#not to mention a man bled to death in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lxkeee · 3 months

Text

HEAVEN AND BACK !

—Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance

Warnings: Love at first sight, fast paced romance and mentions of domestic ab*se.

Notes: to the anon who requested the platonic Alastor x Mom! Reader it would be part of this:)

Synopsis: In which Alastor's mother went down to hell to oversee the hotel's progress and met the king of hell.

Word count: 4.6k words

PART TWO | NAVIGATION

[Y/n] lived a good and honest life, a simple housewife with one son. After finally separating with her abusive husband, her life with her son, Alastor had become better. Alastor promised that he'll support her through his radio hosting, the boy has become quite popular amongst the folks—with his wits and charm, he was able to make a reputation for himself and earn money better for him and her.

[Y/n] was finally happy, proud of what she and her son have accomplished. She doesn't have to worry about her ex-husband coming home to hurt her or her son.

After the divorce, not a few weeks later, her husband was found dead with several of his body parts missing. She and her son were questioned about it but nothing could connect them to the crime and was proven innocent.

Alastor comforted her about it, promising to protect her if the killer ever hurt her. Which calmed her down as the whole situation did affect her, despite her harboring hatred towards her ex-husband, she felt bad he got murdered in a brutal way possible.

Peace and happiness didn't last long for her unfortunately, some fight happened in the city when she was out for an errand and she got in the middle of the crossfire, getting herself shot twice—on her shoulder and one in her stomach. She bled to death.

[Y/n] briefly remembers a tall black haired man walking towards her, black wings on his back while carrying a large golden scythe on his hand.

“[y/n] [l/n], age is 44 years old, destination is heaven.” the man says with an amused tone in his voice. A smile found its way to her lips, this must be death then? I am sorry Alastor, I can no longer watch over you. She thought sadly, and then suddenly darkness.

[Y/n] woke up with a gasp, her eyes staring at the bright blue skies. Blinking, disoriented about what just happened. She looked at her side to see clouds, clouds everywhere. Even the ground she's lying on is clouds.

“Where... Am I...?” she mutters as she sits, finally turning around to see the gates that are shining ever so brightly, the radiant rays of the sun reflecting against the golden gate.

“Am I... In heaven...?” she asked herself softly, eyes widening as she remembers what happened. The fight in the city, getting shot—twice, bleeding to death.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as the reality that she died finally settled in. “No, no, no, no, no!” she said to herself, her hands covering her mouth to stop herself from crying. Her smile now lowering, already tired of keeping it up. She was the one who taught her son to always smile in any situation, but this...? She can't keep it up any longer. So she cried, hysterically. Her cries echoing throughout the skies.

She's dead, that means she won't see her son ever again. Her son will be alone, she can't be there for him!

It took a while for her to finally calm down, with a shaky breath she got off the cloudy grounds and approached the gate. An angel sitting behind the counter at the side of the gate is what she saw.

“Welcome to heaven, can I get your name please?” the man says with a smile, [y/n] stood there nervously, “[y/n] [l/n].” she says softly and watched as the male flipped through his thick book, “[y/n] Alberich, [y/n] Gunnhildr, [y/n] Lawrence [y/n] Kreideprinz, [y/n] Ragnvindr...” the angel mutters as he flips through his book, [y/n] stood awkwardly as she watches him.

The angel's finger finally stopped at a name and his smile became brighter, “Aha! There it is, [y/n] [l/n]... Please, come inside. I Saint Peter, officially welcome you to heaven.” the angel also known as Saint Peter says with a smile, the gates of heaven opening up for her.

[Y/n] nodded and hesitantly walked to the gate, passing by it and finally got inside the heavenly city.

Her new life after death. She hopes her son will join her here when his time comes, for now, she'll enjoy her new life.

It has been a few years, decades even. Still no sign of Alastor, she wonders if Alastor was gifted with a long life, something she didn't have? After getting inside heaven, they are not allowed to check up on their remaining loved ones on earth as they are not allowed to and [y/n] respected that, she'll wait for her son to join her here. She does miss her son, she wonders how he's doing, especially after her death. She can't imagine the pain he felt after her passing. She wonders if he's in purgatory if that place ever exists, she prays that her beloved son isn't in hell. Not her Alastor.

During her time here, she somehow became a well respected angel, becoming a seraphim angel and helping around heaven, overseeing important matters around the heavenly realm. [Y/n] befriended another seraphim angel named Emily, the girl is wonderful to be around with! Very positive and such a kind girl. [Y/n] enjoys having her around.

Recently, a secret has just been revealed during a court meeting with hell's princess, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, [y/n] read about him and she believes that the angel didn't do anything wrong, just misunderstood but this belief is something she keeps to herself, in fear of the others throwing her out for that small reason.

All throughout the trial Charlotte Morningstar expressed valid arguments, showing that souls can really improve their ways.

It was revealed that the exorcists were going down to hell to cleanse them, a sugar coated word for killing. The fact that Sera agreed to it was ridiculous but [y/n] can't do anything about it, she is just a mortal soul after all. She can't argue with the high seraphim and risk herself getting thrown out of heaven.

[Y/n] can only pray that Charlie's plan will work.

After that meeting, [y/n] can sensed that high ranking angels trust on Sera significantly lowered.

[Y/n] and Emily spent most of their free time researching, finding ways to help Charlie achieve her dreams for her people.

It has been a day since the cleansing started, [y/n] was in the seraphim office together with Sera and Emily doing important paperwork when suddenly a bright light fills the room and out emerged a familiar snake they [y/n] saw during the court meeting when Charlie was showing Angel Dust, she could briefly remember this snake man to be one of Angel Dust's and Charlie's friend. The one who announced he'll have sex with everyone at the club, she definitely didn't forget about that. The only difference is that the man's color themes changed.

“Huh? Wha...? Where am I?” he says as he looks around the unfamiliar place.

[Y/n] covers her mouth in disbelief while Emily squeaked beside her, turning around to look at the other two seraphim, Sera was in disbelief, [y/n] can't tell what the older woman is feeling right now.

Turning back to look at the new guest, [y/n] gave the man a small wave and the man gave her an awkward smile while waving back, “Oh... Hello!” he says and [y/n] giggles and Emily squeaks beside her.

“Hi! Welcome to heaven!” Emily cheers, the man's eyes widened. “I'm in heaven...?” he says in disbelief and [y/n] nodded, “Yes, this is heaven and you're currently in the office of the Seraphims. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Pentious or dare I say... Sir Redemptious?” [y/n] says with a small and gentle chuckle, chuckling at her own joke. Emily giggled at the joke while Sera remained flabbergasted.

Sir Pentious blinks in confusion, “You know me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Emily nodded, a bright smile on her face, “Yes! But it is a long story.” she says with a large smile.

“But first, let us introduce ourselves.” [y/n] says with a small smile, a smile that seems awfully familiar to Sir Pentious but less... Threatening.

[Y/n] clears her throat, “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Pentious. I am [y/n] [l/n] one of the seraphims.” she introduces and Emily follows after, “Hi! I am Emily but you can call me Em, Emmy, Ly... It is a pleasure to meet you!” Emily says excitedly, approaching Sir Pentious' side and admiring him, circling him and taking in his new appearance.

“And this,” [y/n] says, extending her arms towards Sera, “This is Sera, the head Seraphim.” [y/n] says which snapped Sera out of her thoughts. Sera cleared her throat, finally back to her authoritative self.

“Greetings, Sir Pentious. I am Sera, the head Seraphim. I would like to formally welcome you to heaven, I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” Sera says and Emily nodded excitedly while [y/n] just gave a small nod with a gentle smile on her face.

“I'm not dreaming...?” Sir Pentious says in disbelief and [y/n] shook her head, “I can assure you that you are not dreaming right now.”

Emily tilts her head in confusion, finally realizing something. “How come he arrived immediately here and not at the gates...?” she asked and [y/n] hummed, she too was baffled by this, placing a hand on her chin as she began to think.

“Perhaps... He's another Seraphim?” [y/n] asked, snapping her fingers and she smirked as she noticed Sera's eye twitches. Interesting... [Y/n] thought, a subtle smirk on her face, finding the situation interesting.

“How about I show you around? I'll let the grownups handle your stay here.” Emily says, Sir Pentious looked at the girl, “I hope that my egg bois are here.” he says with glassy eyes and Emily let's out a small 'aweee' and patting the back of the man, “I am sure they are here.” Emily says as she pulls the man out of the office.

[Y/n] turned to look at Sera, a mischievous grin on her face. Sera sighs, a frown on her face. “Don't say it.” Sera muttered and [y/n] chuckles, “What...? I am not saying anything yet.” she says with a mischievous tone. Sera rolls her eyes at the woman.

“I was in the wrong, the hotel does work.” Sera says, disbelief that it does. “[y/n]. I want you to go down there and make sure that the hotel runs smoothly.” Sera says and [y/n] blinked, confused on what the woman was planning, “Why me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her smile not leaving her face.

“Just do it.” Sera deadpans and [y/n] shrugs, still has a small smile on her face, “Alright, whatever the boss says.” she shrugs.

“Make sure it runs smoothly but don't tell them he's here, I fear it will influence the sinners. I want them to work hard for it, and work hard for something that they are unsure of.” Sera says, walking out of her table, walking across the room and stood in front of the window, gazing outside the office of the Seraphims.

[Y/n] looked at the woman's back, Sera's wings neatly folded behind her. [Y/n] nodded in agreement, understanding where she's coming from.

“Understood, when shall I start?” [y/n] asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“Next week, let them rebuild the hotel. Do you understand your mission, [y/n]?” Sera says, turning around to look at her, [y/n] kneels down gracefully, a hand over her heart.

“Affirmative.” [y/n] says softly and Sera nodded, “Good.”

[Y/n]'s head peaked through the small gap of Sir Pentious' door as she opens it, her eyes soften as she sees Emily and Sir Pentious talking and multiple egg boys asleep on the bed. Knocking to catch their attention, the two looked at the very tall angel woman standing by the door, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hello, Sir Pent. I hope you're comfortable with your new room. I see that Emi is warming up to you which isn't surprising.” [y/n] giggles and Emily smiles and nodded excitedly.

“Speaking of [y/n], she's like a mom to everyone! She's so nice, I hope you two will get along!” Emily says happily, [y/n] presumes that Emily was talking about other angels before she came inside the room. [Y/n] smiles and gives the two a gentle nod, “That is me, if you have any problem... Feel free to approach me okay?” [y/n] says with a closed eyed smile, Sir Pentious eyes sparkled and a small blush on his cheeks as he could literally feel the gentle warmth of the woman.

[Y/n] just smiles and tilts her head before looking at Emily, “Anyways, I just came to check up on you two on how you two are doing. I'll be leaving now, you two have fun okay?” [y/n] says softly and Emily nodded, “Okay! I'll see you later Miss [y/n]!” Emily says and then Sir Pentious nodded and gave a wave to the woman. The two watched the older and taller woman leave the room.

[Y/n] walks away from Sir Pentious' room, walking past multiple doors that decorated the hallway—these are rooms that souls occupy and sooner, Sir Pentious' room will be upgraded since the man is a seraphim after all.. Entering the elevator, [y/n] presses a button—a button to her floor. The door closes.

[Y/n] sighs as she feels the elevator moving upwards, her mind buzzing with multiple thoughts. Taking mental notes on what to bring for her time in hell, she'll have to oversee the hotel after all.

The door opens, [y/n] steps out of the elevator, walking past by multiple doors (but the doors are much lesser than the floor Sir Pentious was in), these hallways are the rooms of the Seraphims.

Her feet stopped, coming to a halt. Holding the doorknob, the symbol of the doorknob glows, signifying that the owner of the room returned and in turn, and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside, she closes the door behind her. Time to pack.

Timeskip a few days later.

[Y/n] stood at the opposite side of Sera's table, her hands holding her luggage, Sera the high Seraphim sat on her seat looking at the taller woman. Emily standing beside Sera, the smaller girl looked at [y/n] with a slight worried look but still had a smile on her face. [Y/n] is proud that Emily continuously applied her teachings, you're never fully dressed without a smile, as what she always tells the girl.

