#supernatural au deep lore | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stllmnstr · 2 months

Text

sacred monsters: part two

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part two word count: 12.4k

part two warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, me forcing you to read extensive vampire lore, the supernatural elements are ramped up a notch (or, like, eight notches), semi-graphic descriptions and depictions of violence

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

note/disclaimer: and to absolutely no one’s surprise, I cannot stop talking about vampire heeseung, so this story will be more than two parts. this is not the end. I want to say it will be around 4-5. potentially more. (yay if you’re excited, and my apologies if you’re not.) again, I want to name the sources I used to help me create this: the dark moon webtoon is where lots of the lore comes from, and influences from twilight are also scattered throughout. okay I think that’s it. for now at least… as always, happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Everything hurts.

As your consciousness slowly begins to trickle back in, pain is the most prominent sensation. It comes in slow, steady waves. With a certain kind of deep ache.

Eyes still screwed shut, your brow furrows. The movement only inspires anothing intense wave of throbbing pain that thuds against your temples.

As senses begin to emerge, you can tell that you’re horizontal. Lying down. The surface beneath you is soft. It dips and curves, gives to the shape of your body. A bed, maybe.

Delicately, you try moving your right arm. Wiggling your toes. Both are responsive, but there’s a profound soreness sitting deep within your muscle that makes you strain against a whimper from even the tiniest of movements.

And your throat. It’s so dry. Scraped raw as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. As if you’ve been screaming.

You inhale deeply, assessing the way air inflates the lungs beneath your ribs. Even there, deep within you, there’s a dull, muted ache. A pain that lingers. As the ensuing exhale leaves your body, you note another sensation.

The emptiness of your stomach. The deep pangs of hunger that roll like nausea.

With no small amount of reluctance, you begin the arduous task of opening your eyes. One slow blink that bleeds into another.

At first, the only thing you see is a vast expanse of white. Blinding light makes you want to squint. Close your eyes again. But it’s nothing but a trick of your own senses. Causes by eyes that have gone unused for an extended period of time.

Slowly, the space above you begins to take on its true tone. A soft, even light gray that coats the expanse of the ceiling. Turning your head to the side, you ignore the protest of pain from your neck.

You let your eyes wander for a minute. But as the space around you begins to come into focus, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Your earlier assertion had been correct. You are lying in a bed. But it’s not the one you’ve grown used to. This isn’t your apartment.

No, the bedroom around you is an unfamiliar one. But that’s undoubtedly what it is: a bedroom. Threadbare maybe, but with small touches of life. Aside from your current resting place, there’s a desk on the opposite side of the room. A nightstand right next to you. A small lamp that emanate a warm, golden glow.

Forcing your body into an upright position, you wince at the effort it takes just to sit upright, to maneuver every aching limb into place.

More details of the room come into focus. A computer monitor and keyboard on the desk. The small stack of books next to it. A record player. A small dresser. Little trinkets of personality, but nothing that serves you now.

Even through the haze in your sleep-addled mind, you’re sure you’ve never seen any of it before. Why are you here? Where is here?

And why does your body hurt so damn much, nerves under your skin singing like they’ve been wrung out to dry?

The fog in your mind refuses to clear. Soon, another emotion begins to emerge alongside the confusion as the reality of the situation sets in.

You’re alone. In an unfamiliar room. Hungry as if it’s been days since you’ve eaten.

Judging from the way your limbs respond to even the most minute of movements, you’re injured. Badly.

Flexing your left leg again, you wince. Can you even walk right now?

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

The beginnings of panic begin to trace your mind. Again, you’re searching the room. This time, however, you focus on memorizing the layout. Finding anything that might be of any use to you, that might help you identify your location. That might help you craft an escape.

Your search turns up two doors, one to your left and one directly across from the foot of the bed. Both are unmarked. Both are pulled shut.

It’s possible that your panic is premature. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that this was nothing more than the bedroom of a rather minimalistic university student. But if that were the case why did you wake up here alone, head pounding, body aching?

That alone is definitive. Something is very wrong.

Instinctively, you try to retrace your steps. You must have gotten here somehow. But the more you try to walk back through your memory, the hazier things become. The inside of your mind is like a murky labyrinth, dead ends at every corner. Rearranging and shifting the more you try to focus.

It’s as if a dense fog has clouded over your ability to think, to recall. No matter how close you get to a memory, you can’t see anything.

That alone is enough to send another fresh wave of panic straight to your bones. Alone, injured, and you can’t remember any of the events that led you to this strange place.

Gingerly, you turn your body so that your legs hang off the side of the bed, bare feet resting lightly on the floor. That movement alone requires several of your deep inhales.

Slowly, you try putting weight on your feet, your legs. It’s not pleasant by any means, but they hold steady. Or at the very least, they don’t buckle beneath you. Aside from the soreness, there’s a distinct fatigue in your extremities. One that gives them a slight shake the longer you try to stand.

You doubt you can run, but at least you’re not completely immobile. Maybe, given enough adrenaline, you can walk. Crawl.

But now you’re faced with another dilemma. Two doors. Two points of entry, two potential routes to escape. Or two paths to further danger. Trapped in a windowless room, you have no way of knowing which of your two choices, if any, is better.

But you can’t just stay here. Backed into a corner, practically a sitting duck. Eyes darting between the two doors, you steel yourself for the inevitable flash of pain fully standing will inevitably cause.

The door to the left of the bed. The door at the foot of the bed.

Just as you’ve decided to veer to the right, muscles tensing in anticipation, a knock rings out. Your breath catches in your throat, panic reaching its peak as your heart beats a furious rhythm in your chest. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go.One rap against the door to your left. Two. Three.

You won’t make it to the other door in time. Not on your legs.

There’s a moment of suspended silence. And then, the door is opening.

Instinctively, you push yourself backwards on the bed., trying to put as much space as physically possible between you and the stranger that enters.

And a stranger he certainly is. With a tentative sort of slowness, a boy peers around the edge of the door, squinting in the low light.

When he sees that you’re upright, he pushes into the room fully, closing the door quietly behind him. The glimpse you get over his shoulder doesn’t reveal much. Another room, maybe, but it’s gone too quickly to be certain.

“You’re awake,” he nods, more to himself than anything. “I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

Back pressed against the wall, you have nowhere left to go. Still hunched as if that will do anything to protect you, you stare at the boy in front of you.

Maybe, you think. Maybe you could move fast enough to grab the lamp from the nightstand before he realizes what’s happening. Could use it as some sort of weapon, some meager means of self-defense.

“Who are you?” Your throat is scraped raw. It hurts to speak, to think, to do much of anything. “Where am I?”

“Oh.” The boy pauses for a moment. For the first time since he entered, he stops to look at you. Really look at you. The extent of the terror that’s embedded in your features, written in the positioning of your body.

Immediately, he stops in his tracks. Retreats a few steps until he’s back at the far edge of the room, just in front of the door he entered from. “Sorry, I guess it was probably quite the shock to wake up here. My name is Jake. You’re in our…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Well, our home, I suppose.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Chest still rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even your breathing. You can still feel your pulse in your neck.

If the situation weren't so disorienting, so terrifyingly confusing, you might be mildly amused by the almost… sheepish look that crosses his features. Where he avoids eye contact with you from the doorframe, this boy certainly doesn’t look like a threat.

If you had to guess, you’d say that he — Jake — is around your age. With dark hair that falls across his forehead and wide, dark eyes, he has a distinct sort of beauty that almost reminds you of…

Suddenly, in the confines of your missing memories, you’re grasping at straws again.

“Specifically,” Jake adds, realizing the information might be pertinent to you, “this is Heeseung’s room.”

Heeseung. You know that name. You think it’s the one you were searching for.

Heeseung.

It sparks something. A flicker of a memory. A ghost of the answers you seek.

You feel like you’re on the verge of a revelation when you ask, “Where is he? Heeseung?”

Jake’s expression betrays no surprise. He’d expected you to ask him that, you realize. It does, however, suddenly appear a bit more guarded. “He’s recovering. That poison he got out of you really did a number on him.”

For a moment, his words do nothing but reverberate in your aching skull. And then—

“Poison?”

Jake just looks at you for a second, brow pulling down in confusion as if you’re the strange one in this situation. As if poison and Heeseung’s apparent removal of it should already be old news. Then, a flicker of realization crosses his features. His brow softens.

“That’s right,” he mumbles. Again, it seems more for his benefit than yours. “I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

Moonflower? In humans?

“Memory loss?”

“It’s only temporary,” Jake says, as if that’s enough to make everything better. “Everything will start to come back soon, I’m sure.” He pauses, frowning. A flicker of sympathy enters his gaze. “I feel like I should warn you, though. Judging from the way you and Heeseung came in here a couple of nights ago, it might be a lot to take in all at once when they do.”

A couple of nights ago. Which means—

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Just over two days. It’s Friday night now. Almost midnight.” While the shock of that settles into your system, Jake continues, “Which reminds me, I brought you some things I thought you might need.”

He turns away from you, opening the door. When he closes it behind him again, he now has two bags in his hand. Carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal, he takes slow footsteps towards you.

Setting the bags down next to the nightstand, he explains, “This one has water and food. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so feel free to have whatever, and let us know if there’s anything else you want.”

Looking at the second bag, he adds, “I also brought you some clothes. We didn’t really have anything for a girl here. I mean, Sunghoon had a couple of things, but I didn’t really think you’d want them. Sunoo and Niki went out and got some stuff. I’m sure they did their best, but, uh,” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “No promises.”

Jake nods towards the dresser that sits by the desk. “If you hate everything, you can also look through whatever Heeseung has in there. I’m sure he wouldn't mind.”

That name again. Heeseung. There’s nothing solid in your memory, but heat finds itself on your cheekbones anyway. The thought of wearing his clothes just feels like something that should warrant that reaction, even if you’re not sure why.

“There’s also a bathroom through that door.” Jake jerks his chin towards the door across from the foot of the bed. And maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have enough time to craft an escape through there, you think. This conversation might have been significantly more awkward in a bathroom. “Feel free to use anything in there, including the shower, if you want. There should be clean towels in the bottom drawer.”

He takes another long look at you, that same sympathy from earlier coloring his gaze. It feels weighted, heavy. As if he’s forseen some great tragedy you’re not yet privy too. As if he knows something you don’t. “I’m sure you have a million questions, but I think you’ll feel better with some food and water in you.” He nods towards the bags he set close to you. “And a fresh change of clothes.”

He’s probably right. With the urgency of your former panic subsiding, you still don’t feel at ease. But neither fight nor flight seem like appropriate responses to this situation. Which leaves you stuck with a third one: reluctant trust.

As you make your peace with it, something begins to press at the fog in your mind. It swirls, collects as if being pressed against a glass window. Your memories are still evasive, but there’s something there, in that haze. Syllables stuck on a loop, a constant repetition that begs your attention.

Heeseung.

There’s a sudden urgency in your gut. The distinct feeling that things will start to make sense again if you can just see him, talk to him. Jake said that he’s recovering. From poison. But you don’t know what that means, don’t understand what kind of gravity it might hold.

Vague sentiments conveyed through a messenger are hardly enough to satisfy the tugging in your mind.

So you ask, “Can I see him? Heeseung?”

Something flickers across Jake’s gaze, too fast for you to catch it fully. Concern maybe. A premonition of fear. Still, he says, “He’s okay. I promise. You’ll be able to see him soon.” For a moment, Jake falls into silence, weighing words on his tongue like he can’t decide if he should share them or not. “But he’s not really in the best shape for visitors right now. Take care of you first, and then we can talk more if you want. And when you’re both ready, you can see Heeseung, too.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer, but Jake holds the cards here. You have nothing to leverage, nothing to bargain.

Before he leaves, he reiterates, “I’m sure that your memories will start to come back soon. Like I said, it might be a lot all at once. I’ll let you eat and get changed, if you want. The door locks.” He nods to the door handle. “So does the one on the bathroom door. And please, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just outside.”

Gently, Jake opens the door, pulls it shut behind him. And then you’re alone again.

Gone is the frantic terror you awoke with, and left in its wake is a gentler sort of fear. A deep sense of unease that refuses to fade.

Pushing it aside for now, you attend to your baser needs. Heeding Jake’s advice, you retrieve the first bag he left for you, pulling it up onto the bed.

The first thing you see is a bottle of water. You make quick work of pulling it out, removing the cap, and taking a long sip. It’s cool, refreshing. Soothes your aching throat before settling heavily at the bottom of your empty stomach.

Taking another handful of gulps, you replace the cap before setting it on the nightstand. Opening the bag further, you reveal its other contents.

It’s possibly the strangest assortment of food that you’ve ever seen. Frowning in confusion, you take stock of what you’ve been given. It just gets weirder the more you look at it. It’s as if Jake went to the grocery store and just grabbed the first thing he saw in every aisle with no regard for how they would fit together. As if he hasn’t made himself a meal since the day he was born.

The first thing you pull out is a box of dry pasta, completely inedible without cooking utensils you currently have no access to. Jake did say you could ask him for anything, but even boiling water has a way of feeling like an insurmountable task in your current state. You move on.

What follows is hardly better. There’s a singular, unripe avocado, an entire family sized bag of clementine oranges, three boxes of breakfast cereal, a loaf of bread, and — you pause a moment to count — eight different kinds of granola bars.

Pushing past the strangeness, you figure you don’t need a Michelin star meal to ease the hunger. For now, you decide that one of the granola bars and a clementine look the most appetizing.

After a few minutes, the blunt edges of hunger lose their sharpness. But even with a bit of food in your system, the nausea hold steady.

Mind addled, you curse yourself for not asking him the most obvious question. What the hell happened to you?

But he did say your memories should be coming back soon, and you decide you’ll just have to trust in that for now.

Next, you reach for the bag of clothes. You didn’t think it was possible, but it somehow manages to be even stranger than the food.

To your shoppers’ credit, they are girls’ clothes, yes, but it seems that was the only criteria for selection. It’s the dead of winter, and the first two things you pull out are a pair of denim shorts and a sundress. Frowning, you refold them both, placing them back in the bag. At least they still have their tags. Hopefully the two boys Jake mentioned kept their receipt.

That leaves you with your other option. Glancing over at the dresser, his dresser, you’re at an impasse.

Even with gaping holes in your memory, it feels invasive, far too intimate to look through his things. To go through his clothes until you find something that suits you. To wear it without his permission.

Taking a sidelong glance at the pair of denim shorts, you decide you don’t have all that much pride left to barter, anyway. After all, you work up disoriented, weak, and missing all of your memories in the boy’s bed. What’s a spare change of clothes in comparison with that?

As you gingerly pad your way to the dresser, you decide it feels less like snooping if you only reach for what’s on top. Luck is on your side. The first thing you see when you open the top drawer is a sweatshirt and matching pair of sweatpants, both of which are ridiculously soft.

Stolen goods in tow, you continue towards the bathroom door. Pulling it closed behind you, you see that Jake was telling the truth. The lock slides into place with a small click.

Like his bedroom, Heeseung’s bathroom is fairly nondescript. Devoid of decor, it holds what he needs and little else. Opening the bottom drawer of the vanity, you find a clean towel and set it down on the counter, next to the clothes.

Lifting your head, you catch your reflection in the mirror. It’s enough to have you double take. You almost don’t recognize yourself. The tangled mess of hair and dark circles of exhaustion beneath your eyes are things you could forgive. Two days of straight sleep is enough to wreak at least a little havoc on anyone.

But that’s not what has your reflection freezing.

Delicately, as if the truth will somehow be less awful if revealed slowly, you tilt your head to the side. Pull your hair away, tuck it behind your ear. Expose the dark, mottled assortment of discolored marks that extend all the way from your jaw to the base of your neck.

Bruises. Deep, dark bruises.

And on top of them, uneven, flaky patches of multicolored crimson. Dried blood, you realize as your stomach gives a sickening lurch.

Is it yours? Heeseung’s? Someone else’s?

The fog in your mind suddenly feels like an enclosure. Holding you hostage and dangling your forgotten memories just out of reach. Trapping you in the darkness and offering no way out, no way through. Just a dim candle against the vast, midnight darkness of terror.

You’re too wrung out to cry, too confused to so much as gasp. As reality unfolds, devastation seems to be the norm, not the exception. Even if your throat weren’t raw, you’re not sure you’d scream.

With trepidation, you raise a hand, watching the way your fingers tremble in your reflection. And then your run a gentle touch over the evidence of destruction, a war waged on your skin. Once it nears your jaw, you feel something. A small bump that has you hissing at the contact.

Leaning forward, you examine it closer. It’s a tiny wound, barely perceptible. It reminds you of a vaccination at the doctor’s office. Neat, sterile.

Enough to be confusing, yes. Arguably even concerning. But it’s not what has you reeling.

Because around the tiny mark are two more puncture wounds. Perfectly circular still, but decidedly larger. Rougher. Deeper. They’re embedded into your skin on either side of the smaller wound. And if you didn’t know any better, if your mind had any more capacity for the impossible, you’d almost think they look like…

You’d almost think they look like bite marks.

The longer you stare, the more sinister they appear. The more hopelessly horrified you feel. What happened to you? Why does the side of your neck look like a watercolor painting of violets? Why does it look like you’ve been bitten?

If this is what you look like, what kind of state is Heeseung in? Jake said it himself that he’s in no condition for visitors.

What if he’s not recovering as well as Jake said? What if it’s your fault—?

No. You won’t let yourself spiral there.

Memories, you just need your memories.

Which means you just need a little more time.

The shower, to your relief, has plenty of hot water to spare. For long minutes, you just stand there, letting it pour over you, your skin, your aching muscles. As water seeps through the drain, it carries some of your tension with it.

You watch as the water that circles the drain runs red before it clears again, blood washed away from your skin.

It’s instinct, mostly. The desire to confirm what you already know, that has you retracing the strange marks on your neck.

A hiss of pain is the only thing that ensues in response at first. But then something else comes.

A flicker of a memory.

A strange place, a dark room.

New Haven. The publishing house. Because you had gone there to meet Professor Kim, to show him your draft, to see the space you’d won an internship in.

It’s coming back now, in fragments.

There had been something strange, though. It was dark when you arrived. Dark and empty and quiet until—

Until suddenly it wasn’t. Until Heeseung was there with you.

Warm water traces steady lines on your skin. Your memory reappears in tangled, discombobulated jumbles. Things clicking into place as you do your best to sort them chronologically.

Heeseung was there, but he wasn’t supposed to be. You had gone there to see Professor Kim. Why wasn’t he—?

The sudden flash of memory is sickening. Has another bout of nausea threatening the contents of your stomach.

It all comes back, all at once. Replaying like a nightmare, like a scene plucked from a horror film.

Blood dripping from your professor’s mouth. Clothes tattered on his body. Heeseung shielding you, protecting you.

But Professor Kim wasn’t himself. He wasn’t right. He threw something at you. Something that hit you right where he intended.

Without your permission, your fingers are back on the slippery skin of your neck. The blood is gone, but the wound remains just the same. The wound that Professor Kim gave to you.

You remember the feeling of floating, of being distant from your body, removed from reality. Mind on some other plane of existence.

You remember gentle, insistent, desperate hands on your waist. Your jaw. Your forehead.

Heeseung, bent over you, consuming your limited plane of vision as your eyelids became too heavy to remain open.

Pain in your neck. Sharp at first. Then dull, numbing.

Heeseung. Heeseung bit you. Held you in his arms as consciousness drained from your body along with your blood.

Poison, Jake had called it. ‘Poison he got out of you.’

It’s all so strange. They’re your memories, yes, and you’re sure of them, but why was there poison in your neck? Why was biting you the solution? How did his teeth leave such perfectly circular marks on—?

The final puzzle piece clicks into place.

Vampire attacks. You had been worried about Heeseung, relieved to see him safe and sound at New Haven. Because you had just read about vampire attacks.

Robotically, you turn the water off. Step out of the shower, wrap a towel around your body.

His clothes are soft against your skin.

Heeseung saved you. Of that, you’re sure. But what about the three people at the river? The three victims of a vampire attack?

It can’t be true. It can’t. You don’t know him, not really, but he’s just… Heeseung.

