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spookyserenades · 4 months ago

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Sanctity - Chapter One

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 22.8k

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Hello my loves! For those who do not know me from Trouvaille, this is Dana! I am very pleased and excited to share this brand-new series with you. It has been a longtime desire of mine to write a story with vampires. Sanctity was born from a love of history and a past with yandere stories. I sincerely hope you enjoy this first chapter and the love that was poured into it!

WARNING! There are instances of gore, including cutting. Suicidal language is used, so please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Next Chapter

The bell struck six in the crumbling belltower, two young men in white robes pulling on the rope to swing the massive metal fixture to and fro. The haunting sound sent a murder of crows scattering across the steadily darkening sky when they were startled from their perches on the Sanctuary’s roof. Y/N peered out of the arched window curiously, halting her task of wiping down the glass with an old, weathered rag, distant yearning filling her as she watched the black birds fly away to the greater unknown.

“Y/N, it’s time to wash up for dinner,” Meredith, a fellow ‘acolyte’ and friend, reminded her, setting aside the wooden broom she was using to sweep the hallway they were working in.

Suppressing an agitated grunt, Y/N simply nodded, rising from her knees and adjusting the cream linen skirt she was wearing, the hem of it dirtied from skimming the old stone floors all day. Following the blonde girl, the wispy curls on her nape appeared silver in the darkened, wintery hallways, Y/N wondered when the Sanctuary would allow them to light the sconces in the frigid building so the acolytes wouldn’t be numb and stiff by the end of the unforgiving November evenings. Not that the wardens actually cared one way or another if the acolytes were cold, as long as they were alive, blood still running through their veins, resources wouldn’t be wasted on a few paltry fires.

“You know, electricity exists. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re forced to live like fucking peasants during the Black Plague?” Y/N seethed, Meredith’s posture growing stiff as she nervously looked around. Not a soul was in the hallway with them, so Y/N rolled her eyes at the blonde’s haughty reaction. “Relax, Mere. No one’s around.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Y/N. They’ll punish you,” Meredith whispered, her angelic blue eyes wide with concern. Y/N scoffed, her aching fingers curling into fists as they continued their way to the dining hall.

“Working all day for nothing is punishment enough. What’s the prize? Becoming a walking transfusion one day?” Y/N, despite her agitation, lowered her voice when Meredith began to look truly frightened. “I’m sorry, Mere. There aren’t any vampires here, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. They never come on Sanctuary grounds. I wish to continue being your friend, Y/N, but I do not wish to invite punishment onto myself,” Meredith swallowed, looking a touch guilty. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

Y/N sighed, watching the girl spirit away, a flurry of white skirts and matching billowy blouses. After so many years spent in the Sanctuary, Y/N realized she shouldn’t be as bitter as she was, but the winter months brought out the aching in her.

“Talks like a fuckin’ walking pamphlet,” Y/N muttered, heading straight to the large basins lining the outskirts of the dining hall, cringing at the icy water that came from the taps as she scrubbed at her dirty fingernails.

At the very least, the dining hall was one of the warmest sections of the Sanctuary, thanks to the heat from the kitchens and the singular fire roaring in a brazier placed in the center of the room. The Sanctuary, free of 21st century comforts, was always crusted in ice in the winters and stiflingly hot in the summers. Sniffing the air, Y/N tried not to frown– food from the Sanctuary’s kitchens were never very tasty, even if she was often starving enough to eat a leather boot at the end of a day’s work.

“What’s tonight’s mystery meat?” Y/N got in line, retrieving a tray for herself, and leaning up to whisper her joke into her other friend Joseph’s ear. Unlike Meredith, the dark haired man snorted, mirth flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, the usuals. Beef organs or tuna. Paired with lentil slop, shitty kale salad, maybe a sweet potato if we’re lucky. Don’t forget the out-of-season orange and singular square of dark chocolate for dessert, too!”

This time, Y/N did not hold back her light groan, startling a timid acolyte in front of her and Joseph, the girl dropping her hardened, ‘fortified’ bread roll onto the counter. Both her and Joseph bowing in apology slightly while they contained their snickering, Y/N shuddering when a slimy piece of beef liver was slapped onto her plate by a kitchen acolyte.

“I can’t take these organs anymore. Why can’t we have a steak? Steak is rich in iron,” Y/N sat beside Joseph at one of the long tables, her ass smarting against the stone bench. Meredith, across from her, eyed her carefully, using her spoon to push mushy lentils around on her plate.

“You’ve been eating organs for ten years now, squirt, aren’t you fond of them by now?” Joseph teased, prodding at the gory looking organs on his own plate with a fork.

“For once, I just want a bowl of pasta. I mean, come on, vampires eat the best food in the world, and they don’t even need it to survive. Just pure hedonism,” Y/N continued, peeling the orange that came with her dinner considering everything else on the tray looked absolutely revolting.

Every meal served to the acolytes in the Sanctuary was required to be chock-full of ingredients with an abundance of iron and Vitamin C, allegedly making their blood more nutritious and appetizing to vampires. So, in order for vampires to eat like kings, mere human acolytes ate like cavemen.

“You’re especially salty this evening,” Joseph remarked, a flicker of surprise flashing over his face. Meredith had ironically grown quite pale, considering the supposed iron-rich meal she was eating should have had a glow rising to her cheeks. “Make sure none of the wardens walk by while you’re still on your soapbox.”

“You can hear their boots from a mile away, I’ll shut up well before they’re in earshot,” Y/N pinched her nose as she stuffed some lentils down her throat so she wouldn’t have to taste the foul mush. “I’ll stop now, don’t wanna upset you, Mere.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured quietly, her eyes softening. Y/N knew that Meredith understood where she was coming from, but complaining about their situations did nothing to get them out of it, in the end. “When we’re back in our dorm… it’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Y/N’s lower eyelid twitched at the thought of her bed– hard as a rock and no better than a bale of hay to sleep on, but kept her promise and changed the subject promptly.

“What was your task today, Joey?”

“Ugh. Joey,” Joseph shivered, nudging Y/N with his elbow. “The usual. Raking dead leaves and preparing the garden for the snow.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Meredith remarked, her gaze turning to the stained-glass windows overlooking a frosty courtyard.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will get out of here. Be able to stay in a warm building, with wool blankets, fires lit in every room…” Joseph twirled one of his dark curls around an index finger contemplatively, Y/N frowning at the unsaid. The only way that would happen would be if one of them got picked to become a human blood bank at the end of the week. Joseph read her mind. “Tomorrow is the Drawing.”

Drawing day happened monthly. Each acolyte in the Sanctuary was required to report to the infirmary wing and offer up a pint of their blood to be sent out around the area for vampires to “sample”, like some kind of wine tasting that could be delivered to one’s doorstep. Days after the Drawing, there would be a chance that word would be sent from a coven that they were interested in a sample, and the matching acolyte, in consequence, would be delivered to the coven to be a live-in blood donor.

The Drawing happened for a reason. While vampires held the most power across the globe, it was agreed decades ago, after many conferences held by vampires and human world leaders, that solitary vampires must go through a Sanctuary in order to receive a human to feed on. It was during that time when solitary vampires began to form covens to decrease demand for a human donor, and Sanctuaries were born. It was also that time where vampires roamed rampant, claiming any human on the street to drain dry. The death toll was climbing at an alarming rate, so a compromise was reached: vampires could not “hunt”, only go through a Sanctuary to select a donor, one they’d keep indefinitely.

Y/N often weighed the pros and cons of being selected for The Drawing: at the Sanctuary, she could keep her blood but spend her days freezing, eating nasty food, and scrubbing the filthy building. If she was taken in by a coven, sure, she’d have luxuries– good food, riches, warm clothes. But she’d be at the mercy of vampires, notoriously vicious and unforgiving creatures. That, and she’d be fed on constantly by the sadistic beings, likely for the rest of her life.

“That’s why we got extra organs today. Figures,” Y/N shrugged, once again pinching her nose to choke down a sliver of meat. “I’m beat. Gonna head back before the final bell. You can finish my portion, Joey.”

Joseph grimaced at the nickname, but eagerly reached for her tray anyways, Meredith watching Y/N slip from the hall. Delicately dabbing her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin, Meredith sighed.

“She’s always like this the night before the Drawing,” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic, resigned. “She never got used to it, even after all these years.”

“Can you blame her? She was living under the radar, forging her blood type results most of her life before she was caught. I’d be jaded too,” Joseph pointed out around a mouthful of soggy kale. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mere. Y/N and I knew what it was like before living here. Having freedom.”

“I know that, Joseph,” Meredith, to her credit, had the decency to look chastised. “I never said I do not understand. I suppose since the Sanctuary is all I know, I do not yearn for freedom in quite the same way.”

Joseph collected his and Y/N’s trays, smiling at Meredith wistfully. He often thought that life would be simpler if he began to think like her, but it was difficult to let go of freedoms after they’d been tasted before. He remembered the days where he could wander in untamed forests, on the outskirts of town, where he could pick wild fruit and bask in the summer sun. Joseph recalled Y/N telling him about her life of drifting, hiding– the excitement, the footloose feeling of it all. Smiling at his other friend still, he stood from the stone bench.

“The freest we’ll be is if we’re chosen after a Drawing. And even then, we’re birds in cages.”

Even though she had pulled two pairs of wool socks on her feet before passing out in bed, Y/N’s toes were icicles when the obnoxious morning bell clanged through the hollow halls. Starting to regret not eating much dinner, Y/N’s stomach was turning uncomfortably as she sat up in bed. The roiling in her gut was not just because she was hungry, but the familiar unease that festered there each morning of a Drawing day. As she watched Meredith, who happened to be her roommate, pull the threadbare curtains back on their barred window dutifully, Y/N sluggishly removed her nightgown and dressed herself in the dreaded white linens she was forced to wear on a daily basis.

“Hopefully I won’t pass out today,” Y/N joked, knowing that Meredith was usually much more relaxed about complaining when they were in the privacy of their shoebox-sized room.

“They’ll give you juice if you do. Just keep your eyes closed and focus on your breath,” Meredith gestured to the stool at the foot of her bed, encouraging Y/N to sit.

Humming, she did so, staring at the ceiling as her friend began to braid her hair. Meredith’s careful fingertips raking through her tresses calmed her down enough to stop the acid in her stomach from rising into her mouth. Meredith was singing quietly, a hymn, from the sound of it, and Y/N was thankful for the peaceful start of the day, no matter how cold and nauseous she was.

“You won’t have to go to the infirmary until after lunch, right?” Y/N attempted to distract herself from the fact that she’d be the very first to get her blood drawn.

“Mm-hmm. B+ is scheduled for after the midday meal,” Meredith stopped singing, using a scrap of old cream fabric to tie off the braid hanging down Y/N’s back. “So I’ll see you in the dining hall, then I’ll meet you back in the west hallway to finish cleaning anything we didn't yesterday.”

“Thanks, Mere,” Y/N reached back, passing her hand over the braid her friend weaved, wishing that there was at least a mirror somewhere. Y/N hadn’t seen her reflection in years, except for blurry images in the surface of the Sanctuary’s garden fountain; the wardens rejected vanity amongst acolytes. “I’m gonna get it over with, head straight for the infirmary.”

“Are you positive that’s wise without breakfast? You hardly touched dinner, too,” Meredith’s pale eyebrows shot into her hairline, worry etched between them.

“I’m worried if I eat, the spinach smoothie will make another appearance as soon as they get the needle in my arm,” Y/N pictured the tasteless breakfast she normally had coming up for a round two and shuddered. “It’ll be okay. Just like every time, right? I’ve been here for years. The local vampires don’t seem to like my blood very much, or at least the ones that this Sanctuary sends it to.”

“Good luck, Y/N. See you at lunch,” Meredith didn’t comment on Y/N’s attempt to brighten up– she knew the stakes were as high as Y/N did.

God must have felt particularly cruel the day he decided to bestow Y/N with one of the world’s rarest blood types: the coveted AB-, a sought-after type for many vampires. Apparently, all of the blood types had different tastes, but Y/N hardly believed that. Blood was blood; tinny, salty, and a nauseating reminder of fragile mortality. There was a reason she had hidden from the world for many years, drifting from place to place. Those with AB- blood were hardly at Sanctuaries for long before a coven would promptly request them as their live-in donor. Y/N was basically living on borrowed time– she often wondered if her bitterness leached into her bloodstream and spoiled the ‘product’.

Dragging her palm along the stone walls of the Sanctuary’s hallway, Y/N barely registered the crowd of acolytes passing by on their ways to the dining hall in the opposite direction from where she was going. Y/N was the only acolyte in that particular Sanctuary to have AB- blood, so naturally, she was by herself every Drawing day first thing in the morning, and the top priority of the wardens. Swallowing thickly, the scent of rubbing alcohol had her gagging as it filled her nostrils when she neared closer to the infirmary.

Of course, the infirmary wing was cold as ice both temperature wise and atmospherically. In contrast to the Gothic interior of the rest of the Sanctuary, the infirmary was somewhat modern (or was once, in the 80’s), sterile, and covered in pastel vinyl flooring. Her Mary Janes squeaked against the tiles, nervously wringing her hands together as she stared at the plastic dentist’s chair in the corner of the room, the clump of wardens setting up the apparatus to collect blood. Clearing her throat, Y/N pressed her lips together in a line as one of the wardens turned to her– Mrs. Sloane, a severe 60-year-old woman who ran the Sanctuary like the military. Y/N had an acute dislike for the woman, who saw her and the acolytes as nothing more but cattle to raise.

“AB-, come here. Everything is ready,” her voice was dry, sharp, like a whip cracking down. It had her flinching, but she obediently trudged towards the crinkled old chair, mostly out of fear of having to kneel in the chapel for several hours in punishment if she didn’t follow orders exactly.

Knees wobbling, she lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin.

“We’ll be taking more than usual today,” Mrs. Sloane announced, and Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock.

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily.

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water.

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness.

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her.

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns.

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in that coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor.

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses.

“Your time is up. Go back to your dorm. The midday meal will be delivered to you,” Mrs. Sloane barked, hauling Y/N up by her wrist. Feet faltering, Y/N swayed and scrabbled for the drywall, blindly feeling her way to the main hallway again.

Dazed, her arm throbbed where the needle had been inserted, and the only positive that came from that morning’s events was the fact that she’d get to lay in bed all day instead of scrubbing floors. Y/N wasn’t sure how she managed to find her way back to her dorm room, but before she knew it, she was wrapping two blankets around herself and curling up in bed.

She was woken up by Meredith hours later, the blonde bringing her a tuna sandwich on a undoubtedly stale roll. Choking it down like a wolf, she tried not to cry when Meredith gingerly wrapped a cloth around her arm, which was cruelly left to clot on its own by the wardens.

“It’s going to be me this time,” Y/N announced dully, eyes on the overcast sky outside her barred windows. “I can feel it.”

“There is no way to know–”

“A new coven has moved to this town,” Y/N cut her friend off, Meredith’s hands stilling. Withdrawing her touch from Y/N’s arm, Meredith appeared tentatively unsure.

“To Newport?” Meredith’s light eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving. Newport wasn’t exactly a magnet for vampires, most of the ones that resided in the area weren’t in covens at all, just solitary vampires. A new coven spelled danger for Y/N. “I heard that a vampire built one of the famous mansions by the ocean. Do you think one of the vampires could be him?”

“Well, if he is, then I guess I’d get to live like a princess. You know, the one that got locked in a tower with a dragon and shit.”

Y/N had a bad feeling. Not that she was one to have premonitions, but trusting that feeling in her gut is what helped her to survive years before she was brought to the Sanctuary. Meredith stroked the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, but Y/N knew she was just as nervous as she was. Because the coven requested so much of her blood specifically, and was the only person in the immediate area with AB- blood, if the vampires liked her blood her fate was officially sealed. Swallowing bile, she shook her head, not wanting to put the cart before the horse yet.

“I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’ve been around for a while, none of the local vampires have been interested. Maybe my blood tastes like dirt, and I’ll be here until I’m elderly.”

“It’s okay to worry, Y/N. However,” Meredith sat on the side of Y/N’s bed, the old wood frame creaking with her weight. “There are many others here with rare blood types. Perhaps they will prefer AB positive.”

“Perhaps,” Y/N agreed, beginning to sit up. “Shall we go to the hall and finish the windows?”

“I have to go to the infirmary wing, it’s my turn. You should rest, Y/N,” Meredith helped her stand, Y/N furiously shaking her head.

“If I stay here until dinner, my thoughts will continue to spiral,” Y/N shoved her feet into her well-worn shoes, slinging her braided hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. I’ll get started on the windows and wait for you.”

Y/N headed out first, leaving Meredith to prepare herself for her drawing. The blonde often liked to pray before the process, Y/N not knowing whether she was praying to be chosen, or praying to be skipped over. She didn’t have the stomach to ask.

By herself in the west hallway, she picked up the rag she abandoned the previous evening with a rough sigh. The sky opened up and ice-cold rain began to pelt the windows, crows eerily taking shelter in the eaves of the bell tower. Y/N felt like their beady eyes were on her, able to see through the glass and spot her wiping the window. Shuddering, she couldn’t tear her sight from the birds, the superstitious side of her insisting that they were some kind of omen.

Two days later, Y/N was trudging through the hollow halls after dinner, which she again excused herself from early. There had been no news about the results of the Drawing, but it didn’t stop her stomach from turning over in anxiety all day long. Hands coming up to rub her biceps, she glanced at the full moon outside of the large arched windows, slightly obscured by thin, dark clouds.

Kicking a stray stone as she turned the corner to the wing with the dorms, she paused a few feet from her and Meredith’s door with a frown. Light spilled out from the open dorm, more light than would have been possible coming from the small candles she and Meredith were allowed for nighttime reading. Besides, Meredith was still in the dining hall, so the door shouldn’t have been open. Fear sunk into her bones, making a sticky heat flash over her skin with dread. Mustering her remaining courage, she crept towards her room like a mouse.

Torches were lit up in the usually empty sconces, three wardens, including Mrs. Sloane, rifling through Y/N’s small dresser and nightstand. There was a large, old-fashioned suitcase box on her bed. Horrified and confused, Y/N accidentally bumped into the creaky door and snagged Mrs. Sloane’s attention.

“Congratulations, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane was sickly sweet, and it didn’t suit her whatsoever. “The coven has chosen you. Help pack your belongings, you leave tonight.”

“What?” Y/N’s world was spinning, vision getting spotty. “Leave? T-tonight?”

“Yes, girl. Are you hard of hearing? Pack your belongings, we are to bring you to the coven in less than an hour,” Mrs. Sloane went back to her snarky self, Y/N holding onto the door in a desperate attempt to stay upright.

Mrs. Sloane reached for the pocket of her apron, where she kept a metal ruler so she could strike those who disobeyed her, Y/N stumbled into the room and shakily tossed her white skirts into the suitcase to avoid being struck. Hardly able to form a single coherent thought, Y/N moved woodenly, so shocked that tears didn’t even roll down her cheeks.

“You are lucky. The coven that requested you consists of some of the wealthiest vampires in the world. You will want for nothing,” Mrs. Sloane tossed the final garment Y/N owned into the suitcase, another warden closing it up and bringing it out to the hall. Y/N had to hold her tongue, considering she was about to shout but I’m going to live with monsters. “All seven of them have wealth, in fact. They are rumored to have great powers, as well.”

“S-seven? Did y-you just say seven?” Y/N gasped, flinching when Alfred, the burliest warden in the Sanctuary, grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the room. She had never heard of a coven so large, and it made every cell in her body light up with sharp panic.

“Yes, seven. Make haste,” Mrs. Sloane and Alfred hauled her through the Sanctuary, confused acolytes coming from the dining hall making space for them to pass. Y/N recognized the look on some of their faces, relief that they hadn’t been chosen.

“But, my friends! Please, let me say goodbye,” Y/N begged, tears finally starting to form when she spotted Joseph in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Somewhere, Meredith was probably thinking about the book they were going to read together that night.

“There’s no time. You’ll get to write letters,” Mrs. Sloane refused, a whimper coming from Y/N’s throat as tears began to pour down her cheeks, getting one last look at Joseph who was mouthing something to her. Miserably, she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, Alfred yanking her to the tall front doors, frigid air blasting her in the face as they opened.

In the courtyard, a place Y/N had only been once or twice when she was first brought to the Sanctuary, there was a horse-drawn carriage. Y/N, had she not been in the greatest shock of her life, would have laughed– wouldn’t it have been easier for her to be taken in a car? Hardly having the time to look back at the Sanctuary she called home the past ten years, her knees knocked together when she was pushed into the carriage with her luggage. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed privacy to cry when in the carriage, Alfred clambering in after her with a grunt.

Y/N didn’t talk to Alfred, mostly because he rarely spoke. At least he let her silently weep for a few moments, Y/N beginning to process the gravity of the situation. With watery eyes, she looked outside the carriage window, the gothic Sanctuary becoming distant as the horses trotted on. Her dread was temporarily numbed by the opportunity to see beyond the Sanctuary, land she had not seen in years. The trees lining the paved streets were barren, gray, and the hard-packed dirt had not a blade of grass. Even then, Y/N hadn’t seen such beauty in so long– a small taste of freedom before she was locked away for life again.

Her tears continued to flow even when she greedily took in the sights of the town of Newport, the homes of the wealthy humans who did not have to give up their freedom for vampires, shops that had closed for the day, parked cars on the sides of the streets. It was odd to see the vehicles, considering she had been living in an analog manner for so long, Y/N wondered if she’d ever know what the inside of one looked like.

“H-how long will it take?” Y/N asked timidly, not confident Alfred would respond, but she tried anyway. The middle-aged man looked up from his Bible, giving Y/N an unfeeling look.

“We are no more than ten minutes away, now. Wipe your sorry face,” Alfred responded coldly, Y/N’s heart racing when she dabbed at her cheeks obediently. “You will not shame our Sanctuary by showing the coven how miserable you are.”

Y/N had never heard Alfred speak so many words. She was starting to think that was for the best, his words like a slap across her face. Part of her pondered if she’d ever hear a kind word again. Lapsing back into silence, Y/N sniffled up the remainder of her tears, the shock beginning to wear off and her survival skills kicking in. If she wanted to remain sane, and not give the vampires an inch before they took a mile, she had to appear unafraid and unaffected. Strong, confident, and indifferent, but pure, so if not to anger them. Vampires and their purity– ironic.

The houses– if one could even call the structures that– became grander and grander the further they traveled. The massive buildings made the ginormous cathedral the Sanctuary called home look like a garden shack. Y/N had a hunch, as they turned down a road that had imposing iron gates lining yards that looked like parks, that the coven she was to belong to resided in one of the famous Newport mansions. Passing by a white marble monstrosity, Y/N shuddered. The homes looked empty, cold, and imposing. Grand, yes, but the kind of display of wealth that had someone like Y/N, who lived her entire life struggling, clenching her fist in fury.

“Won’t be long now. Straighten yourself out. The staff is to greet you,” Alfred slapped his Bible shut, grasping for the handle of Y/N’s suitcase.

Breathing shallowly, Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the carriage brought them to the largest iron gate on the street, initials TK welded between filigree at the top of the barrier. As if by magic, the gates began to creak open, Y/N stunned by her first glimpse of actual electricity illuminating the gatehouse. Of course, she had seen it prior to her life at the Sanctuary, but it was odd to see the night lit up after living by candlelight. Gnawing at her nails, thinking that she could be shocked no further, an audible gasp tore from her when the carriage pulled through the driveway of great trees, an imposing mansion coming into view.

Y/N had never imagined such a building could ever be constructed. It would take a person hours to walk the entire floor plan, the grounds aside. Y/N was struck by a memory from earlier that week, when Meredith brought up the mansions by the ocean. One of the members of the coven must have been the man that built it, and the only other thing Y/N knew was that the mansion was settled on a steep cliff jutting into the sea. One she could potentially careen herself off of, if need be.

Her elbow was tightly grabbed again when the carriage stopped before the covered front entrance, bright lights nearly blinding her as Alfred shoved her out of the carriage, Y/N freezing instantly when she felt a foreign touch on her forearm to steady her. Eyes adjusting, she frantically looked up, not ready to deal with a vampire right off the bat. To her great relief, a blue-eyed– not red-eyed man, one dressed in a fine suit, righted her with a tight smile. A human, presumably a member of the mansion’s staff.

“I–I– I’m sorry,” Y/N managed, cursing Alfred colorfully in her mind. So much for confidence.

“Quite alright, acolyte…” the man prompted in a British accent, the first whisper of kindness Y/N had in over an hour.

“Oh. Forgive me. Acolyte Y/N,” she replied quickly, accessing the back of her brain where cobwebs and her etiquette surrounding that event resided.

