confession(s)

by kabukicoco

Summary:

Dahlia is in love with Venti and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So, like any citizen of Mondstadt would do, he prays to Barbatos for guidance.

Chapter 1

Notes:

dahlia is taking over my mind!!!! AHGGHHHH!! i can't stop thinking about him!!! i love him so much and i can't wait to write more venlia fic and explore their relationship

this fic will be a getting together fic where dahlia is in love with venti but is unaware that he is barbatos. i'm planning for this to be 5 chapters long. i have each one outlined and will update as i complete them!

i hope you all enjoy!

Barbara was the first to notice.

She came up to him after choir practice, her face adorned with the same look of worry she gave every wounded soul who was brought to her for healing.

“Dahlia,” she called before he could leave, ushering him to the side of the room, away from the other sisters.

“Is anything troubling you? I noticed you haven’t been as engaged as usual.” She hesitated, thinking of the best way to word her concerns. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m more than willing."

Dahlia sighed. While it was true that something had been bothering him, he didn’t think it would be noticeable. But Barbara had always been perceptive to the thoughts and feelings of others, and if anyone were to catch on to his plight, it would be her.

“Thank you, Barbara, but it’s nothing really,” he told her, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced. “I appreciate the concern, but please don’t worry yourself. Work has been busy. I’m just a little tired.”

Barbara nodded. Work had been ramping up recently, and she seemed to take this as a valid response.

“Is there something I can do to help with your workload?” she asked.

“Ah, that won’t be necessary.” Dahlia shook his head. “I’ll be okay. This is something that will pass with time.”

“Alright, then.” Barbara appeared reluctant to let him go, but she knew when to give others space. She headed off, but not without making him promise to come to her with any troubles in the future.

Dahlia agreed to her promise, but it was a lie.

He hoped Barbatos wouldn’t think less of him for it.

But if Barbatos thought a white lie was bad, he wondered what he’d think about Dahlia’s latest predicament.

For Dahlia had fallen in love, and it was with none other than Venti, his best friend and Monstadt’s most beloved bard.

As a Deacon of the Church of Favonius, this was blasphemous. Sworn to celibacy upon ordainment, Dahlia made the decision to devote his entire being, mind and body, to the Anemo Archon, and now here he was, already breaking his resolution.

He didn’t know when it started. Romance was never something Dahlia believed was for him. Love was a concept he danced around, only ever contemplating it when it pertained to his faith in Barbatos. Perhaps it was because he’d pidgeon-holed these feelings to such religious ends that he didn’t notice them festering until they’d grown too hard to ignore.

And how hard it was to ignore them!

Dahlia was unable to sleep at night, thoughts of Venti stirring in his brain, followed quickly by immense guilt.

And it wasn’t just his mind.

His body was equally as affected. Long nights spent curled up in bed, ignoring the obvious arousal between his legs. The temptation was there. Many times he almost succumbed to his desires, squeezing his thighs together in a pathetic attempt to ease a fraction of his pain. But he never once touched himself. That was a threshold he wasn’t willing to cross.

Yet, it plagued his conscience, and once Dahlia woke, he’d spend the rest of the day lost in thought, ignoring work and worship alike, wondering how heavenly it’d be to hold the bard close.

Just a simple embrace would be enough. To feel another’s skin upon his own—it was something Dahlia hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. It was something he shouldn’t even consider a privilege, but he yearned for it all the same.

He wandered idly out of the church, too preoccupied with his musings to realize where he was going. By the time he heard the voice, it was too late.

“Dahlia!”

Dahlia startled, looking around to realize he’d stupidly walked right past Angel’s Share. He glanced back and forth, wondering if he’d been so caught up in his delusions that he’d simply imagined Venti calling his name.

But the voice was not an illusion, and when Venti called his name a second time, Dahlia realized he was on the balcony.

“Venti?” Dahlia walked closer to the balcony, standing just underneath it. He saw a glass in Venti’s hand, filled to the brim with wine. “What are you doing here? Are you performing today?”

In all honestly, Dahlia had been avoiding the bard.

It started with simple excuses. He couldn’t go to dinner because he had paperwork. He couldn’t stop for a drink because he had choir practice. He had even skipped Venti’s last two performances at Angel’s Share.