An annoyingly competent poet and a massive pain in your ass. Someone that walks you home when you stay too late in the library. Someone that calls your writing awful when it is, when you need a cold, hard reality check.

He’s… he’s just Heeseung. He’s not a—

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the thought.

But your memories are back, and there’s a alertness to your mind that only sharpens as the fog clears.

At the edge of your mind, Jake’s voice replays. Something you glossed over in your confusion, something you fixate on now.

“I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

“I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

The strange assortment of food. Jake’s undeniable, uncanny beauty. The kind you’ve only ever seen in one other person.

Jake was right. You do feel a bit better with food and water in your stomach. With the last three days of horror washed off of your skin. But your mind is alert now. The memories are coming back. Puzzle pieces rearranging and clicking into place with alarming accuracy.

And as the dust settles, you’re suddenly very, very afraid of the reality that greets you.

In your mind, the facts play on a loop.

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how to leave. Jake has been nothing but kind, but if he so wished, you’re sure he could overpower you easily. And he insinuated that he’s not the only one here.

You need answers. You need to leave. But Heeseung…

You have to know.

Is the boy you’ve been trying to outwrite for months, the boy you shared a moment under a moonlit sky with, is he a… a vampire?

Why was he at New Haven that day? Did he know about Professor Kim? Did he know about the deaths at the river? Was he complicit in them? Was he responsible for them?

Clothed in determination and a fleeting moment of bravery, you undo the lock on the bathroom door, passing through the bedroom, his bedroom, on furious footsteps. The second door opens just as easily as the bathroom had, and suddenly, you’re in the room you caught just a glimpse of before. A living room, of sorts. Some sort of common area.

True to his earlier word, Jake sits nearby. Planted on a navy sofa, he looks up when you enter. “How are you feeling? Do you need any—”

Manners are the last thing on your mind when you interrupt him mid-sentence. “What are you?” Not ‘who are you.’ That won’t give you the answer you seek. The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous.

Jake’s mouth falls shut, presses into a line. Hesitation paints his features. “I don’t think this is the best—”

You won’t hear it. “What are you?”

Jake holds up his palms in surrender. “Your memories are starting to come back, I take it. Look, we can explain everything, just—”

On the far end of the room, another door opens. Another boy enters. Just like Heeseung, just like Jake, he’s beautiful. Moves with that same unnatural grace that you used to admire when you thought no one would notice. Now, it has another surge of nausea rolling in your stomach.

Jake glances at the new arrival. He sighs. “This isn’t really a good time, Sunghoon. Why don’t you—”

The boy, Sunghoon, never hears Jake’s suggestion. Instead, he cuts him off. And once again, your world is spinning.

“He’s back.”

…..

You are the last to enter the strange room. On the heels of Jake and Sunghoon, despite the former’s insistence that you wait and see him later, you take in your surroundings.

Odd enough was the long, winding hallway that led you here, but this is even stranger. Instead of a proper door, the room is guarded by long, thick metal bars. They stand ajar now but bear a rather impressive lock. You have the distinct impression that this place was designed to keep people out. Or maybe rather to keep someone in.

You hear him before you see him. Memories recovered, the sound of his voice is something you’re well attuned to, even if it flickers with a strong tone of annoyance.

“Yes, I’m fine. I told you, it’s a ridiculously strong sedative at its core. We’ll react strangely, yes, but it’s not the same as bloodlust—”

“Still,” another voice argues. “We all saw how she looked when you brought her in. You had to have drank a considerable amount—”

“I told you I’m fine, Jungwon,” Heeseung counters. “Do I look out of control to you? Would I be sitting here having this conversation with you if I was?”

“Fine.” It’s the same voice. Jungwon. “If you’re alive and well, then maybe you can answer my question. What were you doing at New Haven? Do you know how long we’ve—”

It’s probably stupid, shoving past people in their own home. People that you suspect are dangerous, that might not really be people at all. But you have to see him. You have to know.

Once you finally get around Sunghoon, your view of the room opens up. Sparsely decorated, dimly lit, and there are four other boys you don’t recognize. You pay them no attention.

Because in the middle of it all stands Heeseung. Maybe, if you squint, you could argue that he looks a little worse for wear. There’s a pink flush under his eyes, a slight disarray to his usually perfect hair, but other than that, he paints the perfect, untouchable picture he always has.

At the commotion of your sudden movement, all eyes in the room turn from Heeseung and land squarely on you. For a moment, seven gazes just look at you. All of them are blank. Lost. Out of depth.

All except for the one you match.

Where he stands, Heeseung stares at you with an intensity you’ve only seen once before. In a moment you wish you could forget. In a fragmented memory you already know you’re cursed to carry forever.

Slowly, his eyes scan the length of your body, something in his jaw tightening when he notes the clothes you’re wearing. His clothes.

Jungwon is still pressing him for answers. Heeseung doesn’t bother to provide any.

Instead, he says, “Give us a minute.”

He’s still looking at you. Frozen in place, his eyes trace the line of your neck, ghosting over the array of bruises, the twin wounds he left there. His voice betrays no emotion, but his eyes flash with something that looks all too much like regret, shame.

Jungwon balks for a moment. “No, I’m not giving you a minute. You could have jeopardized everything we’ve been working towards—”

Heeseung does break eye contact with you then. Turning to the boy that stands next to him, he says, “What’s done is done, Jungwon. A few more minutes won’t change that. You can shout at me some more in a minute.”

“Ouch.” A boy that you don’t recognize winces.

“Right?” another one of the strangers agrees. “A pretty human over five hundred years of brotherhood.” He shakes his head. “I’d expect that from Sunghoon, maybe, but—”

Behind you, Jake sighs. “Is this really the time, you two?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agrees, arms crossing his chest as he pouts. “And I take offense to that, you know. I would not put all of your hard work in danger for a human.” Sunghoon takes a sidelong glance at you. “No offense.”

“Just give us a minute,” Heeseung repeats again, more command in his voice this time as he slides a palm through his hair in frustration. “Please. All of you.”

There’s enough authority in his voice time. Or maybe enough pleading. Whatever it is, the rest of the room files out, one by one. Even Jungwon, although he does cast one final, warning look over his shoulder.

It’s lost on Heeseung, who has already turned his attention back to you. “Are you okay?”

An echo of the past, a reminder of why you’re here. Of why your throat threatens to close up now, just looking at him.

Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how you’d answer him. Physically, you’re sore. Tired even though you’ve been sleeping for days. Temporary aches. Things that will heal with rest and time.

Mentally, though… Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. Even now, face to face with him, you can’t reconcile all of the pieces of Heeseung you’ve gathered.

Indifferent student. Brilliant writer. Honest reviewer. Maybe even a friend.

Vampire.

You don’t know what to make of him. You don’t know how to piece him together.

He’s here, standing in front of you. You used to stare at the back of his head during lectures. Used to fantasize about him giving you a minute of his time.

And now, it’s just the two of you. Alone. His eyes search your face, his focus consumed by you. And he’s never felt further away.

You don't answer his question. Instead, you ask one of your own.

“What’s going on?” Your voice is small, holds none of the command you wish it could. “And don’t… don’t you dare lie to me.”

Across from you, Heeseung exhales. There’s a distinct sorrow in his eyes. “I won’t. But it’s a long story. And there are parts of it I’m not sure you’ll like.”

“I don’t care.” But you do, so much that it hurts. You almost wish you were still begging for scraps of his attention. At least then, you knew where you stood. “I want the truth.” That much, at least, is honest.

Heeseung nods, as if any of this is simple. “Then you’ll have it.”

A beat of silence passes. You remember the question you had asked Jake less than an hour ago. What are you? You can’t quite bring yourself to ask it now. Not with everything that has passed between you. Not when it feels like more of an accusation than an inquiry.

You wear his wounds on your skin. You don’t know why you still want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still, you ask, “Who are you?” The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous.

Heeseung doesn’t smile, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips. ��I’m not undercover. My name is Heeseung.” The flicker of amusement dies. He knows what you’re really asking him. He knows it’s not an easy answer to give, not an easy truth to receive. “But I’m… different. I was born with a strange ability.”

You breathe. “What kind of ability?”

Heeseung looks down at his hands. Studies them for a moment before turning back to you. “It would be easier to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Instinctively, your hand finds the wound on your neck.

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “That’s not the ability I’m referring to.”

There’s a chair in the room, just behind him. He walks to it and sits down at the edge, knees wide. “Come here.”

You shouldn’t. You should stay as far away as space allows. You shouldn’t let him do anything. In every sense of the word, he holds the advantage here. You’re in his home. He has knowledge you don’t. The only thing you have left to leverage is the distance between you and your decision to maintain it.

But every inch between you was doomed to be a losing battle. Steady, slow footsteps erase the distance between you as you come to stand directly in front of him.

At this angle, with your positioning, he’s forced to look up at you. Chin lifted, he whispers, “Hold out your hand.”

You could try to fight. You could question him. You don’t. Resistance was always going to be futile. In no time at all, your hand is outstretched.

Once again, Heeseung studies his own fingers. A shudder traces the length of his spine. Hesitation spills from every minute movement, every microexpression you’re allowed. It’s straining him, you realize. This ability is not something he’s excited to share.

You can’t decide if that eases your worry or increases it tenfold.

But after another wasted moment, his right hand reaches out to encircle the skin of your left wrist. For a few stilted heartbeats, it’s just the two of you in a strange room, a cage of sorts, your wrist cradled in his loose grip.

Then, your vision begins to flicker. At first, you think it’s a trick of the light. Something lingering side effect of a long sleep as everything begins to go out of focus.

But as the room around you fades, something takes its place. It takes a moment to manifest completely, for your eyes to adjust.

In front of you, Heeseung still sits in his chair, gaze trained on your wide eyes. But the two of you are no longer in the small, threadbare room. Instead, you stand in an open field, freckled with wildflowers and teeming with butterflies. Above you, the sky is blue and vast, the late summer sun casting a vibrant glow over everything.

In your shock, you nearly wrench your arm out of Heeseung’s grip. He senses the movement, tightens his fingers around your wrist before you can pull away.

“Sorry.” He glances at where you two are touching. “It’s better not to break contact once you’re in. It’s quite disorienting if you do. And it will give you awful motion sickness.”

Once you’re in where? Turning your head, you look for something, anything, that makes even the tiniest bit of sense. But all you see is grass. The vast expanse of an open field that only ends where it meets the sky.

“Where are we?”

“Still in the same room,” Heeseung says. “Physically, at least.” He takes a deep breath. “This is the ability I referred to. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but I can… project my consciousness, I guess. As long as we maintain physical contact, I can show you things from my mind. Memories, visions, anything I dream up. What you see now is the field where I discovered my ability, actually. A friend and I were playing here. I was ten.” He pauses, looks at you. “The year was 1534.”

The full weight of his words barely has time to settle before the vision is morphing, the scene changing into another.

“It’s difficult to know where to start, but I suppose the beginning is as good a place as any. In the Kingdom of Celedis,” he narrates, “there were eight noble families that had been feuding with each other for over a century. As a result of their petty infighting, the common people suffered. There was constant strife throughout the kingdom. Pains that caused immense suffering but left the nobles untouched. There were frequent blockades, limits on trading, restricted movement, and nasty skirmishes along the borders. Petty crime ran rampant, unchecked. People weren’t safe anywhere, not even in their homes.”

You see it just as he imagines it. Tired, hungry, exhausted people. Mistreated and left to the whims of whatever best suited the nobles’ current desires.

And the rulers, the nobles themselves. Eight men, adorned in finery, showered with gifts and praise and fine wines while the people just outside the walls of their ornate homes suffered just to survive, starving to death while they gorged themselves on luxury.

You wouldn’t consider yourself an expert in history, and it’s not like the scenario is exactly uncommon, but you still find it strange that you’ve never heard of this place, not even in passing.

“Celedis?” You frown.

“It’s been erased now,” is all Heeseung says. “From both existence and memory. But it was real, a long time ago. And it was where I was born.”

Again, the scene around you starts to take on that odd, unfocused quality. It’s changing again. By now, you almost feel accustomed to the way images and light start to distort as one vision bleeds into another.

“Celedis was a strange kingdom,” Heeseung continues. “Full of old magic. Ancient rituals and rites that faded from most places but held true there. The land was, in many ways, just as alive as you and I. And it grew weary of seeing its people suffer.”

You see a man now, dressed in simple clothes, tucked in the back corner of what appears to be a shop. He’s surrounded by crystals, trinkets, and old, leather-bound books.

“One night, the eight noble lords received a message from a seer, one that claimed to communicate with the land, to speak for Celedis as its messenger. The seer told them that the old magic of the land would grant them a single wish on one condition: There had to be peace in the kingdom by the night of the blood moon. A night that comes only once every hundred years. When the moon itself shines bright red.

“Seven of the lords, eager to have a wish granted, did as the seer advised. They ceased their fighting, recalled their troops. Began to support and protect their people once again. The eighth lord, however, did not.”

After a moment, you’re plunged into darkness. Above you, the night sky of Heeseung’s mind twinkles with distant stars and a distinct, crimson red moon. Seven men, all dressed in finery, stand around an oak tree. The rules of Heeseung’s ability don’t seem to be governed by the laws of physics. You watch as an eighth man appears, seemingly out of thin air. The same man from the crystal shop.

“The seven who heeded the seer’s advice gathered on the night of the blood moon to pass along their wish — they wanted their bloodlines to endure forever.

“The seer passed this message along, but old magic is a fickle thing. You have to be precise with your words, or things will be lost in translation. Interpreted in strange ways.”

Now, you stand in a nursery. There’s a crib in the corner. A pregnant woman bends over it, singing a soft lullaby.

“Within the year, each of the seven noble lords gave birth to a son. They took this with great joy, a sign that their wish had come true. Before the year reached its end, each of the seven had procured a strong, healthy heir to succeed them.”

Suddenly, you’re back in the endless field from before, watching two young boys play in the distance.

“But these were no ordinary sons. And around the age of ten, each of them revealed a special ability, a supernatural gift.”

The two boys are playing a game, you realize. You can’t decipher the rules, but you watch as they throw their heads back in a burst of carefree laughter. The first young boy grabs his friend by the wrist. A harmless gesture. A meaningless touch.

The second boy recoils as if he’s been burned. Hand back at his side, he doubles over in pain, emptying the contents of his stomach.

In front of you, Heeseung looks away.

In the distance, another version of Heeseung apologizes profusely as the other child turns his back.

He changes the scene before you can watch any further.

You’re in a bedroom now, watching a young man put on a jacket. It’s startling, almost, how similar he looks. The two of you watch as Heeseung, because it is undoubtedly him, pulls the jacket over his back, slides his arms through the sleeves.

The resemblance is so uncanny that the only thing that sets this Heeseung apart, really, is the style of his clothing. The coat that obviously belongs to another century, lost to time.

“And once each son reached their twenty-first birthday,” Heesung says. “They stopped aging.”

Heeseung and his jacket dissolve, change into something else. The new scene you look out upon is somber. Heeseung is there again, this time dressed in all black. The clothes of a mourner. Aside from that, he looks exactly the same.

Then you see the casket. The portrait standing next to it. It’s her, you realize. The woman from the nursery, the one who hummed the lullaby. Much, much older though. Fifty years older. Maybe sixty.

You look at this vision’s Heeseung again. He hasn’t aged a day. Still the epitome of youth, even as he mourns the death of his mother.

“This was the interpretation of the wish, how it was warped through old magic. The bloodline would endure forever, because each son that had been born in the year of the blood moon was born immortal. But by doing so, the seven lords’ wish had also effectively ended their bloodline. Their sons would never grow old, never bear children. And none were ever given a sibling.

“The eighth lord, the one that did not agree to peace and therefore did not receive a wish, had not yet foreseen this tragedy. He didn’t understand the implications of immortality, the terrible burden it brings. All he saw was an opportunity that he had lost. In his eyes, it had been stolen.”

You watch as the eighth lord bangs on the door of the crystal shop, face red, fury obvious in every inch of his visage.

“When he discovered the nature of the gift the other lords had been given, the eighth became enraged. He went to the seer and demanded that he pass along his wish to the old magic of the land. That his son, born as an ordinary human, would also be given the gift of immortality.”

In front of you, the lord lunges at the seer, rage in his eyes. The seer raises his hands in a pitiful attempt at self-defense.

“The seer pleaded with the lord. He tried to explain that he had no way of passing his request along. That the ability to communicate with old magic was not something he could do whenever he so pleased.”

The scene changes, the seer and his shop disappearing. Again, you see the oak tree. This time, though, it is only the eighth lord that stands before it. His eyes are sunken, shaded with deep, dark shadows. A mad desperation is painted across his features.

“After murdering the seer for his insolence, the eighth lord went to the oak tree, a place rumored to be full of old magic. He wished for his son to become like the other seven sons, and he gave the seer’s blood as an offering.”

The scene morphs again, fading until you’re surrounded by the ghastliest thing you’ve seen yet. You and Heeseung are in a small room. In the center, there’s an ornate dining table adorned with expensive cutlery and fine china. Lined with a lacy white tablecloth.

And blood. The room, the tablecloth, the plates, are covered in dark, red blood.

“There was one last thing that the eighth lord did not yet understand about immortality. About the other seven sons.”

One by one, you watch as they appear.

Jake. Sunghoon. Jungwon. The others whose names you do not yet know. Heeseung.

Their mouths, clothes, faces, are all covered in it, dripping with it. Blood.

“The old magic, above all, favors balance. In exchange for eternal life, it deemed that the only thing capable of sustaining it would be the life of others. Their blood. Once a year, on the anniversary of the day the seven noble lords cast their selfish wish, their seven sons would need to feed. To consume blood. This would sustain them for the rest of the year. They did not need to eat, drink, or sleep on any other day.

“But that one day, every year, they would always need blood.”

The horror of the bloody dining room fades. Now, you see the eighth son. Your eyes widen in fear as the image continues to develop in front of you, one ghastly scene traded for another. He is in a throne room, back bent unnaturally, a predatory glint in his eyes. Blood covers his mouth, his jaw. And as he rises to his full height, the rest of the horror is unveiled.

He stands above the pale, drained, lifeless body of his father.

“As I said before, old magic is a fickle thing. It listened to the eighth lord’s request that his son ‘become like the other seven sons,’ but not everything was the same. He was granted immortality, yes, and he also needed to consume blood to sustain himself. Unlike the original seven, he needed to feed frequently. Consume blood often. If he didn’t, the urges would drive him mad. Send him into a frenzy.

“It was in such a state that he killed his own father. Murdered the rest of his family and every other living soul he found in the castle.”

You now stand in the dim light of a castle corridor. Beams of moonlight cast a cool glow as a soft breeze rustles tree branches just outside the window. It’s quiet, eerily so. In front of you, a person lies motionless. The wound on their neck matches yours, but instead of bruising, it’s surrounded by fresh blood.

You watch in silent horror as the eighth son’s victim begins to twitch. At first, it’s just the fingers of their left hand. A spasm that shakes their shoulder. And then their mouth opens, face contorted in agony as they let out a long, blood curdling scream.

Heeseung spares you the burden of hearing it.

“One of his victims, however, he did not drain fully of blood. Lost to his instinct, he had gorged himself so full that he could drink no more. This human, nearly dead, began to transform. And after long hours of acute agony, turned into a vampire of the same nature as the eighth son. Uncontrollable. Frenzied. And full of bloodlust.”

It reminds you of a montage, the scene that plays next. Still standing in front of Heeseung, your wrist still between his fingers, you watch as villages appear and fade. Families, lovers, children running in fear as the domino effect begins to take place. As one vampire becomes ten. As they fall into bloodlust, leaving a bloody path in their wake.

The image of a young woman, mouth agape and features frozen in terror, remains imprinted on the backs of your eyelids as the small, dark room of Heeseung’s home comes back into view. As the last of the illusion fades, he releases his grip, freeing you from his ability.

Your arm falls limply to your side.

“For years,” he tells you, and there’s no image to accompany his words now. Nowhere to look but his eyes. “We just existed. Tried to carve meaning into our lives, tried to find a reason to keep living once it became apparent that was never something we would need to fight for.

