#messages from the vampire den | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghoularaki · 2 years ago

Note

Loved your baj keisuke primal prey fic! Especially the plot in the chase was soo good eventhough it was the built up!

I was wondering if you'd be cool with writing something along the lines of a crossover of a yokai or a vampire. I would love a little demonic energy. Along the lines of denying feelings, to being in heat/need for blood (?) To a little chasing and well wooing in the yandere way >>:)

Happy holidays ! :DD

my bloody valentine

ig chase scenes and clubs are just gonna become my staple, i aint complaining >:) (meant to post this on valentine's so heres a 12 day late holiday fic lmao)

tw yandere vampire! baji, vampire hunter! reader, manipulative! baji, aged up! baji, dom! baji, DUBCON, violence/blood, sex work?, blood play, biting, praise, breath play, drugging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, size kink, reader almost dies from blood loss, hinted mindbreak

You blew hot air into your freezing hands. The warmth would only linger for a second but it was idle movement that kept you busy. This winter was incredibly cruel this year. Shivering, you look around into the den you will be infiltrating. You can’t say you weren’t thrilled to be given this mission by the Higher Ones.

Humans and vampires have been at war since life and death were created. It was a constant push and pull. Humans would win for a century, vampires would retaliate, then vampires would reign for the same length. You were sadly born in the time where vampires ruled. Most humans kept to themselves, some would even offer themselves to be feeds for promises of luxury. Others would hand over their lives in a different way, swear an oath to the Higher Ones to wipe out vampires for once and for all.

None of the hunters—or rather cleansers—knew exactly who the Higher Ones were. All cleansers knew was that they would receive a message whether in the mail or on their phones with a simple location and target. The target was usually the sire, cut the head of the snake and others will follow. It wasn’t rare for cleansers to work alone. Usually you would be given a partner but for this mission, you were left to your own devices. It’s not like you worked well with others, anyway. Maybe the Higher Ones finally got the message, or they were trying to kill you off. Either way, you were going to finish this mission and reap the benefits.

Flipping your phone open, you spied the message. Your mission was to pretend to be a feed to cleanse a higher ranking vampire by the name of Baji Keisuke. The number of those sired to him wasn’t the highest count—only somewhere around a dozen—a concerningly low number considering he usually had a feed.

Slipping your phone into your jacket pocket you finally make your way into the den disguised as a club. For some reason there was no bouncer at the door. Immediately you were hit with the thumping of a constant bass. Up high was a platform where a DJ set the mood for the atmosphere. The only illumination were red, flashing lights that cut through the artificial fog. There was a gaggle of grinding bodies throughout the room. By the bar were even more people. A balcony was right over the bar which you assumed was where the feeding rooms were. Glancing up, you swore you felt eyes boring right into you, but as you squinted your eyes to see farther, all the vampires hanging off the side were enjoying the show.

On high alert, deep in vampire territory, you were surprised that no one had smelt your very human scent.

“You must be lost!” A sweet, bubbly voice called to you.

Not knowing how you didn’t sense her, a petite woman stood before you. To say she was beautiful was an understatement. This woman had dazzling hazel eyes paired with soft-looking, blonde hair. Her skin was just as perfect, no blemish in sight that made you want to cover your own face. The best way to describe her was as angelic.

“Oh!” She piped up, realization on her face, “you must be a new feed.”

Straightening up, you replied, “how could you tell?”

“I can smell you, silly.”

She tapped her nose. Looking closer, from her grin you could see the baby fangs poking out.

“Yes, I don’t really know what to do, though.”

“I’ll take you to Draken!”

You were correct to describe her as bubbly. Minutes into knowing you, she wrapped her arm with yours and led you to whoever Draken was. Pushing her way through the crowds, she pulled you towards a set of doors near the bar. Now under the balcony, the feeling of being gawked at went away. You needed to be more careful.

Past the doors was a hallway not as smokey and loud as the club. A few couples leaned against the wall in their own worlds. Further down the hall stood a gargantuan man with a long, blond braid. On the side of his head was an intricate, blackwork tattoo: you can’t imagine how much it must have hurt.

“Draken,” the girl called with you in toe.

He looked up from his phone to see you both. His eyebrow twitched. He seemed displeased with said girl.

“Emma, why did you bring a human back here?”

Ah, so that’s why he was so pissed.

She ignored his question, “she’s a new feed.”