It was just too hard to work through his feelings when the root of them was always right beside him.

“Not today,” Venti shrugged. “But I thought I’d visit, not as a performer, but as a patron.” He raised his glass, giving Dahlia a sly wink before downing the entire glass without so much as a break to breathe.

“Uh,” Dahlia watched in horrified, yet impressed, awe. He wondered who exactly was paying for Venti’s drinks today. Maybe Diluc was covering for Charles, and he happened to be in a good mood.

“You know, I haven’t seen you around the past two weeks.” Venti set his glass down and leaned on the balcony, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

If Dahlia didn’t know any better, he’d think Venti was pouting. He was right on the mark though. He had been avoiding him, but he wasn’t about to outright say that, so he made another excuse.

“If it seemed that way, I didn’t mean it. I’ve just been busy with work. That’s all,” he explained, but Venti was still looking at him with a hint of suspicion, so he pushed the act further. “I promise. I’ll come to your next performance. How does that sound?”

Going to one performance shouldn’t derail him too much, but Dahlia had a feeling it would only lead to trouble.

“My next performance?” Venti perked up immediately, all previous traces of disappointment gone. “How about tonight? What do you say? Diluc told me no one’s on the schedule. It could be a performance just for you. You’d like that, hm?”

“Tonight?” Dahlia began to backpedal. He couldn’t believe he fell so willingly for Venti’s trap. He thought he would’ve been satisfied with his promise to attend his next performance, but he hadn’t anticipated it to backfire with an immediate offer.

No, he couldn’t do tonight.

It was too soon.

He needed time to prepare, to strengthen his mental fortitude, because as much as it pained him to admit it, every time he thought of Venti’s voice, it led him to thinking of Venti’s lips.

And every time he thought of Venti’s lips?

Well…he didn’t want to think of that now—especially not when Venti was right in front of him.

“I can’t tonight,” he said, unable to look away as Venti’s mouth fell into that subtle pout once more. “I need to review some reports for court tomorrow.”

“You’re no fun,” Venti sighed dramatically. “All work and no play, makes Dahlia a dull boy, and it makes Venti an even sadder bard.” He picked his glass up by the neck, looking at it forlornly. “And my wine glass is empty too. To think you’d refuse me when I’m at my lowest.” He shook his head in mock exasperation. “What am I to do with you? Well, I suppose I can’t force you to stay tonight, but I’ll be here next Wednesday, okay? I better see you here.”

“I’ll be there,” Dahlia promised, and Venti gave him one of those genuine smiles that made his heart stutter.

“And you have to stay until the end. I have a special song just for you.”

“But I have work the next day.”

“And?”

“And?” Dahlia started, but he saw the glint in Venti’s eyes. He took a deep breath. There were some battles he couldn’t win, so he gave in to the teasing. “And I’ll look forward to it.”

“Very well,” Venti nodded in approval. “I’ll see you then, Dahlia. Don’t work too hard, or you’ll be too tired to enjoy my songs.”

And with that, Venti opened the balcony door and went back inside the tavern, no doubt to refill his empty glass.

As Dahlia walked home, he imagined what type of song Venti would prepare for him. It was only a little while ago that he’d told Barbara this was something that would pass with time, but he wondered if that were really the case.

Regardless, it was one performance.

He had gone to countless of Venti’s performances before.

It would be just like all the other times.

Nothing could go wrong.

Notes:

absolutely nothing could go wrong at venti's next performance 😁

anyways, i hope you liked the first chapter! the next chapter has some spicy nsfw scenes so look forward to that!!!

my twitter is @kabukicoco and the twitter post can be found here!

kudos, comments are all appreciated!! thank you so much 🧡🙏🏽

Chapter 2

Notes:

chapter 2 is here!

also i mentioned it on twt but the smut unfortunately won't be until chapter 3 now. i didn't think it fit with the vibe of this chapter so i changed my outline just slightly to have the smut scene be in the next chapter. sorry if that was false advertisement in the previous author's notes 🙏🏽

Angel’s Share was already crowded by the time Dahlia arrived.

