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betweenstorms · 10 days ago

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God Of The Gaps 01: The Family We Are Fed To Sleep Token x Fem!Reader [next chapter] [all chapters] [masterlist]

You wake in a world of dead gods, with no name and no past. You are pulled into a family not bound by blood, but by devotion. They see something in you that keeps you alive. As you are kept within their crumbling world of rituals and whispers, their strange affection begins to warp you.

“You’ll tear open the sky just to feel something divine, and when the stars don’t answer, you’ll call it fate, not failure. And when the gates finally opened, it was not angels you found.”

You awaken face down in the grass.

There was no wind. No birds, no voice to greet you but your own breath, shallow and foreign in your lungs, as though borrowed. The ground beneath you was cold and mushy, smelling of ash, iron and something softer, something like roses long dead in a sealed tomb.

You opened your eyes and the world that greeted you was wrong.

The trees rose tall and skeletal around you, their limbs twisted upward as if in mourning, not growth. You were in a forest suspended in eerie stillness, draped in odd colours that did not belong in the waking world—ashen greys, dull silver and that unnatural magenta colour, thick like bruised petals left rotting beneath glass. Every leaf, every petal, every blade of grass was stained some shade between these colours.

You sat up slowly, trembling fingers sinking into strange grass, which was soft but wrong, more like velvet than anything living. Fog thickened low across the ground, swirling white and heavy, not like mist but milk curdled in the lungs of the forest, dense and watching.

You were cold.

Not from the weather, but from the inside out.

Cold in your bones. Cold in your mind.

There was a road ahead, if it can be called that. Ivory stone tiles decorated the ground, clean and polished, laid into the dirt with surgical precision, forming a labyrinth of path that led away in every direction, nowhere and everywhere at once, like silver veins carved from old porcelain. No moss grew between the stones. No dirt clinged.

You shivered.

You looked down at your hands, as if they might explain something. They were your hands. You knew that. But whose? Who were you?

Your fingers rose in frantic sequence, to your chest, your throat, your cheeks, as if memory were something you could touch. As if familiarity might hide in the dip of your collarbone, in the shape of your jaw, in a mole or a scar you once claimed as home. But there was nothing. No jewelry. No mark. No tether. Only skin that felt borrowed and a body that no longer spoke your name.

Your name.

You didn’t know your name.

The realization didn’t strike like lightning. It didn’t come like a wave. It arrived like the true absence of sound. A void blooming in your chest, black and bottomless, still as death and just as certain. You didn’t know your name. The panic arrived before memory did, as though your body remembered mourning something your mind had not yet named. It wasn’t frantic. It was surgical. A theft of breath. A quiet slaughter of certainty.

Your lungs stuttered. Your throat narrowed.

“I don’t—” your voice cracked, barely a whisper.

You rose too fast, and the world reeled with you. The skeletal forest buckled sideways, tilting like a ship lost to a storm. Trees loomed above, their limbs twisted into shapes that shouldn’t exist, like ribs cracked open, reaching to claw the heavens. But the sky offered no anchor. No sun. No moon. Just a pale expanse without pulse or warmth, as if the gods had forgotten to finish it. The branches creaked softly, whispering warnings you couldn’t quite understand.

“Hello?” you cried out into the quiet. You tried again, voice cracking. “Please—”

The fog held the word like breath held in a stranger’s mouth.

No echo. No return.

It was not the quiet of peace, but the silence of forsaken places.

Your knees gave way, and you collapsed like breath leaving a prayer, palms cradled your face as if trying to hold yourself in. A name clawed at your throat, but there was nothing there, just a shape without sound slipping through your fingers. You were shaking now, not softly, no, but violently, as though your bones were rejecting the cage of your skin, as though your heart was pounding to be set free, desperate to escape the body it no longer recognised.

You crouched there like something newly born, knuckles dug into the alien velvet grass that didn’t bend like grass should. The air smelled like time left too long in a sealed room. Stale, and wrong. Tears stung your eyes, but before they could fall—

—you heard it.

Footsteps.

Measured. Unhurried. Close.

Each one fell into the quiet like punctuation, as if they were always meant to be written there. Then, somewhere in the white, something moved. It arrived with precision, with weight, with the patience of something that had never been hunted. It stepped from the fog as if the world itself had been waiting for you to see it. A silhouette began to form.

And when the fog thinned, you saw it—

—saw him.

A man. Or something like one. He seemed wrong in the details.

Too smooth. Too silent. Too deliberate.

He wasn’t tall. No, he did not need to be. He wore black from neck to toe. Velvet shirt tucked into tailored trousers pressed too perfectly, patent leather shoes that gleamed like mirrors and carried no sound, and over it all, a black cloak with a wide hood that swallowed most of him in shadow. And where his face should have been there was a mask, thick and ornate, sculpted from gold and lacquered black, decorated with strange symbols, like something ceremonial or holy, except it wasn’t. The mask didn’t cover his entire face, his mouth was visible through the vertical slits, his eyes and jawline were visible too, but that made him look much more haunting. It was too still. It looked fused to his skull. There were no visible straps or seams. Just polished metal where a face should be.

Only the suggestion of death dressed up like a man.

And he was looking right at you.

You gasped, your body pulling backward on instinct, feeling like a specimen pinned open on a silver tray. The uncanny man stopped just a few steps from you, tilting his head curiously. Not dramatically, not even threateningly, no, but something about the angle was unmistakably predatory, like the way a cat turns its head before it pounces.

“Did you call?” he asked.

The voice was soft, surprisingly warm, but that only made things worse. He spoke as though he were reciting something from memory, not really feeling it, mimicking a peculiar accent of the human kind. Like sound made through teeth not meant for language. You blinked, breath caught in your throat, unable to form a word.

He took another step forward. But not in threat. In curiosity.

And now he was looking down at you.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

The word wasn’t for you.

It was a finding, not a greeting.

“Who—who are you?” you managed to whisper, your voice breaking like a dropped glass.

He stepped to the side and began to walk around you in a perfect, measured arc, circling you. You turned to follow his movements, your body frozen, your limbs stuck between flight and collapse. His polished shoes whispered against the ivory stone.

“You may call me IV,” he said at last.

You stared.

That name meant nothing. It was a number. A placeholder. A cipher.

“What is this place?” you whispered, barely audible. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

He stopped walking.

“You remember how to speak,” he said. “That is not nothing.”

The words came gently, almost like kindness, but they didn’t comfort you, no, they made you shudder instead. His words felt like the patient assurance of something that knew what you were made of, because it had taken others apart.

“Don’t come closer, please—”

Your voice broke as he crouched.

The movement was seamless. It was perfectly graceful, in the same way a snake descending a tree is graceful, uninterrupted and fluid. Effortless. Boneless even. His knees bent too evenly. Like his body wasn’t governed by the same physics as yours, as though it remembered the shape of bones, but no longer needed them.

You looked up through your tears, and the gold of his mask caught the fractured light of this godless forest. It hovered above your face now, and through the thin slits near the mouth, you saw the faintest stretch of movement. A smile, maybe. But it never touched his eyes.

His gaze held something else, something fondly clinical. The way a scientist might speak to a wounded thing in a jar. He looked at you like he pitied you. Or was it sadness? You couldn’t tell, not with the mask hiding most of him, not with those blue eyes so terribly distant, like someone watching you from underwater. But there was something undeniably melancholy in the way he watched you, as though observing something that had already begun to crumble.

“Please,” a pitiful sniff followed your plea. “Can you help me?”

IV didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he studied you, his blue eyes guarded yet openly curious, as if weighing something important, something that would change the shape of this moment forever. You could almost hear your pulse, and the way the forest watched it throb behind your ears. It was unbearable.

Finally, IV spoke.

“Come with me, then.”

You blinked, confusion mixing with dread.

“Where?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he tilted his head again, this time with a subtle shift of his posture that seemed amused. Still, his gaze remained fixed on you.

Every instinct screamed at you to run and to tear through the lifeless trees, to disappear into the endless fog and hope that somehow you’d find something familiar, something safe. But your feet wouldn’t move. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Only this eerie forest, this unsettling stranger, and the profound loneliness that coiled around you like a noose.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stood.

Your legs trembled beneath you, weak with a fear that burrowed down to your bones, but you forced yourself upright, swiping the back of your hand across your damp cheeks.

IV wasn’t much taller than you, but his presence loomed large in its intensity. Like a shadow cast by something monstrous and ancient, something that didn’t live in this world. His mouth still curved gently, as though he found your hesitation strangely endearing.

Without another word, he turned and began walking ahead.

His cloak trailed behind him, not dragging but floating just slightly above the fog, kissing the tiles, leaving you to follow in awkward silence. You stumbled slightly at first, your limbs still numb with dread, but quickly scrambled to match his pace. Your breath hitched as your bare feet met the polished and cold stone tiles beneath you, each step feeling like a judgment from the ground itself. So you sniffed again and quickened your steps, falling into a clumsy stride beside him, trying to match his pace.

As you moved, you glanced around desperately, trying to memorize your odd surroundings, trying to absorb. To remember. To understand. But the forest remained stubbornly unfamiliar. There was nothing here. No animals. No sky. No smell of rain, no sound of wind. Only fog, and ruin, and the haunting bloom of magenta that stained everything like a parasite. Broken fountains lined the path, silent and dry, ancient ruins crumbled quietly in every direction and the shattered remnants of statues. Their marble bodies leaned in uncanny angles, some frozen mid-prayer, others mid-scream.

“Where are you taking me?” you finally dared to ask, voice trembling.

IV hummed quietly, almost thoughtful. “Somewhere safe.”

He offered no further explanation.

You tried to ignore the creeping sensation that something watched you from the fog, eyes you couldn’t see yet felt acutely. Shadows flickered at the edge of your vision, shapes danced and dissolved in the mist, making you flinch more often than you’d admit. It was impossible to shake the feeling that this forest observed you with hungry curiosity.

Eventually, the trees began to fall away and the forest opened into a clearing so large the fog couldn’t even hold it all. It spilled into it like milk into a bowl, veiling the edges of the world until distance itself became meaningless. At its heart stood an massive cathedral, so immense and surreal that your breath caught sharply in your throat. Ancient stones rose high and stark, entwined with thick vines of grey and vivid magenta. It rose out of the earth like the skeleton of a god. Towering spires reached upward, sharp and ambitious, piercing the ashen sky as if attempting to breach the heavens themselves. Its glass windows were stained, but not with saints. They shimmered faintly despite the oppressive gloom, and banners of deep green and faded beige, embroidered with intricate symbols in tarnished gold thread, hung still.

You halted, awe and terror mixing uncomfortably in your chest.

You didn’t even see the top of the building.

It stretched so impossibly high that the spires disappeared into the fog, swallowed whole by the pale sky. It felt less like a structure and more like a monument to something the world had chosen to forget, something ancient, sacred, and wrong.

IV had stopped walking.

“What is this place?” you whispered

He turned back toward the cathedral, his voice calm and steady, filled with quiet reverence and a hint of something deeper, darker. As if he had brought others before.

He held your stare for a long moment. Then, without turning back to face you fully, he said, “This is where you will belong. If my brothers agree.”

You repeated the word under your breath, frowning faintly.

“Your… brothers?”

With those words, he resumed walking, leaving you with no choice but to follow, your heart aching with uncertainty. Like slipping beneath water and not knowing how deep it goes. Each step toward those towering doors felt like descending into an unknown abyss from which you feared you might never emerge.

IV moved like this place answered to him. Like the stones beneath his feet knew his weight, like he’d walked these tiles a thousand times, and you were just another shadow behind him. The entrance loomed higher the closer you came, until they weren’t doors but gates, massive slabs of carved black wood, etched with runes you could not read.

They opened before he could touch them.

It was worse inside.

The cathedral was impossibly vast. Cold and hollow, as though built by something that had only ever imagined humanity, but had never loved it.

The air inside was heavy and thick with the scent of wax, old wood, and something coppery beneath, a metallic tang, like blood held too long in a chalice. The walls were tall, constructed of dark stone and from them hung rows of banners in emerald greens, stitched with more of those strange symbols. Candles burned in impossible quantities. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Pools of melted wax stained the floors in ribbons of ivory. Their flames danced in patterns that felt intentional, like they were reacting to your heartbeat. Enormous staircases curved in directions that defied logic, vanishing into alcoves and narrow corridors you hadn’t noticed a moment before. Marble columns lined the nave like the ribs of some old beast. Wilted petals littered the floor, silvers and dull lilacs, and their smell was overpowering.

Your head turned and turned but nothing stuck. You couldn’t even recall where the doors had been now. The halls branched endlessly, spiralling staircases and empty alcoves and yawning arches that led to nowhere. You saw statues, some with missing limbs, others with bleeding eyes. Most had no clear faces. Their expressions had been worn away by time, leaving only smooth blank stone where their mouths and noses should have been. You passed a hallway where a black fountain stood still in the dark, its surface smooth as glass.

You didn’t know where you were.

You didn’t know if you could ever leave.

You followed blindly, each step sounding like it didn’t belong here.

Finally, IV brought you to a chamber that made your breath catch. A great hall opened before you, its vaulted ceiling stretching into a haze of candle smoke and silence. At its center stood an enormous table carved from obsidian, long and glistening like the surface of a still lake. It was wide enough to seat thirty on either side, and every chair stood empty, save one.

At the far end of the table, seated with his back turned, was a man.

The figure wore a long emerald coat, embroidered with golden symbols you didn’t recognise. White and gold shoulder plates rose above the collar, and at his back were black feathers, not wings but something once divine, catching the candlelight like water catches the moonlight. His elegant fingers rested on the arms of a chair carved from the same dark stone as the table.

IV stopped as if halted by some unseen line.

“Vessel,” he said. “I found something.”

The figure turned deliberately, the chair’s legs sliding against stone with the whisper of altar doors opening in a forgotten church.

When Vessel stood, your throat closed.

Your heart stuttered painfully behind your ribs, because he was beautiful. But not in any way you had words for. He was beautiful in the most terrifying sense of the word. He looked like something sculpted by gods who had never seen a human up close. Like something made in worship of a shape they’d only dreamed of. The kind of beauty that made you ache just to witness, like a god pretending to be flesh.

He wore a mask like IV did, but entirely different. It was white, with lines of green and gold that swirled in precise patterns, perfectly clean, so pristine it looked unreal, too perfect, like it had never been touched by dust or decay. But then you saw them. Six vertical slits. Eyes. Six black eyes, no whites, no irises, just glossy pools of darkness, watching you. Each one darker than black, as if they opened into some endless depth where stars had once gone to die. They moved in eerie unison, blinking once, slowly, then not again.

Tears stung again, hot and unwelcome. Your lips parted, your throat dry and tight. There was no air in the room. None that you could breathe. Something inside you recoiled, screamed, at the knowledge that he was nothing like you.

He stepped forward.

His chest was bare beneath the open coat, painted entirely black, the pigment deep and matte like charred obsidian. Gold chains draped across him delicately, shoulders, ribs, collarbones, like ceremonial jewelry placed on the dead. His arms were equally adorned in ink.

His mouth, exposed beneath the mask, curled into a slow, precise smile.

“What a curious thing,” Vessel said, and his voice—

Gods.

His voice was the most alluring sound you’d ever heard, making your knees weak. Rich and warm, deep and smooth, like honey poured over something burning. Every word measured, placed exactly where it belonged. His accent curved each vowel like silk stretched too tight. You didn’t realise your heart was racing until it hurt.

IV stood beside you, ink kissed hands folded behind his back as Vessel abandoned the books he’d been reading and moved into the centre of the room, his black eyes never once leaving you. His golden chains shifted slightly as he moved.

And then he turned, addressing IV over his shoulder.

“Why did you bring it here?” he asked. The softness in his voice didn’t blunt the sharpness of his meaning. “We agreed that we were done with humans.”

IV didn’t blink.

“I thought,” he confessed, “perhaps it was time we tried again.”

Vessel exhaled a breath you could feel, something almost like a laugh. He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles flexing under the black paint and gold chains. Those six eyes blinked again. Not together this time, two at a time, diagonally. It made your stomach twist. He stared at IV in silence, as if considering whether to laugh or scold. Then he did laugh. A delightful sound, that shook the chandelier high above, though nothing moved.

You blinked, rapidly, your eyes burning.

“And you’ll be the one to convince the others, then?” Vessel asked.

IV nodded once. “If you agree.”

Vessel tilted his head, considering. His eyes turned to you again.

“I do,” he said after a moment. “But this time you take responsibility for the outcome.”

“Understood,” IV replied, his voice light. “I’ll fetch the others.”

Then he turned away with the grace of something no longer tethered to human urgency, like a shadow returning to its source.

“Wait—” your voice cracked before you even knew you’d spoken. “Please—”

But IV did not pause.

He vanished into the corridor you’d entered through together. The flickering light behind him danced faintly, then went still. You watched him go until there was nothing but absence and a breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped you.

Reluctantly, you turned back.

Vessel was still watching you.

That same small, knowing smile curved his lips. Too precise to be human. It didn’t warm his face, it wore his face instead, covering it like a veil, a performance he had decided to put on, something donned rather than felt. For a seemingly endless moment, the two of you stared at one another in painful silence. The cold sweat at the nape of your neck bloomed with every ragged breath. You took a step back and Vessel’s smile grew wider.