“Sir, you may leave. Acolyte Y/N will begin her duties under our watch now,” the man in the suit removed his touch from Y/N’s forearm, not a single strand of silver hair on the man’s head out of place.

“Contact us if there are issues,” Alfred hardly got out of the carriage, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. Y/N wanted to spit on him.

“Of course,” the man replied, tight smile still on his lips, standing importantly beside Y/N until the carriage was well on its way back to the gate. “He’s a cup of tea, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, not knowing whether or not to agree, if it was her place. Turning to the man, whose posture had loosened up and a more genuinely friendly expression taking over his features, Y/N nodded slowly.

“Forgive me. I’m Edmund, head butler here at The Breakers. Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” Edmund extended a gloved hand to Y/N, who hesitantly shook it. Was he trying to get her guard down by feigning gentlemanly behavior? “I take care of important matters inside of the estate. If you have any needs, you can seek me out. Of course, you’ll have personal maids, as well. Come, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Reeling, Y/N watched Edmund effortlessly scoop up her luggage, timidly following him to the door that was opened by an older man, also dressed in a sharp suit. With a house that size, Y/N realized that the staff must have been numerous to keep everything functioning smoothly. It was somewhat of a comfort that the staff she encountered so far seemed to be humans, likely ones with low status and common blood types.

Not even the imposing exterior of the building could have prepared Y/N for what the mansion looked like inside. In just the entrance alone, exquisite stone work, massive tiled floors, and tall ornate lamps illuminated by real light bulbs had stars circling around her head. Now that she was inside, she started to feel nervous again, waiting for a vampire to pop out from behind a thick stone column. In awe and in fear of her surroundings, she jolted when a young woman appeared from the left, carrying a tray.

“This is Nadia, she’ll be your head maid. I’ll take your luggage to your room, and Nadia will show you around the first floor before you retire. She’ll answer any questions you have.”

Edmund bowed to Y/N, which had her blanching in embarrassment. The butler disappearing further into the estate, Y/N turned to Nadia when the young woman cleared her throat lightly.

“Miss, I’ve brought you some cocoa. Hopefully it will warm you,” Nadia presented her with a large porcelain mug on the silver tray, a thick, sweet smell hitting her nostrils and making her nearly tear up. The only chocolate she could have at the Sanctuary was a square of bitter 100% cacao on Wednesdays and Sundays, not something decadent and rich like the cocoa she was being offered.

“I can have this?” Y/N squeaked, not daring to take the mug lest it was some kind of trick. Nadia cocked her head, confused by the question.

“Of course, Miss. Unless you don’t like chocolate, I can prepare you some tea instead,” Nadia began to lower the tray, Y/N waving her hands urgently to stop her.

“N-no, no, you don’t have to do that! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Y/N wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the warmth soothing her frozen fingers. “Um, you can call me Y/N if you want, please.”

Y/N was already weirded out, and people addressing her by formal titles was definitely a camel back-breaking straw. Nadia set her tray aside, watching Y/N take a shaky sip of the cocoa. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed when she drained the whole mug in five seconds flat. The drink was thick, rich, and warmed her from the inside out. She both wanted to cry and beg for a second mug.

“You must be freezing, shall we head into the hall? It’s much warmer there,” Nadia gestured forward, Y/N glancing at what appeared to be a giant ballroom in front of her. Gulping, she nodded, following the woman timidly. So far, not a single mention of the vampires that allegedly lived in the mansion. “If you’d like, I can draw you a hot bath when we get to your bedroom. I’ve filled your dresser with warm clothes for you to sleep in, too, I’ll put them on your bed… This is the Great Hall. I imagine the coven will hold parties here from time to time.”

Y/N didn’t know where to look. Between the sheer size of the space, the ornate artwork painted on the ceiling, and the endless colors swirling around the room, her vision finally landed on the enormous fireplace roaring at one end of the hall. It was then when she noticed it was the first time since mid-October she wasn’t chilly. Prior to that evening, Y/N had a lot of assumptions about vampires. One of the assumptions was that they would prefer to live in a cold and dark environment, but the mansion she was standing in was toasty and brightly lit.

“It’s… big,” Y/N managed weakly, Nadia leading her to a red-carpeted staircase. All she could do was follow, wanting to ask the maid a few questions about the coven, but she knew that vampires had superior hearing and she didn’t want to attract the attention of one of them.

“Yes, but you will become accustomed to it. I can help you navigate the interior and grounds until you know your own way around. Oh, right here. This is a portrait of Master Taehyung. He built this estate,” Nadia paused on the landing, where the staircase split into two directions.

Whipping her head upwards, she soaked in the lines of the old painted canvas, Nadia’s first mention of the vampires making her heart stop dead in her chest. The man depicted in the painting was beautiful, which was typical for the creatures, but Taehyung nearly took her breath away. Dressed in a Victorian-style suit, the vampire had a cold, stern expression. His dark wavy hair was parted down the middle neatly, and of course, the vampiric red irises staring back at her made her stomach turn in fear. Schooling her features, Y/N bit her lip at Nadia’s expectant expression.

“He’s, um. Handsome,” Y/N offered, hoping that her voice wasn’t wavering, Nadia nodded, resuming her ascent up the stairs.

“Master Taehyung made his fortune in steamships, railroads, and shipping in the mid-1800’s. He’s a legendary businessman,” Nadia informed her, Y/N cringing that she referred to the creature as a ‘man’. Nadia herself didn’t seem to have a problem with the vampire, and in fact, her voice almost implied that she admired Taehyung. “All seven of our masters are impressive men.”

“Wait, they’re all male?” Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face. She was hoping for a coven of mostly female vampires, theorizing that perhaps they’d be less vicious.

“Yes, I’m sure you know that it’s atypical for a coven to be both so large and of all one gender. The masters are like-minded, which is why they chose to form the coven,” Nadia explained, stopping at a door at the end of the hall, beside a breezeway that likely looked out onto the ocean. “Here we are, this is where you’ll stay. The rest of the bedrooms on this floor are occupied by five of the masters, Masters Seokjin and Namjoon prefer the bedrooms on the third floor due to privacy of the quarters.”

Y/N swallowed, stepping into her new bedroom, which was bigger than four dorm rooms at the Sanctuary smashed together. The walls were covered in an intricate pink floral wallpaper, all of the upholstered furniture a matching shade of blushing rose, and the marble fireplace was lit already. The room was decidedly feminine, Y/N’s eyes catching on a painting above a nightstand depicting dancing women. Nadia, as she was bumbling around the room selecting clothes from a dresser, noticed Y/N staring at it. It was expertly painted, precise.

“That is one of Master Yoongi’s pieces, depicting the Nine Muses of Greek mythology,” Nadia placed flannel pajamas on Y/N’s new bed, which looked plush and was piled high with thick pillows. “Master Yoongi is a painter, an artist. Very famous.”

“Really?” Y/N knew nothing about art, let alone Greek mythology. She didn’t have the luxury of studying those things.

“The hour is growing late, Miss. I can tell you more about the masters in the morning. They will not be back from the affairs that called them away tonight until midday tomorrow,” Nadia pulled out a pocket watch from her apron, heading towards a door by the back of the bedroom. “I’ll run your bath, and leave you to rest. You’ll be woken in the morning for breakfast.”

Moments later, Y/N was left alone in her very own bathroom, not a communal one like she was used to at the Sanctuary with cold water taps. The bathtub had steaming water filling the room with humidity, the scent of lavender oil somewhat easing her frayed nerves. Chewing her lip, she decided she might as well indulge in the hot bath, considering her muscles were beyond stiff and there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right away, if at all.

Part of her wondered what kind of ‘affairs’ that the vampires were involved with. If it were her, and she had accumulated all of that wealth and immortality, she’d spend her days lazing around. The other part of her was thanking the sky that none of them were in the building; she had more time to prepare herself to meet the creatures the following day. Stiffly, she began to untie her skirt, letting the fabric hit the floor. Y/N supposed never having to wear those skirts again was a bit of a silver lining. Kicking it to the side, Y/N’s vision caught on something silvery and polished– an actual mirror. Eagerly, she dashed to the sink it was fixed over to catch a glimpse of herself for the very first time in ages.

Unable to help the gasp that came from her mouth, Y/N didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she had in her mind was her fifteen year old self, not the twenty-five year-old reflected in the polished silver. In awe, she traced her sharpened jaw and cheekbone, lacking teenage fullness, and she realized that she had forgotten the color of her eyes. Tearing up a little, she turned from side to side, getting a look at her figure– even going as far as removing the rest of her clothing in curiosity. Poking at areas of her body she was unfamiliar with in the mirror, like the curve to her hips, Y/N felt rather odd. The whole evening had her entire world turning upside-down.

After several moments, she tore her attention from the mirror, only feeling slightly guilty of vanity, and tentatively dipped a toe into the bath. The water didn’t immediately dissolve her skin and bones, so she slowly sunk her body into the porcelain basin with a ragged groan. Maybe she had died and went somewhere beautiful, because being treated like royalty so far was not something she predicted. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to get too comfortable. She hadn’t even met the coven yet, and for all she knew, they could be horrible individuals. Nadia didn’t speak of them in that way– but maybe the maid wouldn’t dare.

Y/N sat in the bath until the water became lukewarm and her skin was pruny. Limbs loose, she wrapped herself in a plush towel that was waiting for her on a rack that actually heated the towel. While the ends of her hair dripped water on the tiled floor, she bent down, looking through a chest beside the sink with interest. Each drawer held essential and non-essential toiletries, some things Y/N had never even heard of. Picking up a bottle of ‘skin oil’ and ‘hair detangler’, she blinked in confusion. Was it Nadia who stocked the drawers for her? Or were the vampires considerate enough to provide her with a toothbrush and facial cleanser?

Head full of cotton, she decided to ignore all of the products she was unfamiliar with and simply brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure that no one had entered the room while she was bathing, Y/N tip-toed across the richly carpeted floor towards the ridiculously large bed. The fire was still going, warming the room, and Y/N hesitantly slid into a pair of flannel pajama pants left out for her. The elasticated waistband hugged her hips perfectly, and as she buttoned up the top and pulled on fluffy socks, she speculated about how Nadia managed to figure out her measurements. The Sanctuary probably had some sort of file on all of her personal information, which had her skin crawling.

While she was still on edge, her body was so relaxed from the bath that with slight resignation, she maneuvered herself under the sheets and heavy blankets, clasping a hand over her mouth as she sunk comically into the mattress. The bed hugged her in all directions, like getting to sleep on a cloud, and as she stared at the ceiling in awe, Y/N squirmed around to get in a cozy position curled up tight on her side protectively.

The lights would remain on, that was for sure. Y/N was never afraid of the dark per se, but in a new environment, she wasn’t risking things watching her from the shadows of the old estate. While memorizing the shapes of the intricate carvings on the ceiling, Y/N tried to make a mental list of everything she knew about vampires in general, and the specifics of the ones she was about to serve.

Over the centuries, there were several old wives tales that were circulated by humans surrounding vampires; but Y/N hardly knew which ones were fact or fiction. There were the superstitions passed down through common blood-typed, lower class humans that would work as maids and butlers to the vampires, the awe-inspiring, intimidating tidbits wealthy and influential humans would spread after doing business with the creatures. Then, of course, was the probable propaganda Y/N and her fellow acolytes were spoon-fed in Sanctuaries.

Y/N started with what she knew was just plain phony: vampires did not have an aversion to the sun and could walk around in daylight as they pleased. They did not flee from crosses or garlic, and they could not be exterminated by a stake through the heart. Acolytes were told that vampires could not be killed, and had few, if any, weaknesses. That was enough to have Y/N shivering, even beneath all of her blankets and flannel pajamas.

The older the vampire, the less in-touch with humanity they became. There was a recalled memory, a boring lecture in the Sanctuary’s dusty chapel, which consisted of a hazy memory of Y/N copying down ‘Oldest known vampire is aged 1,291 years, but some may be even older’. Y/N couldn’t even fathom living to be in her forties, let alone how it must be to live for over a century. On the other hand, ‘younger’ vampires– under three hundred years old– tended to be bolder, and adapted to modern times with greater ease.

Vampires needed human blood to sustain their powers, immortality, and to keep their internal organs functioning properly. While considered to be undead, a vampire’s heart kept beating, lungs brought in oxygen, and they could even digest human food if the creatures had consistent access to blood. Squeezing her eyes shut tight at the image of a vampire tearing into a rare steak, Y/N started to count off the things she found out from Nadia about the particular coven that requested her from the Sanctuary.

First, there was only a brief visual she had of one out of the seven, ‘Master’ Taehyung. Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use a title on any of them, but it was likely out of her hands. Sure, the portrait depicted a handsome young man, with all the airs of importance and wealth– but Y/N couldn’t get his unearthly red irises out of her mind. Taehyung was the vampire that commissioned the construction of the mansion she was currently cowering in, apparently a business tycoon that dominated during the Gilded Age. The next piece of information she got was ‘Seokjin’ and ‘Namjoon’ living on a separate floor for additional privacy, which made her nervous for some reason. Which was more dangerous, vampires in the bedroom next door to her, or those hidden in spots she hadn’t even toured yet?

The last thing she learned about one of the vampires– Yoongi– from Nadia is that he was evidently a famous artist. Cracking one sore eye open, she stared at the elaborately framed artwork above her nightstand again, noticing the fading of the paint and how it aged the piece. How old was the painting, and how old was Yoongi? Shutting her eyes once more, she sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled her blankets over her head. Nadia promised she’d answer any additional questions Y/N had over breakfast, so Y/N miraculously fell asleep by coming up with a handful of queries.

“Miss, hello? The sun has risen,” Y/N sat up in her bed with a sharp gasp, her hair hanging in her face like a nest. Whipping her head around frantically, she couldn’t believe she actually managed to get some sleep in a brand-new setting so easily. Knocking on the door, as well as a mousy, unfamiliar voice had her stumbling to her feet frantically. “May I come in, Miss?”

“Um, uh, yes, come in,” Y/N panicked, smoothing her wrinkled flannel shirt into place and hastily raking hair from her face. The door creaked open, a young woman who wasn’t Nadia hurrying in– her uniform pristinely pressed.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I’m Juliana, I work under Nadia. I’ll be helping you with your morning routine, while Nadia handles more important matters– coordinating breakfast, of course,” Juliana gave Y/N a slight bow, Y/N’s mouth dropping open at the gesture.

Before she could respond, Juliana began to draw the great curtains around the room open, the blinding white light of the early winter morning flooding into the room and stinging her eyes. When her vision returned to her, she gasped again at the sight just beyond the windows. Unable to help herself, she tripped towards one of the windows, grappling for the sill so she could steady herself.

Her room overlooked the backyard– if one could even call it that– and beyond the manicured grass and gardens was the vast, unending ocean once the landscaping dropped off of the famous cliff. It was like her eyes couldn’t absorb enough of the scenery, and impatiently, she pressed her forehead to the glass plane to gawk at the icy, gray ocean.

“In this drawer, here, we’ve placed warm pants for you– leggings, jeans, corduroys. If you prefer skirts and wool tights, those are hanging in your closet, and your tops and sweaters are in this armoire, here. Underthings are located in the lingerie chest beside you,” Juliana opened up various drawers, light on her feet and peppy, her curly brown hair bouncing with her movements.

“Lin… lingerie?” Y/N tasted the unfamiliar word on her tongue, attention effectively stolen from the gorgeous view beyond her windows.

“Forgive me. It’s another word for your undergarments, such as brassiers?” Juliana clarified, raising her brows and crossing the room. Y/N had not a single clue what she was talking about, following her like a duckling.

“Oh! I’ve never…” Y/N suddenly felt immensely awkward, peering into the drawer that held garments she hadn’t worn while at the Sanctuary– the thick, burlap material of the Sanctuary tops were all she got, not delicate lacy scraps of fabric that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of cradling her chest. “Um, okay. I can… wear whatever I want?”

“Yes, yes, as long as you’re comfortable, Miss,” Juliana took Y/N’s confusion in stride, moving towards the fireplace. Taking up a fire poker, the maid prodded at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I hope you were warm enough while you slept. The fire tends to go out in the middle of the night.”

“Y-yes, I was fine. Plenty of blankets,” Y/N chuckled nervously, not used to being so diligently cared for. Would it always be like that? “Um… have they returned?”

“They? You mean the masters?” Juliana paused, replacing the fire poker back on the rack. “They’ll be back before noon.”

“Okay,” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping a tremble out of her voice, Juliana gesturing towards a vanity by one of the windows.

“I can comb your hair, Miss, then leave you to get changed,” Juliana herded Y/N to the cushy stool, Y/N once again blinking at her unfamiliar expression. Contrary to the circumstances, her expression told the story of someone who got plenty of rest the night before. “I’ll wait by the stairs to show you to the breakfast room.”

That time, Y/N didn’t reply. She was too distracted by the feeling of the young maid gliding a fine comb through her hair gently– and with a sharp twist in her chest, she was reminded of the last time someone did her hair– Meredith, on the day of the Drawing. Holding her breath, she waited patiently for Juliana to comb through every snag on her head, surprised when she finally pulled away without braiding Y/N’s hair. Usually, Sanctuaries insisted that acolytes keep their hair braided if female, and cropped short if male. Juliana, however, left Y/N with her hair flowing free.

“Alright, Miss, take your time getting dressed. I’ll wait for you by the staircase,” Juliana smiled sweetly at her through the mirror, setting the comb back onto the vanity before she took her leave.

Y/N had a newfound feeling of determination when she absorbed her reflection, suddenly. She was going to get as much detail about the characters of the vampires from members of the staff as she could before the seven of them returned to the mansion. Swiftly, she pawed through various drawers for clothes, stomping to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tugging on fleece-lined leggings, she cursed at herself in the mirror when it took her several minutes to figure out how to hook a brassier around her bust. The top she selected was a large slouchy sweater, one that hid her figure and hung loosely around her thighs. It made her feel a bit more protected, not having so much skin exposed. There weren’t any shoes in her closet, so she awkwardly stuffed her feet into her Mary Janes from the Sanctuary.

With a huff, she headed to the hallway, the mansion looking completely different during the day. Early winter sunlight flooded into the building, making the colors of the interior appear vibrant and excessive. Able to retrace her steps from the previous evening, Y/N didn’t have any trouble meeting Juliana at the top of the grand staircase.

“Right this way, Miss,” Juliana started down the stairs, Y/N glancing at the portrait of Taehyung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed before, but while he certainly seemed cold, there was a sort of melancholy look on his face.

“Juliana, did um… Master Yoongi paint that portrait?” Y/N launched into her interrogations, the maid cocking her head to look at the painting Y/N was referring to. Y/N had to fight the urge not to cringe when using the ‘master’ title.

“Hmm. I never thought about that! Master Yoongi is mostly known for his work from the Renaissance. Now that you bring it up, however, the attention to detail does look quite a lot like Master Yoongi’s handiwork,” Juliana continued down the stairs, Y/N grasping onto the banister for stability. If Yoongi’s famous artwork was from the Renaissance period, he’d have to be over 500 years old. “Do you like to read, Miss? The library is full of rare books. Master Hoseok has collected them from around the world for hundreds of years. Nadia can show you the way after your breakfast.”

“Oh–”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N, I hope you had a restful sleep,” Edmund was at the bottom of the staircase, interrupting Y/N’s response to Juliana. “Juliana, you’re needed in the laundry.”

“Yes, sir,” Juliana straightened up importantly, bowing at Y/N again. “Have a nice breakfast, Miss.”

Edmund stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Juliana hurry away out of earshot. The polite smile sort of slipped from his face, attention turning back to Y/N shifting from foot to foot by the staircase.

“Y/N, after your meal, I’d like to speak with you in the pantry. Have Nadia show you the way,” Edmund said quietly, gesturing to the left. Tightness in her chest increased when he said that, following him through the hall.

There was what appeared to be a grotto under the staircase, water trickling from a fountain and a couple of seats facing the structure. Briefly, Y/N thought that that would be a wonderful spot to read. Led to a sage-green room, Y/N blushed furiously when Edmund pulled out a chair for her at the round table in the center of the room. There was only one fine porcelain plate set in front of her, along with silver cutlery and crystal glasses.

“I’ll tell them to send out the food. Please enjoy,” Edmund announced, filling one of Y/N’s glasses with water from a metal pitcher. The butler was gone before she could ask him any questions, but moments later, at least ten staff members were filing into the room.

Y/N’s eyes immediately bugged out of her head. A vat of creamy scrambled eggs, a platter of toast and pastries with jam and butter, plates of crispy bacon and breakfast potatoes, cinnamon-scented oatmeal, even a board with cheeses and bowls of every kind of fruit one could ever wish to try. Staff arranging everything meticulously, she could only blink as someone poured her a mug of coffee with cream and sugar left on the side, as well as a large glass of orange juice.

“W-wait, this is… this is all for me?” Y/N hadn’t seen food like that well, ever. Everything looked gourmet and prepped with love and care. She wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but she was going to try her hardest.

“Yes, Miss. The staff eats before the sun rises,” a young man answered her, setting down a plate stacked with waffles and a gravy boat of syrup. “Meals will be quite large like this until we figure out what your favorite foods are. I hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” Y/N felt herself flushing again, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva that was flooding her palate dangerously. “Thank y-you.”

“Enjoy. Call if you would like anything else.”

With that, the staff left her alone in the room, and Y/N didn’t know where to start. She compared the silence of the room to the loud chatter that she would listen to in the Sanctuary’s dining hall. Slowly, she sniffed the steaming coffee in front of her– she had never tasted it. Taking a small sip, she cringed at the bitterness, understanding at once why the bowl of sugar and fresh cream was left beside the mug. Not wanting to waste anything, she stirred cream and sugar into the mug until the drink tasted decent. With eager, shaky hands, Y/N stood with her plate and began to pile food onto it.

Y/N worked herself around the table. Ignoring the feeling of gluttony, she tried every single thing that was left out for her, her plate stacked so high she snorted at herself when she sat back down. To her embarrassment, she moaned in pleasure when she swallowed her spoonful of eggs– buttery and topped with chives. Urgently, she nibbled on a strip of bacon, the meat hanging out of her mouth as she tore a croissant into pieces. Everything she put into her mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, and she felt like a ravenous bear trying to bulk up for the winter.

She stopped eating only when her stomach felt it was going to burst, pushing a bowl of peaches and cream away with a grunt. Y/N did try everything, but it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the feast. Wiping her face with a fine cloth napkin, she clumsily got to her feet like a milk-drunk baby. Instantly, several staff members swept into the room when she stood to clear the table, Nadia’s familiar face appearing.

“How was your breakfast, Miss?”

“I’ve never had such delicious food,” Y/N admitted, absently trailing after her head maid through a door connected to the breakfast room, probably leading her to the pantry. “The chefs here must be very skilled.”

“Master Seokjin insists that we hire the finest chefs in the world. Though he is a vampire, he has culinary interests,” Nadia replied, Y/N finding it hard to walk with how stuffed she was. “Edmund told me you two were going to speak. He’s likely going to give you a formal tour and tell you a few things about the manor, day-to-day routines…”

Y/N turned that over in her mind. The look on Edmund’s face earlier had a sort of graveness to it, which she didn’t think matched up to explaining house rules. Y/N decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping at the very least she’d have her questions answered. Suddenly, they were in a room filled with dark wood shelves holding china and crystal stemware, and when Y/N looked up, there was a loft that held even more shelves and dishes. Edmund was by a table in the center of the room, taking notes.

“Thank you Nadia. I know you had some errands to run, so I’ll show Miss Y/N around until the masters return,” Edmund looked up from his notepad, Nadia nodding once before turning on her heel to leave the room.

“Alright, one moment, Miss Y/N…” Edmund said in a chipper tone, moving around the room to shut the doors quickly, which had Y/N suddenly growing nervous– was he trying to soundproof the room, keep the conversation quiet?

“Oh, dear. You do not have to be frightened of me,” Edmund put his hands up when Y/N began to cower in the corner of the room. “I want to offer you information before the vampires return.”

“R-really?” Y/N released the breath she was holding, timidly getting closer to the table Edmund had returned to. He had a grandfatherly look about him, kind and warm. It was not lost on Y/N that he didn’t refer to the vampires as masters.

“It was lucky that they were called away yesterday. I fear you wouldn’t have been prepared had they been here. Now, listen; this is very important. Most of the staff treats the coven like gods. I am the only one in this estate who you can talk about the coven negatively.”

Not a good start, Y/N thought, shivering.

“Negatively, sir?”

“Child. Looks can be deceiving. I know you that in the hours you’ve been here already you have been treated gently. The coven will not follow suit. They are cruel, heartless creatures. You must do everything in your power to not upset any of them,” Edmund enunciated clearly, Y/N’s heart dropping in her chest. “The powers they possess are extremely dangerous. They do not have emotions like you or I.”