“Goodluck, Miss [y/n]!” Emily says with a grin on her face, [y/n] chuckles at the girl's enthusiasm and nodded nonetheless.

“Do not disappoint us.” Sera says, [y/n]'s eyes narrowed slightly but her smile never faltered. [Y/n] nodded, a charming tone in her voice, “No promises.” she says with a grin and Sera rolls her eyes and then snaps her fingers, opening a portal for the taller angel.

[Y/n] waved goodbye at the two and stepped into the portal.

The bright blue scenario was replaced with a dark red one, a door was in front of her, a glass tinted door depicting apples and snakes.

Placing down her luggage, she curls up her fingers and then knocks on the door.

Loud knocks were heard against the tinted glass doors of the hotel, the sounds momentarily cutting off the conversation the hotel dwellers were having.

Angel Dust raises his eyebrows as he looks at the door, Husk stopping midway of drying up a freshly cleaned glass. Niffty just resumes cleaning the lobby of the hotel, Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch with Charlie's head on Vaggie's lap, Cherri is passed out drunk on the counter of the mini bar, and Alastor was just grinning as he sat on the cushioned chair.

Getting off Vaggie's lap, Charlie Morningstar walked towards the door, getting a very strong sense of deja vu. Opening it and seeing a very tall smiling angel looking down on her, a familiar angel that she saw when she had the court meeting in heaven, she remembers that this woman stood at the opposite side of Emily. Charlie never got to actually meet her or know her.

“Good eveni—” the angel started but was cut off as Charlie closed the door.

Turning around to look at her friends, a look of disbelief on her face. There's an angel in her front door, there is a SERAPHIM ANGEL IN HER FRONT DOOR.

“Vaggie?” Charlie calls out to her girlfriend nervously, Vaggie gave her a raised eyebrow, “What?” she asked.

“There's a seraphim angel at the door.” Charlie says, pointing towards the door. This promptly made everyone freeze.

“Oh my fucking god... I swear, what do they want this time..?” Angel sighs loudly, Vaggie standing up and getting her angelic weapon.

Charlie took a deep breath and opened the door once more, the same tall angel looking down on her with a gentle smile on her face, “May I speak now?” she asked and Charlie nodded nervously with a smile, the angel laughed, though she is experiencing major deja vu at the moment, “Relax, I am not here to cause trouble. Keep smiling darling, you're never fully dressed without one~!” she says with a giggle and Charlie nervously puts a smile on her face.

“Hi... My name is Charlie and you are...?” Charlie introduces herself shyly, a little flustered. The woman was very gorgeous and... Tall...

The angel shakes the girl's hand enthusiastically, “I know, my name is [y/n], it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [y/n] says with a giggle but quickly stopping as an angelic spear was pointed at her, Vaggie muttering something in Spanish underneath her breath.

“What is a seraphim angel doing here? Last time I checked, you guys hated us.” Vaggie sneers and [y/n] just smiled, using her pointer finger to push away the spear gently away from her, “Hate you...? No, no, no dearie... It's just Sera, she's... How to say it... An old time bitch.” [y/n] deadpans with a chuckle.

Charlie and Vaggie blinked at her words, in disbelief at how a seraphim can easily say something like that quite easily.

[Y/n] flicked her hand dismissively, “Ugh, I don't like her that much.” she sighs and chuckles, her eyes returning back to look at the two shorter girls.

“Let us forget about her for a moment, the reason I am here is that Sera wanted me to oversee the hotel and keep track if it makes any progress.” [y/n] explained, her pointer finger pointed up as she nodded to herself.

Vaggie narrows her eyes at her but decides not to question it but still held some suspicion of the woman. Vaggie thought that the angel reminds her of someone, but who?

Charlie just looked at the woman, in disbelief that Heaven changed its mind. Though, she too held some slight suspicion but decided not to think too much of it, moving to the side to allow the woman to pass through the tinted glass doors of the hotel.

“Very well then, please come in.” Charlie says and [y/n] gave the girl a curt bow and invited herself in.

[Y/n] admired the interior of the hotel, her eyes sparkling in admiration as she appreciates the design of the building. The interior is filled with so many red, white, gold, and black hues—a contrast to what she was used to in heaven. Charlie closes the door behind them and starts leading the taller woman back to the lobby.

“My, this hotel is very beautiful.” [y/n] says genuinely as she follows the shorter girls as they lead her towards the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.

Finally arriving at the lobby where the other hotel members were staying, [y/n] surveyed each one of them carefully. The man who resembled a red deer oddly reminded her of someone.

Alastor was quite interested in who the person Charlie was talking to by the door.

His eyes widened, his smile faltering slightly as he saw the woman he's long last seen and the most he has missed.

“Everyone, heaven decided to send someone to oversee the hotel's progress. This is [y/n], she is a seraphim. I hope you treat her with respect.” Charlie says with a small smile. The name makes Alastor's ears ring.

He couldn't stop himself as the words left his lips, “Mother...?” Alastor says with wide eyes and a smile still on his face.

Silence.

Angel Dust's and Husk's jaw dropped. Seeing a new facial reaction of the always smiling man.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands, she was right. Why was he here? Why was her beloved son here in hell?

“Alastor...? My sweetie is that you...?” [y/n] asked shakily, her hands trembling, in disbelief.

Alastor hesitantly nodded, nervous. He didn't expect to reunite with her. How can he explain this to her? How can he explain the reason why he ended in hell?

“No fucking way...” Angel Dust muttered, in disbelief.

Tears began to stream down [y/n]'s cheeks as she let go of her luggage and quickly hugged her son, he looked so different.

“My sweet son, it really is you... Why are you here?!” She asked, cupping Alastor's face comfortingly. Alastor avoided her gaze.

“Mother... It has been awhile, I have done things that lead me down here.” Alastor explained calmly, a smile still on his face but he is fighting back tears. He missed her so much, after her death he was miserable. He found out the reason she died and killed the two men who caused her death.

[Y/n]'s eyes soften and she placed a gentle kiss on her son's forehead, Alastor instinctively closing his eyes at the contact. Warmth, he forgot what comforting warmth felt like.

“Now, now... I'm sure it couldn't be that bad...?” [y/n] says with a small chuckle and failing to notice the other hotel members giving each other a side eye.

Well... It was fun being an overlord. Alastor thought to himself as he took a deep breath and began to explain it to his mother, the reason why he's in hell.

“ALASTOR [L/N] WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED PEOPLE?!” [Y/n] seethes as she chases after her son, holding her shoe in her hand. Alastor trying to save his own life from his seething mother.

“Mother I can explain—!”

The others just watched as the angelic woman chased the most terrifying demon they know around the hotel.

“This is so fucking funny.” Cherri mutters beside Angel Dust, Husk having a smirk on his face as he watches his boss getting chased around by his mother.

“Well... I hope they'll stop soon or dad will come down to see what the ruckus is about.” Charlie says, nervous that they are causing too much ruckus. She knows her dad needs the quiet time to make his rubber duckies.

Lucifer was in his room writing something on his desk, he just finished making a rubber duckie sometime ago and now he's currently writing plans for the hotel.

Well... Trying to.

His eye twitched as he heard the loud ruckus happening downstairs. With a sigh, he lets go of his fountain pen. Standing up from his seat, curious on what is happening downstairs, he left his room and went downstairs.

What the king of hell didn't expect to see was the annoying radio demon getting scolded by... An angel? And good lord, she's... Tall. Though, he couldn't see her face as her back was facing him.

“I thought I raised you better than this? Good heavens, I thought you were better than this?” the woman sobs and leans against the radio demon, sobbing into his shoulder while Alastor hesitantly comforts her. Lucifer was trying not to laugh as the radio demon gave him the middle finger.

“Who's this?” Lucifer asked and his daughter nervously approached him, “Well, this is [y/n] and heaven thought it would be a good idea to send someone to oversee our progress of the hotel.” Charlie explains and Lucifer's eyebrows are raised in confusion, confused on what changed their mind.

“I am truly sorry mother, it won't happen again,” Alastor says softly, still smiling while his mother lets go of him and flicks the radio demon's forehead making the taller man yelp in pain.

Charlie smiled and clapped her hands together, “Miss [y/n], this is my father and you might as well know him as Lucifer Morningstar.” Charlie says and the woman turns around to look at them.

And oh my devil, none of these thoughts are in the bible.

Lucifer thought as he finally took a good look at the very tall angel. She's gorgeous. Very gorgeous. The white dress she was wearing perfectly captured her figure, complimenting her skin. Her halo glowing above her head like the rays of the sun shining down on her. Absolutely divine. Lucifer blinks, trying to comprehend the beauty of the woman in front of him.

Angel Dust looking at him with a smirk, without him realizing.

[Y/n]'s eyes sparkled, quickly shoving Alastor away as she approached the shorter man, “Oh my stars, really? It's an honor to meet you, I've read about you and quite frankly I don't believe you got the justice you deserved.” [y/n] explains, she has to kneel down as her neck was starting to hurt at looking down.

Lucifer's eyes widened, surprised that an angel held him in such high regard.

“Wait... Huh??” Lucifer says in disbelief making the woman chuckle, and goodness, even her laugh sounds so beautiful.

“I am grateful that you gave us free will, if it weren't for you... Humans couldn't control their own fate, their own actions and for that, thank you.” she says sincerely and unexpectedly, a single tear streamed down Lucifer's cheek. Nobody really cared to say their thanks to him, he just assumed that humanity hated him for his actions, as heaven hated him for it. To see and hear someone say their thanks to him for the first time, may have healed some wounds he was desperately trying to heal with a bandaid.

The angel panicked when she saw the tear, “Oh my stars! Did I offend you?! Oh gosh, I didn't mean to.”

Lucifer began to chuckle and laugh. Amused at the woman's personality.

Charlie wonders if her dad finally went insane.

“Since when did angels be so nice to me?” Lucifer asked in-between chuckles, finally calming down as he offered his hand for a handshake.

“My name's Lucifer, darling. It's a pleasure to meet you...?” Lucifer says with a toothy grin but his charm and confidence were replaced by shyness and embarrassment as the angel opted to kiss his knuckles instead.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucifer. I am [y/n], a seraphim angel.” she says with a smile, almost smirking, her tone almost sensual.

Lucifer was flabbergasted, flustered. Blinking animatedly, his mind is still trying to comprehend what just happened. So many things are happening at once, the warmth of his cheeks, the loud thumping of his heart against his own ribcage, he prays that she couldn't hear it.

Angel Dust nudges Charlie, giving the girl a knowing smirk. Charlie just gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, saying something to angel along the lines of, my dad's reaction is valid, have you seen her?

The apple doesn't really fall far from the tree, Angel Dust thought as he cackles in amusement.

Alastor's eyes narrowed slightly at the interaction. Vaggie cautious at the radio demon's reaction.

Well, this is interesting. Husk thought to himself, already prepared of the chaos that's going to happen now with an additional member of the hotel.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34

#lxkeee answers #lxkeee updates #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel x reader

2K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

Text

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

999 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 2 days

Text

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #graduation #childhood friends #friends to lovers #wayne munson #hurt/comfort

414 notes · View notes

heartateasee · 15 days

Text

“Safe”

mafia!harry x you

(“Safe” Masterlist)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of a break-in and violence (talks of being bound, and a slap) & talks of death (inflicting death on others)

Plot: While Harry was out of town on business, your home was broken in to, leaving you with some injuries. When Harry comes home to see the state you’re in, he’s beside himself, and he steals you away to his lake house so you can be alone together.

❈❈❈❈

“Where is she?” You heard Harry’s voice from downstairs, and you immediately sat up a little more on the side of your bed. You clutched the mug of warm tea in your still trembling hands - a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“She’s upstairs in your bedroom, but Harry-”

You could hear that Harry’s right-hand man, Elias, was attempting to keep him from coming up the stairs right away, and that he wanted to explain things further, but Harry cut him off.

“Get out of my way, Elias. I need to see her.”