Venti stood to the left of the entrance, strumming away on his lyre as he sang of Barbato’s many heroic feats. His eyes lit up when he saw Dahlia, flashing him a smile and nodding towards an empty chair at the counter as he continued with his tune.

He took a seat where he was told, listening to the rest of Venti’s song as he acclimated to the rowdy atmosphere. He had come straight from choir practice. If he’d stopped at home beforehand, he knew he wouldn’t have had the courage to show up.

The last week had been an emotional rollercoaster. One minute, he was telling himself he was only human, and the next, he was convinced Barbatos hated him. The fluctuations were exhausting, and Dahlia was now more worried about falling asleep than he was about doing or saying something embarassing. He didn’t know if he would be able to last the night like he’d promised.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn around. Charles gave him a friendly wave. “Would you like anything to drink?” he asked as he placed an empty glass in front of him. “Venti mentioned you’ve been working too hard lately. He told me he’d pay for your drinks tonight.”

“He’s paying?” Dahlia repeated, somewhat surprised considering Venti usually didn’t even pay for his own drinks.

The wall behind the counter was lined with bottles of wine and liquor, all of which Dahlia did not drink. There was a tiny, non-alcoholic menu that was hung along one of the wooden shelves. He glanced over the options before settling on some wolfhook juice. What he really needed was caffeine, but that was something he could make for himself another day.

As he waited for Charles to prepare his drink, he turned back around to watch Venti. He was now singing of Vennessa’s ascension to Celestia, his soothing voice carrying through the tavern like a subtle breeze. It was a miracle that it rang so clear amongst all the idle chatter and noise.

When his drink was ready, Dahlia thanked Charles and took the glass. There were sliced pieces of wolfhook arranged along the rim with a sprig of mint resting on the surface of the juice. He plucked a few pieces of wolfhook and placed them in his drink, using the straw to push them under the ice before mixing it.

Although he typically didn’t frequent the local taverns without Venti’s prompting, he had to admit the drinks were good. He sipped on the juice, listening to the music as he let his mind settle for the first time in weeks. Venti’s voice had a certain magic to it. Maybe he was doing himself a disservice by skipping his performances.

Once the song ended, Venti came over, setting his lyre on the counter. “I’m happy you made it. I was beginning to wonder if you’d bail on me again.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dahlia responded, even though he had been contemplating it.

“Of course not.” Venti smiled deviously as if he could see right through his facade.

“Oh, and thank you for the drink.” Dahlia raised his half-empty glass of wolfhook juice. “It’s very good and just what I needed.”

“Is it?” Venti leaned against the counter, looking quisitively at him. “You just worked non-stop for three weeks, and you say juice is enough to hold you over? I think what you need is some alcohol to sooth your nerves. I mean, it’s not like you’re forbidden from drinking.”

“I know it’s not forbidden, but still, it’s personal preference.” Dahlia swirled his juice slowly, making the ice slosh around as it slowly melted. “Barbatos wouldn’t like it if I indulged so freely.”

“And Barbatos personally told you that?”

“No,” Dahlia rolled his eyes, laughing at Venti’s antics. “You’re so insufferable. You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know what you mean, but I also know that Barbatos would want you to have fun.”

“And he personally told you that?” Dahlia asked.

“He did. He personally told me.” Venti nodded, a smug look plastered on his face. The person next to him had left, so he took a seat at the counter next to Dahlia and ordered a glass of wine.

“You must’ve been drunk.”

“You’re mistaken.” Venti sipped his wine with a satisfied sigh. “I heard his voice on the wind.”

“And when was this?”

Dahlia never knew when Venti was telling the truth. His stories always sat on the fringe between reality and fiction—too outlandish to be true, yet with just enough detail to be questionable. He was a bard though, and he suppposed it was his job to craft such tales.

“When I was visiting the tree in Windrise,” Venti explained. “I’ll say, there’s something special about that tree. You should go there sometime. Maybe you’ll hear his voice too.”

“But he mustn’t have told you to have fun out of the blue.” Dahlia paused as he thought about Venti’s story. “What did you ask him?”

“Oh, I just mentioned I have a friend who’s struggling with some things.” Venti took another sip of wine before setting the glass down and picking up his lyre once more. “And he told me that this friend of mine should give themself some grace. After all, Barbatos values freedom over anything else.”