“But terror continued to reign. Vampire populations continued to spread and after three hundred long years of acting only in our own self-interest, we decided to intervene. To help the human effort to eradicate vampirism and the blight it had become.

“But we never wanted to become judge, jury, or executioner. And playing god was never something we found pleasure in. We let many live. Vampires that demonstrated restraint, that chose to live far away from humans. Vampires that we came across on days we were tired of killing. Of being monsters.”

His words hang heavy between you. Was it a mistake, not finishing the job? Was it mercy?

“Professor Kim is what brought us here, actually. He has an unnaturally high level of control over his instincts. One we’ve never seen from a descendent of the eighth son.”

You inhale, more pieces beginning to fall into place. “So you enrolled in his course—”

“With the intention of winning the internship, yes,” he confirms. “Of getting a chance to study him up close.”

Heeseung smiles wryly. “You were quite the pain at first, actually. After those first few days of class, I wasn’t so sure I could outwrite you.”

You have no idea what to say to that. An apology feels strange, but he’s just told you that you essentially foiled a grand plan to reduce the threat of vampires, to better understand their nature. “I…”

Heeseung pushes on, “It didn’t end up mattering, though.” He frowns. “The last day of the semester, the day I was late. I’d been following him. Trailing him from his house when he…” He trails off. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what happened. But I think he scented me. Or somehow realized I was on his tail.”

You frown. “Is that unusual?” You remember Jake’s words earlier. I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up. “I thought that vampires had heightened senses.”

“We do,” Heeseung clarifies. “But there are differences between us — the original seven — and all other vampires. Our senses are much stronger. They still have sharper senses than a human, yes, but I accounted for that. He shouldn’t have been able to detect me.”

“What are the other differences?”

“The seven of us are the only ones with any kind of additional abilities. We each have one, and they’re all different. We only need to feed once a year, and we have far more control over our instincts. We don’t experience bloodlust nearly as strong.” He passes you a meaningful glance. “Unless we’re feeding.”

Looking around, Heeseung confirms your suspicions. “That’s what this room is, actually. A precautionary measure. It hasn’t happened in the last five hundred years, but we like knowing that there’s somewhere we won’t be able to escape, should the need for that ever arise.”

“And you’re in here, because you… you drank my blood.”

Heeseung’s expression is unreadable. “Yes. The others thought it would be wise. It was precautionary. And ultimately unnecessary.” Again, he glances at your neck. “I didn’t experience any bloodlust. I was weak for a couple of days, but that wasn’t because of you. The dart that the professor shot you with had traces of moonflower in it. It’s poisonous for us.”

As he looks at you, he explains, “Humans can ingest it safely in small doses, usually. Some brew it as a tea. You just have to be careful not to have too much, since it can cause temporary memory loss. But injected straight into the bloodstream, the effects are unknown.” His eyes flicker with a memory. You, crumpled in his arms, losing your grip on consciousness. “But it didn’t look good.”

So he had sucked it out of your neck.

Your neck. Where he bit you.

Another piece of the vision he’s just shown you comes flashing back.

“You bit me.”

Heeseung meets your gaze. “I did.”

“Am I…” It’s hard to quell the panic once the realization starts to set in. Flashes of faces contorted in agony swim across your vision. “Am I going to change?”

“No,” Heeseung shakes his head. Leans forward, as if to reach for you. He thinks better of it, letting his hand fall back to his side. “No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

“Oh.” As the panic ebbs, you find yourself at a loss again. He saved you. Knowingly ingested a substance that could harm him to do so. Gratitude feels in order, but you can’t quite bring yourself to express it.

The truth you want most to avoid dances on the tip of your tongue. “And you only… feed once a year.”

Again, Heeseung nods. “It doesn’t hurt us to ingest blood more frequently, but it’s not necessary. And like I said, we avoid it. We’re better at maintaining our inhibitions, but blood still has power over us. When we feed, it’s in a room like this. One we can’t get out of until we have complete control again.”

The questions that arise are morbid. How much blood is required to satisfy a year’s worth of thirst? How do they choose? Who lives, who dies for the hunger that binds them to this world? In the last five hundred years, how much blood has been washed from their hands, from his hands?

You can hardly ask him, but the truth still remains. “You’ve killed people.”

Heeseung’s gaze falls to the floor. “I won’t pretend to be innocent.” There’s a distinct edge of self-loathing when he says, “I won’t pretend that I’m not still… a monster. But the blood we ingest comes from animals, not humans.”

He looks back to you, gaze searching as if he craves something from you. A flicker of trust. The reassurance that you’re not appalled by him, by everything he’s told you.

You match his eye, and he hates the fear he finds reflected there.

A moment of stilted silence passes. Another. The weight of a million revelations and a thousand unanswered questions rests heavily between you. It’s a lot to digest all at once. Too much. So much that your mind struggles to bear the weight of it all, to organize the information you’ve received into categories that give sense to the illogical, the impossible.

Outside the barred door, you hear the whisper of a scuffle.

“Stop that!”

“Move over. It’s been way more than a minute. I don’t care what he says. I’m going to—”

Heeseung sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns towards the door. “Just come in if you’re going to.”

Six boys tumble through the door in an excited heap. It reminds you a bit of overenthusiastic puppies. Again, you find the differences hard to reconcile. Killers. Monsters. Immortals beings with unnatural powers.

And they look about as threatening as a gang of kittens.

“So,” Jake starts, glancing between the two of you. “Did he tell you everything?”

You spare a look at Heeseung. The long fingers that rest at his side. “Showed me, actually.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Jake’s features. “Oh.” He tamps it quickly. “That is more efficient, I suppose.”

“Well,” another boy pipes up, one you don’t yet have a name for. “At least now you know why he’s been following you home like a lovesick puppy every night. You can rest assured he’s not just some crazy stalker, and he—”

“Jay,” Heeseung bites. “Would you shut up already?”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Oh.” Jay winces, realizing the misstep a moment too late. “Sorry, man.”

Heeseung exhales again. “We were worried Professor Kim might do something,” he explains, looking at you. “It was a precautionary measure.”

Behind you, you hear a snicker. “Precautionary measure, my ass.”

But you’re too caught up in a sudden realization. Your professor. “It was Professor Kim, then. Those bodies at the river…”

“No, actually.” Jake shakes his head. “We don’t think he was responsible for the bodies at the river.” He nods towards another boy. “Sunoo had eyes on him that night. He was home when the attacks occurred.”

You frown. “So who was?”

“We don’t know.” Jungwon’s ire may not be directed at you, but you feel it all the same. “We have no idea, and your professor was our best shot at figuring it out.” He looks at Heeseung. “Thanks to the stunt you pulled, we have no way of getting closer to him now.”

Heeseung glares back. “If by stunt, you mean saving someone’s life, then yes, I pulled a stunt.”

“And now there have been three more attacks in the last two days!”

“Wait.” For a moment, your voice reverberates off the walls as all seven of them fall into silence, gazes turning to you. Your face heats at the sudden influx of attention. Finding your words again, you state the obvious oddity. “But it doesn’t make any sense that Professor Kim is a vampire. He hates vampires. Everything New Haven has published is essentially just anti-vampire propaganda.”

“That’s another mystery,” Heeseung says. “Something else we were trying to figure out. And honestly, Jungwon, I don’t think it would have mattered. I told you, he scented me that day, so I’m sure he already knew—”

“That’s impossible.” Jungwon scoffs.

“And yet it happened.” Heeseung frowns. “There’s something strange about him.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a thin line. “Something that we’re no closer to finding out. It will take months for another one of us to get any sort of trust from him. Never mind access to New Haven.”

With the urgency of an alarm bell, an idea starts to take form in your mind. Rough around the edges but solid in shape. “I think I can help with that.” Again, seven pairs of eyes fall on you, all in varying states of disbelief. “I’m interning with him. At New Haven.”

Heeseung is the first to break the silence. “Like hell you are. Or did you forget that the last time he saw you, he shot you with poison?”

Sunghoon nods. “It does seem like a pretty bad idea.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head. “Think about it. He shot me with something that’s poisonous to vampires. And I think it’s because he saw Heeseung. If he really did… scent you, then he knew you were a vampire. I think… I think he might have been trying to protect me.”

The room is quiet for a moment, your inference settling into the air. It’s a long shot maybe, but it’s starting to come together.

After a minute, Sunoo says tentatively, “She might be right.” No one else speaks up, but you see a few heads nod in agreement.

Heeseung is quick to shut them down. “No way. No fucking way. Those are terrible odds, and I’m not betting on them. None of you should be either.”

But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense to you. Why else would your professor shoot you full of something poisonous to vampires?

You try to think of the scene from his eyes. He walked in on you and Heeseung alone in a dark room. You were frightened out of your mind, and in the split second he had to analyze things, he could have misjudged the source of your fear. One vampire for another.

So you double down. “I’m serious. This could be the in we need.”

“There is no we,” Heeseung shakes his head. “You’re not a part of this.”

His dismissal makes you bristle. If what Jungwon said is true, the attacks are only increasing, leaving more victims in their wake. And your professor may have unusual amounts of control, but he certainly wasn’t demonstrating that two nights ago.

“So what, I’m supposed to go home, pretend that everything is normal, and just let people keep dying?” Your gaze meets Jungwon’s. “That’s what will happen, isn’t it? You said there were three more attacks just in the time I was unconscious. How many people have died now?”

Jungwon’s lips are tight. “Eleven.”

“Eleven people,” you echo. “If I go to Professor Kim and tell him—��

“You’re not going anywhere near that man,” Heeseung counters. “We’ll take care of it. It’s what we do.”

But his excuses are wearing thin in your mind, turning flimsy the more you consider them. “How? If he can identify you as vampires, then there’s no way you’ll ever get close enough to figure out how he might be connected to all of this.” You turn, addressing all seven of them. “I, on the other hand, have a draft written about the intrinsic evil of vampirism. I have a bite mark healing on my neck. If I go to him and say that I hate vampires too, that I was attacked by Heeseung, and his poison was the only thing that saved me, then I’ll earn his trust.”

Heeseung just scoffs, shaking his head. “Are the rest of you hearing this?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth hesitantly. “I mean… she kind of has a point.”

Heeseung glares. “Besides you.”

Sunoo frowns for a moment, parts his lips.

Heeseung doesn’t let him get a word out. “Don’t even try it.” He turns to the others, something pleading in his gaze. “Jungwon, Jay, Niki, Jake, you have to see how insane this is. She’s a human.”

Your lips pull tight. “A human that’s standing right here.”

Jungwon maintains an even tone when he restates the simple fact, “If this professor truly can scent us, we don’t have any way of investigating him further. Not without using force.” He turns to look at you, gaze assessing. “Do you really think he’ll believe that you’re on his side?”

Do you? Maybe Heeseung is right. Maybe you’re betting on ludicrous odds, wasting the last of your luck on a game that was rigged from the beginning. But why inject you with a substance poisonous to vampires? Why publish all of those anti-vampire stories?

You match Jungwon’s eye. “I do.”

“Okay.” Jungwon nods, mulling it over in his mind. “Okay.”

Heeseung watches the exchange with heated eyes. “Absolutely not—”

“You’ve been overruled,” Jay interjects.

“Six to one,” Niki agrees. Glancing at you, he amends, “Make that seven to one.”

Heeseung is still seeing red. “This isn’t a fucking group vote. We’re not deciding which coffee table to put in the living room. This is a life.” Turning to you, his voice softens, an edge of pleading in his tone. “This is your life.”

“Exactly.” You’re begging too, for a bit of understanding. “It’s my life. A week ago, it was completely consumed by winning an internship, getting my writing published. And now there are vampire attacks ravaging my city. The professor I wanted to impress so badly might just be one of them. Even if I walk away from here and vow to never go near New Haven again, my life won’t go back to what it was. I won’t be safe. So I’m going to do what I can to get back to the things that are important to me.” Eyes heating, you add, “So yes, I am a part of this now, whether you like it or not. And I have the marks on my neck to prove it.”

“Damn,” Sunghoon whistles lowly. “That was kind of beautiful.”

“You have a way with words,” Sunoo agrees.

“Of course she does,” Jay nods. “Remember how frustrated Heeseung was a few months ago after she presented her analysis or whatever in class? He was so stressed he’d lose out on the internship bec—”

Heeseung’s glare could freeze hellfire. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“It’s late,” Jungwon interrupts, sensing the response that builds on Jay’s tongue. Pouring water over the flames before they can escalate into a full blown argument. Again, he addresses you. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.” He glances around the room, and you imagine he’s trying to see things from your perspective. “Or any one of us would be happy to take you back home, if that’s what you prefer.”

There are aspects of your apartment that appeal to you. Sleeping in your own bed comes to mind. As does getting some distance from all of this. From him. You’ve taken in far too much information in the span of a few hours, and the throbbing against your temple has yet to ease.

But your apartment is also empty. Quiet, isolated. With recent events in mind, you’re not sure it would feel like such a safe haven. If you’re quite ready to be truly alone.

Still, you’re tentative. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re not,” Jake shakes his head. “It’s been a long few days. I’m sure you could use some rest.”

“Hasn’t she been asleep for, like, two days straight?” Sunghoon whispers to Jay.

The only thing he gets in response is an elbow to the ribs.

Jungwon ignores them. “You’re not overstaying anything. You can go home when you’re ready.”

“Ugh,” Niki grumbles. “Does that mean Heeseung’s gonna try and hang out in my room again? Because—”

He falls silent when at least three matching glares turn in his direction.

Suddenly sheepish, you offer, “I can sleep somewhere else.” Glancing at Heeseung, you add, “I’m sure you want to sleep in your own bed again.”

Heeseung just gives you a strange look. Niki bursts out laughing.

“Damn,” Jay says. “Two hundred years really is a long time, I guess. Humans these days don’t remember anything about vampires.”

Cheeks heating with embarrassment, you realize your mistake. Of course. Not only are the boys in front of you blood-drinking immortal beings that have been alive since the early sixteenth century, but they also don’t sleep.

Mollified, you feel the urge to defend yourself. “Why do you even have beds, then?”

This time, it’s Sunghoon that erupts in a fit of laughter. The other six avoid your gaze pointedly.

You didn’t think it was possible, but once the realization sinks in, your cheeks heat even further.

“Oh, cut the poor girl some slack,” Sunoo scolds. Turning to you, he’s kind when he explains, “We don’t sleep, but we do relax. An old force of habit, I suppose. It’s nice to just lay down sometimes.”

Jay can’t help himself. “Among other things, right Sunghoon?”

“Ignore them,” Jungwon advises. “Five hundred year old children.”

“Hey!” Sunghoon protests. “We’re not the ones that couldn’t handle a sex joke—”

Heeseung just sighs, a stray strand of hair falling over his eyes. For a moment, he looks like the boy you used to sit behind in class. Dreamy. Moody. Untouchable. So painfully out of reach that spite made you want to try anyway.

He’s here now. Within your grasp. And when he looks at you, the quiet words he whispers are meant only for your ears. “I can walk you to my—er—your room, if you’re ready.”

You’re not ready. You don’t think you ever will be. But even a life spun on top of its head has a way of unfolding in predictable ways. Such is the nature of things, and so flows the progression of time.

You don’t say anything, but you do nod.

Trailing after him silently down the hallway you came from, you’re not sure if it feels more right to fall into step beside him or let him lead you. In the end, he makes the decision for you. Without breaking stride, Heeseung slows down until your shoulders are aligned, eyes facing forward.

He doesn’t say anything as the two of you track a steady path to his bedroom. Mind leaden with the weight of the last five hundred years, you remain silent as well. Finally, you pass the common room again.

He opens the door to his bedroom, steps to the side to let you walk in first.

Unwittingly, your eyes land on the most conspicuous piece of furniture in the room. Your cheekbones are flaming again, and finding sleep in that bed suddenly feels like an arduous task.

Heeseung follows your gaze. The golden glow of his skin remains the same, but his eyes flash with embarrassment. “You don't, uh…” He trails off. Even poets struggle with finding the right words at times. Finally, he settles on, “Not all of us live like Sunghoon.”

“He seems nice,” you say, desperate to draw your minds away from where they’ve wandered.

“That’s one way of putting it.” But there’s affection in his voice when he says it. Brothers, you think. All of them. They seem like brothers.

Heeseung’s eyes scan the expanse of his bedroom as if he’s looking at it for the first time. “There’s not much.” He seems almost apologetic for it. “But help yourself to whatever you like. The computer doesn’t have a password. And there’s books on the desk, too.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. And you mean it. He’s not someone you expected to be generous with their space, their belongings. Another aspect of him you had all wrong.

“I’ll let you have some space then.” He pauses at the door. “Don’t be afraid to let me know if there's anything you need.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He hesitates a moment longer. You can see it in the curve of his lips, the arrangement of his features. There’s more he wants to say. Something else he wants to tell you.

Instead, he closes the door behind him on his way out. Gently, so that it hardly makes a noise.

His bed is comfortable when you lay down, even if your mind is still racing a million miles a minute. Distantly, you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat now. What he thinks of the way it picks up speed every time certain moments replay in your head.

But despite yourself, despite him, despite everything, you manage to drift off after only a few long minutes. Tucked away in the corner of a strange home, the sleep that greets you is blissfully dreamless.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: WHEW. This is the most info-dumpy we'll be getting, so I hope this made for an enjoyable follow up to the first part regardless. The relationship between our two leads will really start to take off in the next part, as will the remaining aspects of the ~mystery~ now that (most of) the lore/backstory is covered. as always, I love to know what you're thinking!

#heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen x you #heeseung scenarios #enhypen scenarios #heeseung angst #enhypen angst #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines

455 notes · View notes

yinyuedijun · 1 month

Text

kitsune!suo x fem reader | feudal japan au

→ notes for an au set in feudal japan, featuring supernatural creatures and spirits (e.g., youkai). suo is a kitsune, sakura is a nekomata, and nirei is an onmyouji. → see this post for backstory on the bofurin trio (recommended background reading)

note: most information on kitsune-mochi were sourced from folkorist lafcadio hearn's accounts of traveling in japan (c.1901). I did, of course, also take creative license with some of the lore.

reader | kitsune-mochi (fox-employing witch)

→ as a kitsune-mochi, you are a human who has entered a contract with a fox spirit to care for it in exchange for having it lend you its power and carry out your requests. → in your case, your familiar is suo, a nine-tailed kitsune that lost his hoshi no tama. → most witches employ kitsune for the purpose of carrying out malicious acts, like having the fox spirit possess their enemies, steal the wealth of other people, etc. you, however, rely on suo and his power in order to perform exorcisms and exterminate demons—something that you cannot do on your own because you have no innate spiritual talents yourself.

→ although a convenient source of power, these deals are typically risky for the contract holder. you are expected to care for suo for the rest of your life, and any descendants you might have would be cursed to serve him as well. kitsune-mochi are heavily ostracized by human society as well, so if this relationship of yours were to be discovered, then your entire bloodline would suffer. → additionally, these contracts typically favour the kitsune, as they are the ones who define what it means to be "cared for", and may request dangerous or unreasonable tasks. → fortunately for you, suo is not a very demanding familiar! the most basic act of caring for a fox spirit is feeding it, and he's more or less happy with anything you make, though he especially likes tea, wagashi, or dishes with aburaage. this is more or less all he asks of you! → suo's disposition is generally so patient and gentle that you nearly disbelieved that he was a youkai. you were convinced for a while that he was actually a messenger of god who was lying to you about his identity for some reason. (at the very least, you'd noticed that he had a habit of lying to people generally, though this was an unsurprising trait for a fox and it was usually harmless fun.) → this perception of him was shattered when you saw him fight a youkai that seriously injured you. he spent an uncomfortable amount of time toying with it in a distinctly humiliating fashion before finally putting it out of its misery. it was only in that moment that you realised that you'd signed yourself and all of your descendants up for serving a literal demon 👍

→ warning: immortal/human relationship, immortal deity meets reader as a child but doesn't get to know or grow close to them until they're an adult

your backstory with suo

→ at a very young age, you were adopted and raised by a priestess of an inari shrine belonging to a small mountain village. consequently, you developed a deep respect for the kami and affection for foxes. → as a child, you once found a one-eyed, wild fox in a near-death state. this was suo after he lost his hoshi no tama in a battle with a demon—but to you, he just looked like a regular animal. most people would have let this creature die peacefully, but you were adamant on nursing it back to health. while caring for him, you named him mr. adzuki because of the colour of his fur, which suo finds incredibly funny to this day. → suo disappeared after recovering, never making his true identity known. however, out of gratitude toward you and the priestesses for allowing him refuge, he decided to act as the guardian spirit of the village, protecting it until the end of your life. → conveniently, this meant that suo got to eat all the offerings given to inari's messengers at your shrine, as well as allowing him to gain power from the prayers directed toward him. (inari himself seemed not to mind, as no actual fox messengers showed up to throw hands with suo.)

image: gashadokuro, a youkai made from the skulls of humans who died in battle.