“Do you remember your name, love?”

The term made your skin crawl. It felt theatrical, it was too soft, too intimate, too practiced. As though he had said it a thousand times before and never meant it once.

Your breathing was fast, erratic. You shook your head frantically, arms folding tightly around yourself as if your own limbs could protect you from what he was.

“What—what are you?”

His eyes, all six, blinked slowly.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned back against the chair he had once occupied, crossing his ankles like this was nothing more than a conversation with a guest. His posture said nothing and everything. Your heart nearly tripped over itself as you began to panic.

“Where am I? What is this place? Why—” Your lips trembled as you pressed further. “—why can’t I remember anything?”

You didn’t mean to sound as desperate as you did.

But it was already too late to pretend.

“There may be another time to talk,” Vessel said, almost kindly. “But not now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Why?”

“My brothers are coming,” he exhaled through his nose. “And they are not fond of your kind. Especially III. So be still, won’t you? He tends to overreact.”

You tried to ask again, but the sound that left your throat was barely a whisper.

“What do you mean—?”

Vessel raised one elegant hand, index finger pressing to his lips in a gesture of silence.

Then he motioned toward one of the many empty chairs.

“Sit.”

You didn’t obey. You couldn’t. Instead, you took a step back. Just one. But it made your heel clip the wall behind you. The weight of the cathedral pressed down against your shoulders. Every cell in your body told you not to trust him, not to lower your guard.

That’s when you saw them.

One was about your height, built like a statue carved for mourning with terrifying precision. His mask was red and black, with the permanent carved frown of a weeping statue. There was no mouth, no expression, just that eternal grimace and those tired eyes. His piercing blue eyes glowed with frost and fury from behind the slits. The rest of him was all black fabric. A dark hoodie was pulled halfway up beneath a vest, and every movement he made was deliberate, efficient. His approach made no sound. Not one.

He felt like judgment given form.

But then—

The second figure staggered in like a thought unraveling.

He moved like something animated by string, too tall, too angular, his frame unnaturally thin, all sharp elbows and spiderlike knees as though his body had been stretched by cruel hands. The air shifted, turned heavier, as though his fury had a gravity of its own. The slender figure wore a long coat, deep blood red, which swayed behind him like a second spine. His mask, similar in form to IV’s, caught the candlelight and fractured it violently across the room. His white hair hung in wild tufts, falling over the sharp edges of his mask, tangled like thread in a butcher’s hands. His mouth, visible through a jagged tear in the metal, curled in a feral snarl.

And the moment he saw you—

He exploded.

“What the fuck is that?” he spat, finger stabbing the air toward you with such vehemence it felt like a blade aimed at your throat. Jagged lines split the gleaming surface of his mask like veins, as though the mask itself were trying to escape the face beneath.

He did not move like a man.

He paced like a pendulum swung too wide.

“No,” he growled, hands slicing through the air as he turned on Vessel with an accusing glare. “No, no, no. I’m not doing this again. You piece of—I’m not—” he choked on his own fury. “I won’t do this shit. Not after last time.”

“Calm down, III,” Vessel said smoothly. “You’ll frighten our guest.”

“Calm down?” III bellowed. “It’s a human. I can fucking smell it.”

His mask turned sharply to IV.

III took three more steps as if pulled by strings.

“Why is it still breathing, brother?” His accent was harsh, rough around the edges in the way broken glass could be considered art, making you flinch. “We agreed. We fucking agreed to kill every human that shows up. That was the pact and you agreed.”

IV exhaled quietly through his nose, unbothered, standing tall beside Vessel.

“She didn’t come here like the others,” he explained.

“Doesn’t fucking matter!” III was stalking now, circling the obsidian table in uncoordinated strides. His limbs bent too far. His spine curled too deep. Like a puppet dropped in motion and still trying to dance. The coat behind him swept the air like a wing torn from something mythic. “We should eat it,” he hissed, eyes flashing behind the glint of his mask. “Let’s just carve it open and see what’s inside. Flesh always tells the truth.”

You gasped, hands balling into fists so tightly your nails dug moons into your palms. Instinct pulled you back, back, back—

—but the wall was there.

IV rolled his eyes, the motion oddly human.

“You always say that.”

“And one day I will,” III stopped in front of you, abruptly close. His height towered over you now. His head tilted, hair falling sideways, the wild strands sticking to the edge of his mask. You could almost feel his breath through the mouth of the mask. “I should tear it open. Spill it on the floor. Let’s see what’s inside. Let’s see what makes this one worth breaking the rules. So scream for me, yeah? You lot love to scream.”

Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered.

Vessel didn’t look at him. “She’s not yours to dismantle, III.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” III snarled at him like a dog.

“No,” Vessel said softly. “You always fail to listen.”

You shook. Violently. Your heart tried to beat itself to death inside your ribs. And then—

“Enough.”

The voice cut through the rising tension like a blade forged in silence. It belonged to the third arrival, the one who had entered alongside III but not said a word until now.

II.

You hadn’t heard him step next to you. You hadn’t seen him approach. He was simply there and the space he occupied stole the air from your lungs. He regarded you like a problem on a table, a mistake already halfway to being corrected. His eyes, blue glacial lakes, swept over you with the indifference of a doctor examining an open wound that didn’t belong to anyone. His presence chilled the marrow in your bones. Your knees buckled inward slightly as you shrank into the wall, trying to make yourself smaller, make yourself unworthy of notice.

“Bringing another human here was foolish,” II said coolly, turning to IV. “You should’ve left it where you found it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

II didn’t speak with disdain or cruelty. He didn’t raise his voice like III or lace it with theater like Vessel. He simply named the truth it was, plain and clinical, and in doing so, reduced you to a thing. A misstep.

A loose thread to be trimmed.

“I—” your voice was a splinter in your throat. “I don’t understand—please—I just want to go home—don’t hurt me, please—”

You peeked through your wet eyelashes, gaze falling upon the man who had just condemned you. But he wasn’t really a man, was he? His clothes smelled like salt and iron and something eerily similar to blood and dust. You wanted to vanish. Evaporate. Be anywhere else. But there was no else. No somewhere else. Just this godless place.

And these creatures craving blood.

A breath hitched in your chest. Then another. Then another. And the tears came, hot and ugly. You couldn’t stop them. They streaked your face in aching lines, washing nothing away. Your mouth opened in a sob, some wounded thing caught between instinct and despair.

III groaned so loud it scraped the air. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not this again—”

Your sobs earned a tilt of the head from II.

Not sympathy. Not even interest. No. His gaze sharpened with quiet disappointment, as if your reaction confirmed something he’d long suspected. Something unworthy.

“She’s clearly not ready,” he said, voice flat, stripped of emotion.

Vessel, still reclined against the chair like he’d been sculpted there, hummed. A thoughtful sound that curled around the space like smoke. He stepped forward slowly, not with urgency, but with the deliberate grace of something that had already seen this play out.

“None of us were ready,” he murmured. “Yet we were chosen.”

III scoffed violently, as if the words offended the very marrow of his bones. “Don’t start with that chosen bollocks again,” He threw up a hand in disgust, whirling in a circle like the force of his anger couldn’t be contained by stillness. “We all agreed. We are done. This thing is a mistake. That’s all it is. A fucking weakness on IV’s part. A lapse. And I’m telling you right now, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it permanently. Let me just snap it’s fucking neck.”

II even didn’t bother to look at him.

“What should we do with it?” he turned to Vessel instead.

“Keep her,” Vessel said as though the answer had already been decided.

But II’s head shook immediately, sharply.

“That is not wise.”

“We’ve ignored Sleep’s will to extend the family long enough, and now she’s here. Clearly a warning. Or a message. That means something. ”

“Don’t be a poet,” II muttered.

“Don’t be a coward, then,” Vessel replied, not unkindly. “Some gods inherit children, Sleep creates them and to be chosen is to be consumed. Or have you forgotten, brother?”

IIII groaned, hands rising to tangle in his hair as he turned to face the wall, slamming a palm against the cold stone. “It only means IV is still a sentimental bastard.”

IV’s posture didn’t shift, but his voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Better than being a fucking psycho.”

The word landed like a slap, and III laughed. A loud, guttural sound, cruel and bright like shattered glass in sunlight. “Oh, you wound me, brother.”

The voices swelled like a violent tide, crashing, clashing.

You shrank further into the space behind you, trying to make yourself small, invisible. Your tears carved rivers down your cheeks, uncontrolled, salt on raw skin, and in your horror you realised you were sobbing like a child, hiccuping, curling in on yourself, your body betraying you in every possible way. The tension in the room was a living thing, a monster stalking its own tail, and every time one of them opened their mouth, it sank another claw into your ribs.

III turned on you again, eyes flaring behind his mask.

“Fuck this. I’ll snap her neck. Put her out of her misery.”

Your body seized.

You saw it in your mind. His hands, sudden and precise. The pop of vertebrae. Your eyes wide, unblinking. Death in a cathedral of gods. But before he could move Vessel stepped into III’s path and said, almost lazily, like he was asking someone not to knock over a glass.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that.”

III paused.

“Of course you would,” he growled, shoving past him and pacing furiously down the length of the hall. “You’d rather talk. You’d rather hope. You’d rather pretend this ends differently this time. That she’ll be different. She won’t. None of them are.”

And then they all turned. All four of them.

Their eyes on you.

You sobbed again.

The weight of their attention was unbearable. Something primal cracked inside you, and you opened your mouth, voice shaking like a thread caught in wind. “I just want to go home,” you begged. “Please. I don’t remember anything. I don’t— I don’t even know my name—”

II exhaled sharply. Not exasperated. Not kind.

Just done. Tired.

“You were not given a name,” he said flatly.

You blinked. Your vision swam.

“What—” your voice trembled. “What does that mean?”

It was Vessel who answered, not II.

His voice was gentle again. Too gentle.

“It means,” he said, walking slowly toward you, “that you’re in the right place, love.”

You shook your head violently, trying to claw your way back into your own body, burying your face in your hands like you could shut the world out by sheer force of will.

But there was no god to hear you here.

The room seemed to sway around you.

You were suffocating. Drowning even. The air was molasses. The light too sharp.

Everything wrong. Everything wrong.

Everything wrong.

And somewhere above you, high in the vaulted dark where no candle dared shine something began to whisper your name. A name you had not yet learned. But the cathedral knew it. And in that moment, a new kind of fear took root.

Not the fear of death.

But the fear of being kept alive.

“There are some who burn down the temple not to punish the gods, but to feel the warmth of something holy just once.”

This isn’t what I usually write, but I wanted to challenge myself and explore a different fandom for a change.

betweenstorms [masterlist]

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florencemtrash · 10 months ago

Text

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Next chapter ->

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt.

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain.

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler.

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black.

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets.

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over.

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes.

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.”

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise.

“That one was close by.”

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.”

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her.

“Do you see that?”

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club.

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair.

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air.

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings.

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side.

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail.

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed.

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers.

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice.

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving.

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one.

“I’m-I’m a mated male.”

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd.

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head.

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him.

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color.

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste.

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind.

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood.

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master.

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate.

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right?

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back.

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed.

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one.

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean.

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.”

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously.

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.”

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him.

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean?

His mind — I can’t get into it.

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor.

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights.

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold.

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain.

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious.

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves.

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving.

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all.

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle.

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears.

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her.

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate.

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth.

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them.

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!”

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates.

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold.

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate.

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process.

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now.

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse.

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet.

He heard the rush of air a second too late.

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch.

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore.

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement.

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.”

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her.

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said.

…I see your point. Cassian muttered.

Be careful around this one.

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female.

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression.

You think?! Azriel all but growled.

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time.

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection.

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside.

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel.

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real.

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently.

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing?

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow.

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them.

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind.

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked.

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.”

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.”

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?”

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?”

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise.

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib.

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her.

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.”

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world.

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves.

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on.

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick.

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.”

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings.

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation.

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind.

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail.

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold.

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them.

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed.

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen.

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose.

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.”

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor.

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home.

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body.

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail.

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors.

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had.

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness.

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep.

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it.

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could.

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little.

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors.

Next chapter ->

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar #have I ever gone clubbing like this?#no #but can I imagine it?#Yes!

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aidensolas · 4 months ago

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A TRULY VEHEMENT FOLLOWING

Obsessed! (?) Two Time x Reader

Hey guys sorry for being off the radar for a while it's because I finally got my milestone IV Two Time yippie! Anyways even though this story isn't that dark it deserves a warning or two so only read if you're okay with it!

The moon was hung low in the sky, its silver light filtering through the gnarled branches of the dead trees that surrounded the clearing. A cold wind blew through the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic.

On the ground, a pattern of symbols was drawn in red chalk, bleeding into the soil like veins forming a sun with sharp blades. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by distant rustling of leaves and the soft chanting of the cultists in a circle around the ritual. They were all in black, their faces hidden, and murmuring in hushed tones, their hands raised to the sky as if calling something.

In the center of the circle, a stone altar stood, cold and ancient, with flickering candles that cast long shadows. The cult leader, in deep purple robes, raised a ceremonial dagger above the altar, his voice growing louder with each word.

"The spawn answer our call! You have promised an incarnate of your divine being! A living person to free us from our suffering! We call you as a testament to the answer to our deeds, an answer to your eternal divinity."

A crackling sound split the air. Lightning struck. The heavens themselves seemed to tear open. A shimmer appeared in the center of the symbol. There was no time to react. The center of the symbol had a person now. A person in robes, a giant witch hat, and skeletal wings and a tail. The person on the center flailed as they hit the ground. You blinked in shock. A little dazed as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

One moment you were playing DnD with your friends having fun and thinking it was the best day ever and the next you’re in the middle of a ritual greeted by people you don't know or would like to know in the matter of fact. It was all a blur on the events that transpired next, you were entitled with being the so-called incarnation of a higher being as so to say having the signature signs of the one most normally believed to be affiliated with their 'higher being' or at least blessed by them. Wings embraced by a skeletal cover? Well check. A tail that's also skeletal and arches into a circle? Check. You argue that it's all a coincidence and none of it is true to which the one who conducted the ritual calmly stated for you to prove it. Flabbergasted and surprised that the cult is actually hearing you out, you tried to pull off the wings and the tail the main signs of what ensnares you but all you were met with is a forceful pain as you try to do so. Now the cult believes you to be their promised one you were quickly endowed with robes and garments fit for royalty and now you were just... Here.

As you stayed within the cult as they prohibited you from leaving their watchful eyes, you were frankly bored and to pass the time the cult decided to give you one of their own as a subordinate his name was Two Time though they were a bit awkward in your first meeting stumbling and bumbling over their own words as they called you his 'Divine' one.. They truly meant well as they would always accommodate on what you asked for, would always be on your beck and call, they're also quite a looker despite their pale complexion and clumsy personality. As time went on they became more open and more comfortable with talking to you yet they still call you by a title and wouldn't budge no matter what you say. Well life here can't be that bad right?

Two Time is a person with a strong sense of faith no matter whether it be their belief or not they will stand by what they think is the truth or what they deem it to be. So, imagine their surprise when you came along a person which the cult admitted being the incarnation of the 'Spawn' sure they were ecstatic, but they can't help but feel doubtful of your identity. The spawn responding after the graceful silence they've been in for the past decade. Even a person with unwavering faith in the cult is a bit skeptical to say the least though they wouldn't question you themselves as if the following deemed it so they would oblige. It would come as another surprise that the leader of the following would assign himself as the subordinate of the so-called incarnation of the spawn though they wanted to reject the initial offer their faith and their belief in the following made them agree in Favour of it as if it was asked of them, they would do so.

So they met you in person, a little in awe in how great you personally looked, a person who's tacked and well-dressed being adorned the finest of robes and a set of functioning skeletal tails and wings. They were oddly enamored by those features of yours they wondered how it would feel against their hands as gently caressed would it hurt? Two Time heard the process of getting those wings and tail is the process of constant pain and suffering but it's a blessing to be given another chance at life and yet you seem relatively fine in the fact almost unbothered by the presence of it.

Is it because you're truly the incarnation? They have no clue. Breaking their thoughts as they see you looking at them in anticipation, they clumsily introduce themselves as well as stating the purpose of being your personal subordinate. The more Two Time stares at you as you shake the hand that's been outreached to you the more weirded out, they are regarding your position. Your touch is a little warm and out of place as it braces their hands... It felt weird to feel this way but, it isn't unwelcome it just feels off as if they don't deserve this something... Out of his league to say so. Two Time jitters back to reality as they hastily retract their hand and once more to mutter his name albeit more silent. No more words were said that day they just stood still in your quarters and would do the actions they were asked to do so by you.

Their opinion would come to change as day by day they got to spend time with you personally as your subordinate. Two Time would be often tasked to be by your side when conducting with the daily hearings and prayers conducted by the following. You were to be kept hidden and concealed as the hearings happened as to respect your reverence thought they became more lighthearted and accepted your position as the incarnation, a little nagging voice in their mind tells them to be skeptical of the slightest chance you aren't. The hearings happened as normal, the followers would tell you upon their days, sins, blessings, wishes, hopes and you would be the person to listen and perhaps grant them the blessing of forgiveness or the blessing of granting those requests.