Venti began to strum his lyre again, and the tavern guests cheered. Before Dahlia had the chance to ask him to elaborate, he had already stood from his chair and returned to the spotlight, his melodious voice filling the room once more.

 

~

 

The night went on, and Dahlia listened as Venti cycled through song after song, even taking requests from some guests with the promise that they’d buy him a drink. It always shocked him how crowded the tavern remained, even on a Wednesday night.

“Alright, thank you for coming tonight. I have one last song for you all,” Venti announced.

Dahlia wondered if this was the special song that Venti had told him about. He listened intently, focusing more so on the lyrics than he would have otherwise.

It seemed to chronicle the story of a bird, one who had lived its entire life within the confines of its cage. The strange thing was was that the cage had no bottom, and thus, the bird could escape at any moment if it just looked down. But the bird was convinced that because it had wings, the only path for it was up. And every time the bird gazed upwards, it saw a sky full of metal bars and believed this was the highest it could reach.

The cage was not a prison though—at least not to the bird. It had everything it could ever want. Food, water, and the will to sing. That’s all it needed to survive, but as the bird spent its days chirping from its cage, it couldn’t help but wonder what the wind would feel like on its feathers as it soared into the clouds.

When the song finished, Venti bowed as the tavern applauded his performance. Dahlia clapped as well, but he was puzzled as to why Venti had chosen such a song for him.

“So,” Venti said as he sat down again. “What did you think?”

“I think you’ve gone from speaking in riddles to singing in riddles.”

“That might be true.” Venti nodded, his eyes shining with mischief. “So it seems you’ve gathered there’s a hidden message, yes? Any guesses as to what that might be?”

Dahlia thought for a moment, trying to decipher what conclusion Venti was pushing for. It seemed apparent that Dahlia was the bird in question, but did that mean Venti believed Dahlia was metaphorically trapped and unable to see some obvious solution?

He must’ve taken too long to respond because Venti continued, “Let me reframe the question. What if Barbatos had written that song? What would you think then?”

“If Barbatos had written it?” Dahlia mused. Now it was a little easier to put in perspective. “I would think he was trying to convey that freedom of the mind has more weight than freedom of the body.”

“Hm,” Venti hummed, watching him closely. “Okay.”

He could tell Venti wanted more of an answer from him, but it was already so late and Dahlia was tired. He’d been overthinking these past few weeks. His brain needed a break. “What is your interpretation of it?” he asked, hoping Venti might be forthright for once and tell him what he wanted.

“Well, I think the bird is smart and that it’s looked down plenty of times,” Venti answered. “The way I see it, it’s more than just the cage that’s holding it back.”

More than just the cage?

Dahlia wondered what that meant. Venti let him think about it as he called to get Charles attention. “I’ll take two apple ciders,” he ordered. “One for me and one for Dahlia. Oh, and you know how I like mine, right?”

“Of course. One Venti Special and one apple cider coming right up.”

Dahlia was too busy contemplating the underlying meaning in Venti’s song to notice Charles preparing the so-called Venti Special. He also thought of what Venti said earlier about Barbatos. He was almost certain the “friend” he mentioned was him. And if the bird was also him? What was he trying to say?

When Charles set their drinks down, Venti pulled two straws from a container on the counter and plopped them into their glasses. “You look deep in thought,” he commented as he stirred his drink with the straw. “You should drink your apple cider. It’s good for the soul.”

Dahlia pulled his glass closer, sipping it slowly. It tasted sweeter and less tangy than the wolfhook juice. “What’s the Venti Special?” he asked, eyeing Venti’s drink.

“Want a taste?” Venti offered, holding his drink out for Dahlia to try.

“Is there alcohol in it?” Dahlia stared at the drink. It looked like plain apple cider, but knowing Venti it likely had some liquor in it.

“There is, but you can’t taste it.”

“What do you mean you can’t taste it?” Dahlia was skeptical. Although he primarily avoided drinking for the sake of Barbatos, he never particularly liked the taste alcohol. He had to drink it during communion, but even that small amount left a sour taste in his mouth for the rest of the service.