“I understand that, but I need you to listen to me for just a second before you do.”

You flinched as you felt a hand stroking your hair off your face, and you looked over to see the doctor, who Harry always had tending to you if you were sick, standing there. She must’ve come back from the bathroom already like she said, but you hadn’t heard her. You were too focused on your boyfriend’s voice.

“The swelling should go down in a couple of days,” you heard the doctor say, who’s name was completely escaping you right now. She tilted your head to the side a bit, and you watched as her eyebrows narrowed. “There’s already some bruising, but I don’t think it’ll get much worse, if at all.”

Closing your eyes tight, flashbacks of what happened just about an hour ago bled their way back to the forefront of your mind. The back of the hand that forced its way across your cheek. The forcefulness at which your hands were tied behind your back with zip ties.

Your throat was raw from your screaming, although your mouth was soon duck taped after they realized you weren’t going to stop - no matter what threats they had thrown your way.

The memory of Elias forcing his way into the room was burned into your brain, and once he had taken care of the men who had harmed you, and threatened you, you watched his face soften once he looked at you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, not wasting any more time as he rushed over to you. Turning you on your side from where you were laid on the floor, he got his knife out to rid you of the zip ties, and then he carefully pulled the duck tape from your mouth. “Where else did they hurt you?”

His eyes were focused on your cheek that you knew was already showing signs of violence, but you shook your head.

“Nowhere,” your voice rasped as you answered him. “It’s just my cheek.”

You were drawn out of the horrific flashbacks as you heard Harry’s voice booming downstairs - growing louder. “Where the fuck were my men?!”

“They killed them!” You heard Elias yell back, clearly sick of Harry’s attitude at the moment. “Listen to me…they got in. They killed all seven of the men you had standing guard, and we got lucky because I was coming to check on her like you asked me to. If I hadn’t…”

It was silent after that, and it wasn’t too long that you heard a deep sob. You closed your eyes again as your bottom lip started to wobble. There had only been a handful of times that you had seen Harry cry, and you hated when he did. You wanted nothing more than for Elias to let him upstairs to see you so you could hold him.

“Please just-” Harry choked out, pausing for a moment, and you could tell he was trying to get himself together. “Please just tell me that she’s okay.”

“She’s okay,” Elias’ voice was now soft as he responded. “She is hurt, but it could’ve been a lot worse. Her face, and her wrists. They’re bruised.”

More silence followed until you heard a large crashing, and you knew it was coming from the living room area. You jumped - almost spilling your tea at the sudden sound. Another loud crash caused you to flinch, remembering those same sounds happening just moments ago, but not at the hands of Harry.

“Fuck!” His voice echoed off the walls, and you set your tea down on your nightstand.

You needed to go to him. You needed to show him you were okay.

“Slowly,” the doctor whispered next to you as she started to help you off the bed once she could tell you were trying to stand.

The blanket dropped from your shoulders - leaving you in one of Harry’s large t-shirts, and some wool socks on your feet. When the doctor showed and asked if you wanted to change out of the dress you had been wearing when you got home, the one you had worn to work, you immediately grabbed Harry's things. You wanted to feel close to him.

Helping you carefully down the steps, the doctor remained by your side until you reached the foyer, and from there your movement had caught Elias’ attention. He held his hand out for you, which you took without question, and the doctor took that as her sign to go ahead and leave for the night. She had already told you earlier that she was only a phone call away if you needed anything else.

Elias led you into the living room, Harry’s back to you as he stood in front of the bar cart. You could see he was downing a glass of whisky, and he wasted no time in filling it right back up.

“Harry,” Elias said as the two of you stood in the middle of the room, and you watched as Harry shook his head.

“I don’t want to hear anyone else’s goddamn voice tonight unless it’s my-”

Harry stopped talking once he turned around and saw you standing there, and he froze. His eyes trailed down your body - looking for injuries, and they darkened once they got to your face.

“I’ll leave you two for the evening,” Elias said as he released your hand, but not before giving it a small squeeze. “I’m just a phone call away, if needed. That goes for the both of you.”

Tearing your eyes away from Harry, you looked to Elias and gave him a nod. “Thank you. For everything.”

Elias returned your nod, pulling you in quickly for a hug - pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. Once he released you, he exited the house.

Now it was just you and Harry inside, and you weren’t sure how many new guards he had standing outside.

You continued to stare at each other for a moment before Harry turned around to face the bar cart again, and you swallowed harshly.

You walked forward and gently placed your hand on his back - slowly lowering your head to rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

“Harry,” you whispered, and you felt his body tense at the condition of your voice. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Harry shook his head, placing his glass down as he clutched the sides of the cart. “If I had been here, or if I had just taken you with me, none of this would’ve happened. And you begged me to take you, but I didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t beg you to take me because I thought this was going to happen. I begged because I missed you, so please don’t put that on yourself,” you told him, but he was quickly moving away from you.

You dropped your hands by your side as you watched him, tears forming in your eyes.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this is the time he realized that your relationship isn’t worth all of this. That you’re not worth all of this.

“Alright,” you said, mostly talking out loud to yourself as you nodded. “I’m going to go pack a bag.”

You didn’t even make it to the staircase before you felt Harry’s hands cupping the outsides of your arms, and he carefully turned you around. “Y/N,” you looked up to see tears of his own in his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Slowly, he lifted his hand to brush the back of his fingers against your tender cheek - not enough pressure applied to have it hurt you. He then grazed his thumb over the split in the corner of your mouth before looking down to your wrists.

He lifted them in his large hands, and brought each one to his mouth - pressing kisses against your bruises.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he shut his eyes tight, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you went to pull your wrists away to cup Harry’s face in your hands, but you didn’t have the chance to as he fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he buried his face into your stomach. “I promise you that this will never happen again.”

Streams of tears now flooded down your cheeks as you ran your fingers through Harry’s hair, feeling him sob against your torso. You then wrapped your forearms around his neck, and cradled his head in your hands as you leaned down to rest your cheek against the top of it.

“I know, Harry,” you spoke softly to try and keep him as calm as possible, sniffing as you tried to force your tears back. “But it’s okay. I’m safe, and now you’re here. You’re home with me, and that’s all that matters.”

You hadn’t noticed the state of the house until you quickly flicked your eyes around the living room, and you knew these damages weren’t just from Harry when he got home. They had destroyed your home in the process of trying to destroy you. Trying to destroy him.

Harry looked up at you, and you sent him a gentle smile as you pushed stray curls off of his forehead. “How about we go to the lake house?” He asked, licking over his bottom lip. “I don’t want to stay here tonight, and I’m sure you don’t either. I’ll have someone come in and clean this all up so that when we come back, it’ll be like nothing ever happened. How does that sound, my love?”

You nodded at him, and you held his forearms as he picked himself up off the ground. “I would like that very much.”

Harry took your hand in his as he guided the both of you back up the stairs, and he was quick to pull a large suitcase out of the closet for the two of you to share. “Pack however much you want. We’ll stay however long you want to.”

Moving around the room, you packed several pairs of pajamas, a couple of bikinis and some light sundresses. You packed two pairs of sandals and your slippers, and then you smiled over at him as he packed his own things.

Neither of you bothered with toiletries, knowing you had everything you needed in that aspect already at the lake house.

It was late, and it was going to be at least a two hour drive to get there, but Harry didn’t care. He wanted to get you away from all this for however long you needed.

He’d have men cover for him while away, Elias being the main one. He trusted him, even now more than ever after what he did for you. Harry knew that he could handle taking over for a few days, or even weeks.

Pulling his phone out, Harry made a phone call to have a couple of security guys follow you on the way to the lake house, and they’d remain there during your time together to keep watch over everything.

“Ready, honey?” You asked him once he was off the phone, trailing your fingertips over the back of one of his hands before taking it between both of your own.

“Ready.”

❈❈❈❈

You and Harry had been at the lake house for four days now, and you were feeling much better about everything. Your wrists were fully healed, and the bruising on your cheek was starting to fade completely.

Harry was still acting a bit distant, but not physically, at least. He held you close at night, and was right by your side around the house, but emotionally, he had changed. You knew he was still blaming himself for what happened back at home - no matter how many times you told him that he shouldn’t.

So today, as you stood in the kitchen, cleaning up your dishes from lunch, your eyes were set on Harry through the window above the sink as he stood on the back porch. He was on a phone call, one of the many he’s taken while being here, and you knew he was probably speaking with Elias.

You finished up the dishes, and you pulled the sliding door open to join him - your bare feet meeting the warm wooden porch. You weren’t sure if Harry heard you coming out as he continued his conversation without hesitance.

“Elias, I’m telling you right now,” Harry’s voice was low, and firm as he spoke. “I don’t give a fuck how many men we have to send. We’ve found him, and I want him, and anyone else involved in the terror they put my girl through, dead. Is that clear enough for you?”

You halted your footsteps upon hearing his demand, and you took a minute to truly process what you heard. You knew what Harry did. He tried to keep most of it a secret from you for a while, but one of your biggest fights ever was you threatening to leave if he wasn’t completely honest with you.

That occurred about six months into your relationship, and he came clean about everything - laid it all out on the table. He made it clear when he did that if you wanted to still leave now that you knew who he truly was, he wouldn’t stop you. But you didn’t.

You loved each other, and you were sure he was the love of your life.

But now, even two years after that conversation occurred, it still shocked you sometimes to hear him asking for the death of others.

“Great, thank you,” Harry said into the phone, and even though that tone was sarcastic, it soon shifted as he spoke his next words. “And I know I haven’t told you yet, but I’m really grateful that you were able to be there for her that night. Although I wish it had been me to get to her first, if it had to be anyone else, I’m glad it was you.”

Your heart fluttered as you listened in. Harry wasn’t a man to show emotion often, even with you, but every now and then you managed to get that hard exterior of his to crack. But the fact that he was displaying his emotions to someone else, it made you happy - even if the circumstances were grim.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s not get too sappy, alright?” Harry responded playfully to whatever Elias said, and it caused you to smile. “Stay safe, and we’ll talk soon.”

As Harry ended the call, he let out a hefty sigh before turning around - pausing as he saw you.

“Hi,” he cleared his throat, slipping his phone into his pocket. “How much of that did you hear?”

“A good amount,” you shrugged, not wanting to lie to him. “So you found him?”

Harry nodded as he walked forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes lingered on your cheek, just as they had several moments a day throughout your time here, before he met your eyes.

“We did. And we’ll be taking care of it.”

A chill ran through your spine at his words, and as much as you knew that hearing them should scare you - you weren’t scared at all. Not around Harry. Never around Harry.

“Okay,” you lifted your hands to rest on his chest. You stroked your thumbs against his skin through the material of the t-shirt he had on. He had been dressing casual since you had been here, something you weren’t used to, but you loved it. “Do you want to go for a swim? We haven’t gone yet.”

You could see the contemplation in Harry’s eyes, and just when you thought he was about to deny you, a smile pushed onto his lips. “A swim sounds nice. Did you pack your pink bikini? The one with the white hearts.”

Your stomach swirled, and you giggled. “I did. I’m guessing you’d like for me to wear that one?”

“Only if you want to, Y/N, but I do particularly love that one.”

“Then I’ll wear it,” you pressed onto your tiptoes to let your lips gently brush over his. “Just for you.”

Pulling away, you left him stunned on the porch, and you smirked to yourself as you entered the bedroom of the house. Just that small interaction had you feeling like things were getting back to normal for the two of you.

You grabbed the much wanted bathing suit from the suitcase before slipping into the en-suite to change. After a moment, you heard Harry rummaging around in the bedroom, and you knew he was changing into his swim trunks. Once you had the bottoms on, and the top around your neck, you exited the en-suite and turned around once you were next to him.

“Can you tie this for me, please?” You asked sweetly, moving all of your hair over your shoulder to give him proper access.

Harry’s fingertips skated up your back before you felt him tying a secure knot against your spine. Once he was finished, he leaned down to press a kiss against your bare shoulder. “So pretty, and soft. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” you whispered as you turned around - wrapping your arms around his neck. “Always all yours, and only yours.”