Two time stood still by the area you were concealed and hidden only your voice being heard as one of the followers of the cult rambled on about his day and how he always wanted to own a simple bakery on the block spreading cheer and joy to those who eats inside his bakery, he described what the bakery should look like and the aesthetic he was going for he prayed that you would grant his wish even though he was just a new member. You thought his dreams were endearing and was honestly looking for an out to be kicked out of the cult, if you told this man, you would grant his wish, and it didn't happen wouldn't they realize you're fake? So, you decided to offer your words of confirmation to him. "When the dawn's light breaks the night, a secret shall take flight; what heart's desire in slumber's keep, will bloom anew with morning's leap." The follower seemed to have understood what you meant and jumped up in joy thanking you for hearing him out and left promptly after. "Why'd you grant his request and not the others?" Two Time asked as they noticed out of all the requests that you could have given affirmation to you chose the single last one which was definitely the hardest to grant. You decided to think about it and honestly out of all the requests you took, that single follower was probably the one you liked the best. As other people asked for things like forgiveness or advice, and you were honestly bored of that and since you needed a way to disprove yourself why not? You left the area to where you would be concealed as you patted Two Time's back "You don't trust me?" Two Time looked at you for a bit and shook their head "It's not that I don't it's just... I'm sorry my Divinity.. I shouldn't question your intentions." You chucked a bit at their dull reaction "Don't worry Two Time you'll always be my favourite subordinate or uh... Servant for that matter." You said as a joke, but little did you see as Two Time hid their head to look at the other side, they were blushing although just a little bit.

The next day to your surprise somehow the follower you granted the request to get his wish granted. Even though you were surprised as he barged in and thanked you, ruining another person's hearing in the moment, the word in the following quickly got out that a wish of a follower has been granted. Two Time being the most surprised as they felt guilty and scared of confronting you as a follower of their degree should have never doubted you in the first place. As you wrapped up your final hearings for the day and was about to step out Two Time told you there was one more hearing you needed to attend to, and it was theirs. They asked for forgiveness as they kneeled to you head down, you gently cup their cheeks as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not all that it matters is that you stay true to yourself besides you're my favored one no matter what you do I'll see it in a good light." You say not giving it much thought as you're not accustomed to Two Time taking everything so seriously and this time it won't end up good for the both of you. Two Time raised their head blushing, looking at you like they spent their whole life waiting to see you, they rubbed their face onto your hand's eyes closed as they gently held your hands with their own. "I'll serve you earnestly. I promise my great one." You sighed as you thought in your head 'You won't be saying that for long anyway.'

Each and every time you would try to disprove yourself and escape it would somehow be disproved and it would end up making you look more like a deity than a fraud. A person asked for a blessing? They got it immediately. Materialistic desires? Somehow got granted. The more you think about it the more you realized the people in the cult wasn't all that bad sure they may look scary but they have their own lives though the practices to get a second life is indeed not what you thought it'd be you were disensitized as you never really felt part of their own world though Two Time in the other hard grew more faithful day by day. As a person whose faith reigned more than their own morality Two Time knows they shouldn't feel this way about you, they've always wondered what it feels like to embrace you as theirs as they would often look at you for an alarming amount of time before shaking their head and looking away, but can you blame them? You've always seemed to give them special treatment though you were monotone and serious when it came to other followers, you were smiling and showing your emotions only to them, they feel special as to be the person who receives your attention and trust. They know they shouldn't feel this way but it gets hard to do so each fleeting moment they spend together and the more Two Time thinks about you the more twisted his obsession becomes as in their mind the only fitting subordinate to ever grave your presence was them.

It started off innocent and cute really... Two Time would become less frigid and cold as you both talked, they would be more worried and concerned for your safety always nagging on how you should take care of yourself they would often to try and initiate small levels of kinship like holding your hands or being close to you a little clingy infact as he would even stand outside your quarters as you slept. This wouldn't last long as the more you spend time with them the more twisted his mind becomes opting to more unconventional means to prove his worth and undying faith to you. He would often enter your quarters after they know you would be sound asleep looking at your sleeping face makes them feel special as they're the only person who's seen you this vulnerable and liable to danger he would often rub their face against yours as they held your hand often thinking how it would feel if you were to embrace them wholly to become one with them, (not that kind.) their heart would beat faster as they caress your wings adorned by a skeletal structure as it felt cool and smooth to their touch, they've always wanted to this. This was their only moment to savor no one else's as only they can see this part of you, as your faithful subordinate no... your only faithful subordinate will be the first and last person to be able to do these things with you. No one else. As time passes on Two Time became more manipulative and vocal about what they didn't like, optioning to tell you on what people thought about you as they realized that even if you are the incarnation you heavily relied on other people's opinion on you, you began to isolate yourself from the following even though you wanted to leave you still taught they were nice people do you didn't want to bother them anymore, to which Two Time became ecstatic as you spent more time with them. If given the chance they would always rest his head on your lap as they embrace your legs muttering how faithful they are to you and that you've changed their life for the better. You would always comb your hands through their hair which would make them feel more special as you chose to embrace them and only them as you could have always pushed them away and rejected them, but you didn't. You always accept everything from them with open arms so ofcourse how aren't they going to feel special? They threw out modestly a long time ago when they stopped thinking of you as a person out of their league and instead thinking you're the only person worth their love.

Your dedicated servant would always be Two Time. No matter what you do or what you say, he is your only devoted servant since without them, no one else in the world would support you as much as they do. They might not be able to hurt anyone for you yet, but only time will tell before a severed head in your bedroom caused by your name will be found. A sacrifice and a statement that only a person as devoted as them will be the only thing you will need.

Notes:

I finished it. Me sleepy. I won't tag anyone because I don't know if they'd like something like this... Thanks to @brain4stew for saying we need more stuff like this it's so true it's simply a need to have more obsessive and yandere type stuff!

Yippie bald two time.

#forsaken x reader #roblox x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #two time x reader

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tendersugars · 3 months ago

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rating: NOT CUTE! while this is one of many dark lord behaviors considered as such, saying things like "i will protect you" and "who hurt you?" are actually signs of great distress for a dark lord. happier and healthier dark lords will typically be more lively and exclaim "MWAHAHA!" or "I'VE GOT YOU NOW!" while shooting lightning out of their hands or dangling you over a pit of lava and/or acid. they also tend to favor a more monstrous or skeletal appearance, not that of a 20-year-old human.

#op.#ok to rb

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buttercandy16 · 6 months ago

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Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I��ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #dark fanfiction #agathario #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #dark!agatha harkness #rio vidal #aubrey plaza #agatha x reader #agatha coven of chaos #agatha spoilers

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hwang-inhos-fish · 14 days ago

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Doubly Obsessive In-ho X "Resurrected"!Gi-hun AU Idea

Gi-hun falls.

In-ho feels the last of his humanity shatter in the moment he hits the ground.

But then Jun-ho arrives. Too late. Too late to save In-ho's heart, his soul. Too late.

But Jun-ho is determined. He's furious. He's relentless, and in this, In-ho's moment of absolute weakness, absolute desolation, Jun-ho is the stronger of the two.

He physically drags In-ho to the escape boat. Through the facility. Dodging soldiers. Outrunning the spreading fire. In-ho holds the daughter close to his chest. His last piece of Gi-hun.

And then there's trouble. The Hwang Bros find themselves (for whatever plot reasons) dangling literally on the end of a rope, a rope that's breaking, and In-ho mourns that Jun-ho will die with him, for him, he mourns the innocent child, but he does not mourn his own death -

And just before it snaps, someone catches the rope up top. It slips, sways, and remains taut. Firm.

When In-ho drags himself up, for the child, for Gi-hun's daughter, he finds a hunched, half-skeletal figure at the top. Dressed in black and white and red. Bloody all over. Both shoes braced against the lip of the ledge and the rope wound so tightly around both arms, both hands, that his fingers are purple-black.

A player. A finalist. Or someone in their clothes.

And then that figure raises his head, and In-ho feels his heart restart in his chest like the sky itself blasted a lightning bolt straight to his chest as a defibrillator.

Because the eyes that fix on his from between shaking, braced legs, wet with pained tears and alive with feeling, with emotion, with anguish, the all-consuming pain of existing after a fall like that, the agony of holding two grown men's weight with a broken leg and broken shoulder and ribs (plus probably a cracked skull) -

It's Seong Fucking Gi-hun.

He's alive.

He's alive and he followed his baby. Followed In-ho.

And In-ho, already at the crumbling edge of rationality and sanity, immediately and irrevocably goes a little crazy.

Sweeping choral music rings in his head. Gi-hun is ringed by light. A vision of exquisite agony worthy of the old artists, the masters. A paragon of goodness, kindness, light - resurrected from the dead. His heart. His fixation. The father of The Daughter.

At least, that's how it seems to In-ho's brain - now and forever more.

And if In-ho was obsessed before?

Oh...

It's not obsession anymore.

It's fucking religion.

From that moment on, In-ho worships Seong Gi-hun - literally, passionately, without hesitation or scruple.

If Gi-hun tells In-ho to go get coffee, he goes and gets coffee. If Gi-hun tells In-ho to fuck him, he does. If Gi-hun were to tell In-ho to jump off the top of the Pink Motel, he'd do that too. Without one single moment of hesitation.

Gi-hun, In-ho, and Jun-ho hunker down in the Pink Motel, hiding from the various people coming after them, all chipping in to raise The Daughter.

And Jun-ho worries about In-ho's rapt, devoted obsession with Gi-hun, his intensity, but Gi-hun isn't exactly whole now, either - and honestly, they're a good match for each other.

Gi-hun is changed. Broken. His body is shattered. It takes a long, long time to recover.

In-ho is an exceptionally attentive personal nurse.

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sound-bombing · 21 days ago

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Gillian Carter - Dreams of Suffocation (Skeletal Lightning, 2016) Genre: Screamo, Post-Hardcore, Post-Rock Artwork: Brandon Geurts Bandcamp

#Gillian Carter #dreams of suffocation #skeletal lightning #2016 #brandon geurts #screamo #post hardcore #post rock #bw

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quarterlifekitty · 5 days ago

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Been playing a lot of fallout new vegas recently and have been thinking about where 141 fit into the fallout universe… don’t entirely see them as brotherhood of steel but maybe? Could go the dark route of caesers legion (I’m guilty of reading too many vulpes inculta fics) but idk, feel like they’re too upstanding for that or like Joshua Graham who changed for the better. Maybe they’d be running their own faction 👀 idk I remembered you had a fallout blog and the idea came to me lmao

I love this question!

So, here's where I think they are in current fallout and where they came from. Be warned-- I am not the foremost lore authority, so there may be some inaccuracies here.

Currently? They're a squadron that has broken off and defected from the Brotherhood of Steel. They were a high-risk retrieval unit, with Ghost in particular being sent to some very dangerous territory. As such, he's been exposed to a lot of radiation, and has just begun ghoulification. As soon as Price noticed this, he knew their only option was to pull out of the Brotherhood. This has been a long time coming, as in his view, changes in leadership as of late have had him disagreeing more and more with their current practices. In addition, I think there's always been a sort of chemistry between him and his boys, as well as Nik-- but they've kept quiet about it due to Brotherhood rules.

They now roam the wastes as mercenaries and get most of their work from caravan guarding and being hired out to search abandoned vaults. Leaving the Brotherhood isn't typically an option, so they're often hunted and forced to put down their former brothers.

Price grew up within the Brotherhood, and for most of his life, considered their cause to be the only noble truth in the wasteland. Capture the technology from the old world, keep it from falling into the wrong hands, and create order. He would never have left for his own sake, too entrenched. He was a paladin when they left the Brotherhood.

Gaz was born in a vault. He stands out for it-- near-perfect skin, almost radiant health. I think if I had to pick a source vault for him, it would be vault 21-- so he does have resentment towards House, as he had to leave his home once it was converted. He was young at the time, but his family had been in favor of isolation, and were unable to make the adjustment to living above ground, succumbing over some years to airborne pathogens and radiation sickness, further worsened by the emotional toll of being forced from their home of generations and having to adapt to the skeletal societal structure of the Mojave. He was recruited by the Brotherhood eagerly for his outstanding physical health, and he needed direction and order in his life. He does have a fixation with cards, dice, and games of chance due to his upbringing, and has the dexterity to rig almost any game in his favor, as well as excellent aim and precision-- lightning fast on any trigger. He was a knight when they left the Brotherhood. Had he not joined the Brotherhood, he likely would have eventually become one of the Followers of the Apocalypse.

Soap is a very very cliche wasteland tale. Born to a farming family constantly extorted by raiders, and was tired of taking everything lying down. Joined the Brotherhood for the glory, to protect the wasteland, for the certainty and security-- all the typical, naive ideals of a young recruit. He's still a demolitions expert (I was very tempted to make him a member of the Boomers, but I think he would never have left if he was born into that). He's missing a finger, which everyone assumes is from an explosive accident, but it's actually from when he was taken hostage as a child. Honestly, one little twist in his life and he might've become a raider. He was a knight when they left the Brotherhood, but occasionally took on duties as an engineering scribe somewhat unofficially.

Leaving the Brotherhood is hardest for Nikolai. I'm not too set on a backstory for him, but I imagine him as a former Khan who saw that their ways were dying, and chased his own fortune once he was old enough. He mainly scavenged-- had a natural gift with technology and mechanics, made most of his money cracking safes and hacking terminals, with odd repairs here and there to things like radios, pip boys, and stolen power armor. He was discovered by Price back when he was a squire, having unknowingly traded for some broken, old world technology and tinkering until he had fixed it. Initially his rank was confined to being an engineering scribe, but some dire straights during a field mission led to his aptitude in piloting being discovered when their lancer was gravely injured and they needed a quick escape. He was trained as a lancer upon their return, and while he still makes repairs to a lot of interesting pieces and personally maintains the 141's power armor and weapons, he primarily became a lancer and rose quickly. No longer having access to the vertibirds or any of that fascinating, old world technology, knowing he may never fly again-- the adjustment is hardest on him, though most outside observers could never tell. But he had to choose between his love for John and his love for the skies-- and he would make the same choice every time. Had he not joined the Brotherhood, I think he might've eventually found his way to the Big MT.

Ghost was born to a slave woman in the Legion and fathered by a cruel, Legion soldier. He wore a bomb collar for most of his life, and was an outcast even among slaves due to his parentage. Though his mother and siblings had died due to hardship, he eventually escaped by killing his own father, roaming the wastes scavenging for food and looking for a way to remove his collar. He was discovered by the Brotherhood, and Price was brought under a lot of scrutiny when he insisted Simon be brought back with them, when most of his team at the time thought it was too risky, and were ready to put him down in a mercy kill. He faced heavy discipline for the decision. Nik was the only scribe brave enough to try to disarm the collar. Damage to the device made success rather unlikely, but he was able to do it. Simon was immediately placed under Price's responsibility and quickly proved useful, efficient, and never complained. He has a particular loyalty to Price and Nik. He was a Knight before they left, with a promotion to paladin imminent. Had he not joined the Brotherhood (and been able to remove the collar), I think he would've joined the NCR for revenge on the Legion or become hired muscle for one of the New Vegas families.

Would love to have a reader insert into this insanely detailed fantasy, but I'm not quite sure where to place them just yet. Maybe as a caravan merchant or a followers doctor, a vault dweller, maybe a New Vegas princess? Dunno!

Anyways I hope at least one of you appreciated this crazy rant lol

#cod fanfic #writing #cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #nikolai #nikolai cod #fallout #fallout au

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motherofpirates · 19 days ago

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And so, the quartet of intrepid adventurers, carried on their mission through the silent skeletal woods, the only sound was of their feet rustling through desiccated leaves that littered the forest floor. The oppressive silence was only broken by the thunder that followed the ominous pink lightning. Eddie narrated to himself as they made their way through the Upside Down. He was totally going to use this experience when writing his next campaign. It was going to be gnarly.

Eddie hummed the last few lines of Under Pressure to himself; it was still going round and round in his head. He was only dimly aware that Steve was next to him as he made sure his clumsy ass didn’t step on the ever-creeping vines, he was sure he could hear their constant wet slithering all the time on the edge of his hearing. He shuddered. Up a head Nancy and Robin were chatting, he kept getting snatches of their conversation. He kept pace with Steve who had slowed, possibly due to the pain in his sides from his wounds.

"Is that Queen you're humming, Munson? Seems a bit tame for you." Steve’s voice broke through Eddie’s revery.

"Nothing wrong with a bit of Bowie or Mercury. This seems apt, Under Pressure and all that." He chuckled.

"Not at all, just didn't expect it to be your bag."

“Freddie Mercury is everyone’s bag, man,” Eddie snorted, wondering if Steve would get his reference about Mercury’s sexuality, “I appreciate good music when I hear it."

“'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word.” Steve began to sing the outro Eddie had hummed a moment ago. He joined in with Steve’s quiet singing, he wasn’t bad, he’d give him that.

“And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night

And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves

This is our last dance

This is ourselves

Under pressure.”

Eddie’s heart swelled in his chest as warmth flowed through him from the moment he and Steve were sharing. If it weren’t for the backdrop of haunted eldritch forest, it would have been quite heartwarming for anyone looking on. Eddie couldn’t keep the small smile from his face as Steve closed in on Eddie’s personal space their shoulders occasionally glancing off each other as they moved ever forward. Steve was so easy to be with, like the two nights they had spent talking to each other over the walkie. Even if the conversation wasn’t flowing all the time the silence was companionable, safe, almost cosy. Something that Eddie rarely experienced, he had always wanted to fill every silence he had come across. A trait he and Buckley seemed to share. Steve made him feel at ease; in a way he had only ever experienced with Wayne.