His eyes widen at that, almost relieved, “thank fuck,” he turned to you, “have you ever been a feed before?”

Pretending to seem insecure and meek, you shook your head no. Sensing your nervousness, Draken took you from Emma. She had made a noise of protest, but he had given her a look.

The hand on your shoulder was warm. He must have fed recently. It was true vampires were cold to the touch, but once they satiate their carnal needs, the blood they drank would warm their system for about an hour before becoming cold again like freshly baked cake left to cool for too long. That is why so many vampires indulged, to feel the warmth of being human again.

Further down the hallway you two went. Draken cleared his throat, “I’m sure you know that being a feed means that you will have a vampire drink from you.”

When you nod your head, he continued.

“Feeding doesn’t hurt if you are worried about that at all. Anyway, how we do feeding here is that we make sure that all feeds' needs are met. You will always be allowed breaks, and plenty of foods and drinks to bring back up your blood sugar. You also have the option of anything sexual happening and whether or not penetration will happen as well.”

Your face heated up at the implication, “no sex or anything like that, please.”

“Good to know.”

Draken led you up a flight of stairs to what you saw was the balcony you were previously looking at. Similar to the hallway, the walls were a burgundy with gold detailings. How stereotypical.

“I will inform who will be feeding from you what you decided. Wait here.”

With that, he went into a room beside you. You looked left and then right. While taking you upstairs, you memorized the route in case something goes wrong. You needed a fast escape in case. This mission was completely solo so you had to watch your own back.

Draken pushing the door back open startled you out of your thoughts. The door was left wide open as he gestured for you to come in. Taking the invitation, the room was just as red as the rest of the club. In the room were two wine hued, velvet couches adjacent to each other. Right between them was a mahogany table, under what was a mini fridge. You guessed that’s were all food and drinks you were promised for your blood sugar was.

The most eye-catching part was the three men in the room sat on said couches. On the sofa to the right were two men, one had bleach blond hair. You could tell from here that he was on the shorter side but you didn’t let that fool you. He had an alluring, cat-like look to him.

On the other hand, the man beside him had honey gold, rounded eyes. His hair dangled past his shoulders with yellow money pieces framing his sculpted face. Along with that, thick inking was displayed on the side of his neck depicting a tiger. It oddly suited him.

But what grabbed your attention the most was the vampire sitting on his lonesome, arms sprawled over the back of the couch. Legs spread as well, his whole posture demanded attention. He tilted his head to the side with a cocky smile. His hair was in a similar style to the tattooed man across from him. Though, the vampire’s hair was that of spilled ink. It tumbled around him, his fair complexion all the more pale in contrast. Similar to Emma, his fangs were on display as he smiled up at you as a cat to an unsuspecting mouse.

“Must be the new plaything,” the black haired vampire teased.

The bottle blond scoffed, “don’t scare her, Baji.”

You schooled your expression. That was a lot easier than you thought to find your target. So sure you would have to ask around without being conspicuous to find him, this seemed almost too easy.

Baji reached a hand out from where he sat. Taming your disgust, you leave the security of the doorway and enter the belly of the beast. Placing your hand into his freezing, larger palm, Draken took his leave and closed you in with the enemy. Forgoing any formalities, Baji pulled you right into his lap. You struggled in shock but he was quick to snuff the resistance by gripping your hips.

The other vampires in the room laughed. You silently seethed being used as a toy for their sick entertainment. Knowing in this position you couldn’t even imagine taking down the vampire, you melted into his chest.

“Atta girl,” he sighed into your ear.

Coming down from their giggles, the other men introduce themselves.

“I’m Chifuyu. I will not apologize for Baji because he will just be annoying,” the bottle blond—Chifuyu—clarified with no malice in his voice. Baji playfully snarled at him.

“Kazutora. Lets hope you last longer than the other ones,” the tattooed vampire spoke cryptically. How reassuring.

Chifuyu elbowed him.

Ignoring the bickering, Baji placed his attention on you, “Don’t listen to him. I don’t intend to break you… yet.”

“I don’t like what that implies.”

The room became silent at your sass. Kazutora smirked, “so the little lamb has fangs as well.”

You clamped your mouth shut at that. Baji adjusted you in his lap, but he didn’t give away any displeasure.