After separating and gathering the rest of the supplies needed for your time down at the lake, you and Harry started down the pathway that started right off the back porch. Sunglasses were perched on both of your noses, and your fingers were interlocked as your feet crunched against the rocks.

It wasn’t too hot today, but it was hot enough where the water would be a relief, and you wouldn’t get too cold once you got out.

Once you made it down to the edge of the lake, you and Harry spread your towels out over the rocks, and you pulled a t-shirt of his that you used as a cover-up over your head. You tossed it down onto your towel along with your sunglasses before looking over to Harry.

“I’ll race you,” you winked, and you watched his eyebrows raise from behind his sunglasses.

He was quick to remove his own eyewear, and shirt as well, before the two of you turned to face the lake.

“On three,” you stated with a nod. “One, two-”

Before you even said three, you jetted off towards the water, and you heard Harry’s voice calling from behind you.

“You cheater!” He exclaimed as you ran through the shallow part of the lake, looking over your shoulder to see him closing in on you quickly. “Oh, you’re in for it, love.”

You squealed as you tried to tread through the water faster, but it was no use, and you soon felt his muscular, and inked, arms capturing your waist. Giggles flooded from your lungs as he lifted you out of the water, and he moved one arm down to carry your bridal style as he went out further.

Soon you found yourselves in the deepest part of the lake, and you skillfully shifted yourself around to where your legs were around his torso - one of your hands on his shoulder while the other ran through the back of his curls.

The sun was gleaming against his emerald eyes so perfectly, and you could already see freckles on his shoulders that were usually hidden coming to life just from the small amount of rays kissing his skin. He was perfect. He was your everything, and you knew you could never be without him.

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” Harry asked, and you nodded.

“I do, and I love you all the same,” you leaned down to place a delicate kiss against his lips, but as you pulled away, you felt Harry’s hand against the back of your neck to keep you close to his face - your foreheads almost touching.

“I’m never going to let anyone touch you again, do you understand? Never again,” his gaze was hard as he stared at you, but it’s because he wanted you to know that he was serious. “You’re always going to be safe with me, and I promise you that.”

“I know, honey,” you nodded, moving your hand from his shoulder to grip to the back of his neck as well, and you inched your head forward so your foreheads were now touching, but you kept holding his eyes.

“You’ll keep me safe. Forever.”

❈❈❈❈

Just a little blurb for you all on this Sunday evening. Let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing more of these two! I fear I’m attached to them already 🤭

❈❈❈❈

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 @lemoncrushh (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

569 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 8 months

Text

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hxh #hxh imagines #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

1K notes · View notes

bahablastplz · 2 months

Text

Undeniably His: Vampire Jeongin x Reader

Inspired by this post from @cbini, I started thinking about what sex would be like with your boyfriend I.N. the first time after he turns into a vampire with his new overly heightened senses. Content: Smut, Angst Warnings: Mentions of death, established relationship, kissing, blood-drinking, marking, hair-pulling, oral f! receiving, oral m! receiving, unprotected sex (but it doesn’t matter bc vampires can’t get humans pregnant), p in v sex, overstimulation WC: 2600

You had been dating Jeongin for a little over two years when the accident happened. A freak incident had sent your boyfriend over a bridge in a car accident that killed five people; he was the only survivor, pulled from the water in some freak miracle. Not a scratch on him. Physically, he was fine, but that was when he started experiencing other symptoms. Violent impulses. Weird cravings. Heightened senses. When he started getting sick you were beside yourself with worry. You had almost lost him once, you could not do it again. You had stuck by his side throughout the entire accident, through his grief, and of course, through the sickness. Your questions were answered when he was approached by the creature that turned him, telling him the truth of that night. That Jeongin needs to feed or he will die. That he was a vampire.

Jeongin was overstruck with guilt and grief. He wouldn’t feed, he decided, he couldn’t kill another human being. This was much to your dismay, as this would mean that you would both lose your boyfriend and bestfriend. His mother would lose a son. The community would have to suffer through yet another loss after the accident.

Jeongin fed against his own will. His behavior and attitude had changed over the course of his illness, and he had gotten into a petty fight. He didn’t even know the guy's name, but when Jeongin was pushed, weak and frail, something snapped. His fangs embedded into the man’s skin and he bled him dry. He didn’t even tell you after; you had read in the local news of a man that was exsanguinated, mysteriously in the night and you knew what your boyfriend had done. Immediately the mystery sickness went away but he could no longer bring himself to face you or his family, despite your protests and pleas to let you help him.

It was a long and grueling journey, convincing Jeongin to get back together with you. He wouldn’t even let you be ‘just friends,’ or even in your presence until he could learn to control his bloodlust. After several months he started going back to school again, despite the university putting him on academic probation; they gave him time to process his supposed PTSD from the accident. It was soon after he finally started answering your texts.

Slowly, your boyfriend let you back into his life. He was the same man as he was before the accident, but he was different, in some ways. He had alarming self-control, for one. He was more sure of himself. The way he carried himself was strong and powerful, not to be messed with. He had built up a wall, one you had intended to help him tear down piece by piece.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you on your break, he had told you. It was the fact that he had loved you, and with his heightened senses he was scared that he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. Just your smell, it drove him insane, he confessed. He explained to you that you were like a drug, and every way he wanted and needed you before he transformed, grew tenfold and consumed him. With his time away he grew satiated and more confident that he could control himself, never going as far to kill another human when he fed.

Tonight was the night you finally convinced him to stay over in your dorm.

It was refreshing. It was familiar. It was a little strange that your boyfriend’s familiar warmth was gone, but you were happy to be in his presence again. Because in those few months that he took to try to navigate his new identity, you never stopped loving him. It took him some convincing, but you let him know that you would love both the old Jeongin and the new Jeongin. Tonight, as you watch a comfort movie in his arms you’re encapsulated in the embrace of his non-beating heart. One that, according to him, loves you deeper and more intensely than the old one had capacity for.

You kiss him. It’s hesitant, it’s soft, it contains so many emotions. He’s wiping away a tear that you didn’t know had slipped as he kisses you deeper. Your hands tug through his hair just the way he likes, and he’s out of breath so suddenly, He’s breathing hard, his chest evident of the laborious task that kissing you is. When your tongue dips into his mouth he moans into you. You feel a soft prick against your lips and then Jeongin is across the room, apart from you as if your skin had set him ablaze. His eyes are wide and he looks frantic, a hand on his chest as if to stop his heart from beating so fast though you both know that’s not the case. When your hand reaches your mouth to investigate, you see exactly what your boyfriend was so afraid of. Your blood. In the midst of your makeout session, he had accidentally pricked your lip with his fang, drawing blood. Not a lot, but enough to freak him out, evidently.

“I–I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His voice trembles.

You cross the room and meet your boyfriend. You reach your hand out to touch his face but he draws away.

“I can’t… I’m going to hurt you,” he says.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Innie. I know you. This is the same body you’ve touched a million times before, you know my body better than I do. I trust you… to be intimate with me, again. So, please,” you say, reaching your blood-soaked finger up to his lips.

“Y/N… I’m afraid that I won’t be able to control myself,” he says, closing his eyes as if practicing restraint.

“Then don’t.” You’re pushed against the bed at superhuman speed, his hips pressing into you hard. The offered finger is in his mouth and he’s unabashedly sucking the blood from it, letting out a filthy, guttural moan. Before you can question the man his lips are against yours again, sucking them into his mouth, drinking up the blood from the small wound he had given you. His tongue is all over yours and you can taste your copper substance on his mouth though it's not unpleasant. He breathes into you as if you are his lifeforce, his oxygen. Meanwhile, he ruts his hips against you over and over again, a bruising yet welcomed grip on your waist.

“Feels good?” You ask, pulling away to look in his eyes. He’s panting, letting out little whimpers and looking absolutely wrecked.

“S’good. You don’t even know. I can smell you, how wet you are for me from here. I can hear how fast your heart is beating just for me… And every time you touch me my skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m so sensitive… so hard,” he emphasizes with a harsh thrust against your clothed skin, “You’re literally heavenly. Intoxicating. The best thing I’ve ever felt. I need you. I’ve never needed anything more.” He looks scared that you might deny him, though you couldn’t in a million years imagine denying him, especially not now.

You spread your legs for him, allowing him the opportunity to slot between them. He pulls himself into you and moans as you spread wet open-mouthed kisses against his neck. You lick a stripe upwards from his collarbone to his jaw and he clutches you tight, hips stuttering.

His hands are in your hair, embedded into your scalp and he pulls tight, baring your neck for him. Your moan is breathy and light as he presses his lips to your skin, not sinking his teeth into you like you had thought. He sucks harsh bruises into your neck and the offending area then softens each spot with his tongue. When he moves back to admire his handiwork, he smiles. You’re covered with large purple splotches all over. You’re his, undeniably so.

He pulls off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, maneuvering your hips and holding you upwards so that he has full access to your glistening core. He really was right about you being wet for him, and you don’t have time to be embarrassed by the statement he made of being able to smell it before he’s diving in, his face directly at your entrance. He wastes no time before licking, sucking, and swirling his tongue around you.

“Too much, Innie, too fast!” You whine out, trying to push his head away. He doesn’t budge nor indicate that he felt your actions; you couldn’t move away from him. He was in control, and you, forced to take every ounce of pleasure he delegates.

“Mm, baby… I’ve been away from this pussy for too long… God you taste so, so good.” A loud slurping sound comes from his mouth and you’re in the right mind to be embarrassed from such a filthy sound. You cover your face but your hand is by your side just as fast, his bruising grip around your wrist holding you in place. “Don’t,” he warns. “Want to see your face as I ruin you. Want to hear every moan, wanna hear your heart beat this fast just for me, baby.” He was adamant about getting you to fall apart for him on his tongue, and so you do; you cum on with a loud moan and he laps up your release and holds your trembling thighs in place with ease.

As you look at him he wipes away the wetness on his face, eyes gazing into you. He freezes in place as you drop onto your knees in front of him and grab onto his waistband.

“Are you sure?” He stammers, already affected by your small lingering touch.

“We’ve been away for too long,” you say, repeating his words from earlier. “Need to taste your cock again.” You pull down his pants and reveal his length, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched. It’s already releasing precum from when he was grinding into you earlier, and you lap it up eagerly. His hand places a bruising grip in your hair, close to its roots, which encourages you to continue with your ministrations.

“Shit,” he curses as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue against his tip. “Baby your mouth feels so fucking good, so wet. God I could bust right now,” he says. He uses his hands to hold the sides of your head, guiding your mouth up and down his length, essentially letting him use your face like a toy for his pleasure. Your lips wrap around him and you let spit run down your face, coating your chin. You blink up at him through teary eyes and you know that you look probably just as wrecked as he does, the epitome of a perfect disaster created just for him.

He bucks his hips into your face for a few seconds and then pulls away quickly. You drop to the floor, breathing heavily, looking up at the man. He pants and holds himself up against the bed with one arm, trying to ground himself.

“Shit baby, I’ve never felt anything that good in my life…” He breathes. “Only you… But it feels better now, you feel so good… Let me fuck your pretty pussy, baby. Please.” He begs even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to ask you twice before you’re laying on the bed, legs spread open wide for him. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, you whine as he pushes into you slowly. He’s long, just like you remember him, but he’s so hard and you can already feel him pulsing inside of you. As he bottoms out and his hips grind against your clit, you feel yourself contracting against his length. You two remain unmoving but the room already sounds so dirty just from your pathetic moans and heavy breathing. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and it makes you smile knowing he can hear it, that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He starts moving, slow but deep. Within four hard strokes he’s already releasing deep inside you, and you both gasp. In all the time you had been with him, he had never cum inside before–but now that he’s turned it doesn’t matter. As he fills you up you’re overflowing and he’s crying when you look at him. He moans vehemently but his hips aren’t slowing down; if anything, they speed up as he continues to fuck his release into you, sloppy and hard. He whines at the overstimulation he’s caused himself and looks like his pleasure is mixed with pain. His hips snap into you harder than anything you’ve ever felt before, the head of his cock pushing right against your g-spot every time.