“The way Nadia talked about them… painted a different picture,” Y/N uttered desperately, Edmund looking out the window wistfully.

“I’ve been with the coven for decades, while they lived in Europe. Nadia has only been around for five years, and she does not deal with the coven as I do. She has not seen what they’re capable of.”

“Are you telling me this because you feel bad for me?” Y/N suddenly became defensive despite her terror, hating when she was pitied in any circumstance.

“No, child. I want to help you. I want to warn you, before they come back and they size you up,” Edmund shook his head, looking down at the notes he was taking earlier. “You are dealing with four vampires that are very old and disconnected to humanity. The younger three are wild and reckless. It's important to remember this.”

“How old…”

“I’ll tell you a bit about each of them specifically in a moment. My largest piece of advice to you is never directly show the coven you’re afraid of them. Of course, they’ll be able to scent it on you, but do not give away your fear verbally, or you will be backed into a dark corner and toyed with.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, then dreading the coven’s return to the estate.

“You asked how old they are. I’ll start with the eldest, who is the most respected vampire in the coven– he has seniority, you see, due to his age and his status. Seokjin is 879 years old, and when he was human, he was a crown prince of a Korean monarch,” Edmund began, using a handkerchief to dab his dewy hairline. “He may appear very calm and unaffected, but he absolutely despises humans. He hardly tolerates the staff, and we know not to bother him unless necessary. Under no circumstance should you lie to him, ever. I’ve seen him kill many staff members and even associates over being deceived. One more thing about Seokjin… the ‘power’ he has. Vampires call it ‘Compulsion’. He has the ability to make telepathic suggestions to others in order to control their thoughts, even wipe memories. He can convince a man to jump to his own death, or forget his happiest memories.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. All of the questions that she had come up with before falling asleep completely fled from her mind, and all she could do was grip onto the wooden table with slick palms. Over 800 years old– Seokjin was ancient, otherworldly, and sounded like a monster.

“On the other hand, the youngest in the coven, Jeongguk– just 124 years old. He has the gift of Telepathy, so you must learn to control your thoughts around him. If somehow, Seokjin is unable to find out you lied to him, Jeongguk can tear through your thoughts and report it back to him,” Edmund continued, tapping his notepad with his pen. “Quite a few in the coven have much experience with violence. Jeongguk, when he was human, was a bodyguard to Al Capone. When he was turned, he was not only a bodyguard, but he read the minds of enemy gangs to relay back to Capone. He’s strong and lacks empathy, so he kills without mercy.”

“How… will I be able to control my thoughts? He’ll know I’m terrified, he’ll…”

“I can teach you, when they’re away on business. It is difficult, but can be done. Child, let me finish telling you what I know before they’re due back.”

Y/N clammed up, growing more petrified by the second by each word that came out of the butler’s mouth. By the time he had run through the basic personalities of each of the vampires, Y/N had a cloth soaked in cold water pressed to her forehead. For lack of a better word, she was fucked.

“I’m sorry to tell you all of this,” Edmund said quietly when he was finished, regret flashing over his face. “Just know, you have someone here who is on your side. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from their wrath, or at least train you to handle it. Fortunately, you’re needed by them– while they may be cruel to you, they need you alive in order to sustain themselves.”

“Spectacular,” Y/N wheezed, wishing she didn’t eat so much breakfast. She didn’t want it to make a second appearance. “To think I was going to press you for information. I don’t know if I was better off in the dark or not.”

“Certainly not. You know what to expect this afternoon, somewhat. Keep your guard up, and try to keep your fear in check, and the introduction can go smoothly,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps… while you wait for their return, you can peruse the library, as Juliana suggested.”

Edmund began to open the doors again, and Y/N understood that meant their conversation was as good as over.

“Edmund?”

“Yes, child?’

“Won’t they know that you warned me about them? Will you be punished?”

“Don’t worry about me, child. The coven knows how I feel about them, it’s earned me a teaspoon of respect. Besides, no other butler in the world wishes to work for them. Rumors of their behavior, you see,” Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Come. I’ll give you a brief tour and then escort you to the library.”

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N was left by herself in the dark, intricate library. Hardly giving the alleged ‘rare’ books collected by Hoseok a glance, she sank down into a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames blindly. Curiosity killed the cat, and Y/N hardly knew what to do. Every single one of the vampires were murderous, unfeeling monsters with horrifying powers. Powers they’d likely be using on her any moment.

Y/N didn’t know who she was afraid of the most. Seokjin sounded menacing, Jeongguk dangerous and immoral. The others, she didn’t even know where to start sorting out what she learned. There was Hoseok, Y/N’s eyes shifting to the weathered books on the shelves, who was once a pirate over four hundred years ago, and had the ability to ‘Track’ people by scent. Edmund told her that Hoseok could find anybody without fail and even predict their future moves. He was greedy, fond of drinking, and impulsive.

She wondered if it was Namjoon she was most afraid of. His power was definitely the worst one: with eye contact and focus, he could inflict pain on others compared to being burned alive, a power called Pain Illusion. Apparently, he was once a Korean military general roughly four hundred years prior, and once turned, he became a sword-for-hire. Edmund told her that he enjoyed the kill, enjoyed watching others suffer, and was second to Seokjin as far as the hierarchy of the coven. Like the elder vampire, Namjoon had a disdain for humanity. Edmund told her to be especially careful around Namjoon, as he was a known sadist.

Head in her hands, she groaned. Yeah, Namjoon definitely was the scariest. The other three were no daisies, either, but the thought of having to experience what Namjoon’s Pain Illusion felt like was enough to have her heart racing.

Apparently Taehyung is the most deceiving of the bunch. He had all of the etiquette of a Gilded Age businessman, but Edmund relayed that he was absolutely ruthless when it came to his affairs and could Glamour his appearance. Jimin, a famed playwright of romantic tragedies the same years Jane Austen was active, was notoriously manipulative, hedonistic, and a feared Hypnotist. Finally, the artist, Yoongi– apparently studied under an artist named Leonardo da Vinci, and was secretly known for using his power of Paralysis on his models so he could paint them for hours without interruption.

That tacky sort of nervous sweat began to roll down the notches of Y/N’s spine. None of the vampires sounded friendly at all. Y/N knew that it would be wishful thinking to expect all of them to be somewhat tame, but she had hoped for at least one that wouldn’t be insane or murderous. Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N counted her breaths to calm down. Heeding Edmund’s initial advice would be wise; trying to keep her thoughts bland, maintaining aloof confidence. Not bursting into tears, or trying to hide behind Nadia’s skirts.

Chin resting on her knees, Y/N closed her eyes. She wondered what Meredith and Joseph were up to. In the mornings after breakfast, typically they'd have study and silent prayer in the chapel. Y/N considered herself to be somewhat of an atheist, so usually she’d daydream while on her knees, eyes glazed over. Meredith would let Y/N lean her shoulder on hers, and Joseph would make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep and get punished. Sadness filled her at the thought of her memories. It was likely she’d never get to see Meredith or Joseph ever again. Too busy wallowing, Y/N jolted in her seat when Nadia appeared in front of her, repeating her name several times.

“Miss, the masters have returned. We must greet them outside,” Nadia offered Y/N a thick winter jacket, Y/N audibly gulping. She’d run out of time.

Heart thundering in her chest, Y/N shrugged into the maroon felt coat, shuffling after Nadia with resignation. It was like the a monarch was coming, countless members of staff hurriedly heading to the front entrance or flying up the stairs with various linens. Deciding to think of only her friends, Y/N replayed scenes of the two of her closest kin harvesting vegetables in the gardens during the summer months. Reading with Meredith by candlelight in dramatic voices. Horsing around with Joseph in the hallways when they were supposed to be dusting statues.

Outside, the grounds were clearer to her in the daylight. In the spring, the landscaping was probably breathtaking. Quietly, she stood between Edmund– the head butler, and Nadia– the former giving nothing away regarding their private discussion surrounding the coven. Holding her breath, Y/N watched the large iron gates swing open, the purr of car engines filling the quiet street.

Biting back a surprised noise, Y/N supposed she shouldn’t have been stunned to see a line of luxury cars pulling into the drive. The first in line was a sleek, vibrant-blue colored sports car, followed by a cushy looking black sedan, two black SUVs, and two more small sports cars– one in cherry red and the other canary yellow.

No one said a word. Y/N counted the vehicles again– there were only six. Again, she was thinking about the excess of wealth. Would it kill them to share cars? Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blue sports car’s doors opened first– upward, like a spaceship. In succession, the rest of the roaring engines cut off and Y/N stared blankly at the carport’s carved stone ceiling to put off matching names to faces. She hadn’t even considered how old they looked physically, were they middle aged– Christ forbid, were they teenagers?

“Master Seokjin. I trust everything went well?” Edmund bowed deeply, Y/N urgently copying the movement when the butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“Who’s this little girl?” Seokjin ignored Edmund’s question, Y/N’s eyes on the highly polished loafers that were just in front of her.

Y/N finally straightened up to take a look at the vampire in front of her, and all of the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs when the most beautiful face she had ever seen was studying her right back. He appeared to physically be in his early thirties, but the faraway look in his eyes gave away his true ancient age.

Tall, broad, and dressed in an expensive looking suit, the dark-haired vampire had his full mouth twisted into disapproval. With his short, choppy bangs, they gave a perfect view to sculpted eyebrows, a pallor to his flawless skin, and of course, the red eyes narrowing while he waited for an answer. Y/N felt like she had to look away, so her eyes slid from Seokjin’s statuesque face to the second figure disembarking from the blue sports car, the passenger.

“This is Acolyte Y/N, from the local Sanctuary. The AB- donor. She arrived last night,” Edmund bowed again, this time at the second vampire storming up the steps to the front door.

“Take this upstairs, Nadia,” the second vampire, again, an exceedingly gorgeous man, barked. While his voice was rich and smooth like silk, he curled his nose up in a snarl when he spotted Y/N beside her head maid.

“Yes, Master Namjoon,” Nadia grunted when a briefcase was shoved into her chest, Namjoon scoffing once at Y/N before disappearing into the mansion. Three things Y/N noticed about him: the skinny Asian-style sword strapped to his massive back, the thick leather gloves on his hands, and the air of total hatred coming off of him in waves.

“Didn’t think she’d be such a… scrap of a thing,” Seokjin sounded bored, almost disappointed she wouldn’t put up a strong fight.

“The Sanctuary diets aren’t particularly nutritious. She’ll gain more muscle and mass after a few weeks with our great chefs,” Edmund reassured the eldest vampire, whom Y/N wished would stop staring at her and simply go inside.

“Make sure she’s present for dinner,” Seokjin drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Y/N. Was… she for dinner? “I have calls to make. Tell the chefs twelve courses tonight, rich food. The little girl needs more meat on her bones to be of actual use.”

With that, Seokjin brushed past the butler, Y/N’s head already spinning. Next thing she knew, there were three more vampires stalking towards her and Edmund, Y/N wondering which one was the one that could read her uneasy thoughts.

“Oh? A little dove!” A borderline childish voice is what caught her attention first, wicked delight coloring his tone.

If his eyes weren’t so frightening, the grin stretching across the vampire’s face could have been on the cover of a magazine. He flicked his overgrown black bangs out of his face, biting down on his plump lower lip with a sharpened fang. Contrary to the chilly weather, all he wore was a loosely buttoned, thin white shirt, revealing a large strip of his pale bare chest.

“Jimin, don’t get carried away like last time. You’re always breaking your toys,” One of the others, leaning against a stone column, picked his nails while tsking. That particular vampire wouldn’t even spare her a glance, his wavy dark hair curtaining his face. While his body was lean, hands were extremely weathered compared to the rest of his smooth, pushing-30-years-old complexion.

Knees wobbling from that remark, the third vampire, who was eyeing every inch of her thoughtfully, noticed the movement with a slight smirk and a narrowing of his feline-like eyes.

“Aw, that wasn’t my fault, Hoseok. Don’t listen to him, little dove! We’re going to have fun together,” Jimin, evidently, pouted, but the effect didn’t soothe her when she saw a psychotic glint reflected in his irises. “Ugh, I hate traveling. I hope there’s wine in my room…”

Jimin winked at her as he slunk inside. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok, the most casually dressed so far in a simple dark turtleneck, trailed after, Y/N noticing how sharply cut his jawline was and the geometrically perfect way his nose turned up into the air.

“Master Yoongi, is there anything I can get for you before you resume painting?” Edmund cleared his throat, the long-haired vampire finally stopped smirking at Y/N, shaking his head silently. As soon as Yoongi stopped looking at her, she felt like she could breathe again, her fingertips twitching. “We’ve purchased fresh oil paints, as per your request.”

Wordessly, Yoongi was in her presence at once, and the next, with a blur, he was gone.

“Vampiric speed,” Edmund murmured, Y/N swallowing thickly. She had forgotten that not only did they have individual powers, but they had strength and speed, as well. Only two more to go– Taehyung and the mind reader, Jeongguk. “You’re doing well.”

The driver of the second car that had pulled into the driveway, the black sedan, finally cut the engine. The second SUV, the first of which belonged to Hoseok, had long since been turned off but no one emerged from it.

“Master Taehyung typically likes to take a walk around the grounds after returning from business. Here, however, is Master Jeongguk,” Edmund schooled his features, him and Y/N robotically bowing at the final vampire she was to greet. The mind reader.

“Hello,” Y/N blurted impulsively, much to her chagrin. The youngest vampire appeared to be around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and besides his ghostly complexion and red eyes, Jeongguk looked remarkably like a human man– perhaps like Joseph, but far more muscular.

“Edmund, I’m assuming this human is the AB- acolyte?” Jeongguk completely ignored Y/N, which had humiliation pulsing through her body painfully. “Let’s see, you. Look at me.”

Y/N froze, Jeongguk stooping to make his face completely level with Y/N’s. Suddenly, the grip she thought she had on her thoughts melted away into nothing, and she got lost in the doelike quality of the youngest vampire’s eyes.

“Typical, Edmund. Warning her about us? All you did was terrify her,” Jeongguk murmured, his youthful voice but a coo. Y/N knew not to trust it, especially when his chilled index finger jabbed into her cheek. “Who’s Joseph, AB-? A lover from the Sanctuary?”

Y/N’s tongue turned to stone in her mouth. Like his covenmates, Jeongguk was extremely handsome, but taunted her coldly. Luckily, she had motor function, shaking her head in the slightest. Tongue probing into the meat of his cheek, Jeongguk stood to his full height, the dark brown trench coat he was wearing hiding just how truly large he was.

“You’re fortunate you’re the only butler available to us. Your head would be on a pike, if it were up to me,” Jeongguk, in a mild tone, addressed Edmund, who simply looked at the vampire placidly.

“Yes, sir,” Edmund took a leather bag from the vampire, Y/N unable to believe how easy it was for Jeongguk to enter her mind– her memories pulled from her mind to his in hazy flashes that had her skull throbbing.

“Y/N,” she flinched when Jeongguk addressed her by name, whipping her head around to watch him stalk up the stairs behind her, wearing a murderous smirk. “Wear something pretty to dinner, alright?”

Acid began to crawl up her throat, and when Jeongguk disappeared in almost a mist, Edmund placed a grandfatherly-like hand on her upper arm.

“Relax now, Y/N. You did well. Very well. You won’t see any of them until dinner. Returning to your bedroom for now would be wise, Nadia will help prepare you for the meal,” Edmund whispered, gripping Jeongguk’s bag in one of his hands. “Head in, child. You’ve been in the cold long enough. Soak up the warmth, while you can.”

It was a miracle that Y/N didn’t make deep dents in the carpet of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. Escorted to her room after meeting six out of the seven vampires, Y/N was left to her own devices that afternoon. Nadia had left her a stack of books to entertain herself before dinner, Y/N thinking that she’d rather swallow shattered glass than sit at a table with the monsters.

Halting, Y/N stood in front of one of the windows, hands coming up to brace herself on the windowsill. The ocean was choppy thanks to a biting wind blowing in from the North, the color of it almost black. Was it too late for her to jump off of the cliff? If she made a run for it, would anyone catch her before she could fall to her merciful death?

Eyes glazed over, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Suddenly and inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, like a cold draft of air swept through the room. Ears picking up movement, Y/N spun around, a startled yelp coming from her mouth at the sight of the figure at her door. One of the vampires actually sought her out, lazily trailing his crimson eyes up and down her form. Tripping backwards, Y/N’s back was pressed into the icy windowpane. The vampire boldly stepping into the light, Y/N realized who it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Be careful, little dove. It would be a shame if you fell through the glass and cracked that skull of yours open before we even had a chance to play,” Jimin teased, though the taunt was far from an innocent jest.

“W-wha–”

“I said, careful. Think about how to speak to me before you stutter out something disrespectful,” Jimin sneered, crossing the room in a split second. Flinching, his face was mere inches from hers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His eyes, while certainly red, were sort of a dulled tone, and there was nothing good-natured about his expression at all.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking. Jimin seemed to accept the apology, tsking and backing up a degree. Y/N forced herself to remain calm, the vampire pushing up the sleeves to his blouse. His chest was even more exposed than it was before, his muscles seemingly carved from white marble.

“That’s better, dove,” Jimin hummed, falsely sweet. “You can’t wear those rags to dinner. Juliana!”

Jimin’s voice was sing-songy, the vampire putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently. Swallowing with great unease, Y/N’s palms were slick as she held onto the windowsill. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps flooded into the room, Y/N’s fright easing a degree when Juliana and several other maids joined her and the vampire in the bedroom. At once, Y/N’s eyes went owlishly wide, each of the maids carrying brightly colored gowns, stacks of velvet boxes, and more pairs of shoes than she could count.

“The latest fashions… Chanel and Dior, Cartier jewelry. Fashion design has come a long way these last few centuries– not bad for a bunch of humans,” Jimin seemed like he was talking to himself, plucking a heavy looking necklace up from the open case Juliana was holding. Y/N still couldn’t get over the childlike lilt to his voice, paired with the unsettling confidence he carried, cautiously returning eye-contact when he sauntered towards her.

“Dressing your new doll, Jimin?” Hoseok appeared in the doorway, Jimin still entirely focused on getting Y/N pinned to the window. The older vampire had a bottle of liquor in his grasp, an amused smirk on his face. Y/N felt ill.

“Rubies suit her, don’t you think, Hoseok?” Jimin bit down on his lip with a fang, like he did earlier. Then, his voice took on a silky tone, an index finger curling in her direction. “Come here, dove.”

Y/N didn’t want to comply, but after nearly a heartbeat, everything in her body was telling her that it was okay, more than okay, to get close to Jimin. She wanted to, needed him, it felt like she could hardly breathe. In a darkened corner of her mind, Y/N’s rational self realized Jimin was using Hypnosis on her, and there was nothing she could do to resist his his call. Moving on autopilot, Y/N almost stumbled over her feet to close the distance between herself and the vampire.

With a satisfied, wicked grin, Jimin tilted his head, looking down at her through his dark lashes. Spellbound by his presence– how had Y/N gone her entire life without him? Unprompted, she gathered her hair up and held it over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the vampire. Excitement flashed through her when Jimin licked his lips, and when his chilly fingers traced along a fluttering vein by the base of her throat, Y/N squirmed in delight. So removed from herself, as if in a trance, she obediently stayed still as Jimin clasped the necklace around her throat. Past the haze, she could hear an amused snort coming from Hoseok watching by the doorframe.

“Isn’t that nice?” Jimin hummed, adjusting the jewelry so it sat perfectly on her clavicle. Boldly, he tugged at the neckline of her sweater, exposing more of her skin, the strength in his touch stretching out the flimsy wool with ease.

“Very obedient, pet. Juliana, get her ready for dinner,” Hoseok snarked, taking a swig from his liquor.

Slowly, like roots of a tree pulling up from the earth, the influence Jimin had over her mind and body untangled from her being with a deep ache. Different from the throbbing, disorienting pain that filled her brain when Jeongguk infiltrated her thoughts, Jimin’s affect gripped her entire being as if her bone marrow was bruising. With a whimper, Y/N staggered to the side, Juliana promptly righting her by one of her arms. Jimin had used his vampiric speed to join Hoseok at the door, winking at Y/N trying to catch her breath.

“Here, Katie. Make the human a pre-dinner cocktail. She looks like she’s going to suffer from a paranoid break. I abhor hysterics,” Hoseok loudly placed his glass bottle of booze on one of Y/N’s nightstands, addressing an older woman who was holding several silky dresses in her arms.

With that, the two vampires shut the door behind themselves, the sounds of their expensive shoes marching down the hallway, leaving Y/N to figure out what just happened. The necklace around her throat felt like a ten-pound weight, and if the room wasn’t full of maids who acted like nothing happened, she would have ripped it off and pelted it at the bedroom door. Noise buzzing around her, rustling of skirts, the only thing that kept her on her feet was Juliana’s arm slung around her lower back.

“Alright, Miss, let’s get started on your bath,” Juliana said airily, Y/N feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, which she hurriedly swept away with her sweater sleeve before anyone caught it. “I have the most lovely hairstyle in mind for you. Master Jimin seemed to like that necklace on you, so we’ll pick something red to go with it.”

Y/N was astonished. Juliana was in the room when that whole interaction happened, was she not? Did she not see how Jimin hypnotized her, and was she not disturbed by it? Perhaps it was something only Y/N and the two vampires could sense happening, but Y/N had never felt more vulnerable and alone. Hollowly, she let Juliana herd her into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat, she wasn’t fully listening to the maid, tracing her fingers over the polished stones around her neck.

“The chefs have been working so hard today on the meal, it’s going to be wonderful, Miss Y/N! I helped the executive chef select ingredients at the finest market in town,” Juliana tested the water coming from the bathtub’s tap, pouring various vials into the water. “I picked up some moisturizing rose oils, bubbles, and powdered milk for the bath. I even managed to find dried flowers, which is rare for this time of year. Come, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“H-huh?” Y/N squeaked, not wanting to strip her clothes off in front of somebody else.

“It’s quite alright, Miss. We’re your personal maids, there is no reason to be bashful,” Juliana insisted, keeping her eyes low, but helping Y/N to her feet. Too afraid to protest, Y/N stood statue-still as the maid carefully removed the necklace Jimin put on her and handed it off to another nameless maid. “Have you ever heard of a spa day? Think of it as that!”

“Spa day?” Y/N repeated stupidly, blushing furiously when she was left in just her brassier and the scrap they called underwear. Juliana turned, allowing Y/N to remove her undergarments and get into the mass of perfumed bubbles piling up in the tub. “Never heard of that… is that a holiday?”

“No, Miss,” Juliana giggled, her cheeks pink with merriment. “You’ll just enjoy some beauty treatments. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to do things like this, so you’ll have to forgive us if we go overboard with spoiling you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word for how Y/N felt. At that point, she was going to get whiplash from being treated like a princess by the staff at one moment, and like a toy by the vampires the next. Bitterly, Y/N came up with the hypothesis that the reasons she was getting ‘spoiled’ was either out of pity, or that the vampires wanted their toy shiny and flawless. Katie, the older maid from before, appeared with a crystal glass filled with some kind of bubbling liquid, a slice of a blood-red orange floating amongst real ice cubes.

“As per Master Hoseok’s request, Miss. It’s a blood orange rum sour, his favorite,” Katie slightly bowed, a wisp of gray hair falling from her low bun. Alarm bells went off in Y/N’s head.

“Blood?”

“It simply refers to the color and variety of the citrus, dear. Not actual blood,” Katie’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Y/N took a sniff of the drink, recoiling slightly at the burn in her nostrils. She knew it was alcohol– something she never tried before.

“Alcohol isn’t allowed at the Sanctuary. They tell us it’s bad for acolytes,” Y/N felt like a lamb going up for slaughter, unsure and anxious. Warm water was being poured down her back from a cup, where Juliana was slowly soaking the strands of her hair to wash, and it made her shiver.

“Well, dear, you’re here now. You may drink as much as you or the Masters deem suitable,” Katie bowed again, whisking away back into Y/N’s bedroom to select her dinner outfit.

If she knew anything about alcohol, it was that it had the ability to steel one’s nerves. Which was something she desperately needed- so bravely, her eyes fluttered shut and she took a hearty swig of the cocktail. The first thing that washed over her palate was bright, juicy citrus, but when she swallowed, the burn of alcohol made the contents of her stomach sting. Grimacing, she willed herself to drain the glass, wondering when she’d feel the effects. Gut boiling, she kept her eyes shut as Juliana worked shampoo into her hair.

“You have such pretty hair, Miss Y/N,” Juliana complimented, Y/N’s cheeks hot– not just from the compliment. A haze, a pleasant one, had her humming. Was it the way Juliana was massaging her temples, or was it the booze flooding through her system? “Anything else we can get you? Another drink?”