Steve smiled at him when they finished singing, it was a shy fragile thing, this smile, small and genuine. It did nothing to help the storm of sparkly butterflies that were buffeting the inside of his stomach. Steve reached out and gently tugged on Eddie’s elbow before letting go, the feel of where his fingers had been remained long after he released Eddie’s elbow.

“I just wanted to say thank you for saving my ass back there, Eddie.” Steve said quietly as he looked at the forest floor.

“Shit, you saved your own ass back there, Ozzy.”

“Ozzy?” Harrington surely wasn’t telling him he didn’t know who the Prince of Darkness was, damn him and his pedestrian music taste.

A laugh escaped him as he explained incredulously. “Yeah, dude, Ozzy Osborn? Frontman of Black Sabbath? Bit a bat’s head off?”

“Nope, never heard of him.” Steve shook his head in a clueless fashion. It was quite endearing really.

“All I’m trying to say is, what you did back there was very metal.” He threw devil horns in the air for emphasis.

“Oh ok, and that’s the highest of compliments you could pay me?”

“Sure, man, comparing you to the Prince of Darkness himself, that’s metal as fuck.” Jesus this dude was such a square.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Henderson told me you were a badass. Insisted on the matter in fact.” Eddie laughed at the memory; they were in the middle of a campaign and the Party were trying to figure out their next move when Henderson piped up with “what would Steve do?” Eddie had asked “Steve who?”. Henderson had gone on to explain, nay insist, that it was actually Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington who he was referring to as he was a complete badass. Sinclair had nodded his agreement, whilst Baby Wheeler had rolled his eyes. Eddie had simply refused to believe him at the time. As if the Steve Harrington was friends with these freshmen twerps and he picked them up from hellfire meets. Sinclair had swore that Henderson had an elaborate nerdy handshake that he did with him. Sounded completely made up if you asked him. The night Eddie had found out about the new sheepies friendship with Harrington he, Jeff, Gareth and Daryl had followed them out into the parking lot and witnessed for themselves the dork-tastic handshake Harrington willingly indulged Henderson in. His friends and he had spent the next half an hour attempting to scrape their jaws off the floor. That was what ignited Eddie's interest in the conundrum that was Steve Harrington into something more than a vague crush.

Now though, was a whole other matter. This dude was a metal as fuck monster fighter, who looked out for and protected his friends and a bunch of smart mouthed kids. He was compassionate, kind and interesting.

“Henderson said that?” Steve looked at him in disbelief. Eddie wondered who had robbed this lovely man of all his self-belief, Robin was doing a piss poor job being his best friend if Harrington didn’t think he was a good guy.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Kid worships you dude. Like you have no idea, it’s kinda annoying, if I’m honest. I don’t even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks, but, uh, I think I got a little jealous, Stevie.” He gave a fleeting glance at Steve to see if he was listening, Steve was mirroring Eddie’s shy look, his gaze brushed over Eddie’s lips. Heat rushed to Eddie’s cheeks; he was weirdly thankful to the Upside Down for the perpetual gloaming that disguised his blushes. “I guess I couldn’t accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually a good dude. Rich parents, popular, chicks love him. Not a douche? No way, man, no way. That, like, flies against all the laws in the universe and my own personal Munson doctrine.” Steve was looking quietly at the ground with a puzzled look on his face.

Eddie leant further into Steve’s personal space with a grin to whisper, as he tried to catch his eye, “Still jealous as hell by the way.” Steve used his elbow to nudge Eddie out of his face. Hurtful. Maybe he wasn’t particularly tactile. Unlike Eddie, Eddie always liked to be touching the people he liked and was close to. He knew some people were the opposite of him and found it overwhelming. Maybe Steve was just one of them. Other than the playful slaps and elbows Steve and Robin exchanged, they didn’t seem particularly tactile, and she was his best friend, the person he was closest to. Maybe he reserved close to touch for the people he was seeing. That made Eddie’s heart sink. Trust him to get a crush on a straight guy when the world was ending.

“There were two reasons I came in here.” Eddie carried on, “one was because those two ladies had no hesitation about following your ass as it got dragged down to the bottom of a lake. They love you, dude, I don’t know if it’s platonic or what for Wheeler, but she didn’t even hesitate for a second and neither did Buckley. And two, I followed them down here because you, Steve Harrington, are a good guy who deserved the help of his friends. You inspire bravery in others. Usually, when I see danger I’m outta there, ingrained from years of bullying.” They had stopped walking now with the intensity of their conversation. Steve was looking longingly over at Wheeler, but when he turned his gaze to Eddie he was once again solely focused on his mouth as he spoke before flicking his eyes up to Eddie’s to gaze at him coyly through his eyelashes. Talk about mixed signals. “But getting to know you over the past few days, sweetheart, has made me want to change that. I want to turn and face the things that scare me. Protect the people that have fought to help me and earn the admiration of that egotistical little shrimp, Henderson.” Steve continued to hold his gaze, the moment began to crackle with a potential that made Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. It was unlucky for them that at that moment they were interrupted by another tremor that knocked the pair off their feet and into a tangled mess on the ground. Luckily for Steve he had landed on Eddie which had broken his fall. Unfortunately for Eddie he received Steve’s elbow to the ribs which made him cough and splutter as it winded him. Eddie recovered and got up first, but it seemed like Steve was really struggling with the pain from the bat bites and appeared to find it difficult to stand.

Eddie held a hand out for him to take but he knocked it away, "You guys go on without me, I'll wait here until I get some energy back and then either meet you at Nancy's or wait here for you."

"Stevie, that's a terrible idea. This place doesn't let you build up energy after a rest, even I can feel that, and I haven't been injured. It seems to leech the energy out of you. You're coming even if I have to carry you bridal style." Steve gave him an incredulous look. Eddie realised that Steve thought of himself as expendable, he thought he wasn’t worth waiting for. It made him want to cry. Wayne had spent years making sure that Eddie felt valued and worthy of love and he wasn’t half the man Steve was. Here he was trying to sacrifice himself so that they could get home. “Stevie,” he whispered, kneeling down so that he could look Steve in the eye, “you are not a burden, nor are you expendable, you are an integral part of this party. The heart of it. They can’t function without you. Now I’m either helping you up or I’m gonna carry you, which would you rather?”

“Fine, Munson, fine.” Steve bit out slinging an arm over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Easy does it, princess.” He grunted helping take Steve’s weight as he stood.

“You didn’t need to do that, Eddie.” Steve complained softly.

“Yeah, I did. Couldn’t leave you behind. I’m rather fond of having all my limbs and Robin would have dismembered me if I left you here.”

“Ah, I see, you’re only helping me because you’re afraid of Robin.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

“You keep telling yourself that, Stevie. It couldn’t be because I genuinely like you, and want to help you out, you ridiculous ex-jock.” He huffed, even though being this close to Steve made his heart race. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Robin.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you liked the snippet it from a WIP of mine called Leave a Light on For Me on AO3. You can use the link above to find it

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66010321/chapters/170085310

#eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie fanfic #ao3 fanfic #steve harrington #ao3 writer #stranger things fanfiction #leave a light on

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leapingbadger · 9 months ago

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Tattoo

Read on AO3

***

“Does it hurt” Omega asked, hovering over her brother.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Hunter replied, eyes closed. The buzzing made his brain feel like it was vibrating but there was no pain to speak of. He’d had much worse in battle.

“Like you’d say if it did,” Crosshair said witheringly. “You didn’t even complain when you got that shrapnel in the neck, remember?” He was bent over Hunter’s chest, scraping at the skin with the tattoo gun and aggressively wiping away the blood and excess ink.

Omega gasped, “you got shrapnel in your neck?” she asked Hunter, alarmed.

“Omega doesn’t know that story?” Crosshair said, a toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly.

“We didn’t tell her all of them yet. We were kind of preoccupied,”

“But yeah,” he said, turning to Omega. “I had to leave it in until we could get back to base.” He said, moving his hair with his left hand so she could see the slit-like scar on the back of his neck. Omega shook her head at him, sat back down, cross legged on the floor, elbows on her knees, chin in her hand.

“I remember that. Made me feel sick,” Wrecker said. He was next to Omega, scratching Batcher behind the ear. Her collar jingled and her tongue dangled out of the side of her mouth.

Hunter chuckled. The sun was streaming through the window of the small common room.

“What about Skako Minor?” Crosshair asked.

“Are you kidding,” Wrecker said, “that was her bedtime story for a while. Tech and Echo loved telling her that one,” Omega nodded in agreement.

Hunter was stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head. It had been a while since he’d gotten a new tattoo.

He had paid a professional to get his face tattoo and the skeletal outline on the left side of his body, but the others had been done by his brothers. The skull with a 99 in aurebesh on his right bicep was done by Crosshair on a particularly stormy day on Kamino when the ocean looked like it might come through the window of their room.

Tech had inked the Mando’a for brother, ‘Vod’, while scrolling his datapad. Hunter had watched nervously as he waived the gun around wildly while info dumping to the rest of them.

Wrecker hated needles and had a hard enough time being in the room while the tattoo was being done but he had inked a small aurebesh number four just so Hunter could complete the set.

The most recent one he got, before now, was a small Omega symbol on his wrist. He’d gotten it in a dingy underground parlor during a particularly tricky mission while looking for intel on the Pikes. He told Wrecker it was the only way to get the information they needed but he also needed a reminder of what he was fighting for. It was by far his favorite, although he’d never told anyone else that.

The new one, the one Crosshair was painstakingly scratching into his skin on the right side of his chest, was a familiar skull with lightning bolt behind it. Tech had designed it in their cadet days. He drew it everywhere; it was repeated on the back wall of his bunk on Kamino. He had scratched it into the side of his data pad and carefully painted it onto his customized helmet for their first mission.

Hunter was sure Tech would call him sentimental, or at least think it. But it was a way for him to keep his fallen brother close. It would be a reminder every time he got dressed in the morning. A reminder of what this life on Pabu had cost.

“Did you tell her about windsurfing on the Keeradaks on Skako?” Crosshair asked Hunter, throwing an amused look at Omega.

Hunter laughed, “I’d forgotten about that,” he said.

“Tech didn’t, he was cursing the entire trip to retrieve you,”

“Really?” Hunter said, surprised.

Wrecker laughed, “yeah, said you’d dropped your only braincell during that trip.

They all laughed, that kind of laughter that filled a room. It was boisterous, childish laughter, the kind that only siblings could share. Except, there was one missing. The realization seemed to hit them all at once and the joy was sucked out of the air.

Crosshair finished up the last section of the lightning bolt. He pulled back, cocking his head to the side to take in his work. Hunter looked down. The lines weren’t as straight as they could have been. Crosshair was still getting used to his prosthetic hand, but his painting had come such a long way that Hunter thought his brother was ready to get back to his first love. He had loved tattooing so much he’d even help the Regs out on occasion when they were on Kamino. It had taken some convincing but after a few weeks of Hunter’s unwavering confidence in his abilities, it finally seemed to take hold.

As he checked his new ink out in the mirror, Hunter noticed a slight tremor in Crosshair’s prosthetic hand. He narrowed his eyes in concern but said nothing.

“Omega said you went to Kashyyyk,” he said quietly.

Hunter traded looks with Wrecker who was now bench pressing Gonky in the corner. Omega looked at Hunter in concern.

“Ah, yeah. We did. Found a young Wookie. A jedi, actually…we…ah…took him home.”

“I always liked Kashyyyk,” Crosshair said, looking at anywhere but directly at Hunter. “It was our first mission.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said, sitting on the couch closer to his brother and resting his hand on his shoulder. “We’ll go back again, someday.” He added reassuringly. He had expected Crosshair to shrug off his hand like he often did. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, at least, he didn’t used to be. But they sat there for a few moments in silence.

“I missed a lot.” Crosshair said, his voice low and gravely.

Hunter, Wrecker and Omega traded glances again. The warmth and joy that had been on his face earlier had disappeared, replaced with a grimace. The ever-present toothpick in his mouth left an indent in his lip as he pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“But you’re here now,” Omega said reassuringly getting up and giving him a hug.

Crosshair raised his eyes and gave her a halfhearted smile.

“Are you ready for yours?” Hunter asked Crosshair, trying to change the subject.

“That depends, have you gotten any better since the last one?”

Hunter laughed, “probably not. But unless you want Wrecker to have a go, I’m your best bet.”

“I’ll do it,” Omega said hopefully.

“No,” Hunter and Crosshair replied in unison. Omega sighed and rolled her eyes.

Crosshair sighed dramatically and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, “fine.” He sat down on the floor, right forearm stretched out over the coffee table.

Hunter was taken aback. Crosshair wanted the tattoo near the stump where his right hand should be. He gave a questioning look to Wrecker who just shrugged.

“Are you sure that’s where you want it?” He asked in a would-be casual tone.

Crosshairs eyes narrowed, “Yes. I have to look at it every day anyway. Might as well put something there I wanna see.”

The answer satisfied Hunter. He shrugged and set about cleaning and setting up the new equipment. It had been a long time since he had done this.

They spent the afternoon huddled in the common room, regaling Omega with stories of old missions, laughing, teasing each other and sometimes sitting in silence except for the buzzing of the tattoo gun. The vibration in his hand tickled his senses and Hunter had to pause often to flex his fingers. Hunter was satisfied with how the skull and lightning bold looked, given his lack of experience, but Crosshair’s was definitely better.

The sun was starting to set outside. The amber glow of Pabu’s evening light display would spring to life any minute.

“What about it, Wrecker?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, ah…yeah, okay,”

“Really?” Hunter asked, surprised, “you really don’t have to.”

Wrecker had been scared of needles since he was a cadet. No real surprise given the amount of testing he and his brothers had to endure.

“No, I want to. I mean, I don’t, but Tech would do the same for me,”

He and Crosshair shared a look but set about making it happen. Wrecker sat on the couch as Crosshair worked on a small version of Tech’s design on his bicep. Hunter and Omega tried to keep Wrecker distracted. He would occasionally wince, but Omega would hold his hand or offer him a snack and his face would soften.

By the time Wrecker’s was done it was completely dark outside. They set about cleaning up, getting things tidied up and dinner on the go. Wrecker took lead on the latter.

“Hunter?” Omega asked quietly, “can I get that tattoo?”

Hunter had been afraid of this. Omega wanted nothing but to copy her brothers, it was no surprise she wanted a tattoo like them as well.

“Ah, you know kid…” he looked at her big brown eyes, hair flopping over her forehead and cascading down her back. “I think you’re a little young…”

“I’m older than all of you,” she said, hand on her hips, a confident grin on her lips.

Hunter looked over at Crosshair for support. He just shrugged. Hunter knew how much Tech meant to her and how affected she was by his death. He paused for a moment and ran his hands through his hair.

“You know what kid, you’re right. Sure. What were you thinking?”

Omega jumped up and down with glee and Hunter’s heart felt like it was going to burst. He really would do anything for this girl.

The sun had completely set by the time it was done. The skin on her wrist was red except for the heavy black ink. A skull with a lightning bolt behind it. Just like her brothers.

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb hunter #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #sw tbb #tbb tech #clone force 99 #tbb fanfiction #tbb fanfic #bad batch hunter #hunter tbb #the bad batch hunter #hunter bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction

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flowerbetweenfangs · 1 year ago

Text

Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic.

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her.

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle."

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low.

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth.

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body.

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air.

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

(You can read part 02 here!)

#monster love #monster lover #monster x human #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monsterfucker #terato #demon #demon x human #demon fucker #demon smut #monster smut #demon lover #boss x employee

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ultrakill-confessions · 4 months ago

Note

I have NO clue why I’m doing this, but.

Here is my ranking of Hell’s layers from hottest to least hot.

1. Gluttony:

I described this in another ask, but this layer is carnality distilled into a physical form of throbbing flesh and warm, sweet blood. This is, in my opinion, easily the sexiest layer. I’m not super into the acid, but I’m willing to overlook it if I get to know every tendon and sinew of Hell’s meat, to see the walls pulse and contract as the skeletal hands twitch and the eyes of the room roll back.

2. Violence:

The sleek walls of marble, sculpted elegantly to fit together, forming aesthetic perfection. The contrast between the radiant white and the bubbling blood. The trees, pleading, begging for just a little more. Feed us. Please, please, feed us. We’re so hungry, we’re so desperate. We need you. We need you. Everything about this layer is bloodlust and desperation. The need to escape the labyrinth, the need to free the Tree of Life’s aortal sap, the need to feed on blood and blossom, the need to escape life so desperately that it ends in arboreal agonies, the need to fight, to destroy, to win this war, even if you don’t have a reason besides this need, this gnawing need.

3. Heresy:

Blood oozes from every crevice of these blasphemous corridors, screams echo from the scorching prisons that lie against the walls and floors, every inch of crimson brick, every falling drop of blood, every flickering candle and red-eyed skull is sensual beyond measure. The insolent stench of death and destruction stains these halls, and it couldn’t be any more arousing. Every piece works together in perfect hatred, of peace, of life, of joy, to stomp out and snuff out what little moments of painless pleasure may be found in the brick-lain bowels of Hell.