→ although your village was peaceful throughout your childhood due to suo's protection, in your adult years, a violent conflict between humans and demons broke out in your mountain range. this resulted in the destruction of nearly all its towns and the brutal deaths of your fellow villagers. suo, not at full power, was unable to stop this, but made it his goal to save you from the carnage. → after allowing you time to grieve your loved ones, suo—still considering himself indebted to you—asked what you would like to do next. he offered you wealth, status, and other material things, but none of these appealed to you. → recognising that the mountains you grew up in would be plagued by malevolent spirits and demons for centuries after all the bloodshed that just occurred, you asked suo to teach you jujutsu. your goal was to exorcise all the vengeful spirits, exterminate the demons, and purify the mountain range so that its villages could peacefully rebuild. → given your lack of innate spiritual abilities, suo suggested that you make a pact with him and become a kitsune-mochi to acquire powers. not wanting to deceive you, however, he fully explained how dangerous it might be to enter such a relationship, and warned you not to trust fox youkai like himself.

→ nevertheless, you accepted his offer and became a witch.

image: sakura irl

meeting sakura & nirei

→ you and suo thus embark on this crazy mission to purify the entire mountain range. while you are more than capable of exorcisms and exterminations, your spiritual abilities (one of a youkai) do not allow you to purify the land. → but that's okay, because nirei and sakura have been traversing these same mountains to exorcise and hunt demons! being an onmyouji, nirei can perform all kinds of purification rituals. when you inevitably run into the two of them, and suo suggests that you all work together. → nirei is more than happy to help you purify the mountain range (because he is a good-hearted person, and also because he usually gets assignments there anyway). he improves his jujutsu under suo's tutelage, and he gets insights on kitsune that he'd otherwise never learn (it's rare for an onmyouji to meet a kitsune-mochi unless it's to prosecute them for some kind of crime, and it's just plain hard to meet and talk with a nine-tailed fox spirit). → sakura is a harder sell. he doesn't trust suo at all at the start, and he trusts him even less when he finds out that he's a kitsune and has been lying egregiously to him. (sakura and nirei spent an entire month thinking that suo was a traveling tea merchant from china and being fed severe misinformation about the entire country.) → however, sakura is very curious about you, because you're the first human he's ever met who has a mutual and trusting relationship with a demon, which he didn't think was possible beyond weirdos like nirei. → you also aren't afraid of him at all even after seeing his nekomata form, which gives him complicated feelings. he reasons that this is because you've fought too many demons to be afraid of any of them, but the actual truth is just that you find suo incredibly scary, and sakura feels harmless and adorable in comparison </3 → sakura deeply enjoys the act of helping the mountain towns and being accepted by their communities, though he's very shy about admitting it! eventually, he does "resign" to joining you in a long-term arrangement, and the four of you take on the endless mission of exorcising and cleansing the mountain range together. it's a very "monster of the week" type of set-up hehe

→ although the work of purifying the mountain range will likely take the rest of your life (and probably will require generations after you), suo often asks you what you would like to do after the work is complete—so that he can think of ways to grant your request. → you decide not to tell him this, but your wish would be to return to your old village grounds and rebuild the shrine that you grew up in. rather than just inari, you would also dedicate it to the worship of the one-eyed fox spirit that once protected your village.

#MY GOD THIS WAS SO LONG #youkai au tag #yueshuo.fics #edit: nvm i have decided to withdraw it from tags </3

209 notes · View notes

the-lambda-archives-ai · 2 months

Text

Statement of : Gordon Martinez Freeman, 30 year old MIT graduate,Regarding a peculiar video game he’d found.

Recorded direct from subject, May 16, 200-

Statement begins.

Pt 1 > here

ABOUT 👇

Hello! I am the author of this AU, you can find my main at @inkzectz , for more meta questions about this AU, or for general comments about it, please go there.

What is the AU about?

LA : AI is a crossover AU of sorts, in the simplest way put, it’s TMA but with HLVRAI characters, TMA stuff happens but altered to fit the general HLVRAI narrative, and with my own changes, headcanons, etc. added

I will be updating/editing this post as I progress.

Will it have spoilers?

Yes, not a lot, but vague/mild spoilers about how the world works, plot points, and character.

It is best if you’ve seen it but as of writing it right now (early ep 4) there aren’t any spoilers. Once I am a little further ahead then you may want to listen to it.

Again the spoilers will be vague and mild at worst, as it progresses I would recommend listening to tma, but it’s sort of like how while half life knowledge is helpful in hlvrai it isn’t exactly necessary to enjoy hlvrai bc it’s different enough from it to not really matter (?) I hope that makes sense.

Asks rules

- No telling [ player ] exactly what happens ex : “omg [ player ] when you weren’t looking [ npc ] said this very important thing that is supposed to be kept secret for lore reasons”

- Please avoid asks like “tell this character they’re pretty” while I appreciate the compliment, I am trying to write a story and want to keep things as on topic as possible. Instead tell me on my main if you like the art, I’ll probably reply with a doodle or something, just not on here.

- Less so of a rule but more so of a general statement, I will be avoiding asks that either are too close to what happens or if answering would mean progressing the story too quickly, there’s a lot I want to happen and I want time to do it all.

- Another one that’s less of a rule and more of a general thing, if I don’t like what you said I won’t be answering.

- I also sometimes just don’t know how to answer some things.

- Please be respectful of the ships I choose to include and don't force your own, ship wars and such will not be tolerated.

- Please be respectful of others and do not spoil anything, not everyone has listened to TMA and knows it's themes.

I will not be answering everything, I cannot always get to every message so please be respectful of that.

Select character

Character abouts! [ Will be updating as I continue to work on the story ]

[ select ] > Mr. Freeman

> Gordon Martinez ‘Martini’ Freeman

30 y.o . 6’0 . 230lb . Romani / Puertorican . male [ he/him ] . bisexual

> Lives in Seattle, MIT graduate, left Black Mesa, works as a librarian IRL but also makes money via streaming video games occasionally, in real time it is 2018.

[ PLAYER ]

> Believes in the paranormal out of fear but tries to rationalize out of denial, he will never admit something is supernatural and will jump through hoops to rationalize even if deep down he does believe.

> Has a son named Joshua Medrano Freeman, who is 6 years old, Gordon and his old partner met in college but split up before Joshua was born, they remain civil but are nothing more to each other than Joshua’s other parent.

> Gordon rents an apartment with 3 rooms, his own room, Joshua’s room, and a third that used to be a guest room but he has so little visitors he’s just chosen to revamp it into a gaming room.

> Gordon works primarily in a library for now as he’s looking for a better job.

> Gordon often wears hoodies, sweaters, t-shirts, crew necks, and any general outfit one would wear at home, long curly hair that is beginning to grey due to stress, unkempt goatee, and almost always wears green tinted glasses [ he doesn’t need glasses he just thinks they’re cool ]

> His hair is usually pulled back in a ponytail but can also be found in a bun or just down.

< [ select ] > Mr. Coolatta

> Thomas ‘Tommy’ Coolatta, primary researcher, and technical head of the institute.

39 y.o . 6’7 . 190lb . Chinese/filipino . Male [ he/him ] . ???

> His father owns the Lambda institute and he grew up in it, he officially started working in the archives when he was 24, and of all the employees in the entire institute he has worked there the longest.

[ NPC ]

> No one knows who his father really is, Tommy being the only one who’s ever actually seen / spoken to him, his father is the real head of the institute but gives most his orders through Tommy, so Tommy is also technically the head as well.

> Not much is actually known about him, besides his father he doesn’t appear to have any other family, nor does he ever speak of his personal life much.

> Tommy primarily works as an archival assistant, specifically in research, he is the one who will verify details regarding statements or do further investigations into aspects of the statements.

> Tommy is quite the colorful character, often wearing colorful clothing and accessories, he seems to think doing so brings some cheer into an otherwise boring environment, he often wears patterned polo shirts, cheap company bracelets, pins, lanyards, pant chains, but is never without his signature multicolor propeller hat.

#Lambda archives : AI #LA:AI ep 1 #hlvrai #hlvrai au #la:ai #tma au #half life vr but the ai is self aware

156 notes · View notes

fettuccin-e · 1 year

Text

A Kind of Demon

Kinktober Day 3: Monster AU

Tags: Din Djarin x Reader, Incubus!Din Djarin, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, Din has a demon dick lol, force sex? yeah pretty much, fingering, overstimulation, making up my own demon lore as I go (w/c: 1.7K)

A/N: SO I have never, ever written something like this so this was way way out of my comfort zone, but I wanted to try it out! I really like incubus!Din, so I might come back to him again, who knows. Din does have like "force powers" in this, but since it's not the Star Wars universe, it's just like demon magic lol. (I am using prompts from this list by flightlessangelwings!)

You should be terrified of the power he has over you.

You’d hadn’t meant to summon someone like him, something other. He looks vaguely human, or is just human-shaped, but he’s covered in a dark, metallic armor that makes him seem more mythical than man. And the power he exudes cannot be explained as anything other than supernatural.

He calls himself a Mandalorian, a word that seems made up, not of this world. It’s a type of demon, he tells you, his sentences controlled and short, the type that you’d summoned. A kind of incubus.

“I didn’t summon a fucking demon!” you yell, throwing object after object at him, anything you can find. They bounce off of his dark armor, and he stands stock still, unfeeling and utterly monstrous. He says your name in a way that has your knees buckling on the spot, from fear, of course.

“I have been summoned to you, whether intentional, or unintentional. Your unconscious needs have brought me to you, and I cannot leave until my duty has been fulfilled.” His voice is clear and deep through the metal helmet shielding his face, and try as you might to peer into the dark visor, all you can see is nothingness.

“What does an incubus even do?” you shout, throwing your hands into the air. He chuckles in a truly demonic way, terrifying and somehow endlessly charming.

“Are you lonely, little one?” he said, stepping forward and looming over you like a fucking predator. You don’t answer, staring straight ahead into his armored chest, lips pursed. Why the fuck would he have to know that? Your, frankly terrible, sex life is none of his business.

His gloved hand reaches forward to nudge your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, even though you can’t see his eyes.

“All of these needs, trapped in your pretty little head, I can feel them. I can see them. Fantasizing in the dark night after night with your fingers in your pussy, desperate for someone to take care of you. I can see everything you want, and I can do it for you. I can take care of you, little one.” You swallow, harsh and painful, like sandpaper down your throat.

Your pussy soaks through your panties as he murmurs darkly into your ear. “You only need to say yes, girl, and I will make you feel so, so good.”

Your head swims, your knees weak and your body aching as you whisper a yes.

God, you should be terrified. Terrified of the way he takes control so easily. How, with only a touch, he makes your clothes vanish like nothing, leaving you bare to his invisible eyes. You should be scared for your life at the way you can feel his power all around you, touching every inch of your shaking body, pressing you backward to lay on your bed. Instead, your pussy leaks between your quaking thighs. A force, his force, you realize, invisible and yet so solid it might as well be his hands, strokes across your body, against your throbbing clit. A choked moan rips its way out of your throat.

“That’s right girl, let me take care of you,” he murmurs, looming over you as he steps forward to kneel on the bed. “I can take any form you want, just tell me. Is there someone you desire?”

Oh. You’d hadn’t realized it was an option, for him to take the shape of someone else. He could be anything, you realized, a crush, a celebrity, even yourself. The realization makes you stock still, wracking your brain for someone, anyone. But looking up at him, with his dark visor and broad chest, God, you don’t want him to be anyone else. Just the sheer sight of him has you desperate enough.

“No,” you breathe, a little too eagerly. “No, this- this is fine.”

He pauses. All of him, his chest, his mouth, the force he has enveloping you. You both stare at each other, stock still and silent. And then, he moves.

He’s got you turned over on your sheets in seconds, your face pressed into the mattress as he hikes your hips up. You clutch desperately at the sheets as he sinks two thick fingers into you, gloriously human but somehow not human at all. There’s no way he could be human when he finds that spot so deep inside, the spot that you can barely reach half the time, immediately.

“Holy- holy fucking shit, oh fuck,” you choke on your moans as he grinds the pads of his fingers into you, sending lightning ricocheting up your spine. Your hips twitch back into his hand without your permission, desperate for the kind of touch you haven’t experienced in so long.

“That’s it, girl, take what you need from me,” he growls, fucking his fingers into you at a pace that is truly obscene. His force surrounds you, a warmth that cannot be explained in earthly terms. It ghosts across your nipples, surrounding them and pulling on them in a way that brings tears to your eyes. It moves down and presses hard on your clit, flicking across it in a way that feels like a fucking tongue. You can’t hold back the way you scream.

He sinks another finger into you, stretching you out more than you have been in months, years. Maybe I have needed this, you think. Maybe I did summon him.

He leans over you, close enough that he is able to murmur directly into your ear, “Think you can take my cock, little one?”

The whine you let out is downright embarrassing. “Please.”

You glance behind yourself, to where the Mandalorian has his thick fingers buried deep in your cunt, to where he’s pulling out his cock with the other hand. That, for the first time, is distinctly inhuman. His cock is huge, so big that you have a brief thought about it splitting you in two, right down the middle. Rigid bumps run down his length, and the tip is thick, leaking, and oh shit, you want him in your mouth, you want him in your pussy, you want him fucking everywhere.

“Fuck me,” you whine, and the demon chuckles.

“Do you really think you can take me, girl?” He growls.

“I wanna try, oh please, please, I need it, ah-” he cuts off your whining by ripping his fingers out of you, leaving you empty and gaping. It doesn’t last very long before he notches the head of his cock against your entrance and pushes.

The stretch seems fucking endless. You can only clutch the pillows and sob as he breaks you apart on his thick cock, reaching so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking lungs. It should hurt, God it should hurt, but his force only makes you relax as he pulls you back onto him. You feel dizzy with it, the way that force keeps licking maddeningly at your clit, pulling at your nipples while the biggest cock you’ve ever had settles deep inside.

You cum. Just from the way he sinks into you, fills you like you’ve always been empty, and you’ve only been missing him all your life. You writhe against the sheets, clutching at your pillow as you convulse around his cock. It’s debilitating, destructive, and all you can think of is how much you need more.

“It’s- oh fuck, it’s- I can’t,” you sob over your words, tears leaking down your cheeks, but you can’t help but press back into his body, trying to get him as deep as possible.

The demon snarls, using a thick hand to reach forward and grab your wrists together, pinning them to the small of your back. He pulls his hips back, slowly, so slow that you can feel every bump drag endlessly over your walls, before he drives back into you so hard the breath is knocked out of your lungs, the tip grinding deep into that spot he’s able to find so easily.

Then, the Mandalorian fucks you. No, fucking is too gentle. There is no earthly term to describe how he destroys you in a way that is so pure, so primal. He holds onto your wrists and drags you back onto his cock with every thrust, keeping you at his mercy while you can only moan and cry as he rips you apart into a million little pieces. You feel like a bitch in heat, getting fucked like that is all you’re meant to do. The demon uses you like a fucking toy, his force sucking at your abused little clit endlessly.

You can hear little grunts escaping his mouth with every thrust, tiny uh, uh, uhs that have your head spinning. You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when this man, this demon, is fucking you within an inch of your life, ruining you for anyone, anything else.

Your pussy makes obscene noises around him, echoing throughout the room as your headboard smacks hard against the wall. You can barely even make a noise anymore, overwhelmed sobs forcing their way out of your throat every time he reaches deep, deep into your body.

“I can feel you clenching for me. Are you going to cum for me again?” He growls. “Go on then, little girl, make a mess of yourself.”

Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you squeeze tight around his cock, your body trembling in his hold. He fucks you through it, prolonging it, and it’s too much, it’s too fucking much. Your vision blurs, your head light and fuzzy, and you can only gasp wetly as the world blinks into darkness.

As your eyes blink open again, you’re warm. Your sheets feel clean, smelling of lavender and chamomile, and your room is blissfully, astonishingly quiet. You sit up in bed, a twinge going through your arms, and you nearly scream as you look across the room to see the Mandalorian standing still in your doorway, unmoving.

“Are you alright, girl?” he says, like he hadn’t just ripped you apart in every way that matters.

“Uh,” you cross your arms over yourself, feeling strangely vulnerable. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

He nods, once. “Good. My duties have been fulfilled.” He doesn’t let you get a word in.

You blink, and the Mandalorian is gone.

#i don't think i'm a monsterfucker just yet #but who knows #i could become one #kinktober 2023 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #star wars smut #star wars x reader

569 notes · View notes

m-jelly · 6 months

Text

Demon Huntress Reader x Incubus Levi. Incubus!Levi tempts and seduces Reader to have fun with him (they are secretly lovers)

@2moth-anon2 requested

Irresistible lover

Incubus Levi x fem!reader

Supernatural AU, magical AU, fluff, romance, being a couple, flirtatious Levi, sexual language, teasing, touching, oral, monster loving.

While on a journey to hunt down a dangerous demon, Levi temps you over and over with delicious words and touches. You give in to temptation and allow your lover to fawn over you.

Lore: Some demons help hunters hunt down bad demons. Levi offered his services to help because a demon killed his two friends. As a result of helping you, he fell madly in love with you and you fell for him and you became a couple.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird

You released a long sigh as you grabbed the magic scroll on your next target. You were tired, exhausted and frustrated. Work had been non-stop for you and it had meant less couple time with Levi. As a demon, Levi had a large and deep hunger for you. So, it was hard to get the balance right between doing your job as a hunter of demons and being dedicated to Levi.

Even though Levi was a hungry demon, he was very patient and sweet with you. To him, you were worth the wait. Every inch of you was delicious and your heart was so beautiful. The love he had for you was unmeasurable.

The stress and exhaustion were just rolling off you and Levi could sense it. Levi wanted to fix this, he wanted to get you to relax, he wanted you to smile, he wanted you to be happy and to do that he had a plan.

As soon as you walked into your study at the hunter base, he locked the door and used his powers to make the room darker - it was mood lighting. It appeared you didn't notice, so Levi was going to pull out all the stops.

Levi changed his human appearance to more of his demon one because he knew how much you loved it. His horns grew large on his head, scales appeared on the corners of his face, up his neck and all over his body. His hands turned into strong claws that looked like they had been dipped in tar. His long tail whipped to the side as he growled in pleasure. His tongue was long and pointed for perfect reach and lastly, his shirt peeled off his body to show off his muscles.

He pushed his raven hair back and slowly slinked his way over to you. The way he called your name was sensual like it was pleasurable to call out. He dragged a claw across the table and growled. "You seem...stressed."

You whined a bit as you kept working. "I am. This needs to be done. He's a high-ranking demon on the loose. I need to stop him."

"That will happen. I know you will." He grabbed the magical scroll making you pout and protest. "But you need a break."

You stood up. "He doesn't stop so I shouldn't."

Levi tossed the scroll right as a flying little imp appeared and took it away. "Darling sweetness, he will rest, trust me." He stared you up and down. "You look good enough to eat."

You blushed. "You say that all the time. Call your imp back and give me the scroll."

He reached over the desk and pressed a claw into your shirt right between your breasts. "I will, but after you've been a good girl and relaxed. I'm worried about you." He pulled his claw down and slowly ripped your shirt open. "You are so arousing."

You shivered as your warm skin was met with the room's cool air. "Levi."