“Okay?” Y/N replied, just a tad bit more comfortable with asking for things. Juliana called out for Katie while she rinsed Y/N’s hair, the warm water making her sigh.

And when she had another drink in her hand, Juliana wrapping a hot towel around her conditioned hair and a third nameless maid using a sandy scrub to slough off flakiness from her years-neglected skin, Y/N started to feel giddy. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad– being pampered sure was nice, and Y/N had always been strong-willed. Edmund was right, earlier; the vampires needed her alive, so they wouldn’t dare kill her. To Y/N’s knowledge, there wasn’t another human in the nearest Sanctuaries with blood as rare as hers.

It was like she could feel her backbone growing, only peeling one of her eyes open when something odd was gliding up her legs. Cocking her eyebrow curiously, she watched the third maid– Mei– use a razor to shave downy hair from her legs. Strange.

When she was sufficiently scrubbed, shaved, and presented with oil and lotion to apply, Y/N was left in the bathroom to dry off and slide into a terry cloth robe. Wobbling a little when she got out of the tub, Y/N giggled as she slathered herself with a floral scented lotion, her legs foreignly baby-soft. The cocktails were certainly doing their job, Y/N pinching her cheeks in the mirror and fixing a determined look on her face.

She was always the brave one amongst herself, Meredith, and Joseph. Why should she dissolve into a puddle of helplessness and meek responses? Even though she was being made over into a perfect angel for a group of demons, she held significant power. She didn’t need the coven to survive, but they did.

With renewed courage, Y/N returned to her bedroom. That time, only Nadia and Juliana remained, both of them waiting for her by the old vanity that was littered with appliances, jewelry, and cosmetics. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a burnt orange over the silver ocean.

“How’re you feeling?” Nadia smiled at her through the mirror when Y/N sunk down onto the stool, Y/N returning the expression. She thought that might have been the first time she smiled in the previous 24 hours.

“Relaxed,” Y/N answered honestly, sitting still while Nadia worked a silky product through her hair. Juliana, however, began selecting various powders and tubes and comparing them to Y/N’s complexion with a concentrated pout.

“Fantastic! I’m pleased to hear,” Nadia seemed to glow, like it was her life’s duty to pamper and please Y/N.

Lapsing into silence, Y/N stared at her reflection while Juliana began to dust her face with powder, and Nadia fired up a device that seemed to dry her hair. Buzzed, she watched the two maids make her up into a princess that Y/N used to read about with Meredith, her unruly hair manipulated into a pretty style, shimmering ruby gloss being painted across her lips.

Once the ‘hair dryer’ was switched off, Y/N dared to ask a question that popped into her mind when she got to the bottom of her second cocktail in the bath. Rolling back her shoulders, she got Nadia’s attention while she was sliding a sparkly hair clip into Y/N’s hair. When the query left her lips, both of her maids' expressions went from merry to grim– which wasn’t encouraging.

“Nadia, what happened to the coven’s previous donor?”

“Where is the human sitting?” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, a dull ache all over his body. It had been too long since he had fed on human blood, and his immortal body was feeling the deprivation. “Might I suggest… not next to Jimin?”

“Why, do you want that little girl at your side instead?” Seokjin hardly looked up from the documents he was signing, already seated at the head of the dining room table. “You’re not the greedy type, Yoongi. Leave that to Hoseok.”

Yoongi curled up his lip into a snarl, but would not offer a retort to the elder vampire. Really, the only one who had the balls and Seokjin’s grace to allow challenging was Namjoon. With a sigh, Yoongi took his usual seat, his fangs aching. Since they returned to the estate, the scent of AB- blood intensified Yoongi’s longing to have a taste of that sample the coven received earlier in the week. Idly, he traced the veins on the back of his hand– usually pale blue, but with the lack of blood flowing through his system, they were nearly dark gray.

“Which documents are those?”

“From the UN. They want us to sit in on an Assembly in December,” Seokjin sounded terribly bored, mostly because he was to death. Another human war he’d have to offer expertise on, expertise that would probably be ignored. After all, Seokjin and his covenmates were really only invited out of fear.

“What a pain in the ass,” Hoseok arrived at the table, collapsing onto the seat beside Yoongi. Kicking his feet up on the polished table, narrowly missing the china that was set there, Seokjin’s pen-scratching stopped. “I hate New York City. Filthy place. Should have burned it down when I still had my ship.”

“Was New York even established when you still had a ship, Captain Morgan?” Seokjin snarked, staring once pointedly at the bottle of rum in Hoseok’s hand, and then at his boots on the table. “Put your feet down, now.”

Hoseok rolled his rust-colored eyes but obeyed, knowing not to anger Seokjin unless he wanted Namjoon to use his ‘gift’ on him. Taking a swig of the rum, Hoseok frowned– the longer he went without human blood, the duller his taste buds got. He only tasted a flat note of cinnamon, not even the sting of the liquor. Hopefully, he’d get a taste of the mousy acolyte that night.

Snapping his fingers sharply, a staff member appeared out of the shadows to take the signed documents from Seokjin. With mild annoyance, he checked his watch for the time; he told Nadia, the human’s maid, to have the girl at the dinner table at 8 PM sharp. Nadia still had ten minutes before her life was in danger. Seokjin couldn’t stand humans who couldn’t follow simple directions.

“Is twelve courses really necessary? We’ll be here for hours,” Hoseok complained, mostly because he’d have to hear the chefs drone on and on about the ingredients of each dish and the beverage pairing that went with it.

“You saw how pathetically frail that human was. If she is to serve us, she needs to gain weight,” Namjoon thundered into the room, his tread heavy and confident. He sat closest to Seokjin, on the left, his expression made of stone. Again, Hoseok rolled his eyes.

“I agree. With just a few gulps, I could drain the little dove dry,” a melodious voice joined the conversation, Jimin giggling when he sunk into his chair just across from Namjoon. Annoyed with the buttons on his shirt, Jimin tugged the last one free, letting both sides of the garment hang loose.

Namjoon set his jaw in warning, already bracing himself for how insufferable Jimin would become with the arrival of the girl. Namjoon thought it was beneath him to interact with humans unless necessary, while Jimin preferred to see just how far he could push them. Jimin simply grinned back at Namjoon, slow and seductive, a muscle pulsing in the elder vampire’s cheek.

“Control yourself, Jimin. You’re on thin ice,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice airy and high. His voice had even forced Namjoon somewhat stiff. “Taehyung, have you contacted Berwind?”

The owner of the estate the coven currently called home made his entrance, still in his tweed suit from earlier. Taehyung looked exactly like he did in the portrait of himself hanging above the grand staircase. It’s like time, for Taehyung, stopped in 1869.

“Wait, why?” Hoseok straightened up, with distaste on his face when Taehyung took the opposite head of the table– across from Seokjin. “That guy is a blowhard.”

“Well, the blowhard might be our newest partner for marine affairs. You want a new ship, do you not?” Taehyung pointed out blandly, rubbing the grayish veins over his temples. “We’re going to have to host a party soon. He won’t agree to anything unless we get a selection of acolytes and fine wine.”

“She has five more minutes…” Seokjin murmured to himself, secretly wishing Nadia would give him an excuse to blow off steam. “Where is Jeongguk?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat to get Seokjin’s attention, pointing to the door leading into the butler’s pantry.

Jeongguk emerged, his hands shoved into his pockets as a very sheepish looking set of sous chefs followed him with silver trays.

“I don’t know why they expected us to eat food when the lack of blood has stolen our sense of taste,” Jeongguk drawled, a chef shakily placing a cordial glass in front of Seokjin.

It contained the remainder of the AB- sample, the acolyte’s blood. The glass was hardly on the table before Yoongi snatched it up, draining it in one go. Anything to relieve the ache. Even after five hundred years, Yoongi could never get used to the feeling of being starved.

“So sorry, Masters,” one of the chefs bowed, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing. Normally, he would have broken a limb for the forgetfulness, but he didn’t have it in him that evening. “Hors d'oeuvres will be out momentarily.”

Jeongguk scoffed, glancing curiously when Seokjin started tutting as the youngest vampire began to take his usual spot beside Namjoon.

“What’s wrong?”

“Leave a space between you and Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin ordered firmly. “The human will sit between you two, lest she decide to flee the table, you two will be able to restrain her swiftly.”

Jimin pouted, his lips stained with the blood he sipped from his cordial glass. Seokjin was about to get up to deal with Nadia failing to follow his order when every vampire in the room paused, clumsy footsteps hurrying in the direction of the dining room. Covered poorly by expensive perfume was the scent of unease, alcohol, and mortal vitality.

“Cutting it close, Nadia,” Seokjin purred, the maid blushing as she ushered the young acolyte into the dining room.

The girl, dressed in a velvet ruby cocktail dress, fidgeted with the short hem of the garment while gawking at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her racing pulse was audible and visible; veins fluttering at the base of her throat.

“I apologize, Master Seokjin. I’m afraid Juliana and I got carried away with dressing Miss Y/N for dinner. It has been a while,” Nadia bowed, the human acolyte flinching when Jimin was abruptly at her side. “Please, enjoy dinner. I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Oh, our little dove! You’re in the Mugler dress, your maids chose so well…. Matches the rubies perfectly,” Jimin cooed while poking the choker around her neck, the rest of the vampires knowing that there was nothing sweet about Jimin’s approval. Jimin, despite the raised brow from Seokjin that was directed towards him, took up one of Y/N’s trembling hands, dragging her further into the room.

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, intimidated and sounding like she was far from flattered. Jimin delighted in the way her body completely locked up with his touch, her palm slick with perspiration.

Stumbling in her heels, Y/N had no choice but to be escorted to the table by Jimin, her large eyes widening when she realized who she was to be seated between. Pulling out her chair like a perfect gentleman, Y/N snatched her hand back as soon as she tumbled onto the velvet cushion. Jimin didn’t seem to care, simply smirking, stalking back to his own place at the table. There was a pause, Y/N glancing around the room at both the fine decorations and the vampires, fingers still twitching at her dress hemline. It was likely she hadn’t worn something so revealing before.

Y/N blinked when her sight landed on one of the heads of the table, the vampire in the portrait on the staircase staring back at her blankly. He looked precisely like he had in the painting, down to the light-colored suit. Sure, his face was a bit more drawn and he was much paler, but it was almost like he stepped out of the canvas like a realm-walker.

Nervously, she peeked to the left, where Namjoon was, the vampire taking a sip of a red liquid from a small glass, his leather gloves still on his large hands. He caught her gaze from the corner of his sharpened eyes, Y/N knowing at once what he was drinking– far too viscous to be wine, too red, it had to be blood. Whose blood it was, exactly, Y/N hoped she’d never know.

“It’s yours, of course, remnants of the sample. Humans are so dim,” Jeongguk easily read her thoughts, not even having to put in effort to enter her mind. Even with the lack of effort, he could tell Y/N was uncomfortable with him probing around in her skull, the girl wincing and rubbing her forehead.

“Do not sap her of energy yet, Jeongguk. She must eat so she can be useful,” Seokjin sighed, still tasting her on his tongue. Though she was malnourished, her blood was still the finest he had tasted in centuries.

“What were they feeding you at that sanctimonious dump, pet?” Hoseok, still lazily slouching, drawled. Y/N hesitated, not knowing whether or not to reply, making Hoseok grow impatient. “Speak when spoken to. Articulate.”

“U-uh, um… organ meats, mostly. Lentils and kale,” Y/N squeaked, her complexion a touch green.

“Poor little dove. How repulsive,” Jimin pouted, the expression teasing.

Y/N opened her mouth, fidgeting in her seat, Taehyung watching her mortal movements with fascination– they could never quite sit still. Before she could speak again, squirming under the weight of seven ruby gazes, staff members dressed in suits and white gloves came from the butler’s pantry carrying dishes. One of the staff members was carrying a silver ice-bucket with a bottle of wine, Y/N eagerly waiting for more alcohol to take the edge off. Whatever she had earlier had long since worn off.

“Good evening, Masters, Miss Y/N,” a man in a chef’s uniform began, standing beside Seokjin at the head of the table. “Tonight’s hors d'oeuvres is oysters rockefeller with Sambuca and garlic-buttered sautéed spinach, paired with Clos des Bouquinardieres Muscadet. Please enjoy.”

Jeongguk laughed when he read Y/N’s mind trying to wrap around unfamiliar words. Rubbing her forehead again, she stared at the odd thing placed in front of her. As someone poured wine for her– to her disappointment, only about an inch of liquid splashing into the glass– she was immensely curious about the seashell placed delicately on a tiny plate, containing something breaded within.

“Never had seafood before?” Hoseok raised a dark eyebrow, ignoring the oyster and going straight for his wine.

“This is seafood?” Y/N blurted, Jimin finding her innocence quite entertaining. She was like a young girl he’d write as his heroine in one of his tragedies. Hoseok, however, glared at Y/N’s failure to answer his question. “I’ve just had t-tuna before… M-master Hoseok.”

“Master! Look at that, the pet is already learning her place,” Hoseok’s laugh was boisterous, bouncing off of the great walls, a thin whimper leaving from the back of Y/N’s throat. Namjoon had heard whimpers like that millions of times: pure, involuntary fear. It made him smile behind the rim of his wine glass.

“Enough. Eat,” Seokjin’s voice was a hiss, plucking up the small fork specifically for shellfish. “Yoongi. I want you to get in touch with some artists in Italy. We’ll invite them here when we host Berwind, you know how much he loves being in the company of talent.”

Yoongi chewed the oyster thoroughly, relieved that he could actually taste the flavor after just a small sip of the acolyte’s blood. All of the painters Yoongi once knew, the ones he actually wished could be present during a party, were long since dead and gone. He’d have to write to modern artists, who would be frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to meet Yoongi. What a bore.

“I’ve seen Gianluca Traina, his work isn’t half-bad. I can reach out to him and Agostino Iacurci,” Yoongi leaned back, letting a staff member take his plate. His hands itched to paint, loathing that he’d have to sit through eleven more courses. In particular, as he watched the young human girl cautiously raise a fork to her mouth, he wanted to capture how she looked when she tasted a flavor brand-new to her. “They’re no Boticelli or Michelangelo, though.”

“Too bad your mentor wasn’t turned,” Namjoon spoke up, though Yoongi knew Namjoon really didn’t care one way or the other.

“Da Vinci would have hated the modern age,” Yoongi muttered nonchalantly, Namjoon scoffing at the name-drop. Not that the human would have known who the artist was, Namjoon confirming that she had no idea who Leonardo da Vinci was when she peered at Yoongi vacantly, draining her wine glass with a shaky grip.

Y/N felt the wine burning in her stomach, stuck between relieved that she was being ignored for the moment and filled with anticipation for the next time the attention would be on her.

“Next we have the amuse-bouche. Pickled baby beets with herbed goat cheese, candied kumquats and basil chiffon. With it we have Sancerre.”

The chef reappeared, the next small plate and glass of wine placed before Y/N. The food, so far, were like works of art, and Y/N almost felt bad eating it. Especially when she thought about the bland, mushy pile of goo her fellow acolytes at the Sanctuary were picking at while she ate like a queen.

Mercifully, all the vampires talked about for quite some time was the event they were planning for the following week, and they left Y/N alone. Her guard was not coming down any time soon, so she stayed quiet as a mouse through each course.

Acorn squash soup garnished with pepitas, purple radish microgreens and sage oil with prosecco. Native lobster, roasted heritage carrots, carrot puree, buttermilk puree, spiced crumb and chardonnay. Kale and brussels sprout salad with maple-candied pecans, honeycrisp apples, pomegranate and lemon vinaigrette with sauvignon blanc. Ingredients, flavors, and textures Y/N never even dreamed of before. By the time she stuffed the last slice of apple from her salad into her mouth, Y/N was already feeling quite satiated, and the wine was dizzying up her head. Or perhaps it was Jeongguk still fishing though her mind.

“Seven more courses, human. Don’t think you can leave this table before then,” Jeongguk reminded her mildly, her suspicions confirmed. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could grumble at him.

“Tell me, little girl. Did you spend your entire life in that Sanctuary?” Seokjin asked, curious about how much she knew about vampires. That, and he was concerned about her purity; though judging by her innocence, he didn’t predict that to be too much of a problem.

“No, Master Seokjin,” Y/N replied, apprehensive towards a round of questioning.

“Elaborate.”

Swallowing, Y/N glanced down at the fish that was just delivered to her, stomach turning. She found it hard to look at any of the vampires for too long, but Seokjin’s face was so hauntingly beautiful, it hurt to look at.

“I was brought to the Sanctuary ten years ago, when I was fifteen. I grew up on the outskirts of town and was raised by my grandmother. When she passed away, I drifted until I was caught by wardens who were testing human’s blood types on the street.”

“I’ve noticed those vans around town. Wardens drive them around looking for new acolytes,” Jeongguk remarked helpfully, when Hoseok looked distantly confused.

“You have the rarest blood type in the world. How is it that you were not immediately sent to a Sanctuary upon your birth? It is the law,” Seokjin was frowning, extremely annoyed. Fifteen years of alluding a system set up so meticulously led him to believe she’d be wayward.

“I was born off of the grid, not in a hospital. My grandmother faked my blood results later on, when we were visited by Sanctuary wardens,” Y/N spoke softly, too afraid to raise her voice. She didn’t like the sharpened edge to Seokjin’s tone.

“I don’t understand how an elderly woman could have pulled that off,” Hoseok said, his mouth flattened into a line. “What happened to your parents, pet?”

Y/N flinched, reluctant to give up a vulnerability to the predators. She knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her thoughts, however, with Jeongguk still prying into her head. With the fish cleared away, a roasted chicken was put in front of her– this time, with a glass of red wine. Before answering Hoseok, she sucked down the velvety liquid.

“My mother died in childbirth, I never knew her. Apparently my father was just a fling, I didn’t know him, either. It was just me and grandma,” Y/N pushed a strand of pasta around on her plate, doodling shapes with the tip of her fork in the creamy sauce.

“The little dove is an orphan. How tragic,” Jimin’s excitement was paramount. There was nothing he loved more than a heroine with an ill–fated past. Y/N was disturbed by the twinkle in his eyes, barely able to finish the rest of her chicken.

“Um, it’s alright. You can’t really miss what you never knew,” Y/N spoke impulsively, like she was talking to Joseph or Meredith rather than seven vampires who were effectively perfect, lethal strangers.

“Adorable,” Jimin gushed, licking his lips. Yoongi, beside Jimin, pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Jimin’s theatrics. It came naturally to Jimin, being a writer of dramas and screenplays, so Yoongi couldn’t actually fault him for it, but it was dreadful to withstand.

Blood rushed to Y/N’s face, the three youngest vampires in the dining room becoming coiled and ready to pounce. Seokjin simply held up his hand disinterestedly, a silent order for the fledglings to get control of themselves.

“Oh! What’s this?” Y/N had become incredibly loosened up thanks to the seven various wines she tasted over the course of the evening, cocking her head at the small silver dish placed in front of her.

“Miss, it’s a lime sorbet with mint to cleanse the palate before the second main course,” A staff member poured a bubbly wine into a skinny flute for her, presenting a miniature spoon for Y/N to use.

“Sor-bet…” Y/N repeated slowly, scooping up some of the treat, the iciness washing over her tongue bizarre and making her audibly exclaim. A frozen sweet wasn’t something she was able to have at the Sanctuary, and it brought a tear to her eye.

“They brought out the Dom Perignon, what do they think, we have the Pope here?” Hoseok lifted his champagne flute to his face, watching the bubbles dance in the glass.

“Is it expensive?” Y/N dared to ask, a distant part of her screaming to shut up. Hoseok’s expression darkened when she addressed him, so she instantly corrected herself. “Master Hoseok.”

“Taehyung will only drink expensive wines. That champagne you so hastily gulped down is the most expensive vintage wine that money can buy, pet,” Hoseok smirked, Y/N becoming embarrassed that she did, in fact, knock the drink back.

“You paint me as a snob,” Taehyung frowned, earning a dry chuckle from Jeongguk.

“Take a look around this place, for Christ’s sake. Of course you’re a snob,” Jeongguk remarked, gesturing around the lavish dining room they were seated in.

Y/N was positively stuffed. In fact, she clasped a hand over her mouth when a rack of lamb and rice replaced her empty sorbet dish, not wanting to eat another bite. She felt if she did, the velvet dress she was in would rip open.

“You will eat it all,” Seokjin barked when Y/N made no motion to pick up her fork, the sound making her flinch into Namjoon’s thick shoulder. The vampire stiffened, a disgusted look on his face, Y/N’s skin flashing with heat. “You will eat it, or I’ll allow Jimin to go over there and force-feed you.”

That threat terrified Y/N, Jimin’s grin widening when she caught his eye. Without another second spared, Y/N began cutting through the meat, much to Jimin’s disappointment. With a bereft sigh, Jimin leaned on his elbows, craving some trouble he could stir up.

Diligently, Y/N picked her way through the final courses, nearly gagging on the rich chocolate truffles that ended the meal. She was laughed at again– that time by Hoseok, when she asked if she could really eat the ‘gold leaf’ dusted on top of the dessert. The final drink that was offered was an espresso ‘martini’, which is what careened Y/N out of tipsiness and straight into dizzy intoxication. Giggling for no particular reason, Y/N started folding her napkin into different shapes, forgetting who her company was.

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she?” Jimin held his face in his hands, ravenous even though he had plenty of human food in his stomach.

“Those words are familiar,” Jeongguk deadpanned, Yoongi spotting where things were going a mile away.

“I bet she’d look pretty all drained, too. Like the last girl,” Jimin’s voice was dreamy, and it was fortunate that Y/N was too distracted by her cocktail to pick up on what he was going on about.

“Watch it,” Jeongguk warned, not wanting to end the evening with Jimin’s dramatics.

“Oh, come now, Jeongguk… don’t you want to pin her down, fangs in her throat?” Venom flooded into Jimin’s mouth, watching Y/N’s pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “We could always find another, too, after we drain her. You take a wrist, I’ll–”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupted quietly, looking up towards the chandelier. The whole table went silent, Jimin’s mouth slamming shut, regret all over his sculpted face. With a grunt, Namjoon stood from his seat, slowly stalking around the table.

Y/N’s attention towards the vampires was recaptured when she noticed Namjoon, eyes dark and determined, approaching Jimin. The silence deafening, Y/N watched curiously when Namjoon bent low, face close to Jimin’s. Even Y/N could sense Jimin’s fear, and it made her instantly nauseous.

Namjoon gripped Jimin’s sculpted jaw, his gloved hands rough against Jimin’s skin, and for a moment, Y/N thought Namjoon was going to kiss the younger vampire. Narrowing his eyes, Namjoon squeezed Jimin’s jaw, Jimin going absolutely rigid when they made eye contact, the martini glass Jimin was holding shattering in his grasp. Horrified, Y/N watched Jimin shake, eyebrows scrunched up in agony, and she realized Namjoon was using his ‘gift’ on Jimin. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it was terrifying that he could inflict so much pain on even a vampire.

“Enough,” Seokjin called, Namjoon releasing Jimin’s jaw at once, and the younger vampire gasped for breath, his body sagging over the table. “I told you you were on thin ice, Jimin.”

“Sorry,” Jimin heaved, only apologetic because he had to suffer from Namjoon’s Pain Illusion. The sensation of being burned alive was unbearable, but he didn’t regret what he said. Besides, it was trouble that he was craving earlier.

“No you’re not,” Namjoon hissed, Y/N unable to process how scary Namjoon looked, standing beside Seokjin with his arms crossed. Y/N swore to herself, in that very moment, she would do everything in her power to avoid Namjoon using Pain Illusion on her.

“Can we wrap this evening up now?” Yoongi asked, peeved. He wanted to isolate, to paint.

“Not yet,” Seokjin twirled an empty wine glass contemplatively, his eyes then on Y/N. “Come here, little girl.”

“W-what? Why?” Y/N asked with dread, still nauseous. Seokjin clicked his tongue, agitated.

Come here, little girl.

That time, Seokjin’s voice was in her head rather than out loud. Forgetting that he could use Compulsion, she felt her skin crawling hearing his dulcet tones inside of her head. Staring at her expectantly, Y/N was frozen in her seat. Seokjin snapped his fingers, and Namjoon rounded the table again, hooking one of his gloved hands under Y/N’s bicep. Roughly hauling her to her feet, she was effectively dragged to the head of the table, Y/N starting to hyperventilate and panic. Namjoon’s grip was bruising, her skin smarting when he let her go.

Sit.