“I don’t know how Charles does it, and I don’t ask, but you can try it for yourself. It tastes just like apple cider.”

Dahlia raised an eyebrow and then took his straw from his own drink and placed it into Venti’s glass, taking a quick sip. As soon as the liquid hit his tongue, he pursed his lips in distaste. “Ugh, how do you not taste the alcohol in that?” He quickly took his straw back, downing a few swigs of his own apple cider to wash away the taste.

“Maybe Charles made it wrong.” Venti looked at his drink, giving it a little swirl before sipping from his own straw. “Hm, it seems fine to me.” He took a few more sips just to make sure. “Yep, tastes like all the others.” He shot Dahlia a teasing smile. “Maybe you’re sensitive to alcohol, or maybe I burned all my tastebuds when I went through my whiskey phase.”

“You had a whiskey phase?”

“It was a long time ago. Not important now.” Venti waved him off. “Regardless, what’s more important is that you made me very happy by coming to see me tonight. I know you’re busy with work, and I hope I didn’t just make your life harder by taking up your whole night.”

“No, of course not.” Dahlia suddenly felt guilty for everything he’d done the previous three weeks. After all, tonight wasn’t so bad. If only he could keep his dumb feelings in check. Although Venti saying things like that wasn’t helping either. If anything, it made the ache in his heart worse.

“Do you have to wake up early tomorrow?”

Dahlia nodded.

“Are you going to leave soon?”

Dahlia nodded again.

“Can I walk you back home?”

Dahlia looked at him with mild surprise. Venti had never asked to do that before, since he typically stayed behind to talk with Charles or Diluc or whoever else was bartending that night. “Sure, if you don’t mind leaving now.” Dahlia said, heart pounding in his chest. He took one last sip of his apple cider to calm his nerves before he stood from the counter. Venti paid for their drinks and then followed him out of the tavern.

Dahlia didn’t live too far from Angel’s Share, and they walked in silence the whole time. Venti didn’t seem to care, but Dahlia’s mind was in overdrive. Although it was a relatively short walk, the late night atmosphere and his current predicament made it feel like they were trekking to Liyue.

When they arrived, Venti turned to him and broke the silence.

“Dahlia, about my song from earlier, I didn’t mean to be cryptic,” Venti started as they stood outside of his front door. “But I can tell something is really bothering you, and I want you to know that whatever’s weighing on your mind is something that you can share with me.”

Dahlia glanced at Venti, and all he saw was genuine concern. Something about his expression made his gut wrench, except this time the yearning outweighed the guilt. He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to let Venti know exactly why he was avoiding him, and how much he wished it were the opposite. How he longed to be a staple in his life. How he wanted something more than their current friendship.

Venti would understand, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t think less of him or shame him. He wouldn’t believe he was a failure of a Deacon for his shortcomings. He wouldn’t even consider having feelings as a shortcoming. Of anyone, Venti had the most liberal interpretation of Barbato’s teachings. So sharing this part of him should be okay.

He opened his mouth, ready to spill everything, but, just like Venti predicted, there was something holding him back.

And it wasn’t guilt.

It was fear.

The more Dahlia thought about it the more he realized there were layers to his reluctance. Yes, Venti might not think him blasphemous for developing feelings, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would reciprocate them.

What if it changed their relationship for the worse?

What if he didn’t want to be around him anymore?

What if revealing this made him lose Venti and Barbatos?

He didn’t think he could handle that.

Dahlia thought back to the bird in the song. Maybe it wasn’t the cage that was holding him back. Maybe he was just afraid the wind he dreamed of would blow him away without a care in the world.

So Dahlia told Venti he was fine even though he was anything but, and when they parted ways and the door shut behind him, he went straight to his room for another restless night of sleep.

Notes:

okay so dahlia's still down bad but now maybe (?) venti is also down bad and is edging dahlia on?? i don't know the scene wrote itself this time around

for next chapter, i can confidently say smut will 100% be in the next chapter 🤩 what i cannot confidently say is that it will come out as quickly as this one did 😭 my life is about to get super super busy again for the next month unfortunately and that will likely affect how fast i can write, edit, and post

as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated!! 🧡🙏🏽 they give me the motivation to continue even during busy times 😭 i promise after mid june though i'll have more free time

Chapter 3

Notes:

sorry for the long wait! chap 3 is finally out 🎉

this took so long to write and also dahlia came out in game between my last chap and this chap so yea i realize some stuff is ooc for him but oh well. that's the gamble you take when you write a character before their in-game release hahaha

On the contrary, Dahlia had the most restful night of sleep he’d had in weeks.