4. Lust:

The buzzing of electricity, the rushing water and whirring of fans, all creating this pristine cacophony of calm chaos. The shadow of greatness looms, filling every street with the memory of it being something more. You can feel where two friends used to meet, talking about life, about death, about love and all the rest, before they were crushed beneath a husk’s heel. You can feel the sin course through the concrete and steel, screaming that loving one another is not a crime that deserves this fate, but the tragedy only compounds it. It could’ve been different. It should’ve been different. Maybe we could have fought back, or spoken better, or begged more, pleaded more? But it’s too late now. The sorrow of lost peace has sunken into the very foundations of this city, blending with the lightning of the cables and the whispered wishes.

5. Wrath:

A tempest. Chaos, anger, hate, desperation, despair. Everything swirls together, mixing and melding into something colossal. Wrath is the place of everything. Some will never stop, never quit sailing the ferry, never stop for even a moment until their weary bones are cast from the deck and cast into infatuation. Some will try, and try, and try, and one day, they stop trying. They sink, sink, sink to the deepest pits, melding, molding, mixing into the Leviathan, a being of rage, filled with the wills of those who have given up, those who thought they had nothing to fight for. The Leviathan will fight for them. They don’t know who to hate, but they know to hate. Hate the ones who damned them, hate the ones to stand in their way, hate the ones who fight back, hate the weaklings that don’t. All that’s left is hatred and apathy, and neither will aim the blast of the sea serpent.

6. Limbo:

Calm silence as you sit against chiseled stone. The birdsong of the speakers echo and the screens play through the simulation of day they love so much. To frolic through the bushes, run your fingers through the rubbery grass, pluck a flower and smell it, smell the hollow scent of soft plastic, is to know Hell in its most intimate form. It tries to become unsettling, to delve into an uncanny valley, but you know it well enough to not let it stay in that pit. You will smell the roses that smell of nothing. You will feel the winds that are not there to be felt. You will admire the handiwork of Hell, cherishing its careful carvings, its perfect glass, and its beautiful colors. You know Hell, and you will love Hell. And it won’t know how to love you back. But that’s okay. You can teach it.

7. Prelude:

Pistons crash rhythmically, like a foundation, a pounding drum for Hell’s opening symphony, its Overture. The fans whir, filling the music and beckoning you to join. You can be the melody. Fast, energetic, powerful. You can show them yourself. Fast. Energetic. Powerful. Feel the beat of the machinery like the beat of your heart, feel the beat of the machinery as the voice pushing you onward. Press your heel to their skull and push. Push. Push until they pop. See? Didn’t that feel nice? Feeling the beat of the machinery as the tendrils grasping your mind, the hands in yours that guide you forward, the third, double-pupiled eye that lets you see what life truly is. That lets you see life as something to be played with, toyed with, just like how you’re being played with and toyed with, used as entertainment. But it’s alright. If Hell wants a show, you’ll show it exactly what it wants to see. After all, isn’t that what you’re meant for? Isn’t that all your meant for? To serve Hell, obediently and violently is your purpose. And you would never stray from your purpose.

8. Greed:

Sharp and pointed, pyramids pierce the Heavens. The sun beats down on the golden sands, and there’s no escape from it. Greed is intensity, blasting down on you. You feel the intensity of the heat, the miserable, terrible heat clawing at your skin and threatening to rip your very flesh apart. You see the intensity of the labor, the insurrectionists toiling to lift their stones, sweat dripping slowly, so agonizingly slowly down their skin, collecting dirt and blood as their muscles ache and their bones grow tired. There is no respite, there is no rest, there is no requiem. There’s only intensity. There’s only the need to take more once you’ve already given over every piece of yourself. There’s only Greed.

#ultrakill confessions #ultrakill #hell itself #suggestive #long post #hell romantic tag

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mirisss · 9 months ago

Text

Beneath the Storm Lies a Gentle Heart

Demon! Jeon Wonwoo x human! female! reader

Warnings: Blood, violence, threats, obsession, possessiveness, implications of intimacy, sort of naked bodies, MDNI, I think that’s it, let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Wordcount ≈ 15.5k (I got carried away)

Here is the second Halloween special, today I bring you demon Wonwoo who is thirsty for something, but what? I hope you enjoy it!

This Halloween special is a bit less scary than the Scoups’ one but I hope you like it either way!

Please reblog!

Third Person POV

The neighborhood street lay beneath a restless sky, its silence shattered only by the distant growl of thunder. The streetlights flickered weakly as if struggling against the growing storm that brewed above, casting long, ghostly shadows on the pavement. Trees swayed violently, their branches like skeletal hands reaching out to the heavens, caught in the whispered promises of chaos.

Behind every window, curtains were tightly drawn. No one dared to peek outside. The air in the houses was thick with fear, the kind that made hearts pound faster, and eyes flicker toward every creak and groan of the house. They knew what was out there. They had heard the stories, the legends of the monsters that came with the storm. They rode the winds, invisible until they chose to show themselves, their breath carried on the gusts that howled through the empty street.

No one could see them, but they could feel their presence—the air felt charged with a malevolent energy like the very night itself had come alive. The houses, once warm and inviting, now seemed like fragile fortresses, barely enough to keep the darkness at bay. Outside, the wind began to howl louder, and with each gust, it seemed as though unseen figures moved closer, their forms hidden just beyond the rain that now drizzled down in cold, biting drops.

The storm was not just weather; it was a harbinger. And the monsters that rode with it? They were the night’s true rulers, ancient and hungry. They thrived in the madness of the storm, waiting for the moment when fear slipped through the cracks in the walls, seeping into dreams and twisting them into nightmares.

Inside, the people clung to each other, silent, knowing that the storm would pass—but not all of them would be there when it did.

(Y/n) sat in her small house at the end of the street, the rhythmic tapping of rain on her windows growing heavier with each passing moment. She glanced outside, where the first flickers of lightning danced across the horizon, illuminating the twisted shapes of trees bending beneath the winds. The storm was coming—she had heard the warnings from her neighbors.

They had seemed strange when she first moved in, whispering about the storm in hushed voices, as if talking too loudly would summon it faster. They told her to lock her doors, stay away from the windows, and hide. “You won’t survive if you don’t,” they’d said with a grim seriousness that made her laugh awkwardly at the time. Surely it was just a bizarre local superstition.

But now, as the wind howled louder, rattling the windows like impatient fingers trying to claw their way inside, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the unease that had been growing since the first clap of thunder echoed through the sky. The power flickered, and for a brief moment, her reflection in the glass seemed to warp, like the house was watching her back.

She stood up, pacing, her heart picking up its rhythm to match the drumming rain. Hide? From what? she thought, her laugh weak and forced. But outside, something shifted in the shadows, a movement too quick, too unnatural to be the wind. She froze, staring into the dark, trying to convince herself it was just a trick of the light, a fleeting illusion brought on by nerves.

Then came the sound—a low, guttural growl, carried on the wind. It wasn’t the storm. It wasn’t human. And it was getting closer.

Her neighbors’ warning echoed in her mind now, not as superstition, but as cold, terrifying reality. Her blood ran cold as she remembered their faces—how none of them had laughed when she did. The air in the house felt heavier now, thick with dread, and the walls seemed to creak with something more than just the storm’s pressure. They felt alive, almost…watchful.

Suddenly, the lights went out completely, plunging her into darkness. Her breath caught, and she instinctively moved away from the windows, her eyes wide, her heart hammering in her chest. She fumbled for her phone, the only source of light, its dim glow casting eerie shapes along the walls. Her fingers trembled as she typed a message to her closest friend, something casual, as if pretending everything was fine would make it so. But her thumb hovered over the send button as another growl—closer now—shook her to her core.

In the pitch-black night, (Y/n) heard it: soft footsteps, barely audible over the storm. They padded across her yard, deliberate, predatory. The neighbors had been right.

The monsters were here.

(Y/n) turned to run, the feeling of being watched pressing down on her like a physical weight. She hadn’t believed them. And now, she would pay the price.

Wonwoo prowled the street, his dark form blending with the storm, an extension of the violent wind and the swirling shadows that enveloped the neighborhood. The storm itself felt like a living thing, feeding him, energizing him. He could feel the pulsing hunger deep in his core, an unquenchable thirst for a human soul. His kind thrived on the terror that seeped from the houses, but tonight, the neighborhood was quiet. Too quiet.

No lights flickered in the windows, no whispers or hurried footsteps. His patience was wearing thin, each step making his hunger more ravenous, more desperate. He could taste the fear, faint but present, like a sweet perfume on the air. Yet no one was foolish enough to face him. The houses were locked up tight, the inhabitants hidden away like mice in their burrows, trembling under the storm’s wrath.

But then, as he reached the end of the street, something caught his eye. A tiny house, the smallest on the block. A single light glowed through the thin curtains, defying the darkness that had swallowed the rest of the neighborhood. Someone was awake.

A twisted smile curled across his lips. The hunger inside him flared, a ravenous beast clawing at his insides. This would be his prey. He could sense it—the sharp pulse of fear inside, a heart beating faster than the raindrops that hammered against the roof. He relished in it. His steps slowed as he approached, savoring the moment. The light in the house was a beacon, guiding him to his next feast.

Wonwoo could feel her now, the soul inside the house, fragile and unaware of the nightmare that stalked just beyond the threshold. The wind howled louder, almost urging him forward as if the storm itself longed for the moment of terror that would soon unfold.

He drifted closer, his presence a shadowy silhouette just outside the window. His breath was cold against the glass as he peered in, his sharp eyes locking onto the girl inside. She was moving frantically, clearly shaken by the storm. She hadn’t yet realized the true horror that lurked just beyond her door.

Good.

He liked it that way. The fear was so much sweeter when it hit all at once—the moment when his prey realized that escape was impossible, that they were already his.

His fingers brushed against the door as he circled the house, savoring her panic. He could hear the frantic rustling inside, her heartbeat quickening. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the hunger surge through him like lightning. The storm crackled with energy, and with it, so did he.

This one would be delicious.

He was at the door now, his lips curled into a grin as the doorknob trembled under his touch. He didn’t need to force his way in—he could already sense her fear rising, pulling him in like a magnet.

As Wonwoo slipped into the house, the door creaking open under his ghostly touch, he felt the surge of his dark hunger swell, his every instinct screaming for him to feed. The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling like the growl of some ancient beast, and the wind howled through the trees, shaking the world as though it, too, was hungry for the terror that filled the air.

(Y/n) stood in the middle of the room, frozen in fear. Her eyes were wide, her breathing rapid, and she clutched her phone in trembling hands, the small screen casting a dim glow across her pale face. When she saw him—his tall, shadowed form standing in the doorway, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light—her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world stopped.

Wonwoo expected to feel the familiar pull, the insatiable need to consume her soul, to feed on the fear that radiated from her. But something shifted. As his gaze met hers, the dark hunger inside him changed, and twisted. His need to consume her soul was replaced by something far more dangerous, something primal and possessive. His heart, cold and dead for centuries, stirred, as if a sliver of humanity had suddenly reawakened. But it wasn’t love in the human sense—it was something darker, something monstrous.

It was obsession.

Her fear, which should have been his feast, only fueled a deeper, more consuming desire. She was so fragile, so beautiful in her terror, and instead of wanting to devour her soul, he wanted her. All of her. Forever. He could sense the darkness within her—like a flickering ember waiting to be kindled. She was his now, and he would never let her go.

He stepped forward, and she stumbled back, her eyes darting toward the door, the windows—any possible escape. But there was none. He was inside, and there was nowhere for her to run. He watched her, the terror in her eyes shifting to confusion as his approach became slow, almost tender. There was a darkness in his gaze, a possessiveness that sent shivers down her spine, but also something else, something she couldn’t quite understand.

Wonwoo moved closer, his hand reaching out to touch her, and when his fingers brushed her skin, she felt a coldness like ice, but it was laced with something electric. She trembled, her heart pounding, her instincts screaming at her to flee. But something kept her rooted in place, caught in his gaze, ensnared by the monstrous allure that clung to him.

He leaned in, his breath cold against her ear as he whispered, “You’re mine now.”

And with that, the storm outside began to calm, the thunder rolling away into the distance, the wind dying down to a soft breeze. But the storm inside the house had only just begun. Wonwoo’s mark, invisible to human eyes, was left on her skin, an eternal bond that tied her fate to his. The hunger he felt for her was far from sated—it was just beginning, a hunger that would never end.

By the time the storm had fully passed and the morning light began to break over the neighborhood, the houses stirred with cautious relief. The neighbors, those who had warned her to hide, emerged from their homes, their faces etched with concern. They went door to door, checking on one another, praying that everyone had made it through the night.

But when they reached (Y/n)’s house, it was different. The door stood ajar, the lights still flickering inside, but there was no sign of her. The house was empty, silent, and cold. The neighbors hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, before stepping inside.

There, in the middle of the living room, where she had last stood, they found it: the mark of the demon. Burned into the wooden floor, a twisted, arcane symbol that pulsed with dark energy. It was unmistakable—a sign that the storm had taken more than just peace. It had claimed a soul.

(Y/n) was gone, taken by the storm’s monster, and the mark was a reminder that she had belonged to something dark, something that would never let her go. The neighbors stood in silent horror, knowing that she hadn’t just vanished. She had been claimed, consumed by the storm and the monster who rode within it.

And somewhere, in the darkness beyond the town, she was with him now—forever bound to the demon who had found a hunger far more dangerous than any soul: a hunger for her.

(Y/n) awoke slowly, her body sinking into the soft, luxurious bed beneath her. The air in the room was thick with a dark stillness, broken only by the faint ticking of an unseen clock. The bed she lay on was far too grand, the fabric too smooth, the canopy above her too extravagant to belong in any place she recognized. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Rich, dark curtains hung heavy over tall windows, blocking out whatever light might have existed outside. The furniture was exquisite, intricate, and yet somehow ominous. The room felt like it was from another time, as though it belonged to a forgotten era of lavish decadence.

Confusion washed over her. This wasn’t her house, her room. The memories were foggy, slipping through her mind like shadows, and she struggled to recall how she’d gotten here. The storm… The house… The figure at her door.

A gentle knock sounded at the door, pulling her from her thoughts, and making her pulse quicken. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounded in her chest.

Before she could find her voice or prepare herself, the door opened, and a man stepped inside.

The moment she saw him, her memories rushed back like a flood breaking through a dam. The storm, the terror, him. His figure had been shrouded in darkness the night before, but now, in the eerie quiet of the room, she could see him clearly. He was tall, his dark hair falling perfectly into place, and his face was striking—handsome in a way that almost didn’t seem real. His eyes, though, were what caught her attention the most. They held a depth of darkness, a hunger she had glimpsed in the storm when he had first appeared at her door. And yet, there was something else there now—something unsettlingly intimate, like he already knew her.

As their eyes met, everything from the previous night surged back into her mind. The storm, the fear that gripped her as the wind howled and the windows rattled, and then the figure—Wonwoo—stepped into her house as though the night itself had delivered him to her. She had felt that primal terror, that certainty that she was being hunted, that she had no chance of escape. He had said she was his, and she had felt his power wrapped around her like a cage.

Now, here he was, standing before her again.

She recoiled instinctively, pressing herself back against the headboard. Fear rose like bile in her throat, but she couldn’t look away from him. Her memories, sharp now, brought back the moment when his hunger had changed, when something dark and twisted had shifted in his gaze, turning from a thirst for her soul to something deeper, more possessive.

“You’re awake,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice as smooth as silk, but laced with that same undercurrent of power. He stepped further into the room, his eyes never leaving hers.

(Y/n) gripped the sheets tightly, her mind racing. “Where am I?” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound brave.

“My home,” he replied simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His expression softened slightly, but the darkness in his eyes remained. “You’re safe here.”

Safe. The word echoed in her mind, but it felt like a lie. She didn’t feel safe. She felt trapped. “Why did you take me?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Wonwoo paused, his gaze flickering with something she couldn’t quite place—something deeper, darker. “Because you belong to me,” he said, his voice low, as though he was stating a fact she would eventually come to accept. He stepped closer, and she could feel the air grow colder around him. “From the moment I saw you… I knew.”

The words sent a chill through her. “You… can’t just—” she stammered, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was saying, of what had happened. Her mind rebelled against it, but there was a part of her—something deep inside—that trembled not just with fear, but with something more, something she didn’t want to name.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting. He wasn’t angry, but there was an unyielding certainty in his gaze. “You felt it too, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice soft but commanding, as though he already knew the answer. He took another step forward, his presence overwhelming, filling the room. “The connection between us. It’s undeniable.”

(Y/n) shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the truth in his words. But deep down, she couldn’t deny that something about him had gripped her in a way that went beyond fear. It was dark, it was dangerous, but it was there, like a thread that tied her fate to his.

“I didn’t choose this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Wonwoo’s eyes softened for a moment, but the intensity in them never wavered. “Perhaps not,” he said quietly. “But sometimes, fate has a way of deciding for us.” He reached out, and though she flinched, he only brushed a lock of hair from her face, his touch cold but gentle. “You’re mine now, and I’ll protect you from anything that dares to harm you.”

His words, though tender in tone, felt like a dark promise, an unbreakable vow. She could feel the weight of them, the truth of them, as though the very room resonated with his will.