Seokjin’s voice in her mind was firm and authoritative, spreading his legs expectantly. Y/N’s eyes bugged out of her head– there was no way on God’s green planet she was sitting on that vampire’s lap. Still borderline hysterical, she did the only thing she could think of: beg and plead.

“P-please, please. Don’t hurt me,” Y/N had a tear running down her cheek, Seokjin’s expression hardening at the sight.

Sit down.

Suddenly, Y/N’s spine went rigid. Seokjin’s mental suggestion didn’t seem so bad, then. Even though she was still crying and breathing heavily, her body moved on its own, lowering herself onto one of Seokjin’s thighs. The power of his suggestion, his Compulsion, was impossible to override, so embarrassingly, she was perched on Seokjin’s lap. The vampire curled a hand around her waist, his hold ironclad, to keep her in place. Panic setting in further, Y/N continued to beg the eldest vampire pathetically.

“Please, I’m begging you,” Y/N whimpered, Seokjin setting his wine glass down and tracing his fingers over a steak knife beside it.

“Jeongguk, Taehyung,” Seokjin sighed, exhausted. The little girl was proving to be difficult, so he’d need some persuasion to keep her quiet. Confused, Y/N looked at Jeongguk, more tears slipping down her face when she felt him worming her way into her memories.

“I do not know if you’re aware how a coven operates…” Seokjin began, Y/N finding it hard to focus on his voice while Jeongguk was in her head. “But as the head of the coven, I must be the first to bite you. However, my covenmates… they’re starving.”

Chest heaving, Y/N hated the sturdy feeling of Seokjin’s chest pressed against her back. He was cold, plucking up the steak knife and totally indifferent to her hysteria.

“Y/N, it’s okay!” A familiar, cheery voice had her head snapping in an opposite direction, pure amazement washing over her at the sight of the person across the table.

It was Joseph, from the Sanctuary, dressed in his usual white linens and grinning at her. The sight of him had her tears drying up, even if she had no idea how her friend had gotten there. She didn’t even notice he had taken the spot that Taehyung once sat in.

What Y/N wasn’t aware of was how Joseph managed to arrive at The Breakers. It was simple: Jeongguk found memories of Joseph in the acolyte’s mind, Seokjin pried the image of Joseph from Jeongguk’s report, and sent it to Taehyung, who then Glamored himself as the acolyte’s friend. The visual of her former friend was enough to have Y/N calming down somewhat, Taehyung keeping up the act by using words that ‘Joseph’ would.

“I bet that meal was a lot better than the Sanctuary slop. We had canned tuna tonight.”

“Joey? How did you get here?” Y/N breathed, watching Joseph (Taehyung) push a hand through his dark curls, one of his common habits.

You are going to be calm while I do this.

Seokjin’s voice, a siren’s call in her brain, told her. She wasn’t entirely focused on the vampire whose lap she was sitting in, hardly aware that he was holding onto her wrist with a cold hand. All of her panic went away instantly, melting on Seokjin’s lap, limp for him.

“Just visiting. Actually, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Joseph replied, Taehyung wondering just how close the two of them were as he saw Y/N through Joseph’s eyes.

“I-I guess?” Y/N answered, still staring at her friend in disbelief. She froze when she felt something cold and sharp against her wrist, looking down to see that Seokjin had the steak knife against her skin. “Wait, what are you–”

“Y/N, I think you’ll be happy!” Her friend interrupted, distracting her. Taehyung inwardly smirked at how easy it was to fool her.

“H-how? Ah!” Y/N yelped, Seokjin dragging the knife’s blade across her flesh, cutting into the skin. A three inch long gash was created, blood immediately spilling down her palm, Y/N out-of-body when Seokjin placed her wrist over the empty wine glass.

“Look at me, Y/N. It’s alright. Hey, remember when we used to weed the garden together and see who could pull out the most dandelions?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N’s voice was far away, somehow relaxed in Seokjin’s arms and talking to her friend even though her wrist was just slit. Joseph was right, it was alright, everything was okay, and she’d be fine. “You’d always win.”

“That’s right, squirt. You could never beat me.”

His nickname for her had a stab of pain rocking through her. It really was Joseph!

“J-joey,” Y/N began, feeling lightheaded from the blood flowing from the gash on her wrist. “What were you trying to tell me when they took me away?”

Joseph seemed puzzled, Taehyung unfortunately not having an answer. Thinking on his feet, he composed himself, leaning forward, and came up with a response the girl would likely be satisfied with.

“Oh, I said that I’d write to you every week. That I’d never forget you.”

Y/N didn’t reply, her expression wiping blank. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Surprisingly, Jeongguk couldn’t even decipher what she was thinking when he probed into her skull. All he felt coming from the girl was deep remorse.

Then, Seokjin lifted her wrist again. Trembling, she turned to get a look at his perfect face, gasping sharply when the vampire brought her hand close to his face. Full lips parting, his tongue dragged along the cut he made on her wrist, and Y/N gawked in awe as she watched Seokjin’s eye color go from rusty to deep, dark red.

“Vampire venom can cauterize wounds,” Taehyung’s low voice rang out, and when Y/N turned her head, Joseph was gone and Taehyung had returned to his seat. It was then that she realized she had been deceived, and her heart dropped. Joseph was never truly there, it was Taehyung Glamoring himself to make her docile.

“Pass it around,” Seokjin spoke from behind her, his grip likely leaving a deep bruise on the small of her waist while Namjoon reached for the wine glass– nearly full to the brim with her blood.

With horror, Y/N watched Namjoon take a deep gulp from the glass, color returning to his skin which took on a golden tone. His eyes, too, became richer in color, and in a daze, Y/N was still as the glass made its way around the table, each of the vampires seemingly coming back to life as soon as her blood touched their lips.

Stay still, little girl.

Seokjin, still ordering her around mentally, started to gather her hair in one of his fists, pushing it over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Helplessly, all Y/N could do was squeeze her eyes shut, knowing what was coming.

A pair of cold, but plush, lips parted against her throat, the eldest vampire collecting her in his arms firmly as razor-sharp fangs brushed her skin. Gripping the edge of the dining table, she shrieked when she felt Seokjin’s fangs sink into her neck.

There was a stinging sensation– probably the venom– but a head-to-toe pain flooded through her all at once. It was repulsive to feel Seokjin’s temperature immediately heat up, his chest becoming warm like a human’s, all because of her blood flowing into his mouth. Unable to move due to his supernatural strength keeping her caged, she felt hot tears pouring down her cheeks while Seokjin latched onto her. The recognizable sensation of blood leaving her body, the sensation she hated more than anything, was intensified now that it was literally being sucked out of her.

“Please,” Y/N wheezed, broken. Everything was spinning, and her vision was dimming.

Finally, Seokjin’s fangs retracted, the girl like a rag doll in his lap when he used his tongue to stop the bite from bleeding further. Though she was slight, simple, and weak, her blood was life-giving, and some of the best blood he had ever tasted. The emotion he was feeling, using the back of his hand to clean up the trail of blood dripping down his chin, was comparable to human amazement that he hadn’t felt for over eight hundred years.

Y/N was completely shaken. Over the course of several minutes, she was manhandled and maimed, deceived and manipulated, and bitten. It was more horrible than she ever could have imagined, her head fuzzy and the side of her throat throbbing painfully.

Get up.

Seokjin’s voice haunted her, and she never wanted to hear it again. She knew, however, it was just the beginning of him residing in her mind, and it made her want to use the bloodied steak knife he used on her to cut her own throat. His mental suggestion was so powerful that she actually ended up struggling to her feet, finally out of the eldest vampire’s proximity.

“What did I tell you all? She’s a good little pet,” Hoseok, the picture of vitality with her blood in his system, chuckled, Y/N’s knees buckling before she collapsed on the floor.

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chubby-bun-bun · 2 months ago

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untitled (part 2)

You’ve made a friend out of your new crow roommate(?).

nav: one, two (current), three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, this part is lowkey crack, mephisto being a champ

An ivory satin throw pillow, embroidered with intricate rose gold floral patterns. A vintage set of wind chimes adorned with hanging crystal pendants. A fluffy cat plush toy from the old arcade down the block.

You stand proudly in front of your feathery companion, who’s perched atop the embroidered pillow. You gesture animatedly at the decorations you put together for its temporary lodging.

“Well, what do you think?” you ask, a barely concealed grin tugging at your lips as you pour a generous heap of peanuts into the lid of one of your old tumblers. Setting the makeshift bowl of treats beside your new crow acquaintance, you make sure it’s within easy reach.

The injured crow looks at the mini mountain of peanuts and lets out a squawk but doesn’t make any move to eat them. You frown at its lackluster reaction, glancing at the effort you poured into its setup on your bedroom’s windowsill. With an unconscious pout, you pluck a peanut from the pile, break it into smaller pieces, and offer it directly to the bird. It regards your hand for a moment before deliberately shifting its body away. Then, its beady eyes lift to meet yours.

“Your injury must’ve scared away your appetite, huh?” you murmur, gently patting the crow’s head. It coos softly, leaning into your touch.

“Tell you what,” you say. “Since it’s the weekend tomorrow, I’ll try looking for some soft food for you. Maybe it’ll be easier on your tummy.”

The crow merely responds with a squawk.

Hours later, you’re tucked into bed, fast asleep. A peaceful stillness settles over the room as moonlight streams through the window, scattering rainbow hues across the walls as it catches on the crystal pendants of the wind chimes.

You remain unaware as the injured crow on your windowsill tilts its head, carefully assessing your sleeping form. Satisfied that you’re out cold, it hops to the edge of the window and starts pecking at the lock.

Suddenly, two shadows appear outside the window, their presence drawing a startled squawk from the crow.

“Mephisto, what are you doing?” one of the figures whisper-yells. “Boss has been waiting for your report for hours!”

“If you slack off any longer, you’ll end up in this year’s holiday spread,” the other shadow adds.

The crow—Mephisto—clicks its beak against the glass, squawking indignantly at the pair.

One of the twins snickers before pulling out a Swiss army knife and begins to pick the lock. His grin, hidden behind a leather crow mask, quickly fades when the lock refuses to budge.

“Hurry up, Luke!”

“I am hurrying!” Luke snaps, working the lock again. Still nothing. “Ugh, you try, Kieran.”

Kieran sighs, rolling his eyes—an expression Luke can somehow feel even through the identical crow mask—and snatches the tool from his twin. He fiddles with the lock for a few minutes before groaning in frustration.

“The hell,” he mutters. “This is, like, N109 zone-level stuff. What kind of window lock is this?”

Mephisto squawks, clearly impatient.

“Look, buddy,” Luke says, throwing his hands up. “You’ll just have to hold out until we figure this out. This is practically prison-grade!”

“We’ll report back to boss,” Kieran adds, his tone placating. “Hang tight, alright?”

Mephisto’s stressed cawing grows louder, and it’s enough to stir you from sleep. You groggily sit up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn, and reach for your glasses on the nightstand. Blinking against the dim light, your bleary gaze focuses on the windowsill.

Your crow companion sits where you left it, still nestled atop its embroidered pillow. You stare at it for a beat. It stares back. You yawn again and flop back down onto the bed.

“G’night,” you mumble, oblivious to the flash of two shadows outside your window amidst the falling snow.

—

The weekend passes without much fuss. You stay inside the house as always, doing your usual chores. Normally, you’d head out for your weekly grocery run, but your recent financial choices have forced you to make do with whatever’s left in your fridge—much to the dismay of the two shadows lurking outside, waiting for you to leave so they can retrieve their co-worker.

You do, however, spend a lot of time fussing over your new roommate. While you’re undeniably fond of animals, you’ve never actually had one as a pet. Your family never got around to adopting one, for no particular reason. So, as an outlet for your long-repressed cuteness aggression, you pour all your love into whatever animal crosses your path.

True to its crow nature, your new feathered friend has a soft spot for shiny things. You could barely contain your grin as it inspected your small hoard of treasures gifted by your other crow visitors. On a quaint, repurposed coffee table, you’ve carefully arranged an assortment of polished stones, colorful glass shards, scavenged bits of jewelry, and loose coins. Off to the side are the eccentric bits of random rusty nails, bottle caps, and paperclips that you find just as charming. Your curious crow seems particularly intrigued by the red-colored items in your collection, tilting its head and studying them with keen interest.

It seems comfortable around humans, too. It’s taken a liking to perching on your shoulder as you go about your chores. Not wanting to strain its injured wing, you crafted a makeshift shoulder sling, snug enough to keep its wing steady. (You couldn’t resist decorating it with a few plastic gem stickers from your scrapbooking supplies. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to mind.)

But there’s one thing that has you deeply worried—it won’t eat. Its stubborn refusal to touch food has left you stressed out all weekend. Which is why, on this Sunday night, you’re sitting cross-legged on your bedroom’s carpeted floor with the shattered remains of your ceramic piggy bank in front of you, counting the pitiful savings you’ve scraped together for emergencies. You’ve decided to take the poor creature to the vet tomorrow. Its lack of appetite and still-limp wing have been gnawing at your conscience.

“Maybe this is enough for the consultation fee and some meds?” you murmur, flipping through the thin wad of bills in your hands.

So focused on your counting, you barely notice the pacing crow in front of you. It seems just as distressed at the idea of you draining your savings for its upcoming vet visit, if its insistent cawing is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure it, gently patting its soft head. “I can take the morning off tomorrow so I can have your wing looked at as soon as possible. It’ll be some hours of income lost, but it’s okay!”

It caws louder, practically begging you to reconsider.

Morning arrives, and you’re up and ready to head to the vet. Just as you move toward the bird—currently pacing frantically along your windowsill—to place it in your makeshift carrier, the sharp ringtone of your phone cuts through the room.

Frowning at the unregistered number flashing on the screen, you hesitate before accepting the call and bringing the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Good morning! Am I speaking with the assistant to the Akso IT department’s manager?”

The voice sounds oddly youthful despite the professional introduction. “…Yes?”

“The manager has requested your urgent assistance in 30 minutes. Thank you for your prompt action.” Without waiting for a response, the call ends abruptly.

You lower your phone, staring at the screen in disbelief.

For a moment, you consider ignoring the call and sticking to your plans for the day. But then you remember how your manager has a way of making your life miserable when things don’t go his way—and the fact that you’re flat-out broke.

With a resigned sigh, you shove the phone back into the pocket of your jeans and turn to your crow companion, now still and watching you intently.

“Something from work came up,” you mumble, gaze downcast. “I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to get back this afternoon. If I don’t make it, I promise I’ll take you to the vet tomorrow, okay?” You glance at its injured wing, anxiety twisting in your chest at the thought of leaving it untreated any longer.

After quickly changing into something more office-appropriate, you lean down to place a gentle kiss on the bird’s head and scratch its chin. You miss the way its tail fluffs up and the soft coo it lets out as you straighten up. You then rush out of your bedroom and through the front door, hurrying to catch the bus at the end of the street.

A heavy silence settles over the now-empty house. Moments later, the faint creak of the front door opening again pierces the quiet. Then, the bedroom door swings open, revealing Luke and Kieran, clad in their signature crow masks and hoodies adorned with devil horns.

“Let’s go!” Luke shouts, lunging toward the bird.

Mephisto caws indignantly, pecking at his hand in protest—still annoyed, it seems, at their earlier failed attempt to snatch him.

The twins’ laughter echoes through the house as they make their exit, Mephisto’s shrill caws following.

—

You’ve been home for less than five minutes, and already you’re tearing the house apart, frantically searching for your midnight-feathered companion.

“Little crow, are you here?” Your voice trembles as you call out, your eyes darting from room to room with growing urgency.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt this way. Not the exact same feeling, but somewhat eerily similar.

Grief.

You’d been so sure the bird would be waiting for you when you got home, just like it had every day for the past few days. But the moment you found its pillow—and your entire room—empty of its presence, panic had clawed its way into your chest.

Deep down, you know it must’ve escaped. Your window was slightly ajar when you began your frantic search, even though you swear you wedged your trusty old toothpick into the lock last night. But there the toothpick was, resting neatly on the embroidered pillow.

At the end of the day, it’s just a wild animal. It doesn’t owe you anything.

You sink onto the edge of your bed, chest heaving from the effort of running around the house. Your eyes fall on the empty pillow sitting on the windowsill, and a hollow ache settles in your chest.

Somehow, you had hoped it wouldn’t leave you, too.

A sharp glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye. Turning toward it, you’re startled to see the mess beneath your makeshift treasure display. The gifts your other crow friends had brought you are scattered haphazardly across the floor. The display is tucked into the small alcove in the corner of your room, so it’s no wonder you hadn’t noticed the mess until now.

But then your eyes land on the new centerpiece of the table.

A mound of red gems, gold coins, and jewelry now occupies the space, gleaming in the light.

Atop the pile rests a single, glossy black feather.

note: 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛✨✨✨

nav: one, two (current), three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus fluff #sylus angst #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort

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shxuga · 3 months ago

Text

Whispers of the Deep I | Twisted Wonderland

Jade × Floyd Leech x Female!Reader | Pirate AU | TW: Drowning attempts, unhealthy relationships, mentions of death, alcohol and acts of piracy.

This serie is based on a comic, click here to find it!

The salt in the air stung your skin.

The night was cold, a clear sign that you and the proud Rosehearts fleet had ventured too close to the poles. The icy wind that seemed to seep beneath your very skin reminded you of the night when the imposing and chaotic ship first found you. Drifting on a piece of wood, lost at sea in the dense, dangerous waters. With the promise of making you someone useful, not just another mouth to feed, Captain Rosehearts allowed you to join his crew.

And six months later, you had become a true pirate.

You couldn’t boast, like Ace, about losing a hand in a fierce pirate battle (though that was a lie; the first mate, Mr. Trey Clover, had told you Ace actually lost it after being caught stealing in a town, where they cut it off as punishment). Or like Deuce, who, after a few too many drinks, tearfully confessed how he lost his foot due to a miscalculation during a cannon test. But hey, you looked the part now, with a snug black heart-shaped eyepatch covering your right eye. You didn’t wear it for fun; underneath was a nasty scar and a useless eye. So, when Captain Rosehearts offered you the leather accessory, you didn’t refuse. In hindsight, you would’ve had to accept it regardless.

You bit down on a splinter of wood between your teeth, lazily rubbing your arms against your sides to fight off the chill as your gaze remained fixed on the sea from your lookout perch. Waves crashed wildly against the ship, but that didn’t stop Cater’s slippery tongue. He was animatedly telling one of those old sailor tales that always captivated the younger—or dumber—members of the crew.

“Can you imagine it? Beings beneath the waves, looking like angels!” Cater sighed, gesturing with his hands as though the entity he described could be touched. You weren’t interested in his drunken ramblings, but with nothing better to listen to, you resigned yourself to eavesdrop from your position atop the crow’s nest. “I’m talking about mermaids! Those extraordinary creatures, almost as deadly as they are beautiful.” You took a moment to glance at the crowd of crewmates, enraptured by their superior’s words. It didn’t surprise you to see Ace and Deuce’s mesmerized faces in the middle of the group. “They say their song is like a gentle caress, a deadly trap! Something that turns even the smartest or cruelest sailor into putty in their hands. Once they’ve marked you as prey, there’s no escape.” He concluded with a leap onto the bow, eliciting gasps of surprise from some. You grimaced from your high vantage point.

Between the flickering oil lamp lights, you spotted a flash of red you recognized immediately. You stifled a laugh as you watched that furious red blur make its way toward the drunken group on the bow, entirely unnoticed. Cater brought a finger to his face, his eyes darkened by alcohol and his cheeks flushed despite the biting wind.

“Legend has it, if you manage to get one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!” To your surprise, he continued, drawing even more interest from the others—and more ire from their lurking captain. Cater sighed, like a lovestruck maiden. “Personally, if I could choose how I’d die, I’d want it to be at the hands of one of those beauties...”

His statement shocked no one. His reputation as a ladies’ man was well-known. Rumor had it that, during a stop at a port, several courtesans he’d scorned banded together to get revenge. They supposedly drugged him and... well, the whispers said they castrated him. You had no idea if it was true, but given his nymphomaniac tendencies, it wouldn’t have surprised you.

“If you’re so eager to die, let me be the one to throw you overboard,” growled Riddle, snapping everyone out of their drunken stupor. His stern voice and sharp glare forced Cater to stand straight and regain composure. The others followed suit, fleeing in fear of their temperamental captain’s icy gaze.

The laughter and idle chatter faded. The moon reached its peak in the sky, and everything fell into a deep silence, broken only by the sound of waves, the constant creak of worn wood, and the snores of your crewmates, who had abandoned their posts to huddle on the cold deck. Everything was so peaceful you hesitated when you noticed a distant silhouette on the horizon. You extended your spyglass—practically an extension of your arm at this point—and directed it to the point in the sea that seemed to be approaching rapidly.

The emblem on the flag sent a chill down your spine: an apple dripping with poison smiled at you. If not for the light color of the flag and the ship’s golden detailing, anyone would’ve mistaken the naval guard insignia for a pirate’s Jolly Roger. You yanked the bell rope hard, alerting your crewmates to take their positions.

“Ship sighted!” you announced. To your dismay, the elegant Pomefiore reached you with alarming speed. You were about to jump down from the crow’s nest, rope in hand, when the sound of a cannonball firing echoed in your ears, and the ship shook violently. Everything around you blurred. You heard shouts, the wild splashing of the sea, and before you realized it, you were falling.

The freezing water welcomed you with open arms.

• • •

You have no idea how many days have passed since then. While you frantically fought against the raging sea, someone noticed your absence and dropped a lifeboat in your direction. Somehow, you managed to climb aboard, but as temperamental and vain as the ocean is, a fierce storm broke loose, carrying you far from the fight. And far, far away from your crew.

Despite the cold winds, the sun blazed proudly in the sky. The skin not covered by your wrinkled clothes burned as you sprawled languidly in the small boat, feeling your lips crack and your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. Your eyes stung, yet another sign of your dehydration. The lifeboat was equipped with a few emergency rations, but you weren’t foolish enough to consume them all at once. Experience had taught you it could take weeks to be found. Deep down, buried in the darkest corners of your mind, you recognized the possibility that you might never be. But you refused to dwell on that thought.

The real battle now was with your own mind.

You were hallucinating—or so you believed. At night, you would wake up in a panic, gripped by the eerie sensation that something, or someone, was watching you. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt like hundreds of eyes emerged from the depths of the sea, silently stalking you. It was morbid. Unsettling. Since then, you hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few fleeting moments. Paranoia gnawed at your sanity; you could only close your eyes when sheer exhaustion forced you to. But even then, rest was elusive.

You had nothing except your clothes and an old tarp, which you used to wrap yourself during the frigid nights. You were surprised by your own stubbornness—how, despite the bone-chilling cold and the relentless growling of your empty stomach, you refused to give up.

Because you trusted your captain.

He might have been a small and temperamental man, obsessed with his rules, but he was a man of his word. And he’d given his word to you and every other misfit on the ship:

"I will never abandon any of my men. So don’t you dare die."

Clinging to that promise, you wrapped yourself tighter in the stiff tarp, keeping your eyes wide open, watchful, as that disturbing sensation lingered in the dark of the night.

• • •

It's been a month.

You know because the moon, which had been absent for some time, finally showed itself again, bringing with it an unsettling sense of hope. Yet, its absence left you uneasy in the dark, shivering from the cold and the fear that at any moment, something might emerge from the water and drag you into the icy depths of the sea.

But it never happened.

By now, you didn’t know whether to see it as a blessing or a curse.

Your rations were gone. Somehow, you made them last until that morning when you devoured the remnants of stale bread and drained the final bitter drops from your leather canteen. Now, you simply waited for the inevitable. Staring into the water with the moon behind you, you saw your gaunt reflection, thinking about how pitiful and miserable your death would be.

Completely alone. Isolated. Perhaps you would have preferred being arrested, accused of piracy, and hanged in the town square. That death would have been kinder than dying of starvation and dehydration, your body covered in blisters.

Resigned and delirious, you found yourself remembering your first nights aboard the Rosehearts fleet. Nostalgia struck as you softly hummed that song Cater always loved to sing at any opportunity:

"There is nothing... that console me... but my jolly sailor bold."

You sighed, closing your eyes. Slowly, humming until sleep began to take over.

"Is it dead?"

You jerked awake at the sound of a splash and an unfamiliar voice close by. You scrambled backward, drawing the pistol hidden at your side and pointing it without hesitation toward the source of the voice.

Your face drained of color.

An olive glow painted the dark sea. At first, you thought it was a star. But soon, you realized it wasn’t. A star wouldn’t have such a human face—yet also something not entirely human.

The blue-green scales on the masculine body leaning against your boat shimmered like tiny jewels. Like a fish’s—but this being staring at you with a curious, almost morbid amusement was definitely not a fish. Its uneven, dual-colored eyes lingered on your pistol, tilting its head slightly. The moment you fell into the water with it, the gun had turned into dead weight among your clothes, but you had kept it as a precaution. Still, the creature before you didn’t seem to recognize the threat it posed.