He reaches his fingers down and swipes up the release from where the two of you connect, gathering it on his fingers and bringing it to your mouth. It’s reminiscent of the scene just minutes ago, you think as you suck his release off of his fingers. His eyes are boring into yours and drinking up every reaction, every scrunch of your face and twitch of pleasure, and it drives you insane with both pleasure and desire to be so seen by someone you’re so in love with.

You notice his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles ghost-white.

“Bite me,” you say, suddenly. His hips stutter at your words, all confidence immediately gone.

“What? I can’t–”

“Jeongin, love, I trust you more than any other living soul on this planet,” you say through uneven breaths. “God, this body was yours before and it’s yours now. Stop holding back and make me yours again. Please,” You say.

His teeth sink into your neck and you let out a sharp cry; you feel shock moreso than pain, and as he drinks languidly from your neck, taking just what he needs, you cum around his cock. His fingernails dig into your skin and his hips snap into yours brutally, ripping your orgasm out of you in the most intense spasm of pain and pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your ears are ringing, blinded by the intensity of it all, because Jeongin isn’t holding back, because you’ve broken down his walls, you think as he cums into you for the second time that night.

He laps up the remaining blood that has dribbled down your neck as his hips still into you and you still pulse around him from the aftershocks. When you look at him you're wiping his tears away, and he wipes away yours.

“Thank you,” he says, holding you as close to his body as can possibly be. “You make me feel like I’m still human.”

“That’s because you are,” you whisper into his hair. “Your humanity is something you never lost.”

He hums in approval and you fall asleep in his arms that night, closer in mind and body than ever before. *** “I see you and I.N. got back together!” Your best friend laughs as the two of you walk to class together the next day. You haven’t told her anything, how would she know? She sees your shocked expression. “Look at your neck, geez, what is he, a vampire? God damn,” she emphasizes her words by pointing at the large bruises you did a poor job of covering up. You laugh at her words a little too hard, knowing that she will never know that she wasn’t that far off from the truth. That was a secret for you and Jeongin to share. *** Masterlist Recs

457 notes · View notes

wildestdreamsblog · 8 months

Text

Latibule IX

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: ehehehehe enjoy, my loves! The calm before the storm 😌😌😌

Masterlist, Latibule VIII

“Agustd is alive.”

Jung Hoseok raised his brow when his suspicion was affirmed. See, he thought it was all too easy. Everything had gone so smoothly that it seemed…wrong. There was no way that he could kill him that effortlessly. The night that he trailed his brother and boss in that quaint, little province because he fed him wrong information was the fucking highlight of his life. Stabbing him felt like he finally got what he was owed. Watching him bled out managed to release some of the decade-long hatred he kept hidden in his heart.

In his mind, what he did could be considered his very own twisted justice. After all, he did kill her. Min Yoongi killed the love of his fucking life, the only woman who mattered to Hoseok. So why then shouldn’t he kill that fucking bastard?

It only felt right.

It did feel right.

Until it didn’t.

He should have known Min Yoongi was like an annoying cat with nine lives. He was Satan’s long, lost brother and even though he could send him to hell, Yoongi would only come back with a vengeance.

Hoseok slowly lowered his phone. He gripped his phone in anger and disbelief that he failed her again. But no more.

He would end this once and for all.

Hoseok stepped out of his office with a calm facade when all he wanted to do was destroy this whole room. His steps were brisk, his face emotionless. He had just turned the corner when he saw Jimin, the brother he found to be closest with. He was staring at nowhere, his back leaning against the wall and his hands shoved in his pocket in a nonchalant posture.

A stray strand of Jimin’s blonde hair fell on his forehead, and he thought he didn’t see him approach when his eyes suddenly turned to him. He should have known nothing got past his sharp eyes.

“Jiminie,” he called the younger man as he stepped near him. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, Jimin didn’t answer. He merely stared at the man with no ounce of his usual happy emotion. In its place was a somber look. “Hyung…,” he started, his tone flat, so unlike how he usually sounded. “do you wanna go to New York with me for a while?”

That was so sudden, Hoseok thought. He tilted his head before putting his hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Jimin? Are you okay?” He asked with worry, not used to seeing him this solemn.

“Just…go with me tonight.”

“I can’t. I have something important to do. But maybe next week?”

He looked into Hoseok’s eyes with unhidden sadness and disappointment as though he already lost someone, as though he was already mourning. Jimin chuckled humorlessly as he stood straight. He slapped his shoulder twice with warmth before walking away from him.

Yet, before he completely stepped out of the police precinct, he turned his head and offered him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you for everything. God be with you, hyung.”

Jimin thought he needed it the most. After all, hell would rain on earth once Agustd resurfaced.

—-

“It’s no big deal!”

Suga threw you a glare from his position in the kitchen. He had been busy cooking since the moment he heard Jackson greeted you. Had he known it was your birthday, he would have planned better! He thought that your day should be fucking celebrated and you should be treated like the queen that you were. Instead, he was cramming his preparation and you smiling so beautifully at him didn’t help one bit.

“It is your birthday! How can it not be a big deal?”

“I don’t celebrate,” you replied nonchalantly, your eyes trained at him and the numerous dishes he had already cooked. It was just the two of you but the way he was cooking made it seemed like he was feeding three families. It was true, though. You didn’t celebrate since that tragic day. You probably didn’t want to admit to yourself how you loathed being the only one who survived.

They said it was survival’s guilt.

You thought it was just the truth. You didn’t want to survive.

“Well, we do now. From now on, we will celebrate your birthday until you turn a hundred years old, angel,” he grumbled as he was focusing on plating.

You chuckled at his ridiculousness, his lips formed into a pout. “Well, I don’t think I’ll live that long. Do you want to live that long?”

“I’ll live as long as you exist in this world.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He smirked at you, wiping his hands with the towel as he leveled you with his dark eyes. “I do, Angel. I refuse to live in this world if you don’t exist.”

And the way he said it sounded a lot like a promise, like he would see it through. The way he was looking at you, the way his dark eyes bore through your soul made your heart beat faster as though it was in danger. “Should you go before me, I will burn this whole world down and then I will follow you.”

You had always known him to be intense. You were always aware of the darkness that seemed to follow him. At the back of your mind, you were aware of the power he excluded.

You were aware. That was the thing, you knew.

But nothing could have prepared you for the true him.

Suga set up the dinner out in your garden. He spent the whole afternoon putting up lights, cooking and preparing as best as he could. He never even let you helped him and just shooed you away when you attempted. He never thought he would put so much effort on someone, yet here he was. Additionally, he never thought he would feel so much for someone. And yet, here you were, the center of his whole fucking universe. You came just in time when he thought his life was coming to an end like the angel that you were.

You stepped out of the house, your hand clutching your chest as you saw what he did. Everything was so beautiful. It was so simple, so opposite of the beauty that money could bring. No, this was the pure beauty of effort, of simplicity, of domesticity that he brought in your life. He brought so much light in your otherwise dark life, he brought so much color. You thought you were living before he came, but you were merely existing that time. He came, and you found happiness again. He came and suddenly, you were no longer alone in this world.

“Happy birthday again, my angel,” he whispered from behind you. You turned around and there he was. He had his long hair combed back neatly. He donned a white shirt and a nice slacks in exchange for his usual dark clothes. He looked so beautiful, you thought.

And the way he was smiling with his adorable gums showing melted you.

This, you thought, this was happiness.

“How come you cook so well?” You asked as you took another bite of what he cooked. He looked pleased as he watched you eat. You thought he wouldn’t answer once again like he always did. You were so used to his silence when you asked anything about him that you were surprised he answered.

“My hyung loves to cook. He thought me how to, said that all seven of us should know all the basic skills to survive.”

“Seven?” You repeated, grasping at another information he was willingly giving you.

He nodded before he put down his wine. “You met my oldest hyung. That’s Seokjin. I have five other adopted brothers.”

“I wonder what they’re like.”

He smiled at you, “You’ll meet them soon, Angel, when we go to Seoul.”

“Oh, we are?”

“Of course. You’ll love my house. Or if you don’t, we can buy our own house-“

“I’ll live there?”

He scoffed at you before pulling your hand gently to him. “As if I’ll ever leave you here. You’re stuck with me forever, Angel.”

He kissed the back of your hand before standing and walking behind you. That was when you felt the drape of chain on your neck as he fastened the necklace. “I bought this because you love the stars so much. This way, you can have it near your heart.”

You clasped the star pendant in your hand, your eyes tearing up at his words.

“Why are you crying?” He asked with slight panic as he kneeled beside you, clutching your face to his worried one. “Did you not like it? O-once we go back to Seoul, I’ll buy you more expensive ones. I’ll buy you a diamond-“

You kissed him.

Without any warning, you kissed him. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much. I love it.”

You kissed him once again, your lips moving slowly against his. And when you parted, you found him looking at you with so much tenderness as though you were the only one that mattered to him.

And to you, he was the only one you had. To you, he was your family.

“I love you, my Suga,” you admitted to him quietly, you whispered at the silence of the night. For the first time, you said what you had desperately trying to suppress. You said it so softly, so terrified that once the truth was out there that he would see you for who you were. You were terrified that he would turn away.

But he didn’t.

“You can never take that back,” he ordered as he stared at you with so much authority. He said it as though in warning, as though should you take it back, there would be consequences. “You can never stop loving me. Do you understand?”

“I-“ you planted a kiss on his forehead, “love-“ his nose, “you.” And finally, his lips.

Suga would make sure you stayed loving him. He wanted to dig himself so deep in you that there was no way you could remove him from your very core.

No. Loving him meant forever. Now that you loved him, he could no longer go back, and neither could you.

Your love sealed your future.

Suga looked at you for a moment, and then he moved. He grabbed your nape, pulling you close to him as he devoured you. His kisses were hungry, but yours were starving. You were driving him completely insane and you were threading on a dangerous line. The true Suga, both Yoongi and Agustd were already fucking crazy. With you added to the equation pushed them further to the edge. There was no going back.

He pushed his sinful tongue in your mouth. It was just a kiss, and yet you were already trembling against him. You knew his kisses had been dominant before, but heavens was this different. It was as though he wanted to own you, and you wanted to be owned just as much. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he stood up, bringing you along with him. His strong hands supporting your legs, bunching them up on his waist. As much as he was filled with lust, his possessiveness stopped him from taking you out in the open.

No, you were only for his eyes.

You were only his.

Your hands were entangled on his silky, dark locks, desperately trying to get closer to him as he lead you back to your bedroom. He managed to close the distance within seconds and gently, he dropped you in the middle of the bed, the ends of your dress bunched up to your thighs. Suga greedily looked his fill, looked at what was his. He followed your body down, plastering his front to yours.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And without any warning, he tore your dress down. His knee was in between your thighs, spreading your legs for him. You unconsciously crossed your arms in front of you, hiding your bared breasts from his lust-filled eyes.

Suga did not like that one bit. He growled in displeasure before he pushed your wrists above your head using his one hand, while the other caressed the smooth expanse of your waist. “This is mine. You are mine. Never, ever hide from me, okay, Angel?”

He didn’t even wait for your response before he put his mouth to your breast, sucking your erect nipple with his tempting tongue. You were too defenseless from the onslaught of pleasure he was giving you. You were a mess, a whimpering mess as his hand slid down to your thighs, teasing you with his feathery touches.

You should have known your underwear was not safe with him. And just like your poor dress, he tore down your panties. He smirked at your gasped and looked at you as he brought your wet underwear to his nose.

And heavens, you smelled fucking amazing. If he was insane with lust before, he was feral now that he smelled you.

And once he tasted you?

Who knew what state he would be.

“You smell like heaven, angel,” he groaned, his eyes closed as he sniffed the little piece of cloth that used to hide what was his. He thought it was only fitting that you smelled like heaven for you were his angel.

His.

“I need to taste you,” he said absentmindedly, his brain focused on one thing: you.