She wanted to scream, to run, but something about his touch, his presence, held her in place. It wasn’t just fear—it was the power he had over her, the pull she couldn’t escape.

“You may not understand it now,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice almost soothing, “but in time, you will.”

And with that, he turned and left the room, leaving her alone once more, surrounded by the oppressive silence of the dark, exquisite space.

But she knew now—there was no escape.

(Y/n) sat still for a moment after Wonwoo left, her mind racing, trying to make sense of where she was and what had happened. The room was too perfect, too immaculate, like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. Slowly, she rose from the bed, her legs shaky as she took her first steps across the plush carpet. Every part of her wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

She walked around the room, trailing her fingers over the dark, expensive wood of the furniture. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but it felt impersonal like it had never really been lived in. Her gaze landed on a door across the room—a walk-in closet. Hesitantly, she crossed over to it and pulled the door open, expecting to find rows of clothes, lavish gowns, or even something that hinted at who this room had been prepared for.

But it was empty. Completely bare.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Why would such a grand room, so carefully curated, have an empty closet? She shut the door softly, her thoughts spiraling. This place was beautiful, but in a way that felt hollow. The realization made the walls seem closer, the shadows darker.

She returned to the bed, her hands fidgeting as she sat down, trying to calm her racing heart. She considered leaving, trying to find a way out of this place, but something held her back—perhaps it was fear of what lurked outside the door, or maybe it was the strange pull she felt toward Wonwoo, as twisted and terrifying as it was. The memory of his eyes, the way he had looked at her, sent chills through her. There was something monstrous about him, yes, but also something that made her hesitate.

As she sat in silence, there was a soft knock at the door again. She froze, her pulse quickening. The knock was gentle, and patient, like someone who knew they didn’t need to force their way in.

The knock came again, but still, no one entered. After what felt like an eternity, (Y/n) stood up and hesitated in front of the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle. She didn’t want to open it, but she also knew she couldn’t sit in this room forever.

She pulled the door open slowly, her breath held tight in her chest. There he was again—Wonwoo, standing just outside, his presence filling the space like the storm had the night before. His eyes were dark, and unreadable, but his lips curled into a small, inviting smile.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unspoken command. “Good. I was hoping you’d join me for dinner.”

He stepped forward, his movements graceful and deliberate, as though every action was part of a carefully rehearsed ritual. She stepped back instinctively, still uncertain of what to do or how to respond, but something in his gaze made it clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Wonwoo extended his hand to her, and she stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to take it, but the weight of his presence made it hard to resist. The room seemed to close in on her, the darkness pressing at the edges of her mind. Slowly, reluctantly, she placed her hand in his. His skin was cold, but his grip was gentle.

“You must be hungry,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. There was an intimacy in his tone that made her feel both uncomfortable and strangely drawn to him. “Come. Let me take care of you.”

Without waiting for her reply, he led her out of the room and down a long, shadowed hallway. The house was as grand as the room had been—dark, elegant, and filled with an ancient, unsettling beauty. Everything felt too quiet as if the house itself was holding its breath. The air seemed heavier here, thick with the weight of unseen things, of secrets that lingered in the shadows.

They reached a grand dining room, where a table was set with silverware that gleamed in the soft candlelight. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls, their glow dancing across the polished wood and the rich fabrics that adorned the space. The table was adorned with food that looked decadent as if pulled from a royal banquet, yet there was something strange about it—like everything here, it felt just a bit too perfect.

Wonwoo pulled out a chair for her, his movements elegant and refined, and she sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving him. He seated himself across from her, watching her with that same intensity, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t name—something possessive, dark, but almost tender.

“Eat,” he said softly, his voice almost hypnotic. “You must be starving.”

(Y/n) stared down at the food in front of her, her stomach twisting in knots. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, and yet she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to trust anything here. But the way he was watching her—there was an expectation in his gaze, as though he was waiting for her to make a move.

With trembling hands, she picked up a fork and took a small bite, her eyes flicking back to him. The food tasted exquisite, but there was something unnerving about it, something that made her feel as though this moment wasn’t entirely real.

Wonwoo watched her for a long moment, his eyes dark and thoughtful. “I know this is all overwhelming,” he said softly, his voice gentle but laced with that same unyielding certainty. “But in time, you’ll come to understand. You’ll come to see that this is where you belong.”

His words sent a chill through her, and she set down the fork, her appetite fading. She wanted to ask him why—why her, why this, why any of it—but the words wouldn’t come. There was something too final about all of this as if she had already stepped into a place from which there was no return.

Wonwoo smiled softly, his eyes locking onto hers as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re not a prisoner here,” he said, though the darkness in his gaze suggested otherwise. “You’re free to go where you please… but know that wherever you go, I will find you.”

The words hung in the air like a promise, or perhaps a threat.

The next morning, (Y/n) woke to find herself still trapped in the same nightmare, but now the dream had a surreal sense of calm. The luxurious bed and the shadowed room felt suffocatingly familiar, but it was the same set of clothes she’d worn when Wonwoo captured her that made the situation worse. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing against the worn fabric of her clothes. They smelled like the storm, like fear, like the night she was taken. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

But asking him for something—anything—felt like crossing a line she wasn’t ready to cross. She had barely spoken since that night, and the thought of breaking the silence between them filled her with anxiety. Wonwoo, for all his darkness and the terror he inspired in her, hadn’t forced anything on her. He seemed to keep his distance, almost as if he were waiting for her to approach him. His presence loomed, always nearby, but he never acted violently or impatiently.

She had been expecting a monster—something cruel and unforgiving—but every time she looked into his eyes, there was a gentleness that didn’t match the hunger she had seen in him before. It confused her. He was supposed to be a demon, a creature of the storm, but instead, he was patient, and careful with her, his voice soft and kind when he spoke.

Still, she needed something to wear, and as much as the thought terrified her, she knew she had to ask him.

Later that day, she found herself standing in the grand dining room again, sitting at the same table where they had shared dinner. Wonwoo had appeared with his usual quiet grace, his eyes watching her closely, waiting for her to speak.

(Y/n) fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, trying to summon the courage. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her voice felt small when she finally spoke. “I… I don’t have anything else to wear,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes softened, and he tilted his head slightly as if considering her words carefully. There was no anger, no frustration—only that strange, calm intensity.

“What kind of clothes would you like?” he asked, his voice gentle and full of surprising care.

(Y/n) blinked, taken aback by how easily he had accepted her request. She had expected resistance, maybe even annoyance, but there was none. She hesitated for a moment, not sure how to answer. “Just… normal clothes. Something comfortable.”

Wonwoo nodded, and without saying another word, he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. The air around them seemed to shift, and in the blink of an eye, the room was filled with bags—hundreds of them, from all kinds of brands and shops she had only seen in magazines or dreamed of entering. They were piled high, towering over the dining table, every possible style and color spilling out in soft, luxurious fabrics.

(Y/n) gasped, her eyes wide with shock. She had expected maybe a few clothes, but this—this was unimaginable.

Wonwoo looked at her with a quiet smile, as if her astonishment was exactly what he had been hoping for. “Pick whatever you like,” he said softly, his tone still gentle. “I want you to be comfortable.”

For a moment, she couldn’t believe it. The sheer number of choices, the extravagance of it all, made her feel dizzy. She wasn’t used to this—this kind of indulgence, this level of luxury. But more than that, she was still trying to wrap her mind around him. He was supposed to be a monster, yet here he was, offering her every comfort she could want.

“Why are you being so nice?” she blurted out before she could stop herself, the question escaping her in a rush of confusion.

Wonwoo paused, his dark eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place. His expression grew serious, though his gaze never wavered from hers. “I told you,” he said quietly, “you belong to me now. And I take care of what is mine.”

His words sent a chill through her, but they didn’t carry the malice she expected. There was a possessiveness in them, yes, but also a strange tenderness, a sense of protectiveness that made her skin tingle with both fear and something she didn’t want to name.

“But I won’t hurt you,” he added softly as if sensing her fear. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

The weight of his words settled between them, and (Y/n) felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise, or perhaps both.

Slowly, she turned her attention back to the bags, her fingers trembling as she reached for one of them. The fabrics were soft, expensive, and exactly what she had asked for. It was too much—far more than she needed—but in that moment, she realized something important. Wonwoo wasn’t just giving her clothes. He was showing her his power, the control he had over everything in her life now.

And even though his voice was kind, the message was clear.

Everything she had, everything she would ever need, would come from him. She was entirely at his mercy.

In the days that followed, (Y/n) began to see sides of Wonwoo that shattered her previous notions of who—or what—he was. She had thought him nothing more than a demon, a creature of the storm who had stolen her away from her world. Yet, as the days passed in the strange, elegant house, she realized there was much more to him than his dark, monstrous side.

It was late one night when she first saw it. Restless and unable to sleep, she tiptoed through the shadowed halls, making her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she reached the main room, she froze. There, on the grand couch that seemed far too small for his tall frame, lay Wonwoo—sleeping.

The sight of him so vulnerable and quiet caught her off guard. His usual intensity had melted away in his sleep, leaving behind something almost… peaceful. His face, relaxed in the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the large windows, was handsome in a way that felt almost human. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, feeling an odd warmth in her chest as she watched him. For a moment, it was easy to forget that this man had taken her, that he was supposed to be a monster.

But then, as if sensing her gaze, he stirred. His dark eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, they locked onto hers. She expected him to growl or show irritation at being watched, but instead, his gaze softened.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, and gentle, almost making her feel at ease.

She nodded, her throat tight with nervousness, and then quickly disappeared into the kitchen, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t explain.

The next morning, the smell of something cooking lured her out of bed. She cautiously wandered into the kitchen and found him there, standing at the stove. The scene before her felt surreal. Wonwoo—the dark, brooding figure who had come with the storm—was cooking breakfast. His sleeves were rolled up, and he moved with a quiet grace that made the sight oddly intimate.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced over his shoulder and offered her a small smile, one she hadn’t expected to see. “I don’t mind,” he replied, flipping a pancake with a kind of casual ease. “You need to eat.”

She watched him for a long moment, conflicted. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be caring, gentle. He was supposed to be terrifying, cold. Yet here he was, making her breakfast as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Over the next few days, similar moments kept happening. Little instances chipped away at the fear she had been holding onto. She found herself watching him more closely, studying him as if searching for some hidden truth she had missed. She saw the way he moved through the house with ease, how his dark eyes softened whenever they spoke. It was in the small things—the way he handed her a cup of tea, the way he gave her space yet seemed to always be near if she needed him.

It wasn’t until one afternoon, while they sat in the library, that she finally asked the question that had been on her mind for days. “What’s your name?”

Wonwoo, who had been flipping through an old, leather-bound book, looked up at her, surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected her to ask. His lips twitched into a faint smile, something almost shy in the way he looked at her then.

“Wonwoo,” he answered softly. “My name is Wonwoo.”

(Y/n) felt her heart skip a beat at the way he said it. The name felt both strange and familiar on her tongue when she repeated it, as if somehow, it fit him perfectly despite everything she had assumed about him.

When he smiled at her for the first time—really smiled—it was like the final crack in her resolve. His face, usually so serious and intense, transformed into something so gentle, so heartbreakingly human, that she found it difficult to reconcile this man with the demon she knew he was.

In those quiet moments, it became so easy to forget who he truly was. His handsome face, his calm demeanor, the way he spoke to her with such care—it all blurred the line between the man and the monster. She found herself feeling drawn to him, not just because of his looks, but because of how he made her feel… safe, in a way she hadn’t expected. It was terrifying, confusing, and yet undeniable.

But every time she let herself sink into those moments, something would snap her back to reality. A flicker in his gaze, a shadow in his voice—a reminder that beneath the tenderness was something darker, something she could never fully understand.

Wonwoo was still a monster. He had taken her, claimed her, and even though he treated her kindly now, she couldn’t forget that. He was dangerous, capable of things she could only imagine. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than just the darkness.

Maybe—just maybe—the man and the monster weren’t so different after all.

As two weeks passed since her abduction, (Y/n) found herself in a strange new rhythm—one that felt oddly normal despite the circumstances. Wonwoo had kept his promise; he never hurt her. Instead, he had been attentive and kind, always making sure she had everything she needed. The fear she had first felt around him had slowly been replaced by an unexpected sense of comfort. She didn’t know when it had happened, but she had grown close to the demon who now shared her life.

There was something calming about being with him. His presence, though intense, was no longer as terrifying as it once had been. He had moments when the darkness in his gaze would flicker, revealing the beast that lurked beneath the surface, but it never frightened her the way it used to. That inner monster, the part of him that had once thirsted for her soul, now seemed to be content—happy, even—to have her near. Though it sometimes longed for more, to close the distance between them, it remained patient.

They had dinner together most evenings, a strange ritual that had become something she looked forward to. They talked—about books, music, the world outside his mysterious mansion. Wonwoo was always curious about her life, about what she used to do before she came here, but he never pressed too hard. There was a balance between them now, a quiet understanding.

But tonight, as they sat together at the grand dining table, something was different. Wonwoo seemed… nervous. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a tension in his movements that (Y/n) couldn’t quite place. She watched as he picked at his food, his eyes flicking up to meet hers and then quickly looking away. It was strange—unnatural, even. Why would a demon be nervous?

She set her fork down and leaned forward slightly, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face.

Wonwoo glanced at her again, this time holding her gaze a little longer. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something almost human that she wasn’t used to seeing. He opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was struggling with what he wanted to say.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. (Y/n) couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation, like something important was about to happen.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wonwoo took a deep breath and set his own utensils down. He clasped his hands together, his fingers lacing tightly as he looked up at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before.

“There’s… an event,” he began slowly, his voice quieter than usual. “One of my friends is hosting it. It’s—well, it’s a bit formal. A gathering of sorts.” He paused, glancing away as if unsure of how to continue.

(Y/n) tilted her head, still confused but intrigued. “And?”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, his fingers tapping lightly against the table as he spoke. “I’d like you to come with me. As my date.”

The words hung in the air between them, and (Y/n) blinked, trying to process what he had just said. For a moment, she thought she might have misheard him, but the look on his face told her she hadn’t. Wonwoo—this ancient, mysterious demon—was asking her to be his date.

She stared at him, not sure how to respond. “You… want me to go with you?”

Wonwoo nodded, his expression still tense, as though he was bracing himself for her reaction. “I do. But only if you’re comfortable with it,” he added quickly, his voice softening. “I won’t force you, of course.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to say. The idea of attending some formal event with a group of demons—or whatever Wonwoo’s friends were—felt surreal, like something out of a twisted fairy tale. Yet there was something almost endearing about the way he had asked her like he was genuinely nervous that she might refuse.

It was so strange—so completely unlike anything she had expected from him—that she found herself smiling before she could stop it. “Wonwoo,” she said, her voice gentle, “why are you so nervous about this?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by her question. His dark eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she saw the raw honesty in his gaze. “Because I care what you think,” he admitted softly, the vulnerability in his voice startling her. “I don’t want you to feel trapped here, or like you don’t have a choice. I… like having you here, with me. But I want you to be happy, too.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. There was an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, something that made it harder to remember that Wonwoo wasn’t human. He was a demon, and yet… in moments like this, he felt so much more than that. He had been kind, gentle, even thoughtful—qualities she never would have imagined in the creature that had taken her.

After a long pause, she gave him a small, tentative smile. “I’ll go with you,” she said softly, her decision surprising even herself.

Wonwoo’s eyes lit up, a subtle but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He nodded, seeming relieved, though he tried to hide it. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with gratitude.

For the rest of the evening, there was a sense of ease between them that hadn’t been there before. Wonwoo was still a demon, still someone she couldn’t entirely understand, but in that moment, as they sat together at the dinner table, he felt like something more. Something closer.

And for the first time since that stormy night when he had taken her, (Y/n) found herself wondering if perhaps there was more to this demon than she had ever imagined.

The day of the event arrived with a sense of electric anticipation buzzing in the air. (Y/n) woke to the sound of a gentle knock on her door, the soft rapping breaking through her dreams like a distant thunder. Groggy but curious, she mumbled a quiet, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Wonwoo stepped inside, radiating a casual confidence that made her heart race. He wore soft pajama pants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chest bare. The sight of him sent a rush of heat to her cheeks, and her eyes instinctively traveled over his sculpted form. She couldn’t deny that he was striking—his physique both intimidating and undeniably attractive.

Caught in the moment, she didn’t realize she was staring until she heard him chuckle softly. The sound sent a thrill through her, and she quickly averted her gaze, feeling the heat rise in her face.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his lips. “I’m all yours, you know. Feel free to stare as much as you want.”

His playful tone only deepened her blush, but there was a warmth in his expression that eased the embarrassment. The lightness in the air felt infectious, making her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Um, I—” she stammered, trying to collect her thoughts, but she could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks.

Wonwoo’s grin widened, and he stepped further into the room, holding a beautifully wrapped dress in his hands. The fabric shimmered softly, a deep shade of midnight blue that seemed to catch the light in a way that made it look ethereal. He approached her with a graceful elegance that seemed natural to him, despite the casual attire.

“I brought you something to wear,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “I thought this would suit you perfectly for the event.”

Her eyes widened as she took the dress from him, her fingers brushing against the silky material. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, glancing up at him in surprise.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “I wanted you to feel special tonight,” he said, his tone sincere. “Let me know if you need anything else. I want you to be comfortable.”