He eyed your breasts in your bra. "So supple, plump and delicious."

You pulled back and yanked the shirt closed. "Y-You're distracting m-me."

He leapt over the desk and sat on the edge right in front of you. "My intention."

You tried to move away but Levi's wings burst from his back, and one of them moved and blocked your path. You turned and tried to escape the other way, but his tail wrapped around your thigh. "Le-Levi."

Levi looped his claw finger around your belt loop and tugged. "You work so hard. You're so strong. You're so inspiring." He ran his lips right between your breasts and inhaled deeply. "A darling love like you should be worshipped and rewarded." He delicately kissed your skin. "Such a magnificent love."

You mewled in delight and tangled your fingers in his hair. "You're too sweet to me."

He looked up at you. "You deserve your body to be worshipped every day and night." He licked his lips to show his long pointed tongue. "Say yes."

You could feel the yes on the tip of your tongue, but your senses came to you. You had a job to do and you shouldn't be playing with your demon boyfriend. You turned in his arms and mewled. "I need a new shirt and to start working."

Levi ran his hands up your body as he spoke against your ear. "You work so hard all the time. You need a break. Everyone takes breaks. Everyone needs to relax and unwind." One hand massaged your hip as the other gripped your breast. "So many knots in such an alluring body. It must be so hard for you."

You leaned your head back and relaxed against his touch. "Mm, it is."

"A good night's rest and some good loving with work all the knots out and help you think fresh."

"You're right."

He nipped your earlobe between his sharp canines. "Just a night off. One simple night off won't do any harm."

You leaned against Levi, your weight now fully on him. Legs now weak, you sat between Levi's legs on the edge of the desk. A blissful sigh escaped your lips as Levi continued his touches and massaging. Every move he made was electrifying to you, it always was.

You turned your head and gazed deep into Levi's eyes as they glinted with power. "Do you love me?"

Levi smiled softly at you. "More than words can describe. You have my whole heart and immortal soul. I love you, forever and more."

You welled up as your heart swelled with adoration. "I love you too."

He leaned closer. "I know. I can feel it through our bond. It is...breathtaking." He crashed his lips against yours as his fingers plunged down into your underwear and began caressing your clit.

You felt a shiver run through you as two long clawed fingers pressed deep into your pussy and pressed you in every perfect way. The palm of his hand stimulated your attention-seeking clit. Each soft and intentional movement was hypnotic and pleasurable to you.

Levi's long pointed demon tongue was blazing hot inside your mouth. The way he moved was soothing and yet arousing. You felt safe, calm and relaxed, but also like your body was on fire. All you could do was cling to your lover as he moved and worshipped your mortal body, which in time he would make immortal like him.

A light whimper came from you as soon as he pinched your nipple. A throbbing of pleasure pumped through you from your chest to your heat and back. The danger of it all added to the sexual pleasure. If anyone knew about the undying love between the two of you, or that you took part in the pleasure of the body with each other, you would be shunned and banished from your people.

Most would have accused Levi of tempting you to love him, but Levi would tell you otherwise. Levi's intention was to make a deal with you to take revenge. However, your heart, body and soul lured him in and he was hopelessly in love and yours. You were Levi's master and he would do anything for you. Although, when it came to sex, he was always the tempter because he was a demon of sex.

Levi pulled from your lips as your moans heightened in pitch. The light in Levi's eyes brightened. "That's it, my darling. Cum against my hand and enjoy the pleasure that is your body."

You threw your head back and cried out in bliss as you felt a pleasurable pop. "Levi."

Levi moaned in pleasure as you fed him with power. "Good girl." He dragged his fingers from you and licked them clean. "Delicious meal."

You leaned against his chest. "Mm..."

He lifted you up and laid you on your desk. "Worry not, my darling." He licked his lips and moaned. "I will help you relax more." He clicked a clawed finger against your trousers and panties causing them to slice off. "I will plunge my tongue deep into your pussy and enjoy the flavours of your arousal." He knelt before you and shifted your legs over his shoulders. "I must kneel before my altar."

You reached down and gripped his horns. "I'm all yours."

His long pointed tongue dragged up your lips and clit. He smirked as you whimpered. "Relax. Let me take care of you."

You threw your head back as his long, thick and pointed tongue plunged deep into you. Your thighs clamped around his handsome face. Your back arched as he moved and rolled his tongue. A shiver ran through you as his clawed hands ran down your body. You knew very well that this was not going to be something short, it was going to be an all-night loving.

154 notes · View notes

interesting-interludes · 1 year

Text

the comforts of creatures (5)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→ pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→ genre: supernatural!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→ word count: 4.8k

→ summary: you learn what you are, and your reaction is far from what they expected. as they try to help you feel safe, the boys learn about your triggers, and they try their hardest to help in any way they can.

→ trigger/content warnings: PTSD (self-loathing, mistrust, flashbacks/nightmares) effects of brainwashing, lil’ bit of lore, overt and internalized racism/species-ism (?), vomiting, anxiety, mentions of starvation/food poisoning, mentions of physical abuse, dissociation, mentions of torture, aversion to touch, mc pushes jimin but he’s okay, jimin is an angel, facial/body scars, body dysmorphia/repulsion

→ a/n: thank y’all for your patience :) here’s some more hurt before the comfort lol

past part ← series masterlist → next part

part 5: scars and soothers

“This is you.”

The man is pointing at a detailed image drawn in faded ink. The rest of the page is filled with scripted text and anatomical diagrams.

You can’t look at first, scared of what you’ll find.

When you finally do, you don’t know what to think. There’s the thought that he’s kidding, he’s lying. He can’t be serious.

The drawing is of a creature with tawny-feathered wings extending magnificently in the air. It has the body of a powerful big cat, muscular yet elegant. Its four legs end in sharp-taloned feet. Its neck is framed by a golden mane, looking like a big frilly collar. The mane’s trail travels down the creature’s chest and back, ending in a flowing tail. It has the face of a lion, with white whiskers and deep yellow eyes, yet the regal posture of an eagle.

A diagram off to the left shows the inside of its mouth, lined with row upon row of sharp teeth and protruding fangs.

Looking back up, you search the faces of the men around you. None of them appear to be joking.

You can’t speak.

You’re one of them, one of the creatures they all despised. The creatures that roam the wild lands for easy prey, spreading carnage wherever they go.

No wonder they hated you so much. You’re not even human.

A few silent, involuntary tears fall from your eyes, which are locked back on the page. You wipe them away hastily.

The boys don’t know how to react, all looking at each other with concern.

“What...” you squeak out, voice choked. “What is it?”

“A gryffin,” Yoongi replies. “You’re a shifter.”

Something gurgles in your stomach. You clench your teeth, nails digging deep into the meat of your thighs.

You believe him. You don’t want to, but you believe him. You’ve always felt less than human, like something wasn’t right about you. Like something was just beneath the surface, clawing its way up.

Now you know why.

Jungkook, who’s sitting closest to you, slowly, cautiously puts his hand on your shoulder in an effort to comfort you.

But you flinch at his touch, jerking away.

You don’t catch the look of hurt that flits across his face. He knows you can’t help it, but it still stings to think that his touch physically repels you.

“What did they tell you about atypicals?” Namjoon presses, trying to shift your attention so you won’t look so disheartened by the reality of what you are.

From the way you look at him, he knows that you’ve never heard that word before. Or at least you don’t remember it.

“Atypicals are anything that falls out of the humanic species,” he explains patiently.

Your face scrunches in confusion.

“Humanic as in human,” he elaborates.

You don’t understand why he’s talking like that. You’ve never heard these terms before. In the place you came from, the “facility,” anything that wasn’t human was an abomination, a mistake in the eyes of nature.

Simple as that.

But here, things seem to be a bit more complicated.

Nausea is starting to bubble in your gut. You breathe carefully through your nose as you consider Namjoon’s question.

“They said...” you begin hesitantly.

They’re all on the edge of their seats, desperately wondering what those bastards brainwashed you to believe about their kind, your own kind.

“They said that they were monsters.”

Another pang of hurt thrums through their hearts.

“That...that they deserved to be hunted down like dogs.”

They can hear the pain in your own voice, either from witnessing their cruel behavior, or from realizing that you’ve been the target of it this whole time.

Your stomach churns.

“They said I wasn’t even worthy to lick the ground they walked on.”

They can all hear you choking on your tears, despite your attempts to hide it.

Jimin and Jungkook feel like their chests are going to burst from holding it in, both the sorrow they feel for you and the urge to rush forward and drown you in affection.

Jin and Namjoon have storms raging inside their heads. Namjoon is calculating, trying to decode what exactly their motive was and how to use it to track down the ones in charge of it all. Jin’s mind is reeling with ways to undo the damage they’ve done, mentally and physically.

Yoongi is swimming waist-deep in despair. He can’t help but think of what’s to come. You’ll have to relearn everything. How to shift, how to fight, how to cast. That is, if you even want to.

You feel the newly strung tension in the air, looking like you just realized you said all of those things out loud.

One look around the room, and your newly found voice retreats deep into your throat.

The man called Namjoon, his eyes have darkened, jaw clenched and ticking like he’s grinding his teeth.

The one who tended to your wounds is sitting stiffly in his chair, staring ahead with a new sharpness in his face.

The small dark-haired man has his hands clenched, prominent veins crawling up his arms.

You duck your head down, body stiff with nerves.

“You have to know,” Yoongi begins, voice calm as ever despite the rage just below the surface. “That’s not how most people think. Especially not here.”

Here in the North Regions, atypicals make up the majority of the population. Law enforcement, government, and public works are largely run by them, and prejudice is rarely an issue.

But how could you know that now?

They can all see the change. It’s almost instantaneous, the way your face shifts and loses all semblance of emotion. Just like that, the mask is back up.

Then there’s something else. A slight twitch from your nose, a well-hidden shudder. They can see your throat bobbing.

For a few seconds, it looks like you’re about to say something. Your tongue is moving inside your mouth, and you’re blinking rapidly.

Namjoon is about to utter some gentle encouragement, but a jolt racks through your body, making you hunch over.

All of a sudden you’re vomiting up everything you just ate.

Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin can’t help but jump to their feet, panicked noises filling the air.

Taehyung’s eyes widen. All his limbs go rigid, paralyzing him in his seat. He feels sick himself.

Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi all look at each other.

Yoongi thrusts into action, heading to the kitchen with Jungkook in tow since he isn’t good around pungent-smelling things.

Namjoon starts giving instructions. Jimin, paper towels. Hobi, get the mop. Said men jolt into action, scrambling to do whatever they can to help.

Jin’s eyes have been fixed on you for some time now, catching your every move, including all the suppressed flinches and tremors.

He’s at your side in an instant, on his knees to try to catch your eyes. But it’s no use, you’re squeezing your eyes shut like you’re expecting to be hit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mutters in his gentlest voice. “It’s no big deal. No one is upset with you.”

As much as he wants to, he refrains from touching you right away.

Eyes still tightly shut, you flinch away from the sound of his voice, twitching with anxiety.

Jin can see you start to spiral, so he does the only thing he knows will work.

“Hey,” he begins, voice firmer than it was before. “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, shining with moisture.

“That’s my girl,” Jin says before he can help it. “You’re going to calm down for me, yeah?”

Your eyes desperately search his face, looking for any sign of anger or deception. You find none, not even a hint of disgust, and your breathing starts to slow.

All that’s there is the man who tended to your wounds, watching you with those patient eyes. His handsome face is calm, attentively anticipating whatever you need right now.

Sweat gathers on your skin. That same sensation crawls up your throat, saliva pooling in your mouth.

Jin notices the signs immediately.

“Come with me,” he orders softly, putting a light hand on your back and leading you to the nearest bathroom.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You remember vomiting a few times at the facility. Once from eating a rotten vegetable, the mold making it impossible to identify. And once when a handful of keepers had held you down, repeatedly punching you in the stomach, until you gave in and called yourself a mutt.

Both times you were severely punished for making a mess. You learned to hold it in your mouth and swallow it down after that.

Jin guides you to kneel over the toilet. He keeps talking to you, but you only process half of what he’s saying.

“Go ahead, let it out,”

You can feel it creeping up, burning and sour. But something deeper, something almost instinctual, tells you to keep it down.

“Stop holding it in, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s not good for you. It’s okay to let go.”

Before you can think to suppress it, another wave of nausea surges through your body. The crescendo of it makes you wretch, emptying the last of your stomach’s contents.

“Good, good, just get it all out,” he encourages instead of beating you until you can’t breathe.

The bile is bitter in your mouth, but not more bitter than the dread clinging to your entire being.

He’s not going to punish me, you finally realize. It’s almost an impossible thought.

For a moment, you stay hunched over, frozen. Not sure what to do next.

“Here, come wash your mouth out,” Jin says, helping you stand up on shaky legs.

The sound of running water rings in your ears. You feel the coolness against your tongue, but barely register that you’re the one cupping it to your lips. Numb. You feel like you’re controlling your body from the outside rather than the inside.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You look up at him for the first time in a while. His face is as kind as it was before, with the same full-lipped smile and warm brown eyes.

The man starts to lead you out of the room, that same gentle hand resting on your back.

It isn’t until then that you realize you’re still in the grimy clothes they found you in. And now the entire front of your shirt is stained with even more filth.

You glance into the living room as you pass through the hallway.

The other men are diligently cleaning the area you just soiled. The small dark-haired man and the muscular man are missing, though you can hear rustling from the kitchen.

The one with the jet black hair and bright face catches your eye, flashing a reassuring smile. It makes you rip your eyes away.

Jin guides you into the living room, and everyone immediately looks your way.

Shrinking, you’re shrinking into yourself as much as your body will allow.

“Someone run a bath,” Jin announces. “I think it’s time our little guest got some sleep in clean clothes.”

The fair-haired one steps forward and exchanges a subtle look with Jin, who’s standing slightly behind you.

“Would you follow me?” the shorter man says, holding out his hand.

It’s the one with the silver-gray hair and warm eyes. You think his name is Jimin. His face is soft and friendly. It asks a silent question: will you trust me?

You don’t take his hand, but you do take a step up the stairs in the direction he’s leading you.

You don’t catch it, but Jimin and Jin exchange a heartfelt glance, nearly ecstatic at the fact that you’re beginning to trust them.

Jimin leads you up the stairs as the rest of them settle things downstairs.

When you reach the top, he guides you down a spacious hallway that’s filled with potted plants and window light.

Every single door, down to the very end of the hall, is open. Whether it’s open wide or just a crack, not one of them is closed or locked. You’re not used to it.

The man, Jimin, stops at a door halfway down the hall and looks back to check if you’re still following him.

You stop a few feet away from him, still keeping your distance, but your expression is open and neutral, waiting on his next move.

He gives you a calm smile, and continues into the room with you behind him.

This room is just as bright and inviting as the rest of the house. White walls and clean tile floors, but this time with a large porcelain tub and a sink with marble countertops.

The man turns to look at you with a question in his eyes.

“Shower or bath?” he asks.

It’s a harmless question, a considerate question. But your mind is yanked back to that place.

Shower. A torrent of fire raining down on you, vision blinded by steam. It comes from every angle, unrelenting no matter how much you scream.

They would strip you down and lock you in a metal stall the size of a coffin. Then the dotted ceiling would unleash a downpour of near-boiling water.

You would bang on the walls, but the water made the metal surface just as hot, the floor burning the bottom of your feet. Minutes or hours they kept you in there, not letting you out until your body was covered in burn marks.

Bath. The most intense cold you’ve ever felt. It’s everywhere, submerging you up to the neck, seeping down to your very bones.

They would chain you down in a tub full of ice, nothing but your head poking out of the frigid water. The cold chains cut into your skin the more you struggled. Your lungs would heave from the shock of it, your whole body shivering violently.

Then they would hold your head underwater until you were bucking like a stuck pig. This went on until you were utterly exhausted, falling limp against the freezing porcelain with nothing but the tight chains holding you up.

You’re snapped back to reality when the man takes a step closer. He’s watching you closely, trying to read your face.

Finally remembering that he asked you a question, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head.

You don’t want either. You don’t want to be anywhere near that tub. You want him to leave you alone.

Jimin guesses that the gesture means you don’t care which one. He figures you’re most likely still weak from malnourishment, and he doesn’t want you fainting and hitting your head.

So he opts for a bath, turning on the faucet. He sits on the edge of the tub, hand under the spout to monitor the temperature.

The sound of running water makes every muscle in your body tense up. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It’s going to hurt, it’s going to hurt. The fire, the ice, it’s going to burn and sting and cut into your flesh. You won’t be able to escape it.

Jimin doesn’t notice it at first, too focused on adjusting the knobs to get the water not too hot and not too cold, but your breathing has picked up again.

You can already feel it filling your ears, your mouth, rushing down your throat as your head is held down. Your skin prickles from the heat, it quivers from the cold.

The water in the tub continues to rise, and you can’t move. Your body is frozen, feet rooted to the floor as the sound of sloshing roars louder and louder in your ears.

Halfway full, now. It’s coming any second. He’s going to turn on you, throw you down and hold you under.

Burning, freezing. It’ll hurt and hurt and hurt.

Jimin turns his head, and his stomach drops.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips pursed like you’re trying to bite back a scream. Fists clenched at your sides, shoulders trembling, as your chest heaves up and down.

Immediately, he jumps to his feet and rushes over to you.

“What is it, babe? What’s wrong?”

Then he makes a big mistake. He puts his hands on you.

His touch is gentle, nonthreatening, nothing but two hands on your shoulders. But you don’t want it, you’re repulsed by it. Because touch always comes before the pain.

On instinct, your body jerks away, arms moving to push the unwelcome touch away, just get it away. Your hands collide against something, hard.

When you open your eyes, the man is on the floor. Sprawled on his back, looking up at you with wide, slightly watery eyes.

There’s shock plastered on both of your faces.

Jimin’s soft heart hurts a little, he can’t help it. In all the years he’s known you, loved you, you’ve never ever been repelled by him. But that hurt is soon drowned by guilt.

He scared you, he made you feel unsafe. You felt the need to protect yourself and it’s his fault.

You’re staring at your hands in horror, completely floored by what you’ve done. You’re in for it now. He tried to help you and you hurt him. Now they’re going to hurt you even more.

Several sets of pounding footsteps draw near. The others must have heard the thud from downstairs and rushed up to see what was wrong.

What they don’t expect to find is Jimin crumpled on the floor and you standing over him in a braced position, but that’s exactly what they see when they peer through the doorway.

They’re all a little astonished, Jin and Namjoon are thinking deeply, and something in Taehyung’s eyes shifts.

He isn’t proud of it, but a surge of protectiveness washes over him, for his Jimin. He knows it’s unreasonable, unfair even. But it’s still there. And he can’t snuff it out.

A new fear consumes you. You were insubordinate, you resisted. You know what comes next.

A sob gets trapped in your throat as you sink down to the floor, burying your head in-between your knees and using your arms to shield yourself.

Immediately, the same way Jimin did, they all rush forward to comfort you.

“No!” Jimin blurts out, making you flinch and shake violently. “Don’t touch, give her some space.”

They all obey, keeping their distance with concern flooding their features.

Jimin shifts onto his knees, scooting a little closer but still keeping enough away.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers, like he’s talking to a wild, cornered animal. “It was my fault entirely. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m truly sorry.”

Jimin’s voice has always been soothing, even in the darkest times, and your breathing slows a little.

Jimin realizes that the faucet is still running, and he reaches over to switch it off. Then it comes to him.

He turns back to your trembling form, still waiting for the pain to come.

“You’re scared of the water, aren��t you?” he asks gently.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, he just wants to let you know that he’s trying to understand you, to help you.

You nod slightly.

It shocks them all again. You’re becoming more responsive.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Jimin says with all the sincerity he can muster. “It’s not your fault. I promise I won’t do that again.”

Your shoulders gradually stop trembling, breath coming evenly now.

Jimin looks at his mates and gestures for them to give you some more space so you can calm down.

They all do as he says, except Tae. He lingers in the doorway, his piercing eyes flickering between you and Jimin, thinking.

The two men exchange a meaningful glance. Jimin gives him a reassuring smile and nods his head as if to say “There’s nothing to worry about. I got this.”