The cost of this, however, came with interest.

Compound interest.

Because what happened that night came at the expense of the next night of sleep. And the next. And the next…

Dahlia hadn’t slept in three days because there was something very specific that happened the night he last saw Venti that made it impossible to do anything but ruminate on why he was the worst Deacon—no, the worst person in the entirety of Teyvat.

He could recount the details like it was yesterday. He’d closed the door and gone upstairs to his bedroom, peeking out the windowsill to watch Venti walk away. Once he was out of sight, he let the blinds fall and sat on his bed.

He had been so close to revealing everything.

So, so close.

His body was buzzing with adrenaline. He placed a hand over his chest, not surprised in the least when he felt his heart pounding. He flopped back on the bed, staring at the cracks in his ceiling as if they held the answers to whatever problem he was trying to solve.

What was his problem anyway?

He knew he had trouble acknowledging his feelings in a religious context, but now it seemed there was a larger issue at hand.

Larger? No. That wasn’t right. Nothing should matter more to him than Barbatos.

He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

Who was he kidding?

Venti had been disrupting his whole life for the past three weeks. He’d be a fool if he refused to acknowledge that somehow he had become just as, if not more, important to him than his Archon.

Dahlia had two options now. He could either tell Venti his feelings and risk losing everything, or he could bottle them up and risk his own sanity.

Neither was a win-win situation. Even if everything went as well as it could and Venti liked him back, Dahlia would still be forsaking his oath to Barbatos. Likewise, if he somehow succeeded in ignoring his feelings, he’d probably have to distance himself from Venti in order to do so.

He wished there was a third option, one that allowed him to keep Venti close while preserving his faith. He didn’t think such an option existed though. There was no escaping the iron grip these feelings had on his heart.

If only they would disappear, but Dahlia knew it wasn’t that easy.

Maybe there was some way he could get over them.

He rolled onto his stomach, pulling himself over to the nightstand beside the bed. There was a picture of him and Venti that he kept in his drawer. He originally meant to frame it but had never gotten around to it, and when this whole fiasco began, he thought it best to just keep it hidden.

He opened the drawer and took the picture out. It was a polaroid, one that had been taken the night of Dahlia’s birthday. The two of them were at a table at Angel’s Share, a disheveled looking cake sitting between them. They were smiling at the kamera, icing smeared over both of their faces.

That night he distinctly remembered how grateful he felt to have someone like Venti in his life. Venti was a breath of fresh air, always stirring up trouble in all the best ways. He felt most like himself when they were together.

To have someone to exist so freely with was a blessing, but it was one that he had to let go. He sighed and placed the picture back into the drawer. There was a terrible ache in his chest, one that he knew would never subside.

Just one kiss. That was all he needed. One kiss, and he’d be satisfied.

Dahlia closed his eyes, his mind wavering as images of Venti flashed through his head. Maybe Barbatos would forgive him if he only thought about kissing him. There was nothing wrong with simply thinking about it, and maybe if he thought about it enough, he could trick his mind into getting over his desire.

He pictured Venti the night the photo was taken, carrying his cake through the tavern entrance as he sang happy birthday. Before Dahlia even had a chance to blow out the candles, Venti swiped his finger through the icing and tasted it.

“Venti!” Barbara exclaimed. “I was going to take a picture of Dahlia and his cake.”

“Sorry, Barbara.” Venti giggled, putting his hands together in a plea for forgiveness. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Dahlia, quick! Blow the candles out before Venti eats more icing.”

Dahlia did as he was told and leaned forward, blowing them all out as Venti watched, his eyes shining with something that could only lead to trouble.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dahlia asked.

“Like what?” Venti feigned innocence, yet the mischief never left his eyes.

“Like you’re planning something.”