Suga removed the buttons of his shirt calmly, but his eyes told a different story as he kept contact with you. He was dashing, so beautiful that even in the dark you could see him. Once he had his shirt off, he pulled your legs closer, putting them over his shoulder. Your squeak of surprise at his prompt movements didn’t deter him. His fingers slid along your core, collecting the wetness on his finger.

“Su-Suga please-“

“Shh, Angel. This is my show. This is mine. So fucking wet, Angel,” he said with his eyes focused on your pussy. You jolted in shock when you felt his tongue on you, a cry escaping from your lips. He licked a path from your entrance to your clit slowly, wanting to memorize you and how you felt.

“Fuck. You taste so divine.”

His tongue circled your clit, playing with the bundle of nerves. You were so wet that you could see your essence glistening on your chin, and yet he didn’t stop. His fingers entered you, his mouth on your clit, sucking, licking, tasting.

He never stopped.

Not when you screamed.

Not when your body buckled up.

Not when you were pushing his face on your core.

His hands secured you to him. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Oh my- fuck, baby p-please-“ you moaned, feeling your orgasm sneaking up on you. “So g-good, hngh-“

And he watched. He watched as you fell apart for him.

Only him.

From now on, it would only be him.

He was kissing your inner thigh as you came down from the high. He lifts his head when you finally stopped shaking, looking at you in adoration and with an unbridled darkness in his eyes. Now that he had you, there was this ugly emotion that pushed him to do everything so you would be safe, so you would never be hurt, never to leave him. He wanted you so fucking tied down to him that you could never leave, never breathe without him.

“Still okay? He asked softly, opposite to how his thumb was drawing circles on your clit, overstimulating you. And you couldn’t move, not with his weight on you, not with his shoulders in between your legs. You nodded, because this was the most okay you had ever been. Here, with him.

“Suga,” you whined, wanting more of what he just gave you. And he knew what you wanted. He crawled up to you, kissing you tenderly, his tongue playing with yours before he peppered kisses on your neck, on your breasts, leaving his marks for people to know you were already owned.

“What do you want, Angel?” He whispered hotly.

“You-“

“Yeah? Do you want my cock, Angel?”

“Yes!” You moaned, his lips wrapped around your nipples.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“I want your cock, baby please!”

“Then you shall have it, my Angel.”

You heard the buckle of his belt, the exciting sound of his zipper. And then you felt his hardness. He felt so fucking big. So fucking hard.

He lifted your knees up, positioning your heels to his bared ass. He lined himself, sliding his cock in your slit, drenching it with your wetness. He parted your slick folds with his fingers, looking down at your cunt. The bulbous head of his cock slowly entered your tight heat, his eyes full of desire as you watched him watched his member entered you. He looked vicious, his dark hair framing his face, his scarred eye focused intently on you. His movements were gentle and deep- at first. When you finally adjusted to his girth, he thrusted all the way inside you. He moaned so deep, so loud that you felt your core tightened on his member.

Fuck, he sounded so masculine. “You feel so unbelievable. This fucking pussy- mine. You’re mine,” he growled as he thrusted inside you, molding your body to his.

The way he rolled his hips was heavenly, and you were close. His thrusts were precise, controlled, hard. You could feel him hardened even further. He was close, he knew it.

A better man would have pulled out.

Hell, a decent man would put on a condom.

A twisted, devious, manipulative man, on the other hand, would do everything to tie you to him. And if his seed would take root on your womb, then even better.

See, a better man would not come inside you. He definitely would not finger his cum back inside you as you fell asleep.

Alas, he wasn’t a good man that you thought him to be.

He was insatiable.

Suga was like a man possessed, you thought as you winced. The damned prick looked please as he watched you wobbled out of bed. He did make it up to you though by preparing you a hot bath and a massage.

That was an hour ago. He stepped out, remembering the promise he made little Jackson that he would bring him a slice of your birthday cake.

You had never slept as good as you did last night, safely inside his arms. You woke up earlier than him, and you just…stared at him. You wanted to engrave what he looked like in your mind. Your hands caressed his face, tracing every outline with your eyes closed. You were sure that you could recognized him even in the dark. He was your person, you thought.

Someone knocked on your front door. You smiled when you opened the door, thinking that Suga must have forgotten his key.

But it wasn’t him.

You looked at the man with confusion, “May I help you?”

He smiled.

Jung Hoseok smiled, and behind him was a gun hidden from your view.

Epilogue

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #yandere min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts smut #min yoongi smut

863 notes · View notes

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

Text

(2) TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “No other word makes my mouth as tender as your name.” — ‘Soft Human’, Emery Allen

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood + death, mildly suggestive

summary. after that first night, ethan and you have acquired an unspoken bond. your friends sense this bond, but, unfortunately, think it’s something else entirely. (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. more spiderman!ethan. im really loving this au, but i also have no idea what im doing. expect some more fics, though not entirely in chronological order.

ii.

The rest of that night went like this: you ordered pizza, but by the time it got to your apartment, Ethan fell asleep on your couch.

So you forced him to wake up, all but shoved three slices of pepperoni pizza down his throat, then locked him in your room and made the boy rest.

(Waking him up was far harder than you thought it would be. He slept like the fucking dead, and looked like it too, hands perfectly by his sides, staring straight up at the ceiling.)

You were cleaning up the boxes in the living room when you heard a commotion in your bedroom, alongside Ethan’s familiar, profuse apologizing.

“Ethan?” You called out, walking down the hall. “What’s going—“

Suddenly, the door to your room opened, and out came Ethan, hair messy from sleep, being pinned against the hallway wall by Mindy.

“What the fuck were you doing in—“ Mindy said furiously, her hand balling up the fabric of your (Ethan’s) shirt.

“Hey- Hey! Mindy, put him down! I’m right here,” You said, wide eyed. You could see the pain blooming in Ethans side as Mindy man-handled him, his brows twisted taut, eyes squeezing shut.

At the sound of your voice, Mindy let go of Ethan immediately. From your room behind her walked out Annika and Tara, who were cautiously stepping away from the two of them.

Ethan’s hands held his bandaged side subtly, leaning against the wall like he had when you first let him into your room.

The guilt churned in your chest — how could you not think about your friends entering the apartment with him in there? Of course Mindy would be hostile, for Ethan had never come over if Chad wasn’t there first.

Without thinking, your hands graced both of Ethan’s arms. “Are you okay?” You whispered in his ear, and waited for his curt nod before turning to Mindy, Annika and Tara’s prying eyes.

“I’m— we—he came over to study, and he fell asleep so I…” You racked your head for a plausible excuse, so you didn’t have to tell everyone he was fucking Spiderman and that he almost bled out in your shared bathroom just three hours ago.

“Study?” Tara cut in, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you at the party?” She gave Ethan a pointed look.

Ethan opened and closed his mouth, looking between you and the rest of your friends. “I left, like, an hour in. I have Econ tomorrow, so I needed to - to study.”

Mindy took a deep breath in, then flared her nostrils, letting the air out. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” She backed away, hands in the air like she was getting arrested, “just wanted to know why this dude you don’t even talk to was sleeping in your room.”

Then, she walked off, down the hall into the living room, hands still in the air. Annika and Tara slipped away similarly, but Annika gave the both of you a particularly long and suspicious look.

You looked at Ethan. Ethan looked at you.

“How’s my stitch work?” You said lightly, trying to break the silence while gesturing to his side.

A small smile broke on Ethans face. “I think my head needs the concern more,” he said, rubbing the part of his head that hit the wall.

“Well, I’ll get you an ice pack if it's that bad. Now sleep. I’ll wake you up when you need to leave - if Sam catches you in here, it’ll be a repeat of last time.”

Ethan grimaced, touching his nose nostalgically. “Noted.”

After Ethan entered your room, stretching and letting out the yawn he had been holding in, you closed the door, and made your way to sleeping in the living room. Any looks you got from your friends, you ignored.

This knock-on-your-window-patch-Ethan-up-let him sleep-over-situation repeated several times.

It wasn’t one you particularly liked, however. Over time, you and Ethan grew closer. It's a little hard not to get to know each other when one is saving you from near-death, and knows your biggest secret.

You found out how sweet Ethan was, his consideration far more than mere politeness. He was a good person, one who often put his life on the line for people he didn’t even know. So, seeing the boy in pain every time he snuck in tugged at your heart-strings.

You didn’t exactly… know why Ethan was so good. Any time he talked about becoming Spiderman, he seemed so tense, so guilt-ridden. His voice had an intonation of loss, of pure grief that he wouldn’t let anyone touch.

(If anything, that grief was hurting him more than the injuries you were patching him up for.)

Besides that, even now, you two had never hung out in normal circumstances, and most times you saw Ethan, he was clad in that red-and-blue latex suit.

It had you wondering what exactly you two were. A walking first aid kit and the hero? Or friends?

It's not like you didn’t understand - becoming so close so quickly would make everyone suspicious, so keeping this relationship on the low was absolute key.

(But that didn’t mean it didn't hurt a little.)

Ethan coming over in secret like this had now been happening at least weekly for five months straight. During that, the nature of your relationship evolved: sometimes, Ethan’s injuries were bearable enough that he swung back out your window (to your adamant behest), or, he was awake enough to watch a movie with you in the living room, or even just knocked on your window during his patrols to say Hi.

One night, you forgot someone was home. You’d done up a nick on Ethan’s neck - a place he couldn’t reach by himself - and you’d forced him not to swing back to Brooklyn, even if his police walkie was rattling off several alarming police codes.

“Ethan,” You said, holding the walkie up. “This is going to get you killed.”

“I’m fighting crime! Of course I’m going to get hurt.”

“And I would much rather you didn’t get hurt.”

“Am I cutting into your study time?”

“No, dumbass, I just don’t want you to swing injured. I care, you know? About you.”

Ethan paused at that, looking at you carefully. “I — um,” his face was pink, “okay, fine. I’ll… stay. But just for tonight - next time, I’m going no matter what you say.”

“Just promise me to stay safe, alright?”

Ethan nodded, slightly hesitant. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” You pressed the walkie talkie into his chest, “So, Chinese or Thai tonight?”

“I’m thinking Indian, actually,” Ethan said, trailing behind you into the living room. “Do you remember that place from last time? They made the best—“

Then, catching the both of you completely off guard, Quinn’s door swung open wide.

Out came another one of her regular hookups - the prison suit guy, whose forehead stitches were now a light scar - who looked shocked at the sight of you guys and quickly scurried out. Then, out came Quinn herself, who waved the guy goodbye.

Quinn almost ducked back into her room without saying a thing to you guys, obviously ridden with fatigue, but quickly spun back.

Quinn blinked, rubbed her eyes, then blinked again.

“Are you two —“ She pointed to you two, jaw dropped, obviously wrong thoughts in her mind, and you were both quick to correct her.

“No! No — we,” Ethan started and stumbled, looking at you for help.

“Econ! He came over for econ help.” You finished for him, placing your hands on your hips.

Ethan nodded vehemently, “I’m hopeless at the statistics.”

“Didn’t you ace stats in highschool, E?” Quinn said pointedly, quickly sobering.

“Well, these— these ones are harder, okay!”

“It’s really hard,” you tried to convince her. “Everyone is almost failing this unit. I’m barely getting by with the extra textbooks I had on the subject.”

A beat passed.

And then Quinn seemed to consider this, leaning her head against her doorframe. “Well, whatever. Now go bang or study stats, I don’t care, just be quiet. I’ve got swim practice tomorrow.”

You and Ethan both gave her a perfect, agreeing smile, and she disappeared into her bedroom.

“Oh my god,” You whispered to Ethan first, “She thought we were—“

“She thought we were…” He repeated, eyes wide, finger tugging at one of his curls.

“That is the funniest thing I’ve heard this week, my god.” You shook your head, flopped on the couch, and that was that.

(Inwardly, your reaction stung Ethan a little.

Was it really… really so implausible that you two would be, well, together?)

And about the misconception of being together? Your whole friend group believed what Quinn did, too.

One similar night, after Ethan changed into a pair of his clothes (after the first few instances of patching him up, he began keeping clothes in your room) and you were about to put a movie on, you two had walked into the living room, and found your entire friend group waiting for you there.