It was a mermaid… no, a merman.

A sharp-toothed smile greeted you after a moment of silent contemplation.

“Heh~, I guess I was wrong.”

You couldn’t decide what was more astonishing—that this creature spoke your language or that all those mermaid tales Cater had spouted were actually true. If you made it out of this alive (which, honestly, you doubted), you’d apologize to him and pay closer attention to most of what he had to say. Because even with Cater, half the things that came out of his mouth were lies… if you were lucky.

"I told you, Floyd. You shouldn’t have been so impatient," another voice chimed in, followed by a new splash. You tensed further, whipping your aim to this new direction. Panic gripped you. If you thought one was intimidating, you quickly realized two were the embodiment of pure terror.

Like an animal assessing its odds against a predator, your single eye darted between them. They were identical, equally menacing. Broad shoulders, sharp teeth, and piercing eyes. Where human ears should have been, fins jutted out. Their webbed hands, tipped with claws, scratched lazily at the sides of the boat.

Your chances of surviving this encounter dwindled with each passing second.

“But it was soooo boring...! We’ve never seen a human before—not a live one, anyway.” Floyd grinned widely, and your expression hardened. “Aren’t you curious, Jade?”

"Of course, but I’d rather not be reckless. You know, there could be more of her kind around," Jade said, his olive eye gleaming in a way that churned your stomach. "And that would be so unfortunate..."

"It’s been a month!" Floyd protested, shaking the boat in a fit of impatience. When his gaze shifted from his twin to you, it softened slightly. "I’m so curious… Hey, can you talk?"

"I have nothing to say to you," you spat, gripping the pistol painfully tight in your fingers. Floyd chuckled, leaning heavily on your boat. The wood groaned under his weight, and you wobbled from the shift.

"Heh~, look at her. Trembling like a little shrimp but acting like a shark."

"Humans are, as always, such fascinating creatures."

They started inching closer, their eyes seeming to glow more intensely against the absence of light.

“Stay back—don’t come any closer!”

“Poor thing, she’s so scared…” Jade sighed, placing a hand on his chest as if feigning sympathy. However, his eyes were sly crescents of amusement.

“Do you think a swim might help her relax?”

They shared a look of wicked complicity.

“Only one way to find out…”

“Wa-wait…!” Your protests died on your tongue as they overturned the boat, and the salty water enveloped you.

The sea consumed you, like dark, thick ink. The salt stung your eyes, but you refused to close them, knowing what lurked nearby. The cold clung to your skin, much like your soaked clothes. You swam upward toward the moonlit surface, barely catching a shallow breath before something yanked your ankle, dragging you back down.

You fought against the iron grip coiled around your body, your mind reeling in horror as you noticed the elongated appendage wrapping around your legs and most of your torso. The mermen were enormous, and their tail resembled that of a serpent. Your hands scrambled for the knife hidden in your boot when a faint glow emanating from the chest of your captor (Floyd, perhaps?) caught your blurred vision.

"Legend says if you claim one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!"

You didn’t even think. You couldn’t, not when their clawed fingers were digging into your sides and the water had invaded your lungs. With the last of your strength, you tore the glowing scale from its chest. You caught a glimpse of its shock, but you kept fighting until the small, jagged piece was clutched tightly in your hand. You didn’t know if it would work, but you wished with all your might.

"Take me to the surface! Now!"

Your world flipped in seconds. You vomited the salty contents of your stomach, bile burning your throat as your lungs were granted a second chance. Trembling on your hands, you spat out every last drop of seawater stinging your insides. You didn’t even notice you were still gripping the small scale until your blood began to seep from your palm.

"You... What did you do to me?" the chattier merman hissed, his mismatched eyes glowing with hostility.

“Floyd… your chest.” Jade pointed out, his previously amused expression replaced with shock. You followed his clawed finger’s direction, spotting the faint trickle of blue blood dripping from where you had ripped the scale.

“Oh, looks like it actually worked... That charlatan was right.” You spat out the last salty remnants in your mouth before straightening up. Holding the scale firmly between your fingers, you glared at the two stunned mermen. “Now, would you kindly get your filthy hands off my boat, creature?”

Floyd seems to struggle against a force pulling at his neck the moment you finish speaking your command. It was a fact—with the scale in your possession, he was forced to obey you, much to his dismay.

“Don’t move” you warn Jade when you notice the gears of his mind turning behind his sharp gaze. You shake the scale. “Or I’ll have to use this thing and make your brother kill you.”

Floyd lets out a guttural growl, his eyes sparking with fury and disdain, but he can’t resist the invisible pressure of the scale trembling between your fingers. His body tenses, and an almost tangible force seems to wrap around him, making him falter for a moment, though not enough to fully yield.

“Damn it…” he mutters through clenched teeth, clearly struggling against the control now imposed on him. His hands, which had earlier tried to snatch the object from you, now remain rigid at his sides, as though he’s afraid to touch you.

Jade, on the other hand, appears calm, more surprised by your bold threat. His narrowed eyes and typically impassive face show only a hint of curiosity. The scale, with its lethal gleam, is a card he doesn’t yet fully understand but certainly respects.

“Don’t act tough, human.” Jade replies, his lips curving into a subtle smile. “Not now that you know you can kill me without laying a finger on me.”

It’s not a threat—it’s a certainty, and he says it so casually that it almost makes you doubt your own power. But you know what this scale represents now that it’s in your hands. The energy pulsing within it doesn’t just govern Floyd; it also connects to you in a way neither of them can yet comprehend.

“It’s true,” you respond, feeling the truth in his words. But there’s something else at play here—something that goes beyond mere threats or physical power. You know the scale grants you control, but you also feel how the connection to the merfolk consumes you, like a slow poison seeping into your skin, your mind. You can’t stop it. Not even if you wanted to.

A shiver runs through your body, and you glance at the water’s surface, fearful of what might be lurking beneath the dark waves.

“Listen to me” you say, gritting your teeth as the scale begins to vibrate more strongly, its power growing. Floyd stirs, his gaze no longer on you but fixed on something else, as if the scale’s invisible threads had bound him to an inescapable fate. You feel the pressure in your chest but remain firm. “I’m not going to use this thing to hurt you. That’s not what I want. But if you think you can take me by surprise, you’re wrong.”

Floyd doesn’t respond, but his expression speaks volumes. There’s something in his eyes now—a deep fear. Not of you, not of the direct threat, but of what the scale might do to him if he defies you. And that’s where you have him. You don’t need to harm him. You just need him to believe you will.

Jade approaches slowly, his movements stealthy and calculated, as if waiting for something… something more. But he can’t hide the slight tremor in his hand as the water shifts around him, forming invisible ripples.

“What do you want, then?” he asks, his tone shifting from a threat to something akin to acknowledgment, almost as if he were measuring you, testing you.

“I want your cooperation. Take me to the nearest port, and I’ll return this thing.”

“Why should we trust a human?!” Floyd’s fins bristle, and you frown, irritated by his behavior when you clearly have the upper hand.

Jade observes silently, assessing the conflict between you two. For a moment, everything seems to pause, the tension nearly palpable. Then, a faint glint in his eyes suggests he’s finally made a decision.

“Fine” he says, his tone now more calculated than aggressive. “We’ll take you to the port. But don’t get any ideas, human. You won’t manipulate us at will.”

As he says this, his hand extends toward you, and though you know he isn’t doing it out of kindness, the fact that he’s agreed to the proposal at all is a victory. Despite his reservations, Jade has relented. And that’s the opportunity you need.

“I know you can’t trust me” you reply, keeping calm despite the emotional weight at play. “But understand this—I’m not your enemy. And this deal is the only way we all come out ahead.”

And it’s true. Your only desire was to survive. You understood that these creatures acted according to their nature, but that didn’t absolve them of trying to drown you. You had no intention of becoming their master (as Cater’s tale suggested) or anything of the sort—you just wanted to go home. Because the Rosehearts, with its smell of cheap perfume and rum, had become that. Your home.

The wind whips your face as the sea begins to churn around the small boat. Jade and Floyd, working in silence, haul the ropes with tremendous strength, and the vessel speeds forward, leaping over the waves with the grace of sea creatures. The water bubbles around them as if the ocean itself is aiding their journey, propelled by the determination of the merfolk. Your heart races at the power of their effort, but you remain calm. You know there’s no turning back.

The horizon begins to clear as the port takes shape in the distance. In less than an hour, the water around you seems to calm, as if the sea recognizes the urgency of their mission. The sun’s light starts to ascend, bathing the landscape in golden hues that herald the start of a new day. Under the merfolk’s direction, the small boat nears solid ground.

Finally, the boat touches the first rocks of the port, and with one last push of their fins, Jade and Floyd gently ground it on the shore. The water settles, and the boat halts with a soft creak. The wind no longer blows as fiercely, but the ocean’s echo still lingers in the air. You take a moment to feel solid ground beneath your feet and allow yourself to breathe calmly for the first time in weeks.

Jade retreats, his expression etched with distrust and exhaustion, while Floyd can’t help but cast a withering glare your way. You notice their unease—this close to human territory must be unfamiliar to them, but at this point, that’s the least of your worries. Without a word, you toss the scale toward Floyd. The stone gleams briefly in the morning light before landing in his hands. There’s no gratitude, no farewells, just a cold and calculated exchange.

Without looking back, you step toward the dock, walking like someone who has finally finished what needed to be done. Your attitude is dismissive, as if all those days adrift at sea were just a nightmare you want to forget. As you leave, your footsteps echo against the empty pier in the early hours of dawn. The twins, on the other hand, watch from the water’s edge, their eyes fixed on your retreating figure. Their bodies slip beneath the sea’s surface, leaving behind an ephemeral trail in the water, like a sigh. No words. No promises. The tension between you all seems to dissolve with their disappearance.

You recognize the town as soon as you set foot in it. It was marked on the Rosehearts’ route, so with a bit of luck, you might reunite with your crew by the end of the day. You’re exhausted; fatigue clings to you as clearly as the salt and smell of the sea in your clothes. You trade the trinkets you kept from the lifeboat for some gold. It’s not much, but it’s enough to buy a cold drink and secure a place to sleep for the afternoon. Because, for heaven’s sake, you need some rest. And to think. Now that you’re no longer on the brink of death, you feel you have a lot to process. While your life as a pirate had been full of madness and fantastical experiences, this, by far, had been the most surreal.

The creaky bed in the rundown inn you found with your meager budget groans in protest as you collapse onto it. You’ve bathed, and your clothes have been replaced with something resembling what you wore before. At this point, all you want is to lie down and sleep until the harbor bell announcing incoming ships wakes you. But there’s a strange itch pricking at the skin of your palm. Annoyed, you open your hand in front of your eyes.

The greenish glow that greets you makes your guts churn.

The scale… the damn scale. How had it returned to your hand? You were sure you’d thrown it away!

You don’t even think before opening the window and hurling it out for the second time. Seconds pass, during which all you hear is the erratic pounding of your pulse in your ears. Just to be sure, you check your hand again, and…

The scale is back.

A knot tightens in your stomach. The harbor bell snaps you out of your stupor. You lift your eyes and recognize the Jolly Roger of roses and skulls painted on a menacing black flag. A new fear blooms in your gut, alongside a growing doubt forming in your head:

How are you going to explain this to your captain?

#twisted wonderland #ツイステ #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #pirate au #fanfic #ao3

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l0stfoster · 5 months ago

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More Cursed Tulsa‼️‼️

Little things relating to the doodles of ur interested teehee‼️

- Darry (and Dally) are the only people who can hold Two’s perching weight, so Darry very commonly has a bird just, there.

- Dally still snaps and loses it. Johnny ‘dies’ (heart stopped, declared clinically dead— gets resuscitated though) and Dally bolted the second after he ‘died’. Dude gets shot by the cops, the gang gets him to the hospital and he lives thank god. Two stress plucks tho lmao.

- The socs who jumped two wear his stolen feathers out loud n proud. Just to mock him, pretty much. He is NOT happy and neither are the other harpies!

(Speaking of which, the Shepard gang is a bunch of harpies too, a lot of vultures compared to the Mathews being a crow)

- Two-Bit n Dally were childhood friends, he’s the one who found Two after he got jumped. Dally’s so pissed ab what happened with Pony n Johnny that he wants some sick gratitude by seeing exactly where Bob took his last breath, so that’s where he finds him. I AM SO BRAINROTTED ON THIS AU DUDE. It's so over, I can't come back from this. We got so much talked about for it and it's only existed for like 2 days, it's so good. We made an ao3 collection for the AU as well that you can find here! Timewing has already posted a little drabble to it, so have fun >:)

{ Tag List: @nova-drawzz @timewing06 }

#foster talks #digital art #my art #the outsiders #the outsiders musical #artists on tumblr #artwork #cursed tulsa au #darry curtis #darrel curtis #two bit mathews #keith mathews #dallas winston #paul holden #bev the outsiders #darbit #darry x two bit #< implied #cursed tulsa

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djarincore · 1 year ago

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The Object of My Desire

SUMMARY: You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired for your protection is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

PAIRING: fighter!price x wizard!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

TAGS: DND!au, porn with some plot, f masturbation, dirty talk, cunnilingus, he bends you over a desk, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight breath play, creampie, slight jealously, reader gets called a bitch (not by Price but he does call you a brat whoops)

A/N: this is just a silly little idea that popped into my head while I tried learning more about DND! I actually rolled some dice to make some decisions/outcomes and it made the writing experience way more fun 10/10 recommend

Winter’s gray sky cast a torrent of rain against the cobblestone roads and blew frigid winds through the streets of Moongarde. Despite the relentless weather, citizens continued to migrate towards the town's center in attendance for the annual Heroes Feast.

You clutched your cloak tighter against your chest as you weaved through the crowds of people heading in the opposite direction. There were more important things to deal with than a stupid celebration—like the supposed danger you were in.

Having a father who enjoyed making enemies in high places certainly made your life interesting. Though, the threats on your life were, frankly, a nuisance. You had much better things to do than worry about silly threats from cowardly, old men. But, your father worried; he worried enough to hire a mercenary to guard you.

You hoped he wasn't old and boring like the last one you chased away. Any guard who succumbed to simple illustory spells like fear weren't worth the gold your father spent.

Ahead, a hanging sign swung forward in the wind. Carved into the wood was a crow perched on a branch, staring off beyond the borders of its design. The Ivory Crow—a dingy, little establishment you loathed to enter.

With a grimace, you made your way up the creaking wooden stairs. Already, you could hear rowdy, clamorous songs and bellowing voices seeping through the cracks of its shabby, wooden walls.

Before you could reach out to push open the swinging doors, they burst open and a man stumbled out, his weight nearly toppling onto you.

“S’rry ‘bout tha’, m’ss,” he slurred, hiccuping as he ended his sentence. He grabbed onto one of the doors to steady himself, though he still swayed.

“Move,” you demanded. His body blocked half the entrance and you weren’t interested in squeezing past him. He was covered in stains, presumably sweat and booze from the acrid smell of him.

He lifted his head towards you, eyes half-lidded. “Hey, don’ tell me wha’ ta do,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes and raised a finger towards the man. The familiar warmth of magic pooled at your fingertip and was dispelled when you tapped his forehead.

He crumpled to the ground, eyes closed with his chest still rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

You wiped your finger against your velvet cloak and stepped over the unconscious body into the tavern.

The inside was warmly lit by a large candle chandelier hanging from the tall rafters and more candles decorating tables. No one in the tavern seemed to have noticed your exchange. They were all absorbed in their own ideas of fun.

A dwarven bard strummed her lute on top of a table, singing an unfamiliar tune and absorbing the adoring applause of drunken patrons who chimed in off-key. Couples, locked in heated embraces, cozied themselves to dimly lit corners of the tavern.

If it wasn’t singing or lovers, there was plenty of conversation floating through the air to distract from anything outside.

Your eyes scanned the tavern’s edge, looking for a lone figure at one of the tables.

The mercenary gave your father instructions for you to find him at the Ivory Crow. Look for a bear on the pommel of his sword, your father had said.

In the far corner of the room, you finally spoted a vaguely familiar figure matching your idea of him, sitting on a stool with his back facing the wall and nursing a pint of ale between his hands. His eyes were downcast as he stared at the overflowing foam sliding down the metal pint.

He seemed to be the only lone figure in the tavern, everyone else was joined by at least one other companion.

His attire was shades of muted green and brown, darkened by grime and dirt. A sword tucked in its scabard leaned against the table. The pommel bore the crest of a roaring bear head.

You approached swiftly, maneuvering your way past the overflowing tables filled with patrons and stumbling drunks trying to get to the bar.

When you reached the mercenary, you stood at the edge of his table. His gaze lifted from his drink to you. Blue eyes met yours.

He wasn't as old as your last guard, and he certainly wasn't as boring to look at.

There was no surprise on his face as he looked at you, no glimmer of recognition; his stern countenance gave away nothing of his thoughts. His gaze was almost intense, discerning, and calculating.

You broke eye contact first to look down at the round stool opposite him. It had a spot of liquid on the edge that made you grimace.

All the other surrounding chairs looked occupied. So, you dug through your leather bag and pulled a purple cloth from it.

You wordlessly conjured up a spectral blue hand and offered up the cloth for it to wipe away the liquid. The hand dried up the liquid and deposited the cloth on the table before vanishing.

The mercenary had crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to watch you, legs spread wide. Inquisitive eyes followed as you took a seat, back stiff with hands tucked into your cloak, clutching it tighter to your body as if it were shielding you.

“Ser Jonathan Price, correct?”

He nodded once and said nothing.

You fished a hefty pouch from your leather bag and tossed it towards him. The platinum pieces inside rattled as they hit the table.

His eyes fell to the bag for a moment, then slid back up to you, not attempting to reach for the pouch.

Maybe he was unimpressed.

“There's your payment for today—one hundred platinum pieces,” you stated and cleared your throat. “Now, the rules for this arrangement are simple: protect me and stay out of my way.”

You think he understood. He didn't say anything otherwise. There was a slight twitch in your eye when he tilted his head like he was looking at an amusing, little oddity.

After another moment his arms unfurled and a hand reached out for the pouch. He cradled it in his palm, hefting it for its weight. The coins rattled. When he pushed two fingers into the closed seam and spread it open, you scoffed.

“If you think I'm lying, don't. Your coin is there.” You crossed your arms, in an attempt to be as nonplussed as he was—it was a poor attempt. You couldn't help the frown that stuck to your lips.

He removed his fingers from the pouch and rapped his knuckles down hard against the wooden table twice, making you flinch and catching the attention of a passing barmaid.

Their exchange was quick. She turned her head toward him with a bright smile, flirty even as her eyes roamed down his figure. He pointed a finger down at his pint and flicked his wrist up to call for one more. She nodded and flitted back to the bar.

“Easy enough,” he said when he turned back to you. His voice was smoky, low. Probably caused by too many cigarettes and shouting. He rested his forearms on the table, one hand still gripped around the pouch. “But drop the ser, m’ not a knight.”

Your brows furrowed. You recalled the description your father gave you of him. A knight who served under the King’s banner for twenty years. “But you’re-”

“I was,” he interrupted firmly, leaving you with no room to argue.

Your mouth remained open, wanting to bite back, but when his brow raised slightly at the hint of a challenge, you clenched your jaw. Any attempt to delve further into the topic would only prove futile and a waste of time.

You took in a deep breath through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “Fine,” you acquiesced. “How do I address you then?”

“John’s good enough for me."

“Okay, John,” you ground out and stood from your seat. “I want to leave before nightfall.”

He held his hand up, stopping you in your place. “We're not going anywhere yet, love.”

You bristled at both the nickname and his order. The arrangement was supposed to be the other way around. You give him orders and he follows.

“Sit, drink—I already bought you a mug.”

On cue, the barmaid returned to the table with another overflowing pint in her hand and set it down on your side. She wiped her hand down on her apron and looked at John, her charming smile returning. “Anythin’ else I can getcha?”

“No, thank you.” He returned her smile with a grin of his own. He dug into the pouch and pulled out a platinum piece, setting it in her outstretched hand.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “This is too much! The drinks are only ten silver!”

You crossed your arms and interjected, “I agree. That's far too much.”

“Keep it,” he assured, waving her off.

The barmaid scurried away with an even wider smile than you thought possible. Her hair and skirt bounced as she went.

With her gone, he turned his attention back to you and gestured back to your stool. “Drink with me.”

The foam dribbling down the sides of the metal pint made you grimace. You didn't drink ale; it wasn't to your taste. You preferred the rich, sweet taste of Evermead.

But, another part of you was tempted, not by cheap ale. It was the mercenary, the ex-knight, Jonathan Price. Stern to you, yet kind to the barmaid. Silent but still expressive. You felt the tug of curiosity, the desire to learn everything about this stranger and unfold his secrets.

You sat, watching as he took his ale and the bob of his throat as he drank.

He set down his drink, now half full, and nodded his head toward your mug. “Don't be shy, love. Go on.”

Your hand snuck out from your cloak and grasped the handle, cold and slightly sticky. Slowly, to not spill, you lifted the mug and took a sip. Cold liquid slid down your throat. The ale was bitter, watered down, and made your mouth twist with disgust.

“That bad, eh?” He chuckled. You were alarmed to find his low, raspy chuckle disarming. Surely, the ale hadn't got to your head already.

You set the mug down, pushing it further away with your fingers, and wiped your lips clean of any foam left behind with the back of your hand. “I can't believe you like this.”

“Oh, I don't like this garbage.” He laughed, grabbing his mug once more. His thumb idly ran down the handle, throwing a glance out to the crowded tavern. “Just drinking to pass the time.”

“Surely there are better taverns to drink in.” You glanced around at the rowdy patrons once more. Two men were standing toe to toe at the table across from you, exchanging heated words.

When he failed to respond, you tried following his eye. It led you to the opposite side of the room toward the barmaid who served you earlier tending to a group of adventurers. She pressed her hip against the table and chatted with them, laughing.

“So, it’s not the drinks that bring you back,” you muttered to yourself, moving your gaze back to him.

The small smile that tugged the corner of his lips as he watched her caused a strange feeling to stir in your chest. You clenched your hands together, forcing away the uncomfortable squeeze.

You stood abruptly from your seat, ignoring your chair tipping backwards and hitting the floor. His attention was on you again. The smile was gone.

“We’re going.”

“Haven't finished your drink,” he called as you stormed off.

You ignored him, pushing straight between the two quarreling men. Your hands pressed hard against both their chests to pry them out of your way.

The two men stumbled back, caught off guard.

“Hey!”

“Don't touch me, you little bitch,” the other snarled. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, narrowly latching on.

His movements were sloppy, most likely from all the ale he'd been drinking. You were quick enough to snatch your hand away before he could restrain you.

You were beginning to really hate this tavern.

More patrons were beginning to watch the exchange, sitting back like it was some spectacle.

But, you saw John rise from his stool. His hand grasping his sword as he approached the men from behind.

“Let's settle down, gentleman,” he said with a tired sigh.

The man who tried grabbing you turned his attention to John. “Stay outta this,” he hissed, clenching his fists and setting his shoulders back. He was much larger than John, towering at least a head taller.

You didn't want to find out how well a brawl between the two would end.

“Obtempero."

The spell sliped from your lips and the man stiffend. In that instance, your mind was linked with his as you forcibly erased any free will he had.

Shut up and sit down, you commanded.

The room went silent as the man lowered onto his seat. You clenched your jaw when your head began to throb, a sign of him fighting against your control.

“Quickly,” you beckoned to the mercenary. Your control over the man’s mind wouldn't last long and you didn't want to stick around to face his wrath.

You turned and dashed out the tavern doors, followed closely by John who was laughing to himself.

“Clearly you can handle yourself. Don't know what you need me for,” he said.

A light rainfall had started, coating you and the streets in water. You raised your hood over your head to shield yourself.

The street was still bustling with citizens with their umbrellas. A good cover in case the man tried following the two of you.

“I only agreed to a guard to appease father’s worries,” you muttered, sidestepping a pair of children running past you, chasing each other with wooden swords. “But, dealing with pea-brained oafs is easy compared to defending myself from someone with a dagger.”

He only hummed in reply, walking in stride with you up the cobblestone street. The rain was beginning to dampen his hair and clothes, but he didn't seem to mind.

You could feel your concentration on the spell waning the further you got until it snapped. You tensed and reached to grab John’s hand. His fingers wrapped around yours without question.

“We have to-”

“You bitch! I'm gonna tear you apart!”

Your head snapped around to find the man burst from the tavern door with a roar. Your heart jumped. The man almost seemed to burn with fury as he barreled up the street in search of you.