“I’d never,” Venti scoffed as he reached out and pulled the candles from the cake, setting them on a napkin. “Barbara, is your kamera ready?” He slung his arm around Dahlia’s neck, pulling them close. “Why don’t you take a picture of us with the cake?”

As they posed for Barbara, Dahlia felt Venti’s arm shift, and the moment he felt a hand in his hair, he pushed him away. “You little monster,” he said, holding Venti at arms-length, like one would an unscrupulous pet. “You were going to shove me into the cake, weren’t you?”

Venti shrugged, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “A little icing never hurt anyone,” he laughed as he took some and smeared it on Dahlia’s nose.

Dahlia wrinkled his nose as he released Venti. “Oh, really?” He grabbed one of the icing flowers off the cake. “Then you won’t mind if I do this?” He smirked as he smashed it on Venti’s cheek. “A little icing never hurt anyone, right?”

“Ah, the cake!” Barbara pulled it away before either of them could take any more icing. “D-don’t make a mess in here. What would Barbatos think of your behavior?”

“He’d obviously join in on the fun,” Venti said, turning to Barbara who was still holding onto the cake. “Come on, Barbara, I know you want to join us.”

Barbara hesitated, glancing down at the cake and then at Rosaria.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rosaria warned before taking the cake from Barbara’s hands and placing it between Venti and Dahlia again. “Now, you two will let Barbara take a picture, and then we’re going to eat the cake like civilized human beings.”

No one argued with Rosaria, so they took the photo and then sliced the cake for everyone. The night went on without further mischief, and by the end, only Venti and Dahlia remained. Somehow they’d ended up on the balcony of Angel’s Share, away from the other patrons.

“Did you wish for anything when you blew your candles out?” Venti asked.

“No.” Dahlia rolled his eyes before giving Venti a playful look. “Because a certain someone was plotting against me at the time.”

“Well, my sincerest apologies,” Venti teased. “But hey, it’s not midnight yet. You can still make a wish.”

“I don’t know what I’d wish for.”

“You should think about it,” Venti said. “Maybe if you say it out loud Barbatos will grant it.”

At the time, Dahlia had brushed him off because he hadn’t yet realized that his wish was sitting right in front of him.

How foolish he had been.

If he could go back in time, he’d ask Venti for a birthday kiss, but that was impossible, so Dahlia had to make do with imagining what it’d be like.

His lips had to be so soft. They were the perfect shade of pink, glistening to the point that Dahlia often wondered if he wore some kind of balm to keep them so shiny. He had never touched them, but he wanted to believe they were as plush and as sweet as they looked.

He wondered if he would taste wine on them or maybe the icing from the cake. If there was any leftoever, Dahlia would make sure to lick it off, and he hoped Venti would return the favor.

Just the thought of Venti’s tongue running along his lips made him shiver. If he parted them, would Venti deepen their kiss?

Dahlia’s face was hot, his cheeks turning red while his heart thumped wildly in his ribcage. He couldn’t believe he was thinking of such obscenities, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss someone so intimately, to taste each other in the flesh.

There was something so alluring about Venti, something that made Dahlia want to devour him whole.

Maybe one kiss wasn’t enough.

No.

One kiss would never be enough. He wanted more. He needed more. His lips, his neck, his chest—Dahlia didn’t care. He would drown the bard in his passion if it meant he could touch him for a second more.

Was that asking for too much? Dahlia didn’t know. Part of him didn’t care anymore, and to his chagrin, a certain part of him seemed to care a little too much.

He rolled onto his back again, looking down at the bulge in his pants with less shame than he would’ve liked. He’d had this problem frequently in the past couple of weeks, but as hard as it had been to ignore it those times, at least he had succeeded.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

He reached down to unbutton his shorts, a meek attempt to relieve some of the pressure. It didn’t do much, but it was enough for now.

He closed his eyes, too embarrassed by his body’s reaction to bear witness to it anymore. But with darkness came the ability to imagine, and the image flashed in his mind before he had a chance to filter it.

He thought of Venti’s lips again, except this time, he pictured them wrapped around his cock.

!

Dahlia’s eyes shot open to dispell the imagery, but it was too late. Even the reflexive shame he felt at the realization of what he’d just conjured was not enough to hold him back from imagining the rest of the scenario.