Sure, dressing Ethan’s wounds happened often enough that they were home and asleep while you did so, but you didn’t think you two were that loud. At least, loud enough to wake the entire house.

It was early morning, 2-am or something, and Ethan had been texting back his dad, pretending he was just coming home from a party. Ethan had to regularly assure his father that he was indeed safe and sound, something you weren’t exactly privy to the origin of.

(There was a cloud of mystery concerning Ethan becoming Spiderman, his family’s undue concern for him, and his and Quinn’s deceased brother, Richie. You couldn’t put a finger on it, but you just knew it was all connected.)

Ethan was just behind you when you stopped at the sight of your friends in the living room, your jaw dropped. Ethan bumped into your back, stumbling and apologizing, until he saw what exactly had made you stop.

“What the — what are you guys doing here?” You said first, at their piercing gazes.

“We’re staging an intervention,” Quinn said, trying to be serious, before breaking and letting out an ungodly laugh. “Oh my god, you guys need to stop fucking in the bathroom!”

“What?” both of you said in shock. Your face burned red, as did Ethans, who looked at you.

“E, I am so proud of you man, but you guys gotta be normal about this shit,” Chad said, scrubbing his face.

“Why the bathroom, exactly?” Tara leaned back, eyes red with sleep, like she had been waiting for hours and was slowly succumbing to the fatigue.

“Just! Hol— hold on, a sec. We aren’t fucking in the - in the bathroom, okay?” You said, arms gesturing wildly. Your face was practically on fire now, the whole room feeling a touch too warm.

“We aren’t even together!” Ethan added on quickly, though shying further behind you.

Annika snorted, then leaned her head on Mindy’s shoulder. “You guys don’t have to hide it. You do know we can hear you in there, right?”

What? You weren’t making any undue noise in the bathroom, you had made sure of it. Any possible noise they could hear would just be the dry bandage and Ethan’s overdramatic whining, which—

Ethan’s whining.

“Oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, brows becoming permanently furrowed. You jabbed Ethan lightly in the side, “This is your fault, you know?”

Ethan spluttered, “How is it—“

“You’re always so loud in there, and I keep telling you to—“

“And that!” Mindy cut in, pointing at you two. “We cannot forget to mention that.”

“‘That’ what?” Your head swiveled to Mindy’s pointed finger, letting go of Ethan’s sleeve that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“”’That’ what”’?” Mindy mocked in an (incredibly inaccurate) impression of your tone. “Jesus, I mean all the arguing and the teasing and the touching!”

Everyone nodded simultaneously, as if your (not real!) predicament was extremely easy to notice.

You blinked rapidly, looking at your friends then back at Ethan. “This is - so ridiculous,” you said, under your breath.

“Is it, though?” Ethan shrugged, head tilted and considering the facts against you two. “I mean,” he explained himself, “all of a sudden I’m always over “studying” and you’re sneaking me around the house instead of letting everyone know I’m here. We spend a little too long in the bathroom together, you keep your window a smidge open for me, and you keep my clothes in your closet.”

Well. With all that splayed out on the table, it did sound like you were hooking up. It was a great cover, if you were being honest, if only it didn’t make things so damn awkward.

Suddenly, as if Ethan knew what you were thinking, his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you close to him.

“Okay, fine,” Ethan started, looking at your group of friends. “You caught us. We’re, well, dating. Surprise?”

Through Chad’s cheers and everyone else’s relieved sighs (that of which they didn’t have to painfully watch you and Ethan sneak around the apartment together anymore) Ethan whispered to you, disguised as a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This fake dating cover is gold. The perfect excuse. You’ll help your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, right?”

In response, you nodded your head slightly, then looked up at him with a plastic smile, talking between it. “Thanks, babe. I’ve become your personal nurse.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of my sidekick.”

“Just don’t ‘Death in the Family’ me, Landry.”

taglist: @iloveneilperry @backtotheshitshow @hazehepburn @powowowy @ifilwtmfc @oscarisdaddy69 @al1v3cvp1d2@bloodyeverything @l5byrinth @gojosbucket @diamondci1ty

#ethan landry x reader #jack champion x reader #ethan landry #jack champion #scream 6 #scream vi #scream 6 imagine #ethan landry imagine #spiderman #spiderman!ethan landry

2K notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

Text

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

A/N: Happy Saturday! Asks/Taglists are open!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig.

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head.

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.”

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers.

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?”

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary.

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target.

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you.

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building.

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report.

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied.

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled.

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you.

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up.

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head.

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away.

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom.

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—”

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library.

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented.

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them.

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room.

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression.

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it.

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged.

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you.

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death.

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up.

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?”

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest.

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly.

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her.

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them.

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?”

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors.

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you.

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother.

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it.

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly.

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face.

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—”

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother.

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you.

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you.

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands.

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand.

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked.

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?”

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now.

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean.

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded.

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time.

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

179 notes · View notes

rebelliousstories · 8 days

Text

Old Wound

Relationship: Cooper Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Death, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,167

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: She was supposed to be dead. He held her while she died in his arms. How is she here?

“You ever think about what’s gonna happen when we’re dead, cowpoke?” She asked.

It was a cool night, probably winter now if Cooper was remembering right. It had been so long since he felt a proper winter that he was not sure after all these years. He turned his head to the woman that was resting on his chest as they huddled around a fire to keep away the chill.

“You on drugs or somethin’?” Cooper’s serious tone made the woman burst out with laughter. She pushed herself up so that she was level with his face to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“No but, you’ve survived centuries. I may get a few decades if I’m lucky. I was just wondering if you’ve ever thought about what’ll happen when we die.” Her repeated question did not even make The Ghoul miss a beat.

“We’re gonna become food for someone or somethin’ else. That’s what’s gonna happen.” He stated, trying to get the woman to lay back down.

“I meant the afterlife, baby. Like do you think that there’s the pearly gates, or just nothingness?” She laid back down and let the man run his ungloved hand over her head, and through her hair.

“I hope there’s an afterlife, but if there is anything these last couple centuries have taught me is that God is cruel. So whatever is waiting for us, we take it as it comes.” Howard pressed a kiss in the wake of his hand and felt the woman relax into him. That answer seemed to pacify her as they settled in for the night and went to bed.

If only he could ask her what was waiting for them on the other side of death’s embrace. It had only been a couple weeks and the sting was still fresh, but you know cowpokes. They take it as it comes. Cooper had been traveling alone this entire time with a chip on his shoulder, and saddened eyes.

Walking into Filly, there was a vacancy in his pouch where his chems would be. The thought alone made him want to shoot something. She always got his chems for him because they would give the pretty girl a discount, but the ghoul behind her would get nothing. He had not needed to get his own since she began traveling with him a couple of years ago.

A sign on the door pointed him to where he needed to go. His spurs clinked against the wooden floors as he went inside the little apothecary. There was a bell that he ringed, and soon a man stepped out from behind a curtain.

“Sixty chems.” The Ghoul left no room for small talk, and set the necessary caps on the counter between them. Without a word, the man disappeared and retrieved the items for the mutant. Each man pocketed their own items and said nothing as they turned to go back to what they were doing before.

As soon as Cooper stepped out, gasps and shouts were heard through the downtown area. At first he thought it was him; ghouls were not exactly welcomed in many parts, especially him. But it was not. A woman in distressed clothing was walking around and looking for someone or something with desperation in her eyes. Looking at her from underneath the lip of his hat, The Ghoul thought that her clothing was remarkably familiar.

“Get lost, Ghoul. You ain’t welcome round here.” One of the shopkeepers shouted at the woman, who was clearly very lost. She said nothing as she kept looking around and did not even respond to the man. However she did respond when someone threw something at her. Trying to protect herself, she reached for something on her hip, only for that object to not be there. It was not until she turned around the Cooper felt his breath catch and his heart stop.

It was her. His little spitfire girl was right in front of him. There was no way though. She had bled out in his arms. She died in his arms. He felt the last breath leave her body, and her pulse stop. And yet, here she was. Standing in front of him as if nothing had happened. The sound of a gun cocking caught his attention, as well as the end of a barrel trained on the woman. In an instant, Howard shot the assailant first before he had time to harm the woman. She did not flinch, but rather calmly looked to where he stood and gasped out his name in a hushed whisper.

Cooper marched right up to her, and observed. Not a hair was different from the last time he had seen her. He did not even allow for another moment to pass as he grabbed her arm and began to drag her from the market. Once they were in a quiet part, he let go and could not hold his tongue.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you wearin’ her clothes?” Cooper demanded, holding his gun out to point at the woman.

“What- what are you talking about. Coop, it’s me. This isn’t funny.” She pleaded, feeling afraid as this was the first time in years that she had been at the end of his gun.

“Prove it,” he breathed, “what did you tell me you hoped was waiting for us in death?”

“I never told you.” She whispered. “But you told me that no matter what, we cowpokes take it as it comes, so it didn’t matter. Please Coop. Just put the gun down.”

With a deep breath in and out, he did as she asked. Cooper rushed forward and took in another deep breath, this time with the scent of her. But there was something off about her scent. It smelt much more… ghoulish. Pulling away, he saw her same eyes staring back at him. Those same eyes that he begged to open just one more time a few weeks ago.

“How?” Cooper asked, running his hands everywhere he could.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am, or what happened that I came back. All I know is that one minute I’m in your arms, and the next I’m picking myself up off the ground and all alone.” She repeated the process of running her hands everywhere she could as her lover was doing to her.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I think you’re a little like me. Who the hell knows with all the radiation bullshit.” He whispered, chuckling lightly at the face she pulled when he proposed his theory.

“I guess there are worse things to be. I’m just glad I found you again.” Cooper was brought into a tight embrace, as she buried her face into his chest and breathed in his scent.

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.” He whispered back, pressing kisses to her hair as he was glad to just hold her in his arms again.

#rebelliousstories #writing #fallout #fallout imagine #cooper howard #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #cooper howard x oc #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul x oc

142 notes · View notes

sweetcarrotsandroses97 · 4 months

Text

Noirceur | JJK | Main Part

Pairing: demon! Jungkook x fem! human! Reader

Summary: A kiss. A curse. A tangled fate. A dark soul. His love breaks your fate, your bond cures his death. And a poetic dance that he traps you in, along with your own song that only he can hear. A story told wrong or in which Jungkook finds his lover after swimming through centuries of lost time and cursed minds.

Warnings: fluff?, angst, demon! Jungkook, black swan! Jungkook because I'm obsessed, toxic love, soft yandere?, obsession, implied kidnapping, dark fantasy, magic, curses, spells, blood, minor injuries, anxiety and feelings related to it, non-con kissing, kinda creepy, mentions of death, poetic writing, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 3.1k words

A/N: I wrote this one in one sitting O.O, let me know what you think in the comments, darlings! Also, who else is obsessed with Black Swan Jungkook? Because I certainly am and this fic was inspired by the music video and my own ideas :D.

ALSO, this au is open for further parts if you request anything, darling! My inbox is open, lovelies xxx. This story will go how you like and I'll link all the parts into a Main Masterlist when something is requested for this story.

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

Noirceur: (noun). The state of being pitch black in colour; a state of lacking illumination.

The stories you have heard all your life were true. You didn't doubt it anymore.

From purity to evil. From light to the darkest night. A loneliness that turned into love, it morphed into an obsession. A claymation of a life, a soul. A being. A heart.

In the depths of hell where shadows writhe,

A demon walks, his heart alive.

His eyes, twin flames, burn with desire,

To find a soul, his dark empire.

The legend had changed, because Jungkook did not live in hell. His empire was situated over this very Earth. He had searched for centuries for that part of him, that part of him that was still alive. That part of his heart that was still beating and that should not fear him. That soulmate that was given to him by fate itself. That soulmate he wanted to claim. That lover he needed to possess.

He felt it when you entered the abandoned castle of arts, the large opera house where he had died many moons ago. He could no longer remember how he stopped being in the land of the living but he had never come across another one of his kind.