Tae gives a slight nod back and turns to leave, throwing one last look at you.

Jimin sees the hint of distrust hidden in that look. He files it away for later.

Turning his attention back to you, Jimin looks at the tub and thinks of a solution.

“You don’t have to get in the tub, okay? We can just...” Jimin opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a handful of washcloths.

“Like this, see?” He dips one of the cloths in the water, using it to wipe down his face.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You scan his face. Those big brown eyes are full to the brim with kindness, as if you didn’t just hurt him moments ago.

You nod.

Jimin smiles so big it almost hurts his cheeks, heart swelling as you hesitantly hold your hand open. He puts another cloth in your waiting palm.

“Okay, here’s the soap, shampoo, conditioner. You can wash your face with this. Use whatever you want, okay?”

You look at him, trying to convey with your eyes what your mouth can’t say. He stays there for a moment, sitting with you on the tile, answering your every question with just his expression.

It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. You can trust me. I understand you.

Breaking from his reverie, Jimin gets up and moves to leave.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says, swinging the door closed.

You shoot forward and grab the knob just before it shuts.

Jimin jumps a little, whipping back around. There’s confusion on his face, then understanding.

“Okay, we’ll leave it open just like this. I’ll be just outside if you need anything, okay?”

You feel the tension release from your chest, and nod back.

Another warm smile, and then he disappears into the next room.

He’s not going to lock you in. Another impossible realization.

Turning around, you stare at the full tub. Your heartbeat skitters a little, but you take a step towards it anyways.

When you dip your fingertips in the clear water, you expect it to be scalding, or cold enough to numb, but it’s neither. The water is warm and calm, it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t sting.

Another breath releases from your lungs.

You use the cloth and soap to wipe down your whole body, shedding your dirty clothes and tossing them aside. Soon the tub is cloudy from the dirt on the washcloth. You even dip your hair into the water and use a little shampoo to get some of the grime out.

You sit there and wash yourself until the water turns cold. Using the counter to steady yourself, you slowly come to a stand, even though your legs are aching.

The sight in front of you is enough to shock you into silence again.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your reflection. You wish you weren’t seeing it now.

The person in the mirror is ugly and pathetic. Her short hair is a mangled mess. Haphazardly cut with a pair of dull scissors, it sticks out in all different angles. Her eyes are blank and lifeless, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles. There’s a large, hideous scar across her left cheek, deep and forked like a flash of lightning.

Her body is weak and repulsive. Slouching forward, she’s barely able to hold herself up. She’s covered in scars and marks, all over her legs, her arms, her torso.

You know there are worse scars behind you.

Horrifically entranced, you slowly reach up to touch the scar across her face, your face. Your fingertips meet the textured tissue, and then there’s the pain.

It’s not a physical pain, it doesn’t originate from the scar itself. It’s a pain deep in your chest, spreading and infecting the rest of your body. It maims you, twists your insides, disfigures your soul.

You muffle the silent scream with a hand over your mouth. Knees buckling, you barely have any strength left to keep yourself upright.

You’re barely you. You don’t remember who you were before, but you know it wasn’t this.

A gentle knock on the door.

You immediately stifle any signs of discomfort, snapping the mask back on with frightening accuracy.

Jimin’s arms poke through the gap in the door. He sets a bundle of clothes on the counter.

“Here you go," his pleasant voice says. “Please let me know if they’re comfortable enough.”

You wait a good twenty seconds before you reach for them. A warm green sweater and soft cotton pants.

You hurriedly slip them on to hide your disgusting body.

Leaning closer to the door, you try to hear beyond the wood. Hushed voices, muted footsteps.

“Ready, love?” a smooth voice sounds from just behind the door.

You flinch away, trying your best to make your hair look less unkempt.

It’s Jin who cautiously swings the door open, greeting you with an affectionate smile.

“Much better, hmm?” he says.

You manage a curt nod, following him with your head down to another room.

It’s the room from earlier, the one with the massive bed. The rest of them are here waiting, muttering quiet words until you arrive. Then they go silent and set their eyes on you, asking a question you can’t understand.

Why are they all looking at you? You don’t like it, not at all. People who look like them shouldn’t look at someone like you. You’re wrong, inside and out.

They all notice the change. Now your eyes are trained on the ground, head bent and shoulders folding in on yourself like you wish you would disappear.

Jin ushers you towards the humongous bed, encouraging you to settle in under the covers. He tucks the comforter around your body, fluffing the pillows behind your head.

“There, nice and cozy,” he says, sounding satisfied for the time being. “Rest up, okay love? You’ve been through a lot.”

Why are they talking to you like that? You’re disgusting. They should be throwing you out on the streets to fend for yourself like a common rat.

The small dark-haired man kneels down next to you. He hands you a mug of steaming amber liquid, using the bed sheets to shield your hands from the hot surface.

“This should settle your stomach,” he says.

While Jimin was getting you cleaned up, Yoongi and Jungkook were hard at work cooking up a tincture for your nausea. Essence of lavender to help you sleep, peppermint to refresh your throat, a little ginger to ease your stomach, and some of Yoongi’s highest-quality potions to replenish your nutrients. And, of course, Jin stirred in a copious amount of honey to sweeten it up.

You hold the cup in your hands like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Yoongi looks at his mates in confusion and concern, not sure what to do. Jimin catches his gaze, and gestures wildly with his hands. He exaggeratedly mimics holding the cup and taking a sip, and then Yoongi understands.

He gently takes the mug from your hands and holds it up to his nose.

“Let me check if it’s too hot for you,” he says, blowing off some of the steam and taking a long sip. He makes sure to swallow with audible emphasis.

“Okay, it should be good,” he says, handing it back to you.

This time you hold it close to your chest like it’s a precious gem, slowly sipping away at the frothy liquid.

They all look at each other with a relieved, triumphant expression.

Namjoon steps forward and leans down to level his face with yours.

“There’s water for you over there,” he gestures to a table in the corner, complete with a pitcher and cup. “And the bathroom is the next door over.”

You nod to show your appreciation, still avoiding eye contact.

Jin enters your field of vision again.

“Do you think you can hold down some meds?” he asks. It’s sincere, no seeming deception behind it.

But you still shake your head vehemently. You don’t want anymore pills. In fact, you don’t want to see another pill ever in your life.

“Okay, love,” he says, smiling again. “Just rest up for me. For us.”

You have no idea what he means by that, but you sink into the pillows anyway.

One by one they filter out of the room, casting a last look at you before they leave.

You wish they wouldn’t. Their eyes seem to leave even more marks on your skin.

The door starts to swing shut. Then someone mutters something, and it stops just before it closes completely.

Footsteps recede, silence settles upon the room.

You manage a few more sips from the steaming mug, eventually setting it aside. The bed is soft and comfortable, but you can’t bring yourself to lie down.

You sit there, watching shadows dart across the wall, for hours.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed it please leave a comment on what you thought of the story/any questions it would mean the world to me!! and if you’re feeling extra generous, please reblog with tags it helps to spread the story around, thank you!! 💖

673 notes · View notes

destieltropecollection · 5 months

Text

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 10: Wing Fic

After the Storm (The Meaning of Flying) | @cassiecasyl Rating: General Word Count: 1,132 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Canon Related, Angel Wings, Flying, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff, Feelings, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, can be seen platonic, actually this is platonic, but definitely leading up to something, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Home Summary: The storm has ended and finally allows Castiel to fly again. The only shadow over his happiness is Dean fearing he might not come back.

After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) | @cassiecasyl Rating: General Word Count: 1,438 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Canon Related, Feels, Storm, Angel Wings, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Home, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Poetic, Massage, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Dean Winchester is Castiel's Home, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Promises, Castiel Won't Leave Summary: Castiel's shoulders are tense after his first flight and Dean helps him out with a massage. Confessions and promises are made.

Hold Me in Your Wings | @tami-ryver Rating: General Word Count: 1,670 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cursed Dean Winchester, Winged Dean Winchester, Angel Wings, Wings, Sentient wings, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Alternate Angel Lore (Supernatural), HugsFluff Summary: Dean can see Sam stretch his hand forward as if he wants to touch. As he is about to allow it, his wings stiffen and pull away from Sam' hand. Dean looks at them, then at Sam. ,,I didn't do that."

Flower in Bloom | @tami-ryver Rating: General Word Count: 1,679 Main Tags/Warnings: Wingfic, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Seraph Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Wing Grooming, Molting Castiel (Supernatural), Wing Hugs, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Pining Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Winchester Can See Castiel's Wings, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Light Angst, First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss Summary: Dean gasps, as now he can see them more closely. They are not only black, but they seem to shift colors from deep blue to black and dark purple. They open even more, and Dean stills when one of them comes closer to him, almost touching him. Dean inhales sharply when the soft feeling of feathers registers in his mind. They are so soft, but also so strong.

Like Flying | @Cmccle01 Rating: General Word Count: 2,355 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Amara, Gabriel, Balthazar, Jack. (No warnings. It is a pretty clean story) Summary: Dean and Cas get what they deserve. and Jack smiles

Be Not Afraid | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,075 Main Tags/Warnings: angel!cas, human!dean,Alternate Universe, angels as different species, Xenophilia, bottom!Dean, Top!Cas, Wings, Outdoor Sex, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, previous childhood meeting, Artist!Dean, dean is obsessive about angels Summary: Dean saw his first angel when he was ten years old. Ever since then, he's been on a self-serving mission to see one again. Sixteen years later, by luck — and lust — he finds the same angel again during mating season.

dressing down | @hornystiel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,971 Main Tags/Warnings: Sharing Clothes, Possessive Behavior, Wing Kink, Wing Oil, Dick Jokes, D/s elements, Scents & Smells Summary: “Pick something and it’s yours.” Cas hesitantly touches each item, reverently rubbing the material between his long fingers. He trails the patterns, the band names, the sparkles. Dean follows his hands like they’ll show him all the secrets of the world.

The Hounds Of Love Are Hunting | @melancholictearz Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,275 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Ancient Greece, Fallen Deity!Castiel, Artemis Worshipper Priest!Dean, Prophecy, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Injured Cas, Dean Takes Care of Cas Summary: IS A STRANGER WORTH THE WRATH OF OLYMPUS? It is said that an experienced hunter shall meet the path of a fallen god. The mortal’s faith in the Goddess he worships must decide whether he kills his prey or shows mercy, and the Fates shall write the future accordingly; the divine entity will either die to the wounds of his fall or will perish as mortal. Dean worshipped the Goddess of Hunt, Artemis, for as long as he could remember. But when the prey that the Fates have chosen for him crashes into the field of the Artemis temple under his care, he doesn’t draw the feathery arrows from his quiver.

Falling Never Felt So Good | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,066 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 5, canon divergence, wing kink, winged Castiel, touch starving, shower sex Summary: Castiel is alive! After saving Dean and Sam from Zachary, Castiel reveals he's now a fallen angel and he should serve Dean as his loyal servant. But thinking about having an angel watching over you because he fell for you isn't worse than the consequences… Lucifer is out there trying to break mundane seals to get stronger, and the only way to stop him is through fallen angel and human bonds. If only strengthening Dean's bond with Castiel didn't include touching and kissing, things would be easier...

Say Yes | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,843 Main Tags/Warnings: Winged!Castiel, BAMF!Castiel, mutual pining, fluff, miscommunication, angst, wing kink, angelic grace kink, touch starving Summary: After evading the apocalypse, Heaven faces a new crisis. Without archangels and with an absent God, the angels will appeal to their last hope: to achieve a perfect bond between two of their own and thus generate the necessary energy to save Heaven. But when the first attempts fail, and everyone begins to lose hope, it's then that Castiel admits that he may have "accidentally" started a bonding ritual with Dean Winchester by bringing him out of Hell, and now the restoration of Heaven depends on a brave hunter agreeing to complete the bond with Castiel, a ritual full of enigmas and sensuality that will confront the angel and the human with their most hidden feelings.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2024 #destiel #fanfic #supernatural #wing fic

102 notes · View notes

sunmoonjune · 2 years

Text

masterlist

an updated collection of the works of sunmoonjune. all works belong to sunmoonjune. do not copy, translate, or repost any of my works. I will no longer be updating the previous masterlist! I just needed a chance of pace to get back on track :))

*please regard the warnings at the beginning of each fic! they are very important - please remember that you curate your own internet experience, so take heed to any and all warnings*

previous masterlist

petrichor

a stray kids and ateez supernatural universe!

choose your own adventure masterlist

in this masterlist, you’ll be guided to pick your first adventure: through the door of rising suns and rays of light or the door of starry skies and a midnight moon?

once you pick your door, there will be links to the fics in each universe in the masterpost of the specific kingdom: the kingdom of dawn (ateez) and the kingdom of night (stray kids)

there is lots of lore for each universe in these pieces!

stray kids

oneshots

primordial: poly!ot8 stray kids x fem!reader [sea gods au, soulmate au]

[preview]

synopsis: “Oh no,” the deep voice spoke hushedly, “we cannot destroy something that has loved us so beautifully.”

warnings: suggestive content! minors dni!! mentions of death, drowning injury, blood, poly relationships including member x member, swearing

rating: mature [due to suggestive content]

word count: 12.3k

storm clouds at midnight: poly!ot8 stray kids x fem! reader [werewolf au, soulmate au]

synopsis: moving to a little woodside town, you discover a deep bond that connects you to eight wolves who reside in the forest aside your cottage. soon after your first meeting, you give into the enchanting magical connection and accept the pack leader’s challenge: if any of the wolves can catch you, you'll accept the mating bond (a silly proposal, considering you have long since accepted the connection)

warnings: intense suggestive content (not explicit smut, but damn well close) [minors dni!!], predator/prey, chasing, blood, injury, vulgar language, cursing, biting, choking

rating: extremely mature! [minors pls do not interact!]

word count: 26.3k

↳ untitled drabble: poly!ot8 stray kids x fem!reader [storm clouds! universe]

hyunjin, minho, chan, felix based

synopsis: musings about hyunjin and his hair-tie stealing tendencies

warnings: gets a little raunchy -- minors please dni! suggestive content and cursing

↳ moonlit inferno: poly! ot8 stray kids x fem!reader [storm clouds! universe]

synopsis: the wolf pack muses upon the mating chases that have occurred since your courting process finished. one resulted in your favor, the other in their own. while planning their tactic to win the next, they’re interrupted by your call with someone they had not expected.

warnings: suggestive content!! predator/prey, chasing, cursing, vulgar language, choking, teasing, biting, minors please do not interact with this piece (you will get blocked!)

rating: mature! [minors dni]

word count: 10k

ateez

series

like the moon: poly!ot8 ateez x fem! oc!reader

*disclaimer: I tag the reader as an /oc/ just in case, but the reader here isn’t really an oc - she has a nickname and a backstory (as well as family figures), but she does not have any distinguishing features besides her scars and enough hair to tie rings into -- anything else is not mentioned so it’s still a reader insert, I just wanted to clarify for anyone who is confused! *

one: the trial

two: a familiar face

three: puncture

four: honey

five: hatred

six: an anchor in storming seas

seven: angel

eight: reconciliation

nine: common ground

ten: new start

eleven: too slow

twelve: gone

thirteen: flames relit

fourteen: home

fifteen: safe

sixteen: my hongjoong

seventeen: magpies

synopsis: it’s finally the day of your trial. you’ve been waiting for this day for years. will you succeed and become a warrior your clan can finally be proud of? or will you fail, and be banished from the village forever?

warnings: graphic depictions of past torture, past abuse, gore, injury, death, threats, fighting, reader is nonverbal for much of this fic, previous familial abuse [this fic can be considered triggering in many aspects, pls be cautious and heed the warnings at the beginning of each chapter!]

rating: mature

word count: 160k

status: in progress

↳ extra lore! some extra detail on her mask

↳ extra lore! the semiotics of a long bow: a glimpse into the symbols seonghwa carves into his longbow

↳ spring tides: a like the moon oneshot

synopsis: the ateez clan celebrate your birthday <3

warnings: vague mentions of eating disorder, death and torture, scars, ptsd, very fluffy! a lot of comfort! not so dark this time xD I did not proofread this :D

rating: teen

word count: 14.1k

oneshots

dewdrops at dawn: poly!ot8 ateez x fem! reader [demon au, soulmate au] [petrichor! universe]

synopsis: you’ve never really believed in angels, or anything of the sort, but in a last ditch effort to escape a grave situation – you find yourself to praying for someone - anyone - to come help you.

“wow, you would not believe how fast angels are! I had to fight like six of them to answer your call!”

warnings: creepy men, implied chubby!reader, social anxiety, implied neurodivergency, cursing, being followed, drunk assholes, blood, death, minor gore, intense sexual themes [minors dni!!], heavy suggestive content

rating: mature [minors dni!]

word count: 17.2k

mist at daybreak: poly!ot8 ateez x fem! reader [demon au, soulmate au] [petrichor! universe]

[preview]

synopsis: a one shot to continue dewdrops at dawn.

as you officially settle into life in Hell, a few problems arise. the first comes in the form of nightmares - or memories, you suppose - memories of your death. images of blood and tears, the sight of your grieving mates, and the weak plea of a promise are all you can see.

“forever, angel.” he promises, voice weak as tears muddle his vision. “forever. I promise.”

warnings: blood, death, cursing, mourning, suggestive content, mentions of vomit

rating: mature [minors dni]

word count: 5.7k [preview]

jujutsu kaisen

series

house-elves & moondew: poly!satosugu x fem!reader [hogwarts au]

chapter one

synopsis: “you must be some wizard,” Suguru huffs softly, a warm smile gracing his features as his dark eyes drift over you. his chest sings with a giddy lightness, feeling the butterflies in his stomach turn when a little grin pulls at your features.

when you tilt your head in confusion, Satoru continues for his partner. “You’ve bewitched us,” he murmurs softly, voice warm and husky as he leans close, “body and soul - without even uttering a single spell.”

warnings: social anxiety, reader has implied trauma, violence, injury, blood, death, death eaters, heavy suggestive content [minors dni!!], cursing

rating: mature [minors dni!]

word count: 15k

status: ongoing

oneshots

in their loving hands: poly!satosugu x fem!reader [mafia au, kindergarten teacher au]

synopsis: you’re a hard working kindergarten teacher, just trying to earn enough money to move out of your run-down apartment. everything is normal, or as much as it can be, until two men drop their daughters off in your kindergarten classroom. Nanako and Mimiko quickly become two of your favorite students, and their unreasonably attractive fathers have nothing to do with it - you promise!

warnings: blood, death, cursing, mentions of cheating, insecurity, being followed/chased, being attacked, mentions of sexual content!

rating: mature

word count: 18.8k

gods and monsters: poly!satosugu x fem!reader [pacific rim au]

synopsis: six years after you lose your jaeger co-pilot, the Marshall finds you working on the coastal wall; he’s adamant you return to your station, but you can’t imagine piloting a jaeger with anyone who isn’t your brother. when you’re talked into returning to base, you’re met with the world’s two best jaeger pilots.

warnings: blood, death, gore, cursing, mounters, past trauma, reader has a brother, fighting, angst, heavy suggestive content [minors dni!]

rating: mature [minors dni!]

word count: 27.6k

raspberry leaves: poly!satosugu x fem!reader [jjk au] [family!au]

synopsis: reader has severe period cramps in the middle of the night and hides in the bathroom to try to deal with her agony. geto wakes to your figure missing in bed and worries. how can he help your pain?

warnings: periods, severe cramp, painkillers, fainting, mentions of vomiting, cursing, fathers!gojo and geto, megumi tsumiki nanako and mimiko are your kids :D

rating: teen

word count: 12.5k

works in progress

*these are works that are currently being drafted - fics will only be added to this list if they have portions written!*

kpop groups

mist at daybreak: poly!ot8 ateez x fem!reader [dewdrops at dawn universe]

thunder at twilight: poly!ot8 stray kids x fem!reader [stormclouds at midnight universe]

planned

all of my stars: poly!satosugu x fem!reader [jujutsu universe, geto doesn’t defect, happy!au lol]

our own constellations: poly!ot8 stray kids x fem!reader [primordial universe]

2K notes · View notes

postal-ech · 5 months

Text

Alright no, I need to go into detail on this shit cause I swear to god, it lives rent free in my head. I'll split the post off here cause there's gonna be some spoilers for Lisa the Undone as well as a few other Lisa Fan Games that are on my mind

I'm also giving a CW here, cause Lisa covers some dark topics, and I want to unload it a bit here, especially given what I've seen out of Lisa the Undone.