Soft hands pushing his thighs apart…delicate fingers wrapping around his cock…a gentle lick at the tip…warm lips taking him slowly…

His mind was whirling, all control lost to the wind as a montage of sensual images ran through his head.

There was no stopping himself now.

He frantically tugged at his shorts and underwear, lifting his hips to slide them down. It was hard to pull them all the way off, and he huffed in annoyance, kicking them off with more force than necessary once they were around his ankles.

He supposed that he should find some oil or lotion, but he was growing more impatient by the second. His cock was throbbing, pent up with all the desire that he’d been trying to suppress for the past couple weeks. There was no time to waste, so he spit into his palm and promptly wrapped it around his cock.

He whined at the contact, jolting at how sensitive he felt with just a few pumps of his hand. It was to be expected though. Dahlia couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten off. He was already embarrassingly hard, and just these few seconds of contact made him feel like he was about to burst.

His saliva evaporated quickly though, and although he was leaking precum, it wasn’t enough to make his movements as smooth as he’d like. He cursed under his breath, panting as he thought about what he could use.

He was unsure if he had any lotion, and he didn’t particularly feel like rummaging through his cabinets to check. The only oil he had was olive oil, and that was all the way downstairs. Was he really so pathetic as to use cooking oil for this sort of thing?

Dahlia whimpered. The pleasant sensation was starting to feel like chaffing, and he was about to get up to grab the oil when he remembered something very important.

He had a vision.

A hydro vision.

He grit his teeth in resignation before summoning a thin veil of water around his hand, resuming his prior movements. It didn’t slide as easy as oil, but it worked well enough.

He was panting, hand squeezing tighter as he increased his pace. The use of hydro made it easy to imagine he really was sinking into Venti’s mouth, and when he used his thumb to rub along the tip, it felt enough like a tongue that he couldn’t suppress his moans.

“Venti,” he breathed, ragged and unsteady. “Oh, f-fuck, Venti.”

It was all he could think about. He repeated the name over and over as if saying it might summon the one in question.

“Ah!” He bit his lip and held his breath, the sensations getting stronger, building upon each other in a way that made his legs snap together and his stomach muscles tighten.

He was so close. He brought a hand to his mouth, covering it to muffle his cries as they got louder and more desperate.

It was too much. All of his desire—all of his urges and needs and wants—everything he’d tried so hard to push down into the depths of his heart was erupting all at once, concentrating itself deep in his gut, sending sparks of pleasure straight to his cock.

It was with an almost apprehensive desperation that he closed his eyes, stroking himself faster as he imagined it was Venti’s lips bringing him over the edge.

He was silent as he came, painting his stomach white as he all but stopped breathing, simply relishing the feeling of letting go.

It wasn’t just the pleasure. It was the stress and the heartache. The hopeless nights and the constant guilt. The pain of hiding one’s feelings and the endless cycle of desire and fear. All of it dissipating in this moment of blissful relief was more than he could have asked for.

He laid there, panting and shivering, wiping his hand off on the sheets, uncaring of the mess it would leave in the morning. He didn’t bother cleaning his stomach, only vaguely aware of his surroundings as he rolled over, pulling a pillow under his head as he fought a losing battle against sleep.

He wasn’t familiar with the exhaustion that came with release, and he was surprised at how much it drained him.

This was the most content he had felt in a long time though. His mind was finally at peace, and with no warring thoughts or emotions to sort out, he succumbed easily to his slumber.

Notes:

thanks for reading and for being patient with author uploading sporadically. dahlia about to lose his mind again in the next chapter (as if he hasn't been losing his mind in every chapter so far 😭)

also i had most of this chapter written like over a month ago but i only wrote the smut in the last two days so i hope the writing doesn't seem choppy or obvious that it was written more than 1+ month apart 😭 this is the most subscriptions i've ever had on a fic so i hope the chapter updates are not disappointing. looking forward, i think chap 4-5 will be easier for me to write so i think i can get them out faster than i did for this one but life is still busy for me with job hunting and shit so i can't guarantee anything 🙏🏽😭

as always, thanks for reading and comments and kudos are much appreciated 🧡