

“I could remedy that for you.”

You shoot him a look of disappointment and preemptively cross your legs to get them farther from Shion. The way he squints in response tells you that he didn’t like that. 

“Don’t,” He warns.

A sigh escapes you. “You’re not exactly building trust with that line. Why don’t you let me trade something more normal for it? I’m your wife, aren’t I?”

Just like that, Shion ceases his bristling. “Yes, you are. That’s why I brought you a gift, after all.”

You crack a smile. “You know, if you’re giving a gift it’s kind of an unspoken rule that it’s impolite to expect anything in return.”

“Politeness is a waste of time. A worthless pleasantry.”

Even with his mean little pouty face, it really is a privilege to have Shion’s trust to where he wants to sit so close. You noticed it upon meeting him, mostly before he opened his mouth, but lately it’s been a recurring thought.

Shion’s very beautiful.

If you’re going to have a little yandere orbiter follow you around, you might as well accept it and make the most of it. 

“That’s probably true. So, can I kiss you for it instead?” You ask. 

“......”

Shion’s expression falters into something unreadable. And for a moment you wonder if you pressed the wrong button. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to take it back, he speaks. 

“Yes.”

Oh. Maybe this will work. 

You lift the bowl of popcorn and pat the seat beside you. “Do you want to sit next to me?”

Shion’s gaze flicks to the couch. It takes him a moment, but he stands and plops down to face you, with his legs crossed. He holds the globe in his lap protectively, as if to gatekeep it from you until you’ve paid your dues. 

You scoot a little closer, ignoring the way he stares at you a little too intently. Pivoting slightly, you reach out and tentatively cup his cheek. 

“You’re warm,” Shion comments, a bit sourly. Still, he doesn’t shy away. 

“And you’re cold,” You quip back. 

Shifting the popcorn out of the way temporarily, you close in on Shion’s face and plant a gentle kiss on the cheek you’re not holding. Your lips linger for a few seconds, before you start to pull back. 

A hand flies out and suddenly grips your chin, stopping you in your tracks.

You’re met with Shion’s face, dusted a rosy pink, and accompanied with a serious expression.

“Again,” He demands.

Shion’s hold on you relaxes when you start to oblige and land another cheek kiss. This time you notice the taste of salt and the faint smell of the sea. 

“Again.” It starts to sound like a plea. 

You kiss by the corner of his mouth this time. Shion even trembles a bit. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” You murmur against his skin, before daring to pull back. “And if you’re okay with it, I’d like to watch something together.”

Shion’s hand hesitantly retreats from your jawline. Only then do you pull away too. He looks to be a mixture of flustered and conflicted. 

Shion holds out the globe. “Now it may be yours.”

“Thank you. ♡ I’ll trade you. Here, have some popcorn.” You pass the bowl to him and accept the globe. For now, you set it on the end table next to you. Later, you’ll probably put it close to your bedside.

Shion tuts in disapproval. “What is this? This filth.”

You glance at the TV and belatedly realize he’s talking about the movie you had set to play. 

Oops…

“No idea. Just saw it pop up. You can pick anything you want.”

Shion had already started clicking off of it before you could finish the sentence. After a bit of scrolling, he decides on ‘Fear Factor’. 

“Do you like popcorn? I hope you don’t mind sharing it…”

“It’s flavorless.” Shion grabs a few popped kernels and eats it anyway. “Terrible.”

You help yourself to some of it and lean against the arm rest. “You think so? I put a lot of–”

Shion presses a finger to his mouth, shooting you a stern look. “Ssshhh…! It’s starting.”

You obediently cease your talking and redirect your attention to the screen. 

The evening continues on, with the two of you comfortably enjoying a show together. Shion stays close to you, giggling every now and again at the contestants' misery. You even start to feel relaxed, less concerned that Shion will do something mean-spirited or out of pocket. This, you can handle.