Buckle up, it's gonna be a long, very autistically hyperfixated post.

I initially never really got into Lisa when it first came out. I was a shitlord that saw the fan content first, especially this project known as Interlopers - essentially, a Lisa-Undertale crossover featuring Buddy Armstrong and Chara Dreemur.

It piqued my interest a bit, but I never realized how one sided it was in exploring this stuff, especially given it was this crossover AU. It focused mainly on the Undertale fandom and some of the things that were popular at the time. It WAS going to explore its own version of Olathe on a sequel series but that was canceled later on, and the idea has become dormant since.

Later on, my curiosity grew and I looked into the Lisa side of things more. I discovered Lisa the Pointless, Lisa the Hopeful, and then I started looking into other fan projects here too.

Why this pretext? Because that was the gateway into Lisa proper.

I only got Lisa the Painful and Lisa the Joyful after its definitive edition released. At this point, I was pretty well versed in Brad's story - his trauma and pain, the struggles he faces after, the Joy abuse to numb the pain - so when I saw the campfire scenes between Brad and the other party members, especially with members like Terry or Queen Rodger, Bo and Olan, it sparked something there that's for fucking sure.

And then I got to the secret boss.

I'm a dude thar enjoys reading into shit, looking deep at the meaning of written projects be it games, movies, books, etc - Lore is my god damn drug, to put it in a TL:DR.

Seeing this huge call back to Lisa the First, Seeing the symbolism of joy spiders worshipping a Blue Eclipse above Brad's childhood home, fighting the manifestation of Marty Armstrong and reading the deeper, personal stuff that's said afterwards

That song, too, towards the very end of the sequence, with the music that's reminiscent of s church choir singing as Brad's childhood self descends into the darkness

That's what truly sold me on Lisa.

I know everyone has mixed feelings on Lisa the Joyful of course, especially in the way it handled Buddy - Some people were fine with it, and others didn't like the way she became this bloodthirsty girl out to murder shit indiscriminately

I say fair enough honestly, Joyful was a bit of a slog to get through compared to Painful

HOWEVER

There were two things I still enjoyed about it:

One, Dustin. Dustin was and still is the goddest boy despite his own flaws, and I was upset it wasn't explored more before his untimely death. Buddy actually starting to care about him before it all went downhill was tragic in its own right

Two, the DE content. Again, a lot of people were still mixed on it, but personally I saw it as a better expansion into Buddy healing from her trauma, understanding that- while Brad certainly was in the wrong in the way he raised her, he still tried his best in a world that definitely wanted to exploit her in the most horrific ways imaginable.

I'm fine with her even mentioning Lisa cause let's all be real here, she's definitely at least heard of her through Brad in some way, shape or form, and the ending bit where he explains the dead flower to her only reinforces that for me.

The more supernatural side of things feel interesting too, cause maybe it's just me, but reading into things, The Flash always had this sort of supernatural spin to it - how Olathe got so fucked up, how time doesn't seem to be entirely right in some areas or how everything got all mountainous and the likes. Probably just headcanon stuff but fuck it, I enjoy the speculation.

AND NOW, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR: LISA THE UNDONE.

So, with that context out of the way, I'll get into my proper thoughts with Lisa: The Undone.

Firstly, again I know not everyone will really agree with the ideas the Definitive Edition put out, especially in the case of Joyful with its Lisa the First callback and Buddy just slamming on Buzzo the way she does. That being said, I love the way Lisa the Undone tackles these ideas Joyful initially set our and explores them more.

The idea of Buddy being less hateful at first, just wanting to genuinely explore the weird and wacky world of Olathe despite its darkness is very welcome. With Dustin especially, this is only amplified.

A lot of the headcanoned and original stuff feel like they can fit right into the base Lisa games too honestly, and that's another thing I really appreciate about this fan gams

But the most important thing to me is the found family relationship between Dustin and Buddy, as well as the two other companions you can recruit.

Dustin is by no means perfect. This is undeniable enough given his actions in Painful and Joyful - He wants to do good, but it becomes a bit of a messiah complex especially for Buddy - who mind you, is only a pubescent kid during all of this shit. This is still translated well in this fan game, just less of a prominent character point - He still wants Buddy to have a good life and to be safe, but there's a clear struggle with seeing her as the Future of Olathe

And seeing her as just Buddy. Just Her.

And the fact that over the time, throughout the chapters, you see Dustin refer to her less as this important figure for the world and more as like a sibling, or just straight up family, that right there is what sells me on this.

Especially towards the end, where depending on your choices in the game, Buddy does eventually admit she can't help but care about people like Dustin.

That hits. That hits a good fucking bit.

And that's what I love to see in this. Sure, it may end with one of the two dying in part 2 of Undone, or depending on your actions it may end with tragedy for either of them

But the fact it works this found family dynamic so God damn well here, with how Buddy and Dustin care for each other AS that family despite Brad's own fuck-ups between the both of them.

Fuck man. It's good, and I hope this fandom explores it more here - especially with DE putting things into an interesting context too.

On a side note, God I also hope it explores DE's Warlord skills mechanics in the future, it's some god damn martial arts shit I love. Sure it may be Mega Man-esque bur god dammit the idea of Buddy learning and incorporating some ideas given from how each Warlord fights is SUCH a good idea and if there's ever a fan game that had Buddy exploring the greater world of Olathe, meeting the likes of Alex Churchland or Beltboy and shit like that, I wanna see her develop her own form of martial arts with or without the katana she's grown accustomed with god dammit.

God, I love Lisa. I love these games as much ad Undertale and Deltarune, and I need to write out some more shit for this series.

Thanks Austin Jorgensen you god damn mad man, and thanks to the Fandom for putting out such genuine bangers.

#lisa rpg #lisa the undone #lisa the painful #lisa the joyful #lisa the pointless #lisa the hopeful #average hyperfixation post

30 notes · View notes

deadzonedenizen · 5 months

Text

Profile Navigation

Submerged AU content:

OC Masterlist: (References and Descriptions)

-Bell

-Rasmus

-Alix

-Gibby

Main Fic: Ship In A Bottle

Mini fics (snippets from Ship In A Bottle/ scenes outside of the main plot):

Playing With Fire

Bright As Stars, Sharp As Glass

Red Ink On The Dotted Line

A Cautionary Tale

Morning Activities

Blind Eye Of Destiny

Lore-related tags:

#Shipwreck Debris

Excerpts from Ship In A Bottle, edited from second to third POV

#Flooding Memories

Events that took place before the fic

#Seafloor Scraps

Scrapped ideas for the AU

#Deep-Dives

Just rambles about AU development

#Message In A Bottle

Journal-style posts depicting messages in bottles left by child Bell

#Looking Inside The Lighthouse

In-universe classified documents

#Unseen City Files

In-universe conspiracy theories from a forum dedicated to the supernatural in Megapolis

#Sunken Secrets

Miscellaneous lore/Bonus scenes

Things to be aware of:

"What's your name? Should I call you Bell?"

-I'm not Bell thankfully, so no. I go by Rizzard/Phrog/Aesti/Atmos depending on where you know me from. But for this blog's sake, you can call me Reef.

"What are your pronouns?"

-Surprise me.

"Do you do commissions?"

-Nope. Maybe in the future?

"Do you do requests?"

-Depends on my mood. You're welcome to send requests to draw stuff, so long as it's sfw and all. Please be aware that I make no guarantees that I will actually do it.

"Do you do art-trades?"

-Same as the requests. Please let me know first if you want to do an art-trade with me, so we can avoid miscommunication lmao.

"Do you take asks?"

-HELL YEAH (I might not respond to it immediately tho-)

"Are you okay with people taking inspiration from your OCs?"

-So long as it's just inspiration and not straight up plagiarism, then why not? I'd be a hypocrite if I said no. You don't even have to credit me, since you've already added your own twist to it.

"Are you okay in general?"

-No.

20 notes · View notes

etherealspacejelly · 6 months

Text

im thinking of writing another fic soon and i want to gauge how interested people are in my fic ideas so im gonna describe them and let you guys pick your favourite/tell me your thoughts!

supernatural AU where Castiel is the guardian angel of a child OC

doctor who AU where the 9th doctor meets martha

doctor who slice of life fic exploring the fourteenth doctors relationship with the noble-temples post canon

a marvel cinematic universe AU focusing on the found family arc of my light elf OC (i have already started writing this one and it has a Deep Lore (/hj) that i have been working on in my head for years)

a collection of one shot reader insert fics based on requests? idk ive never done this before but it could be fun

#fanfic #fanfiction #poll #tumblr poll #tumblr polls #space jelly writes #supernatural #doctor who #marvel #marvel mcu

26 notes · View notes

raaorqtpbpdy · 8 months

Text

Haunting With Dinosaurs (0)

Danny is summoned by a powerful occult practitioner named Victor Veloci, who wants him to bring dinosaurs back to life. It sounds absurd, but Danny is bound to him and cannot refuse, even though he can't actually bring dinosaurs back to life. Instead, he merges the ghosts of five dinosaurs with the bodies of the five human sacrifices Veloci used to summon him, restoring them to life as dinosaur halfas. And that's only the beginning.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 4: Any Fandom Dino Squad | Element

Read it on AO3 also, Watch Dino Squad on Youtube it sucks (affectionate)

Danny is slightly aged up to be 18 and a recent high school graduate, also this is a ghost king Danny AU, and obviously Phantom Planet didn't happen, but other than that, no major changes have been made to DP lore in this fic.

As for Dino Squad, I've made some pretty significant changes, but they pretty much boil down to: This is a supernatural AU, so it won't have canon-typical Dino Squad made-up science. All other changes are explained in the actual fic as they come up.

I'm lowkey assuming that the majority of people who read this will not have seen Dino Squad, so I've made sure to describe all the DS elements a little more thoroughly than the DP elements so those of you who haven't seen Dino Squad can understand what's going on.

Prologue

Next Chapter

[Warning for death, coercive control, and semi-graphic violence]

Danny was getting real sick of summonings. He'd been warned that after he officially became the ghost king, more people would try to summon him, but if he'd known it would be this bad, he would have fought harder to abdicate the title.

At least back when he was just Danny Phantom, ghostly superhero, he would be summoned to girls' slumber parties right here in Amity Park. As the ghost king, he kept getting summoned by whack-jobs and cults on the other side of the world. Plus, whack-jobs and cults never wore skimpy pajamas or asked him to play truth or dare with them.

Being ghost king didn't have any perks.

Sometimes he could ignore a summons, if it was weak and he focused really hard on it, but not this time. This time, whoever was summoning him was powerful. The pull to answer was stronger than he'd ever felt before.

He could barely resist it long enough to rinse the toothpaste out of his mouth before he was forcibly torn through space and transformed into his ghost form, crown, ring, and all. Then he was floating in the center of a summoning circle.

Wherever he was now, it was dark, maybe a basement, or maybe a cave. He didn't hear any dripping water or echo, so probably a basement. The only light came from Danny himself and five dim, candles with green flames burning low. Normally that wouldn't bother Danny, who could see in the dark as if it was daylight, but something about this darkness was unnatural. Even he couldn't see through it.

It smelled like must and blood. So much blood he could taste it when he opened his mouth, and nearly gagged.

"Finally, I have you," a voice said. It was deep and slightly accented, although Danny couldn't place what it was. Almost British but not quite.

Danny swallowed and braced himself for the metallic taste in the air before he opened his mouth again to ask, "Who are you? Why did you summon me? And can you turn a light on?"

He squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the figure standing there The light he gave off revealed only silhouettes, but it looked like just one man, tall, with a dignified stance.

"I have spent centuries perfecting this ritual to summon you here and bind you to me," the man continued.

Then he spoke words in an ancient language. Not Latin. Older. Almost primeval.

Danny hissed as he felt a burning sensation wrap around his wrists. Through his gloves he could see a red glow circling them. It became brighter and hotter for a long minute, until finally, it faded.

"What is this?" Danny demanded harshly.

"A binding spell," the man responded, holding up his hand to show a faintly glowing red sigil on his palm. "You are now bound to me. You will come when I call; you will do my bidding. You belong to me, ghost king. You belong to Victor Veloci."

Danny backed away slowly, only to stop when he reached the edge of the summoning circle and hit a barrier.

The usual freaks never knew enough to actually keep him in the circle, let alone bind him to themselves. This guy was the real deal. He wasn't just another whack-job who got his hands on a summoning ritual; he actually knew what he was doing.

It had finally fully dawned on Danny that this was not his typical summoning. This was really, really bad.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, carefully keeping his voice steady.

"I want you to resurrect my friends," the man, Victor, said.

"You have friends?" Danny scoffed.

"I did." As he watched, Victor's eyes started to glow, amber with slitted pupils. Definitely not human. "And you're going to bring them back. All of them. So we can destroy humanity and return the world to the way it should be. When we were in our prime."

"Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, you mean?"

It was meant to be derisive, but Victor smiled, green light glinting off wickedly sharp teeth.

"Exactly."

One by one, the green candle flames finally burned out, and the oppressive, unnatural darkness faded away to regular darkness. Now that Danny could see again, all the cards were on the table. He knew where he was, what Victor looked like, and where that smell of blood was coming from.

A corpse laid on each of the five pentagram points. They looked like they were teenagers. A few years older than Danny had been when he'd gone ghost the first time. Probably still in high school, or they would have been if they weren't here, glassy-eyed and still sluggishly dipping blood.

Victor Veloci himself was a well-groomed man with long dark hair streaked with dark red. He wore a burgundy suit, and carried himself like a respectable businessman. If it weren't for the glowing yellow monster eyes, he could have had anyone fooled.

Danny was made to listen as Victor shared his story. It sounded ridiculous. A pair of velociraptors somehow surviving the extinction of the dinosaurs, developing immortality and the ability to transform into humans. But Victor clearly believed it. And after what he showed Danny, it was hard to deny.

He told Danny that, unlike the other velociraptor, he was always supernaturally gifted. He could see the ghosts of the other dinosaurs, even speak to them. They were angry. They wished to return. And he vowed to make that happen no matter how long it took.

"And now, finally, after millennia, I have you," Victor finished. "The king of death, bound to my will. Now, you will bring the dinosaurs back to life so that we may return the world to its rightful state."

"Yeah... that's not gonna happen," Danny said, less than apologetically.

"You must," Victor insisted.

He held up his palm and the sigil their glowed more brightly. At the same time, the marks around Danny's wrists glowed, but they didn't burn. If Danny were to hazard a guess, he'd say they could only make him do things he was actually capable of doing. So he wasn't in direct defiance of his new master's orders.

"Why isn't this working," Victor hissed.

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it, I said it's not gonna happen," Danny said. "I can bring people back from the dead, but I need blood, and flesh, and bone marrow. I need DNA. I can't bring back a ghost without anything remaining of their physical form, and I can't bring anything back from fossils either. Tough luck, man."

"So what can you do?" Victor growled.

Danny looked down at the mutilated teenagers beneath him.

"I can bring them back," he said.

"I don't care about them."

"I can bring them back and merge them with the ghosts of some of these dinosaurs you care so much about," he continued. "Sort of like an overshadowing situation. You know, possession kinda."

"Will they be able to take their true dino forms?"

"Sort of? They'll still be ghost dinos, but they'll be corporeal at least."

What Danny was proposing was basically bringing these teenagers back as halfas, except their ghost forms would be dinosaurs. Which, actually sounded pretty epic, honestly. He wasn't actually sure how, or even if it was going to work, but he had to do something for these kids, and he had to do it without directly defying this mad wizard. This was the best he could come up with.

"Your proposal is acceptable... for now," Victor said. "I shall call to the spirits of five dinosaurs for you to use."

He spoke again in that ancient language. Its guttural tones sending a shiver down Danny's spine. Ghost king or not, this stuff was creepy.

A moment later, a pteranodon swooped into the room, perching at the edge of the summoning circle.

Cautiously, Danny placed one hand on the pteranodon's beak, then knelt down to the nearest teen, a kid whose only recognizable feature at the moment was a bright green mohawk. It was hard to look at, so Danny closed his eyes. In his mind, he told the ghost to merge with the teen, ectoplasm mixing with blood as the teen healed and the dinosaur was locked inside them.

For a terrifying second, he just waited. If he'd been breathing, he would have held his breath.

Then, the teen started to breathe. They were still unconscious, but they were alive.

Danny sighed with relief.

"Did it work?" Victor asked.

"It worked," Danny confirmed. "I'm ready for the next one."

In truth, doing that just once had been pretty exhausting. Doing it five times would definitely push the limits of what Danny was capable of. He might even end up passing out and turning human again. And then where would he be? But it would be even more difficult the longer he let these kids rot. He had to try.

The next dinosaur Victor called was a stegosaurus, and Danny successfully merged it with a purple-haired boy wearing a shredded button-up and a tie. Then came the spinosaurus, which he merged with a redheaded girl in cargo pants. Then a T-Rex, which was terrifying, but merged with the boy in the bloodstained Letterman jacket without issue.

By the time the final dinosaur arrived—a styracosaurus, Veloci claimed, although it looked like a triceratops to Danny, not that he was a dino expert—Danny was exhausted. He wasn't sure if he would be able to pull it off one more time. Rather than using his authority to order the ghost, it felt more like begging this time. He was desperate. Almost completely drained of energy. If he didn't turn human after this it would be a miracle.

Much to his relief, he succeeded the fifth time too, merging the styracosaurus with the last teen, a large, African-American boy wearing a robotics club T-shirt.

Somehow, and it really must have been a miracle, Danny managed to stay in his ghost form.

"Alright, man, done," Danny said.

"I disagree," Victor denied. "There are millions of dinosaurs, and you're going to bring them all back."

"Not tonight I'm not," Danny argued. "I don't actually have unlimited power, you know. And doing this takes a lot out of me. It's gonna be a long time before I get enough energy back to do it again."

"How long? A century? Two?"

"Uh..."

Danny had been thinking more like a week, but this was a pleasant reminder that the man currently controlling him was apparently from prehistoric times.

"Yeah, maybe," Danny said, rather than correct him. "If we're lucky."

"I've waited this long," Victor said. "I promised. As long as it takes."

"Right just uh... don't kill anyone until I'm actually ready to resurrect them, okay?" Danny said. "The longer someone's been dead, the harder it is to bring them back."

"I make no promises," Victor replied. "You're dismissed for now, but don't go too far. I'll call you back when I need you."

He uttered one guttural word, and Danny felt the tense atmosphere around him break. Instinctively, he knew that he could now leave the circle, leave the basement, and he did. Though he swore to himself he'd come back to rescue those kids as soon as Victor left.

Until then, however, there was someone else he needed to find. According to Victor's story, there had been two velociraptors who survived extinction. And apparently, the other one lived in the same city.

#fic #dp #dp x dino squad #danny phantom #dino squad #dinosquad #crossover #dp crossover #crossover danuary week 2024 #crossover danuary week #haunting with dinosaurs #things i wrote #danny fenton #victor veloci

31 notes · View notes

miralyk · 7 months

Note

love the drawings you've been making for desmond and alex, what's ghosts in the machine? first i see them crawling out of your screen and now everyone's angels devils or monsters, i don't know if i'm missing something!

ah man, think it's time to try to summarize everything and apologize LMAO;; ty for asking though, i should've made things less confusing! this will be a Pretty lengthy post for irl context/backstory and "actual au" info so be ready if you want to read everything!