He was cursed. To live forever and torment the unfortunate souls of this world. He was cursed. To be alone in his long time punishment. He was cursed, his heart burned to ashes and his power rose from the depths of the earth.

But since you came across his path, Jungkook's punishment became a game for him to play. A game for you to endure.

You had been running endlessly through the infinite halls of the large opera house. Your naked feet were painted in crimson red as they bled with every step you took. You ran, passing through many hallways with many paintings hanging on the walls. You ran and ran, a soft music in the background made the hairs at the back of your neck stand up with nerves, with fear.

Footsteps were heard behind you. Those footsteps that had been chasing you for so long you could no longer remember when was the last time you had actually been outside of this abandoned castle of arts that was now your prison in hell.

"Come out, little dove. I only want to play."

You bit your lip as the words reached your ears. Those words that dripped from the mouth of your captor. The man who chased you to the end of the world, however you doubted he was actually a man.

You hid behind some curtains worn out by time itself. Your hands clenched the fabric of the dirty dress that was only enough to cover your dignity. It made you shiver. From the cold, from the fear. Maybe both, maybe neither.

"(y/n), (y/n). Dearest, (y/n)...STOP HIDING!"

You flinched when his voice boomed around the place you didn't doubt had once been beautiful. Blood oozed from the bite your teeth inflicted over your tender lip and you sniffled, hearing the footstep halt before they began echoing around once more, this time coming closer to you.

Through realms of terror, he roams the night,

Seeking a heart to claim as his right.

A soulmate bound by fate's cruel hand,

To join him in the demon's land.

In fear, you ran once more. As if you could ever leave his poisonous claws. As if you were able to leave that hideous place that played with your mind, with your soul, with your heart and memories as if they were toys at his reach. For him to use as he pleased.

Curtains hung from the tall ceiling that once had a beautiful pattern painted on it. It made you feel lost. As if you were running in circles. Always lost. With nowhere to go. As if you had ever had a choice. Or better said, as if your choice had been willingly taken by you.

Because there had once been a choice. A choice you made. A decision you chose. You entered that place by your own will yet your freedom in leaving was never yours to be held in the first place. It made you sick to the stomach, as if a storm was closing in on you and there was no way out of it. No sun ripping through the curtains, no wind blowing the clouds away.

Jungkook could hear your frantic breathing, your hurried footsteps and suppressed sobs. He could hear your beating heart resonating so strongly in his ears it only sent a chill down his spine at the chase.

He remembered the sweet scent that suddenly invaded his own prison the moment you entered the large opera house. For only the kiss of his soulmate would free him from the shackles of fate, only the purity of the heart would be able to set him free and roam the world as he pleased.

In whispers cold, his voice does call,

A siren's song, a chilling thrall.

He seeks a soul as dark as he,

To walk with him, for eternity.

"Don't you know that I love you, sweet (y/n)? Why do you run from your lover, hmm? If you come to me willingly, it will hurt way less, love."

You ran and ran, ignoring the pain in your feet, the pressure in your chest, the harsh beating of your heart. You weren't going to give up that easily. You weren't going to surrender without fighting back.

The hallways carried so many paintings on the walls. So many paintings of beautiful women. Pictures that you couldn't pay enough attention to. Paintings that resembled absolute fear and sorrow, something you didn't know but felt utterly familiar.

You stopped running when you made it to the main theatre as you stood on the old stage. The wooden beneath your feet was dusted with the remnants of time, broken glass was scattered along the dark wood from the frail chandelier that hung from the ceiling with its crystals tainted in greying dust.

The pain in your feet was ignored as you walked across the stage. You didn't hear Jungkook's maniac laugh, you didn't hear his approaching footsteps or his sick declarations of love. Of obsession. Yet the silence made you even more nervous. You didn't know where you were, you didn't know what day it was. Time had become a foreign concept for you, a thing your mind could no longer grasp.

How long had you been trapped in that hauntingly beautiful place? Has it been hours, days... months? Did people search for you? How about Taehyung, the man who sent you to that place to begin with? Was he wondering why you never came back to work? Was he wondering if you were still working on the story of the broken opera house to publish in his extravagant magazine? Did he even remember your presence or did he keep you around because you never questioned his orders and demands?

But there was no use in blaming others for your current situation because there was nothing to be done. You walked in an almost monotonous way to the centre of the stage, blood staining the ground below your feet as more and more cuts opened your precious skin.

Jungkook watched you from behind the curtains, he watched you wander around the open space. He watched you with haunted eyes glimmering in golden magic that cursed through his veins. He watched you with desire and delicacy. As if you had been crafted into a perfect doll for him to care when all his hands had ever done was to destroy and taint.

Your tears adorned your face like small diamonds over your soft looking skin. He wanted to wipe them and treasure such pearls of pain and fear within him. Your hands trembled as you gazed around you, eyes fixing on the fallen glass on the ground, the broken chandelier that hung from the ceiling and that seemed to snap at any moment, the crusty wood beneath your feet and the old paintings of women around the grand place.

"You don't have to run anymore, little dove."

Beneath the moon's unholy light,

He searches for his love in fright.

Through haunted woods and cursed moors,

His longing heart forever lures.

With a choke gasp you turned around, watching as Jungkook emerged from the back of the stage, the curtains giving him an aura that made you shiver. He took a step forward and you took a step backward. The need to keep as much distance between the being that kept you in his grasp and your own sanity was stronger than your actual fear of him.

"I have waited centuries to finally meet you."

His words only made more tears roll down your cheeks, eyes red and puffy as you glared at him in fear. You took a step as he approached you once more.

"Please..."

Your sweet voice enchanted him like a curse. Desiring to hear you speak once more, he remained silent and listened, taking another step towards you and instinctively you took once back.

"...please, let me go. I p-promise I won't tell anyone about what happened h-here today. I'll never come back and disturb you but, please-"

He laughed, a sound so harmonious it echoes around the empty opera house. You found it alluring, like a siren's song but you had to physically refrain yourself from falling into his arms.

"Do you really think I'll let you go after searching for you through so many lifetimes? You are mine, little dove. Forever mine."

Jungkook smiled, ever so sweetly you felt sick. A smile that got engraved in your memories forever. You shook your head but couldn't look away, taking another step back as he insisted on getting close to you.

"Look around you, love! Look around you and deny me that we aren't meant to be! We are destined, little dove. Tangled by fate. Look! Look around, (y/n)!"

And you did, not hesitating to follow his command with the force in his voice that made you suppress a sob. You looked around, eyes landing on one of the many paintings of the large room. One of the paintings that decorated the dull walls. The paintings that were old and worn out by time. Your eyes widened when you saw it. When you witnessed that the demon in front of you spoke nothing but fact. A sudden realisation dawned upon you and you felt as if you were drowning in a well with nothing to hold on to and nothing to hope for.

Because the lady on the painting cried tears of blood, the lady on the painting resembles your soul. Those were your hands, fisting the fabric of your dress in a deathly grip. Those were your tears rolling down your cheeks. The woman in the picture was the reflection of your soul trapped in a timeless mirror of blood.

"You see now? This whole castle of arts is our sanctuary. Our palace, Queen of mine."

You shook your head, in shock, in rejection. In fear. In anguish. You shook your head as you took step after step backwards even when he wasn't doing anything to get close to you.

Was your fate really next to him? Were you really tangled in such a web of lies you weren't able to escape? Or was he just playing with your mind?

"Stop it, (y/n)."

Jungkook spoke in alarm as he saw you getting closer and closer to the edge of the stage. But you didn't listen, your mind acted on its own in a fragile attempt at getting you away from this nightmare you had fallen into.

"Stop it!"

"Get away from me!"

Your scream resonated all over the place, your feet didn't stop moving until you stood at the edge. The height was enough to hurt you and the sole idea of it made him feel his heart beating, at least for a second or two as you stood on the edge while you faced him with shock written all over your beautiful features.

You took another step and a gasp escaped your lips as the floor disappeared from beneath you. Your eyes closed in instinct and your arms flailed as gravity pulled you down towards the hard ground covered in broken glass that was surely going to break you.

Jungkook acted in an instance, his eyes glowed in golden yellow as his large and black wings spread behind his back and he moved across the stage in less than a second, a path of ice was left behind him, freezing the ground below him, the curtains around the stage and his heart as well as he caught you in his arms before you were to succumb to nature's own force.

But in his quest, he leaves a trail,

Of fear and anguish, deathly pale.

For those who cross his path beware,

The demon's love is naught but despair.

Your eyes met his in a dance of emotions that made you dizzy in its nature. His hands found home on your waist just as your own rested on his forearms. His eyes, ever so beautiful, hid so many secrets you felt curious about yet you wished to remain in the darkness as well.

"I won't leave you. Not after burning in my own grief with your absence. You are the key to my existence, love"

His words pierced your soul like a sharp dagger. You sniffled, breathing in deeply as you found yourself gazing into his golden irises.

"You'll never leave my side."

One of his hands left your waist as it cradled your cheek softly. His touch burned you with an ice cold feeling it made you shiver in his arms whether from the coldness itself or fear of your current position, you really couldn't tell.

"You will learn to love me, (y/n). Just like I have loved you all this time. You'll learn."

Jungkook never broke eye contact with you as he allowed himself to swim in your (e/c) gaze. Your skin under his palm felt soft, the softest he has ever touched in both his lives as a mortal and as a demon of death.

You gulped, wanting to run away from him. Disgusted at his unwanted touch but strangely craving it more. As if you had been deprived of it for so long. Maybe your soul has. Maybe it was your soul that missed him, that missed that other part that was to complete your existence yet your heart and mind rejected that very own idea.

His eyes glowed once more, his wings extending behind him as he looked down at you with his golden eyes that prevented you from looking away. You found yourself enthralled by his magic, his powers and strength.

Your rigid body relaxed in his arms and he suppressed the growing smirk that threatened to appear over his lips. For he had captivated your mind in a glowy golden trance that would allow his freedom.

Jungkook leaned forward and he found no resistance from you so he continued until his lips met yours. His spell had worked over your mind even when your heart was beating wildly against your chest.

He kissed you and golden magic radiated from him. He kissed you and the chains of fate released him. He kissed you and was now a free demon, free to roam the Earth as he pleased. Free to do whatever his heart wanted for as long as you stayed next to him.

He escaped his own jail, that castle of arts was no longer his prison but was now his palace with you as his Queen of darkness.

He kissed you and he tainted you. His golden magic erupted from the very depths of his soul and enveloped you both as he was crowned as the king of darkness, with you as his precious queen.

Forever and always.

For all times to come.

For all lifetimes to last.

And you'll learn to love him, maybe not as much as he loved you. But you'll learn. Eventually. Why shouldn't a Queen love her King? Why wouldn't you love him when he gave you the world to your feet? Why wouldn't you love him when your souls were tangled?

Jungkook would wait. Wait until you'd love him completely, wholeheartedly. Absolutely and undoubtedly. For you were the reason for his black soul and now beating heart. A heart that only beats for you and you alone. His Queen of Darkness.

And when he broke the kiss and your body grew limp in his hold, he carried you in his arms, his wings extended and he flew. He flew to the skies with your body in his hold. He flew away to a place no other mortal knew about. His own palace. His own hell. His kingdom. That place where his home was, that place he’ll share with you.

Because Jungkook had waited centuries for you to finally find your way to him. He’d wait more if it meant you’ll love him in the end. Another lifetime felt like nothing if he knew you would give him your heart with your very own hands as you wore your crown of darkness, matching with his and ruling his kingdom of evil.

What was heaven compared to your love? What was light compared to your heart in the night? What was obedience compared to the sins of his own mind? Did it matter? No. It never did. And now that you were finally his to love and cherish for eternity, he could burn the world down for you to smile at him ever so softly and delicately, like an elegant rose with deathly thorns. Like a true queen of his domain.

His Queen.

So if you hear his haunting cry,

Beneath the starless, moonless sky,

Beware his love, a twisted fate,

For in his arms, darkness awaits.

January/19/2024

~Masterlist

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

187 notes · View notes