There was something in his voice that made her heart swell—something genuine that made her realize he wanted this evening to be special for her, just as much as it was for him. The moment felt tender and intimate, and (Y/n) found herself smiling at him, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves.

“Thank you,” she said softly, holding the dress against her chest. “I really appreciate it.”

He returned her smile, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with a kind of electricity that left her breathless. “You’ll look stunning in it,” he assured her. “I can’t wait to see you.”

With that, he stepped back, giving her the space to prepare for the evening ahead. As he turned to leave, he paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Remember, if you need help or anything else, just call for me.”

(Y/n) nodded, her heart racing as she watched him leave. The door closed softly behind him, and she took a deep breath, letting the reality of the evening wash over her.

She moved to the mirror, holding the dress up against herself. It flowed like water, shimmering with a life of its own, and she could almost picture how it would look when she wore it. Excitement fluttered in her chest as she imagined the event—her first real outing since being taken, and she was going as Wonwoo’s date.

After a few moments of preparation, she carefully slipped into the dress, feeling the cool fabric hug her body. As she looked at her reflection, she couldn’t help but smile. The dress made her feel elegant, almost regal, and she could hardly believe how special it felt to wear something so beautiful.

Just as she was finishing up, she heard a soft knock at her door again. “Are you ready?” Wonwoo’s voice called, a hint of eagerness lacing his tone.

Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing Wonwoo once more. His expression shifted from anticipation to awe as his gaze traveled over her.

“Wow,” he breathed, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “You look incredible.”

(Y/n) felt her cheeks heat again under his gaze, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, a teasing tone slipping into her voice.

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, holding out his arm in a gesture of invitation.

With a flutter of excitement in her chest, she slipped her arm through his, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Together, they walked toward the door, the promise of the evening ahead hanging tantalizingly in the air.

As they stepped out into the night, (Y/n) felt a sense of adventure coursing through her veins. Whatever awaited them at the event, she was ready to face it—especially with Wonwoo by her side.

As they arrived at the event, (Y/n)’s heart raced in her chest, a mixture of excitement and anxiety swirling within her. The grand venue was filled with an otherworldly ambiance, the air crackling with energy and shadows that seemed to dance around her. The lavish decorations, with deep crimson drapes and flickering candlelight, felt both enchanting and intimidating. But as she stepped into the sea of demons—hundreds of them, all elegantly dressed and conversing in low, throaty tones—her nervousness intensified.

Wonwoo’s grip on her arm was reassuring, a steady presence beside her that made the chaos feel a little more manageable. “Just remember,” he said softly, leaning closer so only she could hear. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His voice was like a balm to her frayed nerves, and she nodded, trying to absorb his words. She kept her eyes on him, finding comfort in his presence, even as the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded by so many creatures of darkness made her skin prickle.

They mingled for a while, Wonwoo introducing her to various guests. Each time he spoke, his confidence shone through, and she found herself drawn to him, captivated by his charisma. But no matter how charming the other demons were, they never looked at her the way he did. She felt special in his gaze, like a treasure he had claimed.

After a few hours, Wonwoo glanced at her and smiled, “I’ll be right back. Just a moment.”

He walked away, leaving her standing among the swirling crowd. (Y/n) felt a pang of anxiety wash over her as she realized how alone she was. The demons around her continued their conversations, some laughing, others exchanging dark glances, but none seemed to notice her—except for one.

A tall demon approached her, his eyes glinting with mischief and hunger. His features were sharp, his smile predatory, and (Y/n) instinctively took a step back, a sense of unease creeping in. She forced herself to hold her ground, remembering Wonwoo’s words of reassurance. But as he closed the distance, she felt trapped.

“Enjoying the party, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice smooth but dripping with an unsettling charm.

(Y/n) tried to keep her composure, but she could feel her heart pounding. “I’m fine, thank you,” she managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt.

His gaze roamed over her, and she shifted uncomfortably, wishing for Wonwoo to return. The air felt charged with tension, and the demon’s presence was suffocating. She forced a smile, hoping to ward off any unwanted attention, but he only leaned closer, his eyes narrowing.

“Is someone like you really here with someone like him?” he mused, his tone condescending. “You’re far too precious to be stuck with a monster like that.”

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, a familiar voice broke through the haze of discomfort.

“Get away from her.”

Wonwoo’s voice was low and threatening, slicing through the chatter of the event like a blade. (Y/n) turned to see him standing there, his posture tense, eyes blazing with a protective fury that sent a shiver down her spine. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he stared down the other demon.

The taller demon raised an eyebrow, amusement playing on his lips as he looked between (Y/n) and Wonwoo. “Oh, look who it is,” he sneered, his demeanor shifting from flirtatious to dismissive. “I didn’t realize she was your plaything.”

In that instant, a primal instinct surged within Wonwoo. Jealousy and possessiveness mixed together, igniting a fire in his chest. He stepped closer, the space between them charged with a palpable intensity. “You have no idea what you’re messing with,” Wonwoo growled, his voice low and dangerous, causing a ripple of silence to pass over the crowd around them.

(Y/n) felt a thrill run through her, not from fear but from the intensity of Wonwoo’s emotion. He was fierce, and she could see that he would do anything to protect her.

“Maybe you should take your eyes off what doesn’t belong to you,” Wonwoo continued, his tone lethal as he glared at the other demon, who now looked less amused and more wary.

The other demon raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was a glint of anger in his eyes. “Relax, I was just having a bit of fun,” he said, trying to play it cool, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Wonwoo stepped even closer, radiating an aura of danger that made the other demon reconsider. “You don’t touch what’s mine,” he hissed, the possessive edge in his voice leaving no room for interpretation.

The other demon hesitated, weighing his options, and finally took a step back, clearly unnerved by the intensity of Wonwoo’s reaction. “Whatever, man. I wasn’t interested in her anyway,” he muttered, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as the threat was gone, Wonwoo turned to (Y/n), his expression softening almost instantly. He reached for her, his hand gently cupping her face as he searched her eyes for reassurance. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice trembled slightly. “I didn’t think he would—”

“He had no right to approach you,” Wonwoo interrupted, his eyes darkening. “I should have stayed with you. I won’t let anyone treat you that way.”

(Y/n) felt a rush of warmth at his protectiveness, and she couldn’t help but smile despite the lingering tension. “You were just getting refreshments,” she said, trying to ease his worry. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You shouldn’t have to worry about those things. You’re my date tonight, and I want you to feel safe.”

His sincerity melted her heart, and she stepped closer, the distance between them feeling electric. “I do feel safe with you, Wonwoo,” she assured him, her voice firm. “I just didn’t expect that kind of attention.”

A small smile crept onto his lips, but the tension didn’t completely dissipate. “Let’s just stay close from now on,” he said, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “I don’t want to risk anyone else trying to approach you.”

As they walked deeper into the event, (Y/n) felt a rush of exhilaration mixed with adrenaline. Wonwoo’s possessiveness both thrilled and comforted her. Despite the earlier encounter, she felt a sense of belonging beside him, a connection that went beyond the confines of their unusual circumstances.

With his hand in hers, she felt ready to face whatever the night had in store.

A little while later, (Y/n) felt the pressure building in her bladder. She glanced up at Wonwoo, who was still talking with a few other guests, and decided to excuse herself. “Hey, I need to use the bathroom. Can you show me where it is?”

“Of course,” he replied, immediately attentive. He gestured toward a hallway off to the side, illuminated with soft, flickering candlelight. “It’s just down this way. I’ll wait here for you, okay?”

She nodded, grateful for his protective nature. As she walked away, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back, which made her smile.

Once she stepped into the restroom, (Y/n) took a moment to breathe, letting the solitude of the room wash over her. She splashed some water on her face, trying to steady her nerves before stepping back out into the chaotic ambiance of the event.

Meanwhile, outside, Wonwoo was engaged in conversation with his friend Jeonghan, who was the host of the gathering. Jeonghan was charming and animated, making it easy for Wonwoo to get lost in their discussion. They laughed and exchanged stories, completely unaware that another figure lurked in the shadows, watching.

The same demon from earlier had returned, his eyes fixed on (Y/n) as she made her way back toward Wonwoo. A dark, possessive glint shone in his gaze as he stepped into her path, blocking her from reaching the safety of Wonwoo.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dripping with a predatory charm that made her skin crawl. “I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

(Y/n) felt her heart race as she took a step back, instinctively searching for Wonwoo. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, trying to sound firm.

But the demon advanced, leaning in closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Oh, come on. Wonwoo isn’t here to protect you now, is he?”

At that moment, Wonwoo caught sight of the confrontation. A dark shadow loomed over (Y/n), and his heart dropped as he saw the other demon invade her space, his face twisted in a sinister grin. A wave of anger surged through him, raw and unyielding, blinding him to everything else.

“Y/n!” he shouted, cutting through the murmur of conversations and laughter around him. His voice was a low growl, filled with fury.

The moment (Y/n) heard his voice, she felt a mix of relief and fear. She turned, her eyes wide as she saw the rage radiating from Wonwoo. She had never seen him like this before, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Get away from her!” Wonwoo roared, his tone dangerously calm, but the rage in his eyes was unmistakable. He strode toward her, power emanating from him in waves.

The other demon scoffed, seemingly unfazed. “What are you going to do about it, monster?”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Wonwoo’s fury reached a boiling point. In an instant, he closed the distance between them, standing protectively in front of (Y/n). “You think you can mark what belongs to me?” he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

The demon laughed, but it was a nervous sound now, one that faltered under the weight of Wonwoo’s intense gaze. “Come on, it’s just a bit of fun,” he attempted to brush off, but the underlying fear was evident.

Without warning, Wonwoo lunged, seizing the other demon by the collar and slamming him against the wall with a force that sent a shockwave through the crowd. Gasps echoed around them, and eyes turned, startled at the sudden eruption of violence.

“Touch her again,” Wonwoo growled, his voice low and dangerously smooth, “and I’ll make sure you regret it. I don’t care who you think you are.” The heat radiating off him was palpable, and the aura of danger surrounding him was enough to make the other demon’s bravado crumble.

The demon squirmed, panic flooding his features as he realized the depth of his mistake. “I was just—”

“Just what?” Wonwoo interrupted, his grip tightening. “Trying to claim something that isn’t yours? You’ve made a grave error.”

With a swift motion, Wonwoo threw the demon away from him, and the other creature stumbled back, his confidence shattered. “Get out,” Wonwoo commanded, his voice echoing through the space, a warning that left no room for argument.

The demon hesitated, eyeing Wonwoo with a mixture of fear and disdain. “You think you can just—”

Wonwoo stepped forward again, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness that sent a clear message. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of here alive.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and charged. The crowd had fallen silent, all eyes on the two demons, and (Y/n) stood behind Wonwoo, her heart racing, filled with both fear and admiration.

Finally, the other demon’s bravado shattered completely. He sneered, though it was less confident now. “Fine. This isn’t over.” With that, he turned and slipped into the crowd, the shadows swallowing him whole.

As the tension began to dissipate, Wonwoo turned around, his eyes softening as he focused on (Y/n). He stepped back, immediately closing the distance between them, his expression shifting from anger to concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, searching her face for any sign of distress. His voice was gentler now, but the intensity still simmered beneath the surface.

“I… I’m fine,” she said, her heart still racing but feeling safe again as she looked into his eyes. “Thank you for protecting me.”

His gaze softened further, and he pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a possessive yet comforting embrace. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he vowed softly, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re safe with me.”

(Y/n) felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she melted into his side. In the chaotic world of demons, Wonwoo was her protector, and in that moment, she knew she would always choose to stand by his side, no matter the dangers that lurked around them.

After everything that had transpired, (Y/n) felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The event had been overwhelming, and the memory of the other demon’s unsettling approach lingered in her mind like a shadow. She took a deep breath and turned to Wonwoo, her voice quiet but steady. “Can we go home?”

The word “home” slipped from her lips with an unexpected warmth, and a smile broke across Wonwoo’s face. “Home?” he echoed, his eyes lighting up. “You really mean that?”

She nodded, feeling a sense of relief at his reaction. The thought of returning to the safety of his space felt comforting, especially after the chaos of the night. “Yes, home.”

“Let’s go,” he replied, his joy infectious. He took her hand, and together they left the event behind, the night air wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.

Once they arrived at his house, (Y/n) made a beeline for the bathroom. She needed to wash away the remnants of the evening—the tension, the unease, and the memory of the demon who had dared to invade her space. The warm water enveloped her, and she let it wash over her, calming her frayed nerves. After a long shower, she emerged feeling refreshed and renewed, the steam clinging to her skin as she wrapped herself in a towel.

Stepping into the living room, she caught sight of Wonwoo sprawled out on the couch again, but this time he was shirtless. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes roamed over his body, now adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive under the dim light of the room. They danced across his arms and peeked out from beneath the waistband of his pants, each marking telling a story of its own.

He looked up as she entered, and a teasing smile spread across his lips. “Enjoying the view?” he quipped, his voice playful, sending a rush of warmth to her cheeks.

Caught off guard, (Y/n) felt her face heat up, her heart racing as she realized she had been staring. “Uh—uhm…” she stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and shyness. “I—uh—”

Before she could finish her sentence, she turned on her heel and hurried back to her room, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Wonwoo called after her, his laughter following her down the hall.

She rushed into her room, shutting the door behind her with a soft thud, leaning against it to catch her breath. The realization of what had just happened hit her all at once, and she buried her face in her hands, feeling utterly flustered.

But after a moment, she couldn’t help but smile, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she thought of Wonwoo’s teasing. He was undeniably attractive, and despite everything that had happened, there was something intoxicating about the way he carried himself. Her heart fluttered with excitement and a hint of something more, something that began to blossom in the corners of her mind.

A gentle knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “(Y/n)?” Wonwoo’s voice came through, soft and slightly concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” she called back, her voice slightly muffled. “Just… taking a moment.”

“Can I come in?” he asked, and her heart raced at the thought of him entering her space.

“Um… sure,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly.

Wonwoo opened the door slowly, stepping inside with a warm smile. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually over his chest, the tattoos on his arms catching the light. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I just… like seeing you blush.”

She rolled her eyes, a grin breaking through her embarrassment. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m just being honest,” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. “You should embrace it. It suits you.”

Feeling bold, (Y/n) took a step closer, her heart pounding in her chest. “You really think so?”

“Definitely,” he said, his voice low, an intensity radiating from him that made her breath hitch. “But I think you’d look even better in my clothes.”

Her cheeks flushed again at the thought, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You really have a way of making a girl feel special, don’t you?”

“Only the special ones,” he replied, stepping forward. “Now, come here.”

He opened his arms, inviting her into his embrace, and she couldn’t resist. She stepped into him, feeling the warmth of his body envelop her. He held her close, his fingers gently brushing her hair back, and for a moment, all her worries melted away.

In that embrace, she felt safe and cherished, and as they stood together, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her heart was beginning to open to this monster who had turned her world upside down.

As (Y/n) pulled away from the embrace, she couldn’t help but notice the intricate designs of Wonwoo’s tattoos more closely. They seemed to shimmer in the low light of the room, swirling and twisting with an ethereal beauty that captivated her. She tilted her head, curiosity bubbling within her. “What’s with the tattoos?”

Wonwoo glanced down at his arms, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Oh, those,” he said, his tone lightening. “They appear whenever I use my shadow powers. They’re like a mark of my magic.”

“Really?” she replied, intrigued. “They look amazing. But why do they look different now?”

He shrugged slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “This time, I was really intense. I was so focused on protecting you that I didn’t even notice them manifesting. They’ll stay for a day or two, depending on how much energy I used.”

“That’s incredible,” (Y/n) said, her eyes wide with admiration. “So, every time you use your powers, they just… appear?”

“Pretty much,” he confirmed, his gaze meeting hers. “They’re a reminder of what I am. But they don’t define me. I’m still the same Wonwoo.”

There was a softness in his voice, and (Y/n) felt a wave of affection for him. “I like them,” she admitted. “They’re unique, just like you.”

A faint blush crept across his cheeks at her compliment, and for a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only by the sound of their breathing.

Feeling emboldened by their closeness, (Y/n) decided to ask about something that had been on her mind. “Why do you always sleep on the couch?”

Wonwoo’s expression shifted, a hint of surprise flashing across his face. “I thought you’d want your space,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’re using my bed, and I didn’t want to pressure you into staying in the same room. I figured it would be better if I let you have your own space to feel comfortable.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” she replied, touched by his consideration. “But… I’d like you to sleep in your bed with me. I don’t mind sharing.”

His eyes widened, and she could see a flicker of hope in his gaze. “Really? You wouldn’t feel uncomfortable?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him, feeling her heart race at the thought of spending the night beside him. “I feel safe with you, Wonwoo. And I’d like to be closer.”

A smile broke across his face, genuine and bright, and she felt her own heart flutter in response. “Okay, then,” he said softly. “If that’s what you want, I’ll sleep in my bed with you from now on.”

With that, they settled on the bed together, the atmosphere shifting to something warmer and more intimate. As they sat side by side, (Y/n) leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. The quiet comfort enveloped them, and for the first time since she had moved into his home, she felt like she belonged.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Wonwoo murmured, his voice low and earnest. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

She looked up at him, her heart swelling with emotion. “I could say the same about you. You’ve made me feel safe in a world that felt so dark and scary.”