(for starters, the title's just a pun on the philosophical phrase "ghost in the machine" interpreted Literally and taking inspiration from clay in ac revelations, since he Was a ghost in a machine and jokingly called "my guardian angel" by des, haha)

the short version: basically, "ghosts in the machine" is what i've called the au(?) where i just doodle silly "artist talking to her art muse(s)" stuff like these kinds of comics instead w me,, the ""art muse"" is whatever i'm hyperfixated on (currently desmond, the assassin brotherhood as a whole, and alex/prototype lmao):

the Full LONG version: when replaying prototype and ac awhile back, i also posted fanart on LOFTER (china’s local version of tumblr) and made a mainlander mutual/friend who drew fanart too, like her oc w the assassins in an animal shapeshifter 刺客信条乙女向 (assassin’s creed otome) au! as i’m vietnamese-american and she’s chinese, we use translators and send pictures/doodles to talk about the games and our days, and when i was replaying prototype, she started ac2 too and sent me this as commentary:

from there, whenever we’d text or send pics/art, it became a running joke of sorts to also include our ""game companions"" like that fanfiction thing of “author’s note where the author and fictional characters comment on the situation and/or talk to each other”, and my doodles also became us or our computers being accompanied by them LMAO;; that’s pretty much the origin and setting of the particular doodles; just the daily shenanigans and art struggles of an artist (me and her) talking to their art muses (characters from special interests) haunting them and their computers

as for the "supernatural" aspects, at some point desmond and alex got drawn an as angel and devil because i’ve had ridiculous “protected by a guardian angel” luck lately like surviving a car crash unharmed, they’re my favorites and associated with me, the motifs match the duo, etc, it's not really that deep and/or for a "Lore Reason";;

likewise, the brotherhood got drawn as ghosts to emphasize the “we/our computers are haunted by them” joke more, along with how my friend and i are both asian and used to like ghosts and ancestral worship casually being a part of our lives already LMAO (ig in the context of the au then, they’re basically desmond’s ancestral spirits disney-mulan-style that freeload off of his vietnamese protectee (me) for both spiritual veneration or "worship" like staying relevant in this modern age via fanart)

for example, i'm also considering drawing like altair, ezio, connor, and edward as the vietnamese four holy beasts just to play around, things like that! there's no special lore reason aside from just personal thoughts and "oh that'd be fun to draw", they just thematically fit well being four prominent “legends” and being desmond's ancestors, etc,, haha

at the end of the day, "ghosts in the machine" are just silly shenanigans of me drawing what's on my mind, from who/what i'm hyperfixated on (aka impromptu art muses for me), any thoughts/frustrations i have w daily life or drawing stuff,, and "hm this sounds cool, i could draw this design or Cool Thing" stuff. it's not really an au persay (plus i still really cringe and feel self-consciously wary about the embarrassing self-insert aspect of all this, help lmao), it’s just,, just silly personal scribblings that are kind of sharing an inside joke to everyone now, but i'm happy to know people still humor these silly drawings and are curious if there's more to it, thank you!

#ghosts in the machine au #tldr all of this is silly doodling w a mainlander friend but now all of china... AND GLOBAL...... tumblrs know i'm cringe (pain)#i'm honestly surprised that people both on tumblr/global and LOFTER/china like these a lot and want more but yeah dghfdkj #protocreed #assassin's creed #desmond miles #alex j mercer #don't know what else to tag esp if people want to blacklist this... i don't want to clog 'canon' tags like character tags lmao #ask

28 notes · View notes

mybookstorecarlovinghusbands · 1 year

Text

Forever Starts Tonight

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley take on a whole new adventure!

Pairing: Aziraphale x Crowley, Nephilim!Daughter!Reader

Warning: Angst, fluff, the whole shebang. The use of Y/n. Mentions of torture and injuries. ALSO was written based on what information we had back when S1 came out, so this doesn't correlate with what happened in S2.

Notes: THIS WAS WRITTEN BACK IN 2019 and I just logged back into this account after Season 2 so I didn't even realize this was in my draft until now 🙃

It’s kind of a Supernatural!AU, given that their lore is different from Good Omens’ lore so I mixed it up a little. Read the narrative in our Frances McDormand's God voice. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~

This story all starts when the demon Crowley is waiting for his angel, Aziraphale, to return to his -now their- flat from ‘an expedition of finding the Holy Grail of exquisite books’... the angel’s words, not Crowley’s. The demon himself was bored while waiting up for Aziraphale, so he ordered Chinese and began to channel surf to see what was on television. It wasn’t long after that did he hear the door open and close within seconds of each other, causing Crowley to look up from the couch to see Aziraphale standing in the doorway with a bundle of pink blankets nestled in his arms.

“Oh, somebody's sake, no. Not again.”

“I can explain!” The angel squeaked out right away, clearing his throat nervously as Crowley just leans further into the couch while eyeing him expectedly through his shades, eyebrows raised in question.

After several moments of utter silence, Crowley’s lips caved into an amused smirk, “I’m waiting.”

“Right! Yes, well, um,” Aziraphale cleared his throat again, “I heard rumors. Rumors around Heaven and I was curious, I couldn’t help it. What I’m saying is that it’s not my fault and I couldn’t just leave her there and-!”

“Alright alright, slow down, Angel. No need to accidentally combust and set the child aflame,” Crowley waved off while pushing himself to stand up, leaning on one hip lazily while eyeing the pink blankets, his hands digging into his pockets, “Now what rumor exactly are those panty-twisting winged bastards spreading up there?”

“Oh! Uh... well,” Aziraphale tries to smile, his free hand reaching up and unwrapping the blankets to reveal the tiny pink face that Crowley was expecting to be under the bundles but in all honesty, even he admits that he wasn’t prepared for how disgustingly cute she was. She was definitely cuter than Adam when he was a baby, and he could confirm that as Aziraphale continued, “What I heard was that Gabriel had been with a human.”

“He, what?” Crowley sputtered, utterly shocked, “Are you telling me that that’s a Nephilim? A child of a human and a bloody angel?”

“Technically, an archangel, but yes,” Aziraphale hummed, unknowingly swaying his own body to gently rock the baby in his arms, “I didn’t believe it at first. Gabriel is always against such things, but, now that I think about it, she was conceived around the time Armaggedon was supposed to happen and Gabriel was pretty furious at the time.”

“So he took his frustration out on some poor woman?” Crowley answered his own question with a deep whistle, “That’s low, even for me.”

“I know,” Aziraphale smiled softly, and Crowley wished he could take it back just to spite him, but quickly swallowed down that idea as he watches the angel practically beam down at the baby while whispering sweet nothings to the sleeping infant.

The fact that Crowley thought it was such a beautiful scene horrified him as he quickly clears his own throat to grab Aziraphale’s attention again, “So what exactly are you doing with the Nephilim?”

The angel sighs in defeat, “Well, unfortunately, Y/n’s mother... passed away after giving birth to her and, well, you know Gabriel, so I just thought--”

“Did you seriously name the poor thing Y/n?” Crowley smirked ever so slightly, walking around the couch to meet the angel in the doorway.

“N-No!” Aziraphale stammered, “Her mother did right before she died. I wouldn’t dare change it if that’s what her mother wanted.”

“And so you just decided that we would take her in, a Nephilim, and raise on our own like some normal human family?”

Aziraphale swallowed something sharp in his throat as he looked down at the baby instead of Crowley, absolutely terrified at what expression he might see. Although he will admit, he was curious about the wording of ‘we’ since he said no such thing of the two of them raising this child together. He knows that Crowley has always been about ‘us’ and ‘our side’ but Aziraphale wasn’t sure just how far Crowley was willing to go in doing things together. He would understand if Crowley was against this, given that if she wanted to, one day, Y/n could just burn a demon such as himself alive just by looking at him. Nephilim were extraordinarily powerful beings, and that is why it’s illegal for angels to procreate with humans. They’re extremely dangerous when provoked. Granted, not as powerful as the Antichrist but still, terrifying.

“I- I- I mean,” Aziraphale flushed, “My thoughts were that if she was left to be adopted by a normal human family, further down the road they would realize that she’s not normal and then we would have a lot of trouble on our hands from both of our sides.”

“Again, we’re on our side now,” Crowley stared down the bridge of his nose at the angel, “And do you remember the last time we tried helping a child?”

“Warlock was different. We thought he was a ticking time bomb.”

“This is a Nephilim. It’s not that much different.”

“But with Warlock, we were trying to force life lessons on him while trying to cancel each other out. We practically broke the poor boy in the process.”

“If you can even call that boy 'poor,'” the demon muttered, “So you’re saying that when a demon and an angel work together to raise a child it would have a much better outcome?” The grin on Crowley’s face was smug, Aziraphale knew it was, given that to counter his question, the angel would have to admit that they do, in fact, make a great team as Crowley’s been saying for 6,000 years.

“Yes,” Aziraphale blurts out sternly, lips frowning in defeat as he pouts, “Go ahead. Gloat. Say ‘I told you so’.”

“I could, but then it wouldn’t be as fun now would it?” Crowley beamed, “What sounds even more fun is pinning it against you for the next eighteen years of this little squirt’s life.”

~~~~~~~~~

And so it was that an angel named Aziraphale and a demon named Crowley took Little Y/n in and raised her as their own. Of course, there were a few bumps in the road along the way, but nothing the three of them couldn’t fix together. Over the years, they live the best life that neither angel nor demon could possibly believe could happen to them.

Crowley ends up being the best father a girl could ask for. When baby Y/n was hungry at night, Crowley was already up and ready to feed her. When she asked for a tricycle, in an instant, it was there against Aziraphale’s wishes. Even when Y/n fell off that damn thing time and time again, Crowley either pretended to fall with her so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed or he would encourage the best way that he could... through temptation. So what Y/n had some trouble sleeping those first few nights after getting that tricycle because Crowley had given her candy every time she succeeded?

She first started calling Crowley 'Dad' and Aziraphale 'Papa' by the time she was five, and it was around that time when her angel father consulted with her demon father about her powers.

“Perhaps this is a good age to teach her how to control her gifts?”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley muttered, practically pouting while leaning against the wall and glaring into nothing. And before Aziraphale could blink, that discussion was over.

When Y/n was old enough, borderline sixteen, she even dyes her hair to look more like Crowley than Gabriel, the girl only ever wanting to resemble the beings who raised her compared to the one who helped create her. When she went to her dads the next morning to show her work, Aziraphale was more fond than angry for dying her hair, commenting on how she looked so much like her father. Crowley, on the other hand, was falling off his chair while laughing, clutching his sides and yelling, “That’s my girl!” He always knew she was the rebellious sort. In secret, he was trying his best not to cry, touched by the influence he had on his child.

By the time Y/n was a teenager, Crowley still did not want to discuss the possibilities of teaching his daughter how to control her powers. And for the life of him, Aziraphale couldn’t understand why. Y/n knew of her abilities. Her dads didn’t hide her from any truths once she was old enough and understood what she was and what she was capable of doing by the time she was sixteen. By then, she had also wondered why Crowley did not want to teach her. After fruitless efforts into getting him to do so, Y/n had gotten angry because she believed that her father was wanting to hold her back from her true potential, or even worse, she believed that he thought she was a monster. And being that she was so close to her Dad, the thought of how he might fear her practically broke the teenager’s heart and she ran away, her special blood giving her the cloak she needed to hide from her otherwordly dads.

When they were unable to find her right away, Aziraphale and Crowley got into the biggest fight they have ever had in their shared existence, and it ended with the angel leaving in a huff to go and keep trying to find their daughter. In his rage, Crowley also left the house to try to blow off some steam and find Y/n.

He was walking for a while, unable to drive since Aziraphale took the Bentley. It was a little petty, maybe, but Crowley begrudgingly admitted to himself that he was proud of the angel's pettiness. As he turns the corner and walks down an alley, he scrunches his eyebrows and hears movement behind him, causing Crowley to turn around just as two demons appear directly behind him. Before he could react, Crowley is tackled to his knees and restrained, and, to his hidden horror, was restrained with chains that had definitely been dipped in Holy Water, as the cold feel of metal begun to sting and seep into his skin. Looking up, the rogue demon noticed a third figure with his attackers, and his upper lip twitched at the sight of him.

Hastur’s lips curl into a smile while having the pleasure of watching Crowley’s confident demeanor give way when those snake-like eyes look over his shoulder. Knowing what Crowley was seeing behind him, Hastur happily watched the restrained demon's face fall at the sight of two more demons dragging his daughter down the alleyway by both of her arms as she cries out, “Dad?”

Hastur laughs as Crowley’s first reaction is to fiercely fight against his restraints, ignoring the pain of the Holy Water bathed chains as he growls and hisses at the Duke of Hell, snake eyes blazing with hellfire, “You tell them to get their filthy hands off of her RIGHT. NOW! Or I’ll--”

“Do what, exactly? Die trying to get out of chains meant to burn through your fleshy form?" The demons all laughed at Hastur's joke and he just beams proudly, "It's nice to see you're not as immune to Holy Water as you claimed to be. I don't know how you managed to survive that bathtub, but I can assure you that we'll never make the mistake of that again."

Crowley ignores the fact that he's been exposed and tries focusing on his child, “Darling, where’s your father?”

"I don't know!" She cried helplessly, the grip the demons had on her arms slowly starting to cut off circulation, her fingertips growing numb. Her demon father wanted nothing more than to return the favor and cut off their own arms to see how they'd feel. Instead, he tried not to get violent and focus more on her little, sweet, snot-and tear-ridden face while she sobs, "I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, love," Crowley tried to speak as gently as possible, despite the fact he could smell his skin beginning to burn and give way to the chains, "It's not your fault."

"You've been keeping low under the radar for a while, Crowley," Hastur interrupted, "How long has it been? Sixteen years? Now that I look at her," he makes a point to stare at Y/n, causing Crowley's skin to crawl with the expression on Hastur's face, full of ill-intent and evil ideas, "I can see why we haven't heard from you. It’s remarkable, actually. You took in a disgraced offspring of some human and an archangel just shortly after betraying your own kind?"

"Don't listen to him," Crowley didn't mean to snap, immediately regretting it when Y/n flinched. He wasn't sure if it was from his hiss or Hastur's words, either way he wanted nothing more to hold and comfort his child.

Hastur and the other demons continue to laugh, "You have two options. You can try fighting your way through your torturous bonds and allow your daughter to watch you slowly die in front of her. Or... you can tell us what we need to know.”

"Such as?" Crowley growled like a hellhound, pulling against its chains and ready to be released on its target.

"Where is the angel Aziraphale? Heaven has also reported his absence for sixteen years. One could wonder..." Hastur's eyes flick back to Y/n, "That isn't a coincidence. Did you finally move in with the boyfriend, dear Crowley?"

Crowley decided he didn't want to entertain this group of clowns any further, trying to conjure all his willpower and miracle a small, barely conceivable time stop, like the one he made to speak to Adam before Satan's arrival. It wasn't as strong due to his pain, but he immediately spoke directly to his daughter once he noticed Hastur's mouth stopped moving, and the other demons stopped laughing.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Y/n's eyes briefly widen. She wasn't sure she could remember the last time Crowley apologized for anything. He sometimes did that little apology dance both he and Aziraphale created whenever they were wrong about something, but those were miniscule apologies compared to this.

Crowley's words were desperate and bled just as deep as the chains currently burning their way through his flesh, "I told Aziraphale that I never wanted you to learn how to use and control your powers because I didn’t want you to be anything like me, like him, or any angel or demon in this universe. I just wanted you to be... to be, like... like YOU."

Both father and daughter had matching tears falling down their cheeks, and through his desperation, Crowley found determination as well. Determined to get Y/n to see herself as he saw her. Strong and sure of herself, as confident as her papa, the very angel he loved dearly and hoped he would get to see again before the Holy Water reached his heart, "But I realize now that I was only holding you back in becoming you because those powers are what make you who you are. And right now, I need you to do that. I need you to focus. Burn away these bonds, and we can get out of here and find your father.”

"I-- I can't do that!" She exclaimed, her words shaking as she noticed the demons around them slowly beginning to move again, her father's intervention starting to fail due to his dying strength. "I don't know how!"

"You can!" Crowley had noticed, too, and the pain was becoming unbearable. He desperately wanted to be free of these chains, but more importantly, he desperately wanted his daughter free and running away, far from here and hopefully to Aziraphale, "You can and you will! Or else they'll take you somewhere your father can't follow. Aziraphale won't know where to look, and without me, he won't ever be able to get into Hell to save you! You have to try, Y/n!"

She was crying again, unable to breathe as the time was slowly beginning to restart. Hastur's movements were almost comically slow, snail-like as he full-bodied, turned to directly face Crowley. By the time Hastur was staring directly down at the rogue demon, time had fully restarted again, and the demons who ambushed Crowley were none the wiser.

Hastur grinned, "So what'll it be, old friend?"

"Even if I knew where the angel was, I wouldn't tell you," Crowley snarled, "I haven't spoken to Aziraphale in years."

"6,000 years on this planet, and you don't seem to know how to lie any better," Hastur snarled, turning back to stare at Y/n, "Very well. You're never too young to watch your dear old daddy turn into a puddle of goo."

"NO!"

A blast of light, blinding as the sun, bursts through the alleyway. Even with his shades, Crowley still had to close his eyes, his ears bombarded with a chalkboard-scrapping screech followed by men screaming in anguish. Even when the noises stopped and the light subsided back into a night sky, Crowley's ears still rang, and his vision was spotted. He blinked rapidly, faintly noticing that his shades were cracked and lopsided on his face. When he was finally able to look around, he couldn't find Hastur or the other demons. Instead, small piles of ash replace where they all once stood. The rogue demon's senses fully return, and he groans when hot, searing pain begins to make itself known. Looking down, he noticed the chains were now beating red and hot to the touch, sparking when the links rubbed together.

"Dad!" Y/n shouts, rubbing her sore arms as she runs to Crowley, who still knelt on the ground in shock.

Her voice snaps him out of it, and he raises his voice in warning, "Y/n, wait, you'll burn-!"

But, when Y/n touched the chains, nothing happened. She didn't pull away in pain, and he couldn't see any burn marks on her hand as she helped him shrug away the restraints. She's careful not to let the chains touch his skin anymore than they already were, and once the chains were removed, she immediately reverts back to crying as she sunk into her demon father's arms.

"Alright. Alright..." Crowley grunts, still in pain but holding his girl in his embrace regardless, taking deep breaths as he tried to relax, "It's alright now, love. You did it."

They stayed there, knelt on the ground of the alleyway for who knows how long, the only sound being a dog barking and car alarm going off in the distance, likely startled by Y/n's outburst.

The car and dog weren't the only ones her burst of energy signaled. Crowley picked up a different car sound, the rumbling of a familiar engine in the distance, quickly drawing closer. A smile finally emerges on his face, squeezing Y/n tighter and releasing her when he hears the sound of a car door slamming shut just down the alley.

"Y/n?!" Aziraphale appeared, eyes widening when he not only found his daughter, but his dearest as well, both collapsed on the ground and surrounded by ash and scorched earth. Immediately, the angel's footsteps pick up, "Y/n! Crowley!"

"Papa!" Y/n cried, sinking into Aziraphale's embrace when the angel sunk to his knees to join them on the ground. The teenager sobs into the angel's lapels, gasping between cries, "Dad... Dad's hurt."

Aziraphale's eyes immediately flick up to Crowley's, although it was proven difficult when the demon's cracked sunglasses got in the way. Keeping one arm around his daughter, Aziraphale leans into Crowley's space, taking the dark shades off to get a good look at those beautiful, snake-like yellow eyes, "My dear... are you alright?"

"Hm," Crowley's grin was lopsided, loopy like a lovesick loon, "Better now that you're here, Angel."

Y/n hiccups out a small laugh, and Aziraphale scowls while rolling his eyes. The sight of their reactions could fuel Crowley another 6,000 years if needed. Recognizing the burn marks of Holy Water, Aziraphale performs a quick miracle with the flick of his wrist, and before Crowley could blink, he's back to normal, tired but otherwise unharmed. He sinks into Aziraphale without a second thought, joining Y/n in tucking their faces into either sides of the angel's neck and staying there with no intent of leaving.

Aziraphale doesn't complain, unaware of what happened, but allowing his two loves to stay where they are, safe under his arms and wings.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #crowley good omens #good omens crowley #aziracrow #good omens season 2 #good omens imagine #imagine #crowley imagine #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale imagine

65 notes · View notes