“This way.”

John tugged your hand and you allowed him to pull you through the street, weaving your way through throngs of people. He pulled you through unfamiliar streets that passed by in a blur before taking a sharp right into an alleyway, tugging you into the shadows.

Your back was against the stone walls and you heaved a sigh. Your heart raced with adrenaline. This certainly wasn't anything you'd experienced while nose-deep in a book. “Gods, I-”

“Shh,” he hushed, placing a hand over your mouth.

Your eyes widened. He was looking out towards the street and you realized how close he was standing, nearly pressed against your front. Your hand gripped his wrist; to pry it off or hold him close, you didn't know.

When he deemed the coast clear, his hand fell away.

“Don't do that again,” you said weakly.

He looked down at you, an amused smile forming. “Understood. Mind giving me my hand back then?”

You didn't realize your grip on his wrist remained. You released him and slipped away.

“I'll lead us home.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was just setting by the time you returned to the manor. John had followed you silently the whole way.

“Welcome back, ma'am,” Ann greeted once you entered the foyer. She was a maid you'd known since you were a child. Her warm smile was akin to that of a mother’s, though you'd never call her such.

“Ann will run you a bath and get you some new clothes.”

She was already moving up the left side of the split staircase to fulfill your request.

“What's wrong with my clothes?” John glanced down at his attire, smoothing his hand down the front of his doublet, now soaked with rain.

“They're filthy and soaked. Now go.” You used your hand to shoo him off and he followed Ann with a sigh, ascending the stairs.

You went off to another area of the manor where you could take your own bath and wash away the grime of that tavern.

When the bath was filled and ready, you shed your robes and stepped into the warmth, sighing as the warm water enveloped your body. You ran your hand up your arm, over your neck, and down your collarbone.

While you washed, your thoughts wandered back to John. A hand slipped down the valley of your breasts and between your thighs.

There was no question that he was attractive. The mercenary was new and surprisingly exciting—an experiment to toy with. You wanted to win him, have him in the palm of your hand and study what made him tick.

Your index finger brushed against your clit. The first hum of pleasure bolted through your body. Slow teasing circles were drawn over your clit until you ached for more. Two fingers parted your folds to allow your middle finger to dip in.

You sunk lower into the water, chin rippling the surface, and let your eyes fall shut to embrace your own touch while imagining it was someone else's.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you slipped out of the bath, satisfied, you redressed into a new robe. The loose low neck reached your abdomen, teasing the inner valley of your breasts.

As you made your way to your room, you noticed the door was left slightly ajar. When you pushed open the door, you found John standing at your bookshelf, his fingers running down the spine of a tome.

He was in a fresh set of clothes, loaned from a butler by the looks of it. The untucked, white dress shirt clung to the curves of his muscles, growing taut when he folded his arms. The black pants fit his form enough to show off the thickness of his thighs.

You shut the door and leaned against it, eyeing his form. The ache between your legs was growing again, wanting more than just your fingers this time.

John turned around at the noise and you could see the buttons of his shirt were halfway done, revealing his toned chest with a smattering of hair.

“Impressive collection,” he remarked. “I’d expect no less from a wizard.”

“I spent my entire life building this collection,” you replied absently. Your mind was wandering to other things—the veins on his arms, the bulge of his pectorals in the shirt. You were unashamedly staring through lowered eyelids, greedily taking in the sight.

He was just as interested in your low cut robes. It was obvious in the way his eyes roamed your chest.

You chose to close the gap until you were beside the bookcase, just a foot away from his side.

He leaned his shoulder against the shelves and looked at you with a sly smirk. “Trying to charm me?”

Magic would make your game too easy.

Your hand moved to caress his jaw, smoothing over the soft hairs of his beard. He didn't move away, choosing to lean further into your touch.

“I don't need to,” you hummed. Your fingers clawed up the slope of his neck and into the short strands of damp hair, drawing his face closer. “You're already mine.”

“That so?” His words fluttered along your lips in warm breaths. Strong hands fell to the curves of your waist, smoothing down to your ass and pulling you against his front.

You felt the growing stiffness of his cock, trapped in his pants, press against your abdomen which only made the throbbing of your cunt worse. Instead of responding, you leaned forward and sealed your lips tightly against his, tasting smoke and bitter ale on his tongue.

John was quick to respond, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip to get you to open up for him. His grip slid down your ass, roughly squeezing the soft flesh in his large palms.

You rubbed yourself against his bulge, trying to satisfy the need growing inside of you. There was a needy, animalistic frenzy in his low groan, vibrating in his chest.

He backed you up towards your desk. It was cluttered with more tomes you amassed over the years, threatening to spill at the slightest touch. Your prized spell book, a gift from your father, was also sitting open, flipped to the enchantment spell you used earlier at the tavern.

John didn't seem to care much for your precious collection as he swiped the books off your desk to make room to set you down. They scattered to the floor.

You pulled away, intent on telling him off. That spell book was one of a kind—

He didn't give you room to argue, much less breathe. His lips were already diving forward to capture yours again, dizzying you, driving any thought out of your head. Your legs spread around his to accommodate his body as he forced your attention back on him.

John’s hands pushed aside the fabric of your robe which easily fell around your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cool room air. Your hardening nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric of his shirt.

Your hands roamed his chest in turn, running over the coarse hairs and clawing down his exposed sternum. You worked quickly to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushed it off his broad shoulders.

Once revealed, you trailed your eyes over his chest and down to a nasty scar sliced from his upper torso across his stomach. It was old by the scaring. You briefly wondered if it was the reason he was no longer a knight as your hand reached out to brush over it.

John caught your wrist in an iron grip. When you looked back at his face, his stern expression told you enough to stay silent about it. With your short nod, the tension in the air lifted and he was back to work on you.

Another night then, you thought. You'd unravel his secrets eventually.

When he released your wrist and pulled away, he moved down to his knees, untying the knot at your waist and pushing aside the rest of the fabric to reveal the rest of your body. With your thighs spread, he could fit his hand between your thighs, feeling the arousal leaking from your cunt.

“So wet already?”

His middle finger parted your folds, dipping in ever so slightly, causing your hips to shift forward, but he pulled away before you could feel him any deeper. He got to his knees, grunting as his settled.

Your legs hooked over his shoulders, leaving him face to face with your cunt. His heavy breath fanned over your exposed cunt.

“What a sight,” he muttered to himself before leaning in to flick his tongue over your clit again and again.

Your body trembled with static after every stroke of his tongue. Your fingers locked through his brown hair, tugging sharply at the roots. He hissed through his teeth at the sting, but even that didn't stop him.

His hands gripped your thighs around his shoulders, digging into the soft flesh and then smoothing up until his hands cupped your ass to push you further into his mouth.

One of your hands rested on the table to give yourself leverage as you rode his face. The hair of his beard burned against your inner thigh.

The pleasure thruming through your veins forced your legs to lock around his head as your orgasm came to its peak.

“That's it,” he coaxed. “Come in my fuckin’ mouth, love.”

John kept his mouth on your fluttering cunt, refusing to pull away until he had taken every last drop of your cum. Your hands weakly pulled on his hair, but his fingers dug deeper into your thighs as he forced his head back in.

“Gods,” you panted, looking down at him between your thighs, devouring you like a starved man. “Fuck me already.”

“Patience,” he huffed, flicking his tongue languidly over your clit once again. Your body stiffened again. “You think you can take me after one little orgasm?”

As you clenched around nothing and his tongue continued to take long strokes over your cunt, you rolled your eyes and snapped back, “Don’t be so cocky.”

He rose quickly after your remark, yanking your body off the desk as he went and forcing you around. One of his palms met the back of your neck and pushed you flat against the desk. His cock pressed against your ass. The fabric of his pants were rough against your bare skin.

“Let-"

His other hand clamped over your mouth and he growled into your ear, “No—no more orders. I'll give you what you want, but don't start cryin’ when it doesn't fit.”

You ached, wanting to rub your thighs together but his legs were in the way. His hand moved from your mouth to the button of his pants to pull himself free.

You could feel his thick cock press against your ass. Even without looking, you could tell he was nothing like the other wizards you'd have meaningless flings with in school.

His cock notched at your entrance and he asked lowly, “Ready, love?”

The hand over your mouth moved to caress the valley of your knuckles as your hand clasped the edge of the desk. Such an intimate gesture you almost wanted to embrace by turning over your hand and intertwining fingers.

But, you didn't have time for much thought before he buried himself into you as deep as he could go without resistance. Which was only the tip of his cock.

Your walls clamped around him, refusing to let him bully his way deeper. You whimpered, white-knuckling the desk, and shut your eyes. Gods, he was too thick.

“Shh,” he cooed in your ear. His fingers slid across your temple and into your hair, keeping your head against the desk. “You wanted this, right? You can take more.”

And he did give you more—and more, and more. Your clawed at the desk, welled up tears spilling down the side of your face, as he stretched you around his cock. You didn't breathe, not until his hips met your ass and you were completely filled to the brim.

You gasped, filling your lungs with air. The edge of the desk pressing against your abdomen allowed you to feel him deeper.

He grunted as you clenched around his length. “So fuckin’ tight,” he muttered to himself as he slowly rocked into your fluttering heat.

The friction wasn't enough for you. As always, you wanted more. You wanted to be fucked, ravished, devoured completely and thrown into a sickening rapture.

“More,” you moaned as his cocked dragged against your walls. You were needy and hungry for him to take you harder.

“Does a brat like you even know how to say please?” He slipped out of you completely instead.

You whined in protest, moving your hips back to fill the empty ache he left behind. His hands moved to grip your waist, holding you in place. “No, don't.”

“Too good to beg for it?” His fingers prodded at your entrance before he slipped two inside. They weren't comparable to his cock though—not as thick, not as full. “Come on my fingers then.”

His fingers curled against the sensitive spongey spot inside of you.

“F-Fuck you,” you ground out between your teeth, biting back a moan.

“That’s not what I asked for.” His voice was stern; there was no room for arguments, no room for demands other than his own.

You bit your lip. You weren't the one who was supposed to be begging—he was. Having John wrapped around your finger, desperate to please you like everyone else, was the end goal. But this?

Strong, commanding, taking what he wants—that was who John was. And even you couldn't help but relent to that dominance.

“Please.”

“Speak up, love.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

Bastard.

“Please,” you repeated with a little more desperation than intended.

“Good girl,” he praised. His fingers slipped from you, pulling a string of your arousal with them, and he licked them clean. With his hands back on your hips, he lined up his cock and thrust back into you.

Your mouth hung open as your back arched into the desk. The pace he set was relentless. It rocked your desk, sending any books and papers left on it to the floor. But you didn't care anymore, not when he found that perfect spot inside you again and again. Your toes curled as warmth pooled in your stomach and your core tightened.

A hand wrapped around your neck once again, wrenching your back against his chest and forcing your head to the side. The sweat of your bodies melded you together. John’s fingers pressed on your throat with enough pressure to make you see stars. His gruff pants burst along the shell of your ear. His lips grazed the back of your neck as another hand moved to toy with your clit.

You cursed as your body seized up and you came around him. You held onto the arm pressed against your chest as you rode out your orgasm.

With a few more sharp thrusts, he spilled inside of you, flooding you with warmth. As you caught your breaths, he cupped your jaw and turned your head towards his to pull you into a searing kiss, still full of passion just like the first.

You were almost boneless, sinking into the kiss and his arms. “Bed,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder when he released your jaw. “Now.”

John clicked his tongue as he slid out of you. A mix of your arousal begin to leak down your leg. You flinched when his hand cupped your sex to stop anymore from escaping.

The action felt more possessive than anything else—something you weren't used to. Interest stirred in you once again.

#john price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod fanfic #cod x reader #john price fanfiction #mw2 fanfic #captain john price #cod mwii

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hippiegoth97 · 4 months ago

Text

Hangman's Joke: An Eddie Munson x Reader Halloween Special (The Crow AU) Part Two

Collage by me :)

Special Thanks to @keikoraven for beta reading for me <3

Masterlist

Part One

Tag List: @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @userchai @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog

@cxrrodedcoffin @queenimmadolla @kellsck @keeksandgigz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

If anyone wants added/removed from tags please let me know <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, mentions of abuse/child abuse, flashbacks, blood, violence, murder, death, blood licking(?), smoking, crying, mentions of sexual assault, torture, sex, genitals, weapons, homophobic language

Word Count: 8k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part Two

October 30th, 1992

Your body feels like a sack of bricks as you struggle to climb out of the deep hole, flashes of bright white shocking your vision between swaths of damp dark. Your hands slip for the third time, hopelessly dragging through rapidly dissolving mud as the rain pours down on you in a merciless torrent. You groan as you manage to pull yourself up on the fourth try, the sound growing louder and more dire from your lungs at the strain. It’s nearly a scream as your upper half finally lands on the soaked grass. Panting breaths leave your lips with reckless abandon, giving yourself a break from climbing out of your own grave.

Once you regain some semblance of strength, you crawl away from the gaping pit to bring your legs to the surface. Another pained cry leaves you, every flex of muscle and bend of joints feels like you’re being torn apart. Free from the hole at last, you roll over onto your back for another small rest. In your blurred vision, you can make out a small dark animal perched on what must be your headstone, though you can’t exactly read it in this state. You discern, however, that the creature is a crow, hearing its caw through the haze. It oddly sounds like a command for you to get on your feet, like there’s something you must do.

You aren’t exactly sure what’s going on here. One second, you were dead, and now…you’re not. And this black bird is somehow here to guide you towards whatever your undead purpose is. What it is, you can’t quite place. You can’t even remember how you got here to begin with. “Eddie.” You murmur to yourself. He must know what’s going on. If you just go back to your apartment, everything will make sense. Seeing him again will fill in all the blanks. You roll over once again, wincing as you do. You get up on your knees, disregarding the cold of the rain chilling your bones. Must get home, gotta get home. The simple message repeats incessantly in your head, urging you to move. You take a lurching step forward, the other foot dragging slightly behind. It appears your body will have to get used to being active again.

Ignoring the intense agony you feel in every inch of yourself, you keep limping your way out of the cemetery. The crow follows, landing on a nearby tree a few feet ahead to assist you in staying on course. You track its path, reaching the end of the graveyard and finding sparse street lights lining the quiet road. The only sounds are the flapping of the crow’s wings, and the rush of the rain. The cold doesn’t bother you anymore, the sensation rather refreshing instead as it washes away the dirt and stench of death from your skin. Your steps even out as you continue on, crossing the street and meeting the first long stretch of sidewalk that leads back to your home. Each movement still wounds you greatly, but your newfound resolve with the help of your feathered friend keeps you going regardless.

The crow flies from place to place, luring you further and further with every landing it makes on a tree or mailbox. You follow its encouraging caws, motivated by the steady flaps of its wings. You’ve heard of crows being helpful to humans, remembering them if said human does something kind for them. But this is surely no ordinary bird. It appears to know far more than you do, about why you’re back here, what’s to be done. The glimpses you catch of its voidlike eyes seem to tell you ‘all will be revealed, dear friend, if you just follow me’. Hard to argue with that, when you can barely string a coherent thought together on your own.

The crow guides you through side streets and alleyways, avoiding what little traffic passes through the main roads in the middle of the night. The journey seems to take hours, but you eventually end up right outside your apartment building. It looks much different now, deserted and unpopulated. There’s no cars parked in the lot, and a few of the windows have been smashed, without a single light to be found inside the units. Unbeknownst to you, the other residents slowly moved out after your murder. They made claims of hearing strange noises, chanting voices, even seeing apparitions of you or Eddie. All of which were surely bullshit, but it didn’t change the fact that even in death, you were accused of terrorizing this so-called sleepy town. High school kids break in from time to time, some to pay respects, others to party or vandalize your home, and a scant few with a morbid curiosity who attempt to communicate with the ‘Maniac Munsons’ using a Ouija board.

None of these facts are of any consequence to you, as you haven’t been alive to experience them yourself. The corvid spares you of the knowledge, what it has to remind you of once you’re inside is more than enough. It flies a short trip from a dead potted plant onto your shoulder, urging you inside with a gentle nudge of its beak. You travel up the steps, your bare feet crunching on broken glass. “Shit.” You hiss as tiny shards embed themselves in your skin. You press on, opening the front door that’s long since lost its panes to rowdily swung baseball bats. It’s much warmer inside, despite the power having been shut off months ago. You traipse down the hallway to your right, finding the one place where you felt safe in this town. The lock on the door has been broken off, shredded police tape still clinging to one side of the frame. The door is slightly ajar, so you push it open to have a look inside. You take a step past the threshold, and it all comes rushing back. All the fear, and the joy, and the agony, and the love, rolling over you in a monstrous tidal wave. You scream in pain as memories flood you from the inside out, reliving every last terrible, wonderful second of it in flashes that stab relentlessly at your brain.

“What do ya think, baby?” Eddie asks, his strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you look over your newly-leased apartment. It’s nothing special, with its dingy lighting, worn carpet and yellowing walls. But it’s yours, a home you get to build together.

“I love it, Eds.” You giggle happily in his arms, leaning further into him as his cologne swirls in your nose. “It’s perfect.”

He chuckles lowly against your ear, laying a warm kiss on your neck. “I think so, too, sweetheart. Now all we gotta do is move in.”

Eddie’s words reverberate in your mind, whispers of them brushing coldly against your skin. The image of his arms holding you tight as you look down dissolves, quickly replaced with something far less pleasant.

There’s a sudden banging on the door, an angry fist weakening the well-worn wood. “Open up, you freaks!” A voice shouts from the hall, slightly muffled. You and Eddie turn to each other on the sofa, exchanging a worried look as your almost-anniversary dinner has been interrupted. Before you can even ask who’s there, or get up to answer it, the door comes crashing open with force. A spray of splinters flies to the floor, and you both stand up to find four familiar faces coming into the apartment.

“What the fuck?” You murmur as Tommy Hagan, Steve Harrington, Jason Carver, and Billy Hargrove stand before you. They stare you down, brandishing knives, a baseball bat befitted with nails, rope, and duct tape.

“It’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done.” Billy says angrily. Without hesitation, you jump over the couch and try to get past them to the phone in the kitchen. But it’s no use, Steve captures you in his arms, squeezing you far too tight.

“Nice try, bitch. You’re not goin’ anywhere.” Harrington says coldly in you ear, barely audible over your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let her go!” Eddie yells, making an attempt to get closer. But Jason and Tommy step in his way.

“Not a chance, freak.” Jason snarls, giving Eddie a firm punch to the jaw. Eddie falls to his knees with a cry, gripping his face.

“Get some chairs and tie them up. Think we oughtta give them a taste of their own medicine.” Billy orders, flashing you both a sickening grin.

“No!” You wail, tears rolling down your cheeks as you remember the primal fear you felt that night, the night you died. The night Eddie was taken from you. You don’t wish to see any more, but your new friend regrettably still has many sights to show you. The crow bows its head from the tattered remains of your sofa, and shows you another.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Eddie coos as he gently shakes you awake from your slumber, brushing a stray hair from your face. You open your eyes to find him sitting at your bedside, a tray piled with breakfast in hand.

“You always give me breakfast in bed on Saturdays, love.” You tease, smiling ear to ear.

“Yes, but this one is extra special. Have a look.” He chuckles, setting the tray on your lap once you sit up. You gaze over the usual spread, bacon, eggs, french toast, orange juice. Until your vision catches on a dark sparkle beside your plate. Your eyes dash back for it, finding a ring box, sitting open with a gorgeous black opal ring inside. Your favorite stone, set in an ornate silver band. It’s absolutely beautiful, taking you by surprise.

Your eyes widen once you realize what this is. An engagement ring. “Eddie, is this…?” You trail off, picking up the box to hold it in your hand. You look up at him, hoping for an answer.

He smiles warmly at you, tears welling in his eyes. “Yes, my dark angel. It’s exactly what you think it is.” He says sweetly, though his breath shakes a little with nerves. “Will you marry me, Y/N, and make me the happiest man in the world?” He asks, a tear rolling down his cheek as he says the words you’ve longed to hear.

“Yes! Of course I will, Eddie!” You reply excitedly, your own emotions getting the best of you. He leans in to give you a tender kiss after you slide the ring on your finger, leaving breakfast to be neglected in favor of some celebration.

“No! No, Eddie, please!” You sob aloud as the memory fades away, taking the warm, loving body of your husband with it. You wish so much to touch him, feel him, hold him again, it hurts. You fall to your knees on the floor, doubling over as the worst has only just begun.

“Let’s take a look at what we got here. Hopper must have missed something.” Billy announces to the others as he carelessly knocks over statues of goddesses and pulls books from your shelves. He opens one in particular about worshiping oneself and one’s partner, emotionally, mentally, and physically. He laughs at the nude artwork inside, eyes skimming over ‘intimacy rituals’ and ‘bonds of trust’. “Would you guys get a load of this?” He beckons the others over to share a jeering hardy-har at your expense. It makes your blood boil to see them mock the very things you’ve built your relationship upon. But all you can do is watch helplessly, tied to your kitchen chairs side by side. Once the boys get their fill, Billy comes over and shoves the book in your face, open to an illustration of a man and woman entangled in one another. Your favorite page. “This the kind of shit you were showing those kids? Huh? This pornography?!” Billy yells, his spit hitting your cheek. You flinch, turning your head to look away. “Sick fucks.” He mutters, turning away and tossing the book to the floor.

The young men spend a good while tearing your home apart, in search of non-existent evidence that would label you and Eddie as the devil worshippers everyone thinks you are. When they can find none, they only seem to get more enraged. “Where is it? Huh?” Tommy shouts when he comes back from trashing your bedroom, brandishing his knife at you.

“Where’s what?” Eddie bites, ignoring your pleading eyes that beg him not to goad these maniacs.

“You know ‘what’! Where’s the shit you fuckers use for your sacrifices, hm? Where’s the photos you took of Pete and the others?” Tommy jabs the knife toward Eddie’s throat, threatening to slice it open.

“You won’t find anything like that here. We didn’t do anything. We wouldn’t ever hurt those kids. Please, just leave us alone.” You answer through your tears, helplessly straining against the ropes tied around your torso and ankles.

“Bullshit!” Billy bellows, shoving the contents of your coffee table to the ground. Ceramic trinkets smash to bits on the carpet, and pages of books flutter open on the journey down. He gets in your face again. “Everyone in town knows you did it! Now, tell us where it is, or the faggot gets it!” He yells even louder, the beer on his breath making your stomach turn. You shake your head, unable to get out any more words through your sobs. “Cut him.” Billy orders, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He slashes quickly across Eddie’s cheek, a trail of deep crimson flowing down his face. Eddie winces, but tries to deny them the satisfaction of hearing his screams. His wound stings at the exposure to the air, his eyes growing glassy. “Again.” Billy says, watching your chin wobble as they hurt Eddie. Another slash, this time on his chest. A hole forms in his shirt, more ruby red seeping through. The cuts aren’t very deep, but they hurt like hell nonetheless. “Still not gonna tell us?” Billy gives you one last chance to fess up. You look at Eddie, who shakes his head at you. You don’t respond fast enough, so Billy turns away from you. “Kill him.” He orders with a shrug, and you watch as Tommy is just about to bring the blade to Eddie’s throat.

“No! Wait!” You shriek, halting Tommy’s hand. “I’ll show you, okay? I-I’ll show you. Just untie me, and I’ll show you!” You plead with them, hoping you can figure out some way to get to the phone, or out a window to run for help. Anything to make this stop.

“Fine.” Billy sighs, gesturing for Steve and Jason to untie you. “But if you try anything, we’re gonna kill you both. Got it?” He warns, threateningly running his thumb along the edge of his switchblade.

“Okay. I promise. I promise.” You nod your head frantically, nearly gasping for air as the adrenaline builds to an all-time high as you prepare yourself. You get one chance to try and escape, you cannot blow it. Otherwise, you both die. You give Eddie as reassuring a look as you can, and his eyes widen slightly once he realizes what you’re going to do. He wishes he could talk you out of it, to tell you how reckless it is, how he doesn’t want you to get hurt. But it’s too late now.

“Get up. Show us where it is.” Steve, tips your chair over to get you on your feet, shoving you forward.

“It’s in here.” You lead Steve to the bathroom, where there’s a window just big enough for you to fit through and run away. Hopefully. Your heart races, blood pumping in your ears so damn loud it’s like a drumline in your brain. You stop just inside the doorway of the bathroom, and suddenly turn and kick Steve in the crotch to distract him.

“Fuck!” Steve yelps, falling to the floor, dropping his bat. You take your chance, slamming the door shut and turning the lock.

“Run, Y/N! Run!” You hear Eddie shout from the other side, causing more tears to pour down your cheeks. You go for the window, struggling with sweating hands to disengage the lock. It’s old, and painted over, but you know you’ve managed to get it open before.