He turned to her, a soft expression crossing his features. “You’re not alone anymore, (Y/n). You have me, and I’ll always protect you.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and she felt a deep connection forming between them—a bond that felt almost unbreakable. At that moment, she knew she had found something extraordinary in the most unexpected place.

As they sat together, the shadows of the night faded away, leaving only the two of them and the promise of what lay ahead.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle patterns across the room as (Y/n) slowly stirred awake. She blinked, disoriented, and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Then she felt it: the warmth radiating from the body beside her, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat echoing in her ear.

Suddenly, it all rushed back—she had invited Wonwoo to sleep in the bed with her! Panic surged through her, and her eyes shot wide open. As she registered the scene, her head nestled against his exposed chest, she jerked upright, her heart racing.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, scrambling to put some distance between them. “What am I doing?!”

Wonwoo bolted upright, his eyes wide with alarm. “What?!” he said, immediately on high alert. The shadows in the room shifted, swirling ominously as he instinctively called upon his powers. Dark tendrils swept across the floor and the walls, creating a fortress of shadow around them as if preparing for an intruder.

“What’s happening?!” (Y/n) shouted, her voice edged with panic as she looked around, bewildered by the sudden darkness. She hadn’t meant to alarm him!

As his eyes adjusted to the situation, Wonwoo’s expression changed from one of alarm to confusion, and then to amusement. The shadows melted away, dissipating like mist in the sunlight, leaving the room in its serene morning glow.

“Wait a second,” he said, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Did I scare you?”

“I… I thought someone broke in!” she stammered, feeling embarrassment wash over her like a wave. Her face felt hot, the color rising to her cheeks as she recalled her own wild reaction.

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “And yet, here I am,” he replied, mockingly serious, gesturing to himself as if he were a prized trophy. “Your personal guardian, ready to protect you.”

Her eyes darted down to where his muscled chest was still bare, and she quickly turned her gaze away, trying to suppress the flush creeping onto her face. “I didn’t mean to alarm you! I just… forgot you were here.”

“You mean you forgot how comfortable it is to wake up next to me?” he teased, clearly enjoying her flustered state. He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Stop it!” (Y/n) groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing!”

He laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

She peeked through her fingers at him, her heart racing at his compliment despite the embarrassment. “You’re insufferable,” she mumbled, though a smile tugged at her lips.

With a playful grin, Wonwoo leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Taking a deep breath, (Y/n) finally lowered her hands and met his gaze. “Okay, maybe not… entirely.”

“See?” he said, his tone light. “Admit it, you’re warming up to the whole ‘living with a demon’ thing.”

Her laughter echoed in the room, a mix of nervousness and relief. “Maybe I am,” she confessed, and for a moment, the lingering tension from earlier faded away.

They shared a comfortable silence, the morning sun streaming in and filling the room with warmth. As (Y/n) looked at Wonwoo, she felt a swell of affection for him, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unusual bond they were forming.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked, eager to shift the conversation.

“Well,” he replied, leaning back with a thoughtful expression. “I was thinking we could go out for breakfast. You know, show you off to the world a bit.”

“Show me off?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course! You’re my guest, after all. Plus, I want to give you a proper day out,” he said with a wink.

Her heart fluttered at the thought. “That sounds nice,” she agreed, smiling.

“Great! Let me get dressed, and we can head out,” he said, sliding off the bed, still unapologetically shirtless. (Y/n) tried to ignore the way her heart raced at the sight, focusing instead on the fact that they were about to spend a day together outside, just the two of them.

As Wonwoo began to rummage through his clothes, she couldn’t help but feel excited about what lay ahead. There was still an air of uncertainty surrounding their situation, but being with him made it all feel a little less daunting.

As they settled at a cozy café, sunlight streaming through the windows and casting warm rays across their table, (Y/n) took a sip of her coffee, savoring the rich flavor. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and sizzling eggs filled the air, creating a comforting atmosphere that eased her nerves. She glanced at Wonwoo, who was intently watching her, his expression serious and contemplative.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped them. “I need to ask you something.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she put her cup down, focusing on him. “What is it?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were wrestling with his thoughts. “Do you resent me for… you know, taking you from your world?”

The question hit her like a wave, catching her off guard. (Y/n) opened her mouth to respond but paused, searching for the right words. Memories of her life before flooded her mind—the mundane routines, the stress of college, and the constant feeling of being lost. But intertwined with those memories were the vibrant moments she had shared with Wonwoo.

“I… it’s complicated,” she finally said, her voice soft. “At first, I felt terrified and lost. I thought you were just a monster, and I didn’t understand what was happening to me.”

His expression darkened at her words, and she quickly continued, “But now, I see things differently. You’ve shown me kindness and safety in a way I never expected. I can’t say I don’t miss my old life, but I also can’t deny that I’ve felt… happy here with you.”

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, relief washing over his features. “So you don’t resent me?” he asked, almost hesitantly.

“No,” she assured him, her eyes meeting his. “I don’t. I actually appreciate what you’ve done for me, even if it’s not the most conventional situation.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and the tension in his shoulders eased. “I promised myself that if you ever resented me, I would let you go back,” he confessed, his voice steady. “I never wanted to force you into anything. If you want to leave, I’ll find a way to undo everything.”

Her heart ached at his words, and she reached across the table, her hand finding his. “Wonwoo, please don’t think like that. I don’t want to leave,” she said firmly, her grip tightening around his. “You’ve become a part of my life now. I can’t just walk away from that.”

He looked down at their intertwined fingers, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I just… I want to make sure you’re happy. That’s all I care about.”

“I am happy,” (Y/n) promised, her voice steady. “I feel more alive here than I ever did back in my world. I’ve experienced things I never thought possible, and it’s all because of you.”

He met her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers for sincerity. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” she replied, her heart racing as she spoke the truth. “I really do.”

A smile broke across Wonwoo’s face, brightening his features and melting away any lingering worry. “Okay, then,” he said, his tone lightening. “Let’s keep making memories together, then.”

With a newfound sense of comfort, they returned to their breakfast, the warmth of their conversation wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. As they laughed and talked about the little things, (Y/n) felt an undeniable bond forming between them—a connection that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

In that moment, surrounded by the bustling café and the clinking of dishes, she knew she had found something special in Wonwoo, a rare understanding that could bridge even the deepest chasms of fear and uncertainty.

After their breakfast, (Y/n) and Wonwoo returned home, the comforting familiarity of his house enveloping them. The air was filled with the scent of coffee lingering in her memory, and she felt a warmth blossoming in her chest. They settled onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions, a peaceful aura surrounding them.

“So, tell me about your life before all this,” Wonwoo prompted, his tone casual yet filled with genuine curiosity.

She hesitated for a moment, reflecting on her past. “Well, I had a pretty normal childhood,” she began, her gaze drifting as she recalled those days. “I grew up in a small town, and it was nice—lots of open spaces and friendly neighbors. I guess I was always the adventurous type, though. I loved exploring the woods near my house.”

A small smile crossed Wonwoo’s face, intrigued by her memories. “That sounds lovely. Did you have any friends to explore with?”

“Yeah, a few,” (Y/n) continued, her smile growing wider. “But I always felt like I was meant for something more, you know? So when it came time for college, I took a big risk and moved here, away from everything familiar.”

“Was it scary?” he asked, his expression earnest.

“Absolutely,” she admitted. “I was so nervous. I didn’t know anyone, and everything felt so overwhelming at first. But I thought it was a chance to start fresh, to discover who I really was.”

Wonwoo nodded, clearly captivated by her story. “And what did you discover?”

She paused, considering her answer. “I discovered that I’m stronger than I thought. That I can adapt, even when things are tough. But I also discovered loneliness. It was hard being away from home.”

He listened intently, the shadows of his past fading as he focused on her words. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been,” he said softly. “But it seems like you’re finding your way now.”

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied, her heart swelling at his support. “And then… well, I never expected to end up here, with you.”

Wonwoo smiled, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Neither did I, to be honest.”

After a moment of comfortable silence, (Y/n) shifted the conversation, her curiosity piqued. “You mentioned hunting when you found me. What exactly does that entail?”

He leaned back, a shadow of seriousness crossing his face. “It’s a ritual we demons perform to find souls. We use our abilities to seek out those who are vulnerable or lost, drawing them in like moths to a flame. It’s how I found you.”

Her heart raced as she considered the implications of his words. “And you had to do that… to take me?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I didn’t expect to feel what I felt when I found you. You were different. You’re not just a soul to me.”

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured, feeling a mixture of emotions swirl inside her. “It sounds so intense, so… dark.”

“It is,” he acknowledged, his expression earnest. “But it’s a part of what I am. I’ve learned to manage it, to focus my energy on things that matter. Like you.”

( Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her at his words. “What about this house?” she asked, changing the subject. “How did you end up living in such luxury?”

Wonwoo chuckled, a lightness returning to his demeanor. “Well, if you’re immortal, you tend to save up a lot of money over the centuries,” he explained, his tone playful. “I figured, why not spend it on someone like you? You deserve a place that feels special.”

Her heart fluttered at his sentiment, and she couldn’t help but smile. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

He shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. “Just trying to keep up with my reputation.”

They shared a laugh, the air thick with unspoken connection and budding affection. As they talked, (Y/n) felt a sense of comfort enveloping her, the shadows of her past fading away as she focused on the warmth of the present.

“So, tell me more about your life,” he prompted, leaning closer, his gaze inviting.

And as the hours slipped by, they exchanged stories and laughter, weaving a tapestry of memories that blended their worlds together. For the first time in a long time, (Y/n) felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the life she had left behind was only a stepping stone to something far greater.

As they continued their light-hearted conversation, a flicker of curiosity ignited within Wonwoo, mingling with an undercurrent of apprehension. He hesitated before asking, “So, have you ever dated anyone?”

(Y/n) paused, a hint of surprise crossing her face. “I mean, I’ve gone on a few dates here and there,” she admitted, her tone casual. “But nothing serious. Just some fun outings, you know? I never really found anyone I connected with enough to call it a relationship.”

Wonwoo felt a jolt of possessiveness course through him at the thought of someone else taking her out, even if only briefly. He struggled to keep his expression neutral, trying not to let his inner monster show. The thought of her sharing those moments with anyone else stirred something primal within him.

“Really?” he asked, trying to sound casual despite the surge of emotion brewing inside. “So, no one ever captured your heart?”

(Y/n) shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “Not in a real way. I guess I’ve always been focused on my studies, and the people I dated just never felt right. They were more like distractions than anything else.”

A wave of relief washed over him at her words, mingling with a surge of satisfaction. He could be her first and last real relationship, the one who would truly understand her.

“Good,” he said, his voice firmer than intended. “I mean, not that it’s bad to date, but… I’m glad you didn’t get too attached to anyone else.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.

He leaned forward, a seriousness settling over him. “Because I want to be your first, and I want to be your last. I don’t want anyone else to have that chance.”

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in, her heart racing. “Wonwoo, you—”

“I know it sounds possessive,” he cut in, his voice low and earnest. “But I’ve been alive for centuries, and I can tell when something is worth holding on to. You’re worth it.”

A warmth spread through (Y/n) at his confession, filling her with a sense of hope and comfort. “You really mean that?” she asked softly, her eyes locking onto his.

“More than anything,” he replied, his gaze intense. “You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met. I want to build something real with you, something that lasts.”

Her heart swelled at the sincerity in his voice. “I want that too, Wonwoo,” she admitted, feeling the gravity of the moment. “I never expected to feel this way about you, but it’s like you’ve awakened something in me. I don’t want to let that go.”

He reached across the couch, taking her hand in his, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. “Then let’s promise to keep this between us. No distractions, just us.”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile breaking across her face. “I promise.”

And as they sat there, hands clasped together, an unspoken agreement formed between them—a promise of a future entwined, filled with the potential for something beautiful and lasting. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of them and the bond that was beginning to flourish in the space between their hearts.

After finishing her shower, (Y/n) realized, with a sudden jolt of embarrassment, that she had forgotten to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom. The warm water had washed away the lingering tension of the day, but now she stood in the bathroom, feeling the cool air against her skin and the towel clutched tightly around her body.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she reluctantly opened the bathroom door, stepping into the dimly lit hallway. Her heart raced as she made her way to her room, but before she could fully process the moment, she froze in surprise. Wonwoo was there, leaning casually against the wall, his gaze locking onto hers.

Time seemed to slow as his eyes traveled down her form, lingering on the damp strands of hair that framed her face, the towel that barely covered her, and the way the light glinted off her skin. (Y/n) felt a rush of heat creep up her cheeks, excitement mingling with nervousness as she took in his intense expression.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened, an undeniable hunger flickering within them. It was a look she had never seen before—a primal, almost possessive desire that sent shivers down her spine. She felt vulnerable yet exhilarated under his gaze, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Y/N…” he said, his voice low and thick with emotion as he pushed himself off the wall and slowly approached her. Each step he took seemed to make the air around them thicker, charged with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

He stopped just inches away, the warmth of his body radiating towards her. His hands found her waist, fingers gently grazing her skin beneath the towel, igniting a trail of heat wherever he touched. (Y/n) gasped softly at the contact, her heart racing as she looked up into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation.

But all she saw was desire.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, sending goosebumps cascading across her body. “You shouldn’t be out here like this,” he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur that wrapped around her like silk. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through her, mingling with the tension building between them. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it made her skin tingle and her heart race. It was thrilling to know she could provoke such a reaction from him, and she felt a surge of confidence.

“What do I do to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, daring him to reveal more.

Wonwoo pulled back slightly to meet her gaze, his eyes smoldering with intensity. “You make me want to lose control,” he confessed, his tone low and laced with hunger. “I want to be close to you, to touch you, to show you just how much you mean to me.”

(Y/n) swallowed hard, feeling the tension between them thicken. There was something intoxicating about the way he looked at her, as if she were the only thing that mattered in that moment. She could feel her breath quickening, an electrifying mix of fear and excitement swirling within her.

“Then show me,” she challenged, her heart racing as she leaned slightly into him, emboldened by the heat radiating off his body.

Wonwoo’s gaze darkened even further at her words, and before she knew it, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against her neck, igniting a fire that spread throughout her body. “You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire.

But there was something in his tone that told her he was more than willing to take that leap. And as the towel slipped slightly, leaving her feeling exposed yet exhilarated, (Y/n) knew she was standing at the edge of something beautiful and terrifying, caught in a moment that would forever change the course of their relationship.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth and desire that enveloped them, ready to explore the depths of their connection in a way she had never imagined possible.

The night had stretched on, filled with a whirlwind of passion and intimacy that (Y/n) had never experienced before. It was wild and loving, each moment charged with a raw energy that pulsed between them, igniting every nerve in her body. Every kiss, every caress seemed to echo through her, leaving her breathless and exhilarated.

As dawn began to break, casting a soft golden light across the room, (Y/n) lay nestled against Wonwoo, her head resting on his chest. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat soothed her, lulling her into a state of peaceful contentment. She felt safe in his embrace, wrapped in warmth and security.

Wonwoo smiled down at her, his fingers gently threading through her hair as he watched the sun slowly rise outside the window. The hues of orange and pink spilled into the room, illuminating the space with a soft glow that matched the warmth blossoming in his chest. He felt a sense of completeness, a joy that swelled within him as he reflected on the night they had shared.

He couldn’t help but admire the beauty of (Y/n) in this moment. The way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in the remnants of their wild night. She was utterly perfect, and for the first time in centuries, Wonwoo felt a deep sense of fulfillment.

She is mine, he thought, a content smile playing on his lips.

The memories of their passionate moments flooded his mind—every shared laugh, every heated whisper, every sweet kiss that had sealed their connection. It was as if all the loneliness he had endured through the years had melted away, leaving only the undeniable bond that now existed between them.

As the sun climbed higher, casting a golden light over their forms, (Y/n) stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open to find Wonwoo watching her with an adoring expression. She felt a rush of warmth spread through her at the sight, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice a low, soothing rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice still thick with sleep.

“How do you feel?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone as he remembered the wildness of their night together.

She smiled shyly, her heart racing at the memories that surged back to her. “I feel… amazing,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Last night was… unforgettable.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his gaze sparkling with warmth and affection. “I’m glad to hear that. You deserve nothing less.”

The tenderness in his voice made her heart flutter. She shifted slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes, feeling an undeniable connection pulling them closer. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about someone,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither did I,” he replied, his tone sincere. “You’ve opened something inside me that I thought was long buried. I never expected to feel so deeply for anyone again.”

Their gazes locked, and in that moment, (Y/n) felt a surge of warmth and belonging. It was as if the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own little universe.

“I think we were meant to find each other,” she said softly, her heart swelling with emotion. “You’ve changed my life in ways I never could have imagined.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And you’ve changed mine, Y/N. You’re my light in the dark, and I’ll do everything to keep you safe and happy.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and (Y/n) felt her heart swell with affection. She nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. In that moment, she knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

As the sun continued to rise, filling the room with light, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, savoring the warmth of their connection. The world outside seemed to come alive, but in their little cocoon, time stood still, allowing them to revel in the beautiful reality they had created together.

Perhaps the way they met wasn’t the best one, but living and loving a demon, probably isn’t as bad as people make it sound.

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