“You fucking bitch! Get out here, or we kill him! You fucking whore! We’re gonna fucking kill you!” The young men yell from just outside, a symphony of insults and threats. You manage to push the lock through the slot, just as you hear a thick craaack from behind you. You turn and scream when you find the nails from the bat sticking through the bathroom door. You try to shove the pane of the window outwards, but it’s jammed. You keep pushing and pushing, running out of breath as the boys slowly tear down the thin barrier between you. Just as the window finally swings open, you feel two large hands pull you by the waist.

“No! No! Let me go! Please, let me go! Stop!” You scream, kicking and flailing with all your might. But it’s no use, the men are stronger than you. Your eyes snap to Eddie, who’s tugging as hard as he can against his restraints, to no avail. “I’m sorry, baby. I tried, I tried. I'm sorry.” You weep pitifully, your heart aching as you can guess what comes next.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise, it’s okay.” Eddie tries his best to comfort you, his voice broken with his own sobs.

“Nice try, you little bitch.” Billy growls as you’re shoved back down in your chair. He slaps you hard across the face, his thick palm sending searing pain through your cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her! You piece of shit! Fuck you!” Eddie screams.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I feel like, Munson. In fact, I don’t know if you knew this, but I’ve always had kind of a thing for your girl here.” Billy sneers, grabbing hold of your chin. “She’s pretty cute, for a satanic slut, anyway.” He chuckles, patting the side of your face he hit not moments ago. You groan quietly at the insult to injury. “Aw, what’s the matter? Thought a girl like you would like it rough.” He mocks, forcing you to look in his eyes. You find a sick lust in his pupils, which makes your stomach drop.

“I do. But not with you. Not in a million years.” You reply bitterly, spitting in his face. You may not make it out of this alive, but you sure as shit aren’t going down without a fight.

“Well, that’s not really up to you, now, is it? I think you’re a bit outmanned here.” Billy chuckles as he wipes his face, earning equally evil laughs from his band of hyenas. “Who knows? Maybe if this pussy is good enough, we might let you go.” He says lowly. His words make you feel sick, like you’d rather die right now. He yanks you out of your chair and to the floor where he forces you onto your back. “Don’t worry, we’ll let Eddie watch. Maybe it’ll teach him a thing or two, hm?” He looks at Eddie with this, grinning impossibly wide at the furious expression on your husband’s face. The others assist Billy in ripping at your clothes, and pulling down your pants.

Discordant screams of protest from you and Eddie clash inside your skull, even more memories flooding through the cracks. “No, please! No more!” You beg the crow, who just looks down upon you in sorrow.

A spinning carousel of images flies across your vision. Billy and the others taking turns having their way with you as you scream in horror. Shelving books at the library as kids cheerfully ask you where to find their latest pick. Stabs of blades and swings of Steve’s bat ripping your flesh open while you and Eddie lie helpless on the floor. Searing kisses Eddie gave you in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Pools of blood spilling everywhere as the young men continue to torture you both, warm and staining everything in sight. You and Eddie dancing around the apartment with Max, singing along to Judas Priest while playing the air guitar, spinning the girl around in playful circles and laughing until your faces turned red. Billy and his thugs standing over you once they’re sure you’ll be dead before the cops show up, giving you one last kick to the ribs for good measure. Eddie’s hand reaching for yours, right before the light fades from your eyes and your last breath escapes you. Every last second twists the anger and heartache inside you further and further, like a vengeful blade taking its pound of flesh.

“Fuck!” You let out a primal yell, clawing at your dress, ripping the leather clean down the middle as the agony reaches its peak. The straps sag on your shoulders, the pain mercifully coming to an end. You flop over onto your back, the remnants of your clothes falling open. But you don’t care much, there’s no one here to see you, or to hurt you again. No, now it’s your turn to dole out some goddamn pain and suffering.

You rise to your feet, discarding the tattered dress, and the underwear the mortician dressed you in. You walk down the short hallway to your old bedroom with purpose, ignoring the burned down candles and crudely drawn pentagrams that litter the floor. You find your closet sitting open, though your old clothes are still inside. Well, most of them. Some have been stolen, others eaten away at by moths, probably a few burned in a pile somewhere as a way to ‘cleanse’ the town of your supposed evil. But what remains is exactly what you need. Your favorite pair of leather pants, a tattered long-sleeve shirt you made yourself, and the ankle-length black leather trench coat Eddie gave you as a birthday gift. You finish it off with a pair of boots still stashed away in the back of the closet, untouched by insects or thieves.

The clothes warm you as you pull them on, though they don’t smell like home anymore. The scent of incense and perfume that used to permeate every inch of fabric is long gone, replaced with the stench of dampness and stale beer. It makes your heart ache just that little bit more, but there’s not much time to spare on the thought. Much more pressing matters like retribution and revenge take far more precedence. You give yourself a weary once-over in your vanity, the mirror now smashed with hundreds of weblike cracks in the glass. The makeup that had been painted dutifully on your corpse has run, streaks of black maligning the foundation that was used. You reach for the nearest piece of cloth to wipe it away, deciding a refresh is in order, if you’re to look your best when exacting your recompense. You find your old shade in the mess, resorting to applying it with your fingers. A little blush there, some dark circles around your eyes, and a deep blood red lipstick to pull it all together. You pout your lips, slipping the stick into your coat pocket. You have a feeling there’ll be a need for it later on.

Satisfied enough with your look, it’s time to get your motorcycle back. The crow has been kind enough to show you where it is, the Hawkins Police impound. You imagine Hopper kept it safe there, to prevent it from being stolen. He has always been so kind to you over the years, in death ought to be no different. Far more confident on your own two feet, and your mind set clear with a solid mission in mind, you walk the few blocks to the station with the corvid on your shoulder. No one’s really around to take much notice of you, save for a couple cops on patrol and a nurse having her smoke break outside the hospital. You bypass their eyes, as if cloaked in the dark of night despite the street lamps overhead. You slip around the back of the police building, kicking open the door with a newfound strength once the coast is clear. The crow flies ahead of you, settling on a shelf with the logged weaponry. It caws at you, pointing its head downwards to the matching knives at its feet. They bear long, thick blades that shine in the fluorescent lights, and ornate handles detailed with mirrored images of rattlesnakes.

“Ooh, very nice.” You pick up the knives, weighty yet familiar as they rest in your hands. “Yeah, these’ll do just fine.” You chuckle softly to yourself, pocketing the blades in their respective sheaths before setting off to find your ride. Your hand absentmindedly picks up a tagged switchblade from another shelf as you walk towards the area storing the heavier items, one that just so happens to have belonged to Billy Hargrove. It joins the twin knives in your pocket, sure to be returned to its rightful owner when the time is right. You turn the corner, and finally lay eyes on her. Your sweetheart, your gorgeous black and silver beast that sings a beautiful, rumbling song beneath your thighs when you ride her. Karma, which is a rather fitting name for her now. “There’s my old girl. I’ve missed you.” You say sweetly to the bike, circling around her before swinging a leg over to feel the leather seat that has molded to the shape of you and Eddie. Your hands run along the handlebars lovingly, the cool metal greeting your fingertips. “Let’s see if you still run, baby.” You say to her, finding the keys sitting in the ignition. Fate certainly appears to be on your side tonight. You make sure she’s in neutral, move all the right levers to get her ready, and turn the key. All that’s left is the fun part. You nudge the kickstart lever out with your foot, lifting yourself up slightly to give it a swift push downwards. Karma’s engine roars to life, purring with familiarity between your legs. “Fuck yeah.” You laugh, slapping the handlebars with pride.

Just as you’re about to literally motor out of here, an officer comes into the room with some bagged evidence to log. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing in here?” He shouts, tossing the bag aside in favor of stalking over to you.

“Sorry, officer. Gotta go!” You yell over the sound of the engine, giving him a salute and pressing on the gas.

“Get back here!” The cop calls after you as you peel around the corner towards the open door you’d broken in through. You zoom past more shelves of old evidence, and the crow flies to land on your shoulder as you pass by. The bike just barely squeaks through the doorway, wind whipping in your hair and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you make your escape. The tires land on solid road, leading you to your next destination.

“Whoo!” You squeal in delight, throwing a middle finger the officer’s way as you steal a glance back at him. Hopper’s sure to be pissed once he finds out someone broke into the station, but you’ll deal with the consequences of that later. Right now, it’s time to pay Tommy Hagan a visit.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, Tommy, don’t stop! Yes! Yes! YES!” Carol moans as Tommy gives his usual lackluster performance in bed. She fakes her orgasm for what must be the thousandth time in their relationship, playing it up by making her legs shake a little and rolling her eyes into the back of her head as her mouth falls open to let out one final cry of his name.

“That’s it, baby. Take it, take it for daddy.” Tommy grunts, pistoning his hips until his load inevitably spills deep inside Carol’s cunt. A satisfied grin spreads across his lips as he pulls out, collapsing onto his back beside his less-than-satisfied girlfriend. “Fuck, that was great, baby.” He sighs, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Sure was.” Carol rolls her eyes, reaching for her smokes. She wonders just how many more times she’ll be able to put up with miserable fucking that leads to nowhere. Nearly a decade now they’ve been together, and he hasn’t even bothered to commit. Or learn where her goddamn erogenous zones are. She lights up, hoping to gain some form of gratification from the nicotine. There is a little, but not near enough to soothe the ache between her legs that’s yet to be truly sated. Oh well, no relationship is perfect. That’s what she tells herself, anyway.

“Gonna take a piss.” Tommy says, sitting up in bed. “Don’t go anywhere.” He says lowly in Carol’s ear.

“Oh, I won’t.” She giggles awkwardly in response, and he leaves her side. He goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. A quiet trickle can be heard from the other side, the sound of which makes Carol crinkle her nose.

“Shit, I’ve had lousy lays in my day. But, man, that was painful to watch, honey.” You laugh from your spot, leaning back against the sill of the open window beside Tommy’s bed. You’d only caught the end of the show, but Carol’s fake moans gave you enough cover to wait patiently right under their noses.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Carol yelps, covering herself with the sheets. Her eyes are blown wide as she stares at you, an intruder.

“Well, if you must know, your little casanova and I have some…unfinished business.” You say with a grin, slipping inside into the dim light of the room.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave! Tommy!” Carol’s voice trembles, calling for her boyfriend.

“Carol, sweetie, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” You tut, stepping closer to her. You reach a hand forward to stroke her cheek, grabbing hold of her chin. “Listen to me carefully.” Her supple skin trembles under your cold touch, and you lean down close to make sure she gets the message. “I’ve got a bit of revenge that needs exacting. Now, I suggest that unless you wanna see the mess I’m about to make, that you get your shit and get the hell out of here. You understand me?” You say, your words coming out husky and low, nearly seductive if they weren’t so threatening.

“Y-Yeah.” Carol nods frantically, and you let her free from your grasp.

You watch wordlessly as she gathers her clothes, struggling to put them on to make her escape. You’re surprised she doesn’t recognize you, especially after all those years in school she personally saw to making your life miserable. No matter, your grudge isn’t exactly with her this evening. No, no. It’s for the lousy asshole who apparently takes ten minutes to piss. When she’s finally dressed, Carol scurries to the door to Tommy’s apartment, coat and bag in hand, quickly making her way out. Once she’s gone, you figure the fun can finally begin. A sickening grin crawls across your mouth, and you sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands.

“Oh, Tommy, please hurry! I’m just dying to have you rock my world again!” You put on your best impression of Carol, coming off surprisingly accurate. A feeling of glee grows within you, anticipating Tommy leaving the bathroom to find his honey has long gone, and he’s stuck in here with you. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You steal a quick glance at the crow, who is perched on the window as you were previously. Rain pours outside once again after the short respite on the ride over here, bright lightning flashing through the sky. The bird gives you an approving caw, redirecting your attention to the bathroom door as it opens.

“Comin’ right up, baby!” Tommy laughs, stepping out from the bathroom completely nude, a dribble of urine still leaking from the tip of his humble manhood. He nearly shrieks when he finds you on his bed instead of Carol, covering his crotch with his hands. “What the fuck!?” He shouts, brows furrowing and eyes widening in terror as he realizes who you are. “No way! It can’t be! W-We一”

“You what? Killed me? Raped me? Yeah, I remember that, too.” You casually cut him off, standing up.

“But how? Why?” Tommy asks in absolute horror, looking around in search of his girlfriend. “What did you do with Carol?” He asks fearfully.

“Oh, nothing. It’s not her I’m here for.” You say with a shrug, reaching inside your coat. You pull out the switchblade, flicking it open. “You, on the other hand? Well…” You chuckle, stepping closer to him. “I think you owe me about a pound of flesh!” You say with a laugh, before slashing Tommy across his bare chest.

“Fuck!” He screams at the pain, blood rapidly pooling and running from the wound. It drips down his stomach and over his hands that still cover his wimpy cock.

“What’s the matter, Hagan? Can’t take a little cut? You sure were happy to give me and Eddie more than enough of them!” You yell, swinging the knife to cut across his cheek now. More of that deadly crimson pours out across his pale flesh, like thick syrup. You quickly grab the uninjured side of his face to pull him closer, following the perverse impulse to lick the gash and have a taste. Tangy copper coats your tongue, sending a dark thrill through you. Your cold breath rushes against his cheek as you let out a low sigh, further stinging his wound.

“What the hell? Get the fuck off me!” Tommy screams, pushing you away.

“Aw, poor baby.” You pout sarcastically. “I’m just gettin’ started.” You laugh, carefully wiping your lip with your finger, sucking it clean. Tommy tries to make a dash for the door, but you stand in his way, blocking his every move. “Sorry, Tommy. You’re not getting away alive. Not after what you’ve done!” You tackle him to the floor, a loud grunt escaping him as he hits the ground. His hands try to grab your wrists and hold them back, but it’s quite a struggle. You press down, gaining way as you grip the knife with both hands, pointing it at his chest. “You aren’t even gonna apologize for what you did to me? For what you did to him? Huh?” You ask, demanding answers.

“Why would I? You deserve what you got! The fact that you’re even here right now proves we were right! You fucking whore of Satan!” Tommy retorts, trying to shove you off of him. But it’s no use. Your newfound strength lets you overpower him with ease.

“I wish it was that simple, Tommy. But the devil’s got nothin’ to do with it. He never did.” You reply, the words ringing true in the man’s ears as you straddle his naked, bleeding body. Realization washes over his face, as if the things you know have somehow been beamed into his mind to provide clarity.

“Oh, god.” He gasps, kicking his legs and flailing his arms helplessly. “Please, I’m sorry! Please don’t do this! I’m sorry!” He starts to weep, tears of fear, not remorse. He continues to snivel and beg for his life, but no true apology leaves his lips. Not that it would make any difference.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t nearly make up for what you’ve done.” You say coldly, raising your hands above your head, clutching the knife firmly as you prepare your aim.

“No! No! Please! No!” Tommy cries, your weight staying steady on him despite his desperate squirming. Tears stream down his cheeks, a sight you never thought would make you so unbelievably happy.

The knife comes down as you let out a scream that’s been deeply rooted inside you since you resurfaced. One of release, and closure. The blade plunges deep into Tommy’s chest, blood splattering from the violent hole you’ve made. Tommy wails in pain, though it’s short lived as the fluid begins to fill his lungs and make him choke. That deep red bubbles just past his teeth, staining the inside of his mouth as he gurgles. You pant heavily as you pull the knife out, bringing it back down again. The wet and metallic sounds of knife meeting flesh fill the air, over and over as you stab Tommy repeatedly. Splashes of blood land warmly on your skin and clothes, painting you the most lovely shade of crimson. You revel in the carnage, getting the payback you very much deserve, that Eddie deserves. Grunts and stunted screams leave you while you continue to stab the pale flesh beneath you. Tommy has stopped squirming, but you find it hard to stop yourself as you raise the blade and sink it back in again. It feels so good, letting it all out. It’s enough to become an addiction in no time at all.

The crow eventually snaps you out of it with another cry from its beak. Your eyes fall to Tommy beneath you, finally soaking in the image of the mess you've made. His mouth sits open, eyes staring past you with not an ounce of life left in them. Droplets of blood litter his skin, a visceral interpretation of Jackson Pollock on your part. He’s gone, having paid the price of taking your life, and the love of your life. You lean down, pressing a kiss to his cold cheek. A perfect imprint of your lipstick is left behind, a calling card. You may as well sign off on what you’ve done here, since no one can possibly lock up a woman who’s already dead. You climb off of Tommy’s body, wiping your knife and putting it back inside your coat.

You snatch up the discarded pack of cigs Carol left on the nightstand, lighting one up as you climb back out the window. The crow hops onto your shoulder, and you take a moment to enjoy the first drag of your smoke before venturing back down the fire escape. Surely one of Tommy’s neighbors will have heard all the screaming and called the cops. You wonder if Hop will respond to the call, and see what you’ve done. If it weren’t your sole purpose for returning from the grave, you might feel a little bad about it. But there’s no time for regret or remorse. None was given to you, or to Eddie. Not in all the years of torment, or the hours of hell you went through before death mercifully brought an end to it all. Certainly not afterwards. You flick your half-smoked cig away, deciding not to dwell on these thoughts anymore. Too much to do, and not much time to get it done, you remind yourself.

“How’s the burger, kid?” Hopper asks, taking a large bite of his own sandwich, washing it down with a sip of his soda.

“Delicious as always, Hop.” Max replies cheerfully, picking up a few french fries and dipping them in some ketchup. Usually they opt for the drive-thru, but tonight seems to call for dining inside. It’s been quite a year for both of them, one that simultaneously went by at a snail’s pace, and whipped through three hundred and sixty-five days like it was nothing. Both Max and Hopper have done their best to cope with the loss of the Munsons, nurturing the bond between themselves in the process. These late night meals together make all the difference, when they’re both very alone in this world otherwise. Jim, buried in his work and surrounded by apathetic officers. And Max, tormented by the man who led the charge to kill her friends every single day, with her parents being very little help. ‘Typical sibling rivalry’, as Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove call it.

“Hey, Chief. We’ve got a call.” Powell’s voice crackles from the radio sitting on the plastic table. A mechanical chirp follows the man’s broadcasted words.

Jim picks the walkie up, pressing the button on the side to speak into it. “The night before Halloween? I’m sure you guys can handle it.” He answers, setting the radio down once again.

“You sure you don’t have to take that?” Max asks, a worrisome feeling stealing away her appetite.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Hopper waves her off. “Loch Nora probably just got egged, same way it does every year.” He adds with a chuckle. Those rich assholes never seem to learn this one simple rule: you don’t cheap out on Halloween candy. The kids in this town are ruthless when it comes to sugar, and they will strike back, swiftly and without mercy if you don’t pay their due of sweets.

“You’re gonna wanna get down here, Chief. It’s…the Hagan boy. He’s dead. And there’s something I think you need to see.” Powell calls again, his voice sounding far more grave than it has in a while.

“Shit.” Hopper murmurs, picking the damned radio up again. “I’ll be right there.” He says firmly into the receiver, holding back his sigh. “Sorry, kid. Duty calls.” He gives Max an apologetic look as he gathers up the burger wrappers and half-drunk sodas.

“Looks like the rain’s stopped for a bit. I can skate home if you’re in a hurry.” Max suggests abruptly, an idea hatching in her mind at the news that just came through the walkie. She finds it no coincidence that Tommy Hagan, of all people, is dead exactly one year after the Munsons were murdered. That sinking feeling she had before is now one of childlike belief, even excitement. She only hopes that her hunch is correct. That somehow, some way, either Eddie or Y/N have come back. Max doesn’t dare clue Hopper into this idea, he’ll surely shoot down the offer to ‘skate home’ if she does.

“You sure? It could start up again, and the roads are still pretty slick.” Jim asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow. But given the circumstances, he doesn’t really have the time to dissect Max’s sudden interest to make the way home by herself.

“I’ll be fine, Hop. Really, the wet roads will get me home faster.” She insists, politely of course so as not to set off any alarms.

“Alright.” Hopper sighs, nodding his head as he puts his hat back on. “But you go straight home. No detours, you hear me?” He points a stern finger in her direction.

“Yes sir!” She stomps and salutes him playfully, making them both laugh.

“Good. I gotta go. Just be careful, and look both ways, alright?” He issues one last kernel of fatherly advice, giving the girl a quick hug before parting ways. He heads for the door, wasting no time in climbing into his vehicle and speeding off to the scene.

“I always do.” Max says to herself once he’s gone, dumping the tray of garbage before leaving the restaurant. She lowers her board down onto the asphalt that gleams in the dim street lights, and heads off in the opposite direction of her house. She has a much more interesting destination in mind, one that will either confirm her suspicions, or leave her childish dreams utterly dashed.

“Alright, what do we have here?” Hopper asks as he steps into Tommy Hagan’s apartment. He sees the blood on the wall just outside the bathroom, and the body draped over with a sheet that’s quickly getting stained red.

“It’s not pretty.” Powell replies, leading Jim over to the corpse. He crouches down and lifts up the sheet, exposing Tommy’s fear-struck face. Hopper can see the stab wounds that litter his chest, and the fact that he’s completely nude. “What do you think we have here? Crime of passion?” Powell asks, looking up at his boss while still holding the thin slip of fabric.

“Maybe.” Hopper replies. He thinks on it for a moment, getting down on Powell’s level to get a closer look. He notices a slash on Tommy’s left cheek, while the other bears a dark print of lipstick, in a shade he could place anywhere. No. He lets out a small gasp, already scolding his own mind for the thought that has just crossed it.

“Noticed that too, huh?” Powell chuckles dryly, letting the sheet fall back over Tommy’s face. The two men stand, exchanging a skeptical look. “You know, it could be a coincidence. Someone else in this town probably wears that shade, or bought it for a costume.” Powell attempts to explain it away, to drive as far from the nonsensical idea as is humanly possible.

“Or an act of revenge from someone else.” Hopper adds to the list of totally logical explanations. “It could be Carol. A crime of passion, like you said.” He continues, nodding his head as a means to convince himself. It can’t be her. It just…can’t. There’s no way! Jim struggles to pound some reason into his head, to clear out the silly ghost stories. It’s the night before Halloween for Christ sakes, and the anniversary of the Munson murders. And it’s getting to him. That’s all. “Let’s wrap this up, and get the body to the morgue. I’m going home for the night.” Hopper says finally, leaving his men to finish the job. He can’t keep his mind straight in all this, and he needs a goddamn drink.

Max kicks up her board as she reaches the outside of the condemned Crystal Ridge complex. She’s been around here a few times, when she’s desperate for some semblance of what remains of the Munsons. She’ll sit on the couch that now oozes stuffing, and talk to them about her day. When there aren’t other kids drinking, screwing, or performing seances in there, that is. She heads inside, happy to escape the rain that caught her halfway through the trip. Max steps into the apartment, finding it just as trashed as it always is. Crude graffiti on the walls, broken bottles all over the floor, a used condom here or there. She used to tidy up the place as best she could, at first. But the rowdy teens of this town have proven too messy for her to keep up with after a while.

“Y/N?” Max says softly, afraid to disturb the deathly quiet inside the apartment. She goes down the hall to the bedroom, hoping not to catch a randy couple between the dusty sheets. The room is thankfully empty, but she notices some torn clothes on the floor. She picks up the tattered garment, instantly recognizing it. Y/N’s funeral dress, the one Max herself picked out. Ripped straight down the middle and discarded in a damp, mud-crusted heap. She goes digging for more evidence to support her insane theory that Y/N is, in fact, back from the dead. Max looks in the closet, finding items Y/N loved the most to be missing, including the boots she hid way in the back from potential looters. Some of Y/N’s makeup has been recently used, as well, her signature dark red lip no longer amongst its spookily-shaded siblings. “She must have been here.” Max observes aloud. “I knew it!” She says cheerily to no one. But, if Y/N made the trip over here for a post-resurrection change of clothes, she might just come back. And Max plans to wait and see, all night if she has to. She sits down on the bed, the springs creaking under her weight.

Max peers out the boarded window from her spot, hoping to see a bright white headlight, or hear the roar of a motorcycle engine any minute now. Her eyelids droop, as she hasn’t slept very well since the Munsons were murdered. Nightmares plague her resting hours, leaving her screaming and crying until her mom comes in to wake her. Safe to say it’s yet another thing in a long list that Billy torments her with. Not that it isn’t terrifying enough living under the same roof as a murderer, let alone one that got away with it.

To Be Continued…

#hippiegoth97 #fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #hawkins #hangman's joke #the crow 1994 #90s #the crow au #spooky season #halloween #eddie munson x goth!reader #satanic panic #eddie munson x fem!reader

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