At that, the room becomes lively once again. Your presence was completely ignored. You didn’t know if you should be insulted or not. The strangest part was the whole time, Baji didn’t feed from you at all. Besides in the beginning of the session, he had not even grazed your neck. This confused you as you were sure it has been weeks since he has fed. His self control was terrifying if he could starve himself and have basically raw meat served to him on a silver platter and not give into temptation.

You tried your best to keep your cool and slow your pulse to not show how confused you were. By the end of the night, Baji had sent you away by dragging his nose up the length of your neck.

Kissing the skin beneath your ear, “‘til tomorrow, pet.”

In a daze, you leave his lap and walk out of the den with not a scratch on you. As you made your way back to your hideout, you completely forgot about your goal of immediately annihilating him.

You were awoken with two text messages. One from a Higher One and another from Draken. While walking down the hall, you had totally forgotten you had given your number so he could contact you when Baji wanted you. You were officially Baji’s feed.

ONE WEEK

sent 10:00 AM

Come to the club at 10 pm

sent 5:53 AM

Throwing your phone in anger at the first message, you racked a hand down your face. How the fuck where you supposed to kill him in a week? These old fucks were definitely trying to kill you off.

Sending a thumbs up to Draken, you lay in bed contemplating your next move to take out this den.

When you went back to the club, you were met with Draken at the door this time. He guided you through the crowds. You caught a glimpse of Emma, exchanging a shy wave to her overexcited one.

Going down the same path to the room, you once again mark in your head how to swiftly get out of the building. There were no windows to not let sunlight touch the inside. Vampires didn’t burn up in the sun, but it could make them ill if exposed for too long, like a worm stuck on the concrete on a summer day.

Deja vu crept in when you walked in just as you did yesterday to see the same vampires in the same position. You could tell yourself that they never left like dolls in a dollhouse waiting for whatever child to play with them again.

Baji welcomed you back into his icy embrace. Less skittish as the day before, you thaw into his cold body. They went back to their conversation. You played the part of a lap dog for these beasts.

This went on for seven more days.

Anxiety bubbled up inside you. This was the last day given to you to complete this assignment. Typically, you were fast at finishing a job, but for some reason you had dragged this one out. Maybe it was the first time you had to actually get close to a target instead of your usual shoot and leave. You had grown comfortable with the company of those three vampires. Dare you say, safe, as no one had harmed a hair on your head. It had been years since you had been cared for. It was hard to befriend fellow cleansers as you never knew who would make it back, whether it was a vampire or by the Higher Ones’ hands.

There was a reason not many chose to be cleansers, most didn’t even have a choice. You bared through the cards dealt to you. You can’t afford to not complete this job. Tonight was the night.

Adjusting the silver blade strapped against your thigh, you saw Draken waiting for your arrival.

“Before you come in, I must warn you tonight is Valentine’s day so there is going to be a lot of traffic. You will go to your usual room, but don’t be surprised by the influx of your kind.”

You understood the implications. Some people were here to get their kicks. “Whatever, let's just get out of this cold.”

“After you.”

Nodding your head, you are hit with the warmth of tightly packed bodies, a mix of vampires and humans. Lust really does bring camaraderie, you mused. You abandoned the sentiment, prepared to finish this once and for all. If you were smart, you could use the crowd to blend in when you make your departure. It was difficult to see over the sea of people.

Forcing your way through, you take the road to what could be your doom and be in the company of those strange vampires. Usually Draken would lead you to the room, this time he was too busy dealing with the crowd. There were plenty of inexperienced humans he had to make sure wouldn’t be drained like sun dried fruit.

Knocking on the familiar door, you awaited entrance. If you were in a better mood, you would have laughed at how the roles were reversed. You, a human, had to wait to be invited in.

“Come in,” Chifuyu’s voice called.

You twisted the door open to be presented with your typical company.

Baji beckoned you to take your place sat upon his thighs. Cocooning his body around your smaller form, you noticed that he seemed colder. His skin had light frost to it, but now he was glacerial.

On the side table were four wine glasses of varying heights of liquid in them. Baji grabbed the only cup almost filled to the brim.

“Here, drink,” he didn’t let you answer before tipping the glass to your lips.

Unable to refuse, you gulped down the rich drink, parched. As if you haven’t drank in a millenia, you let Baji pour the liquid until the glass was empty. Chifuyu and Kazutora watched on, sipping their own drinks.

“Good girl.”

Finished your glass, he placed it down and went about his business. Following routine, he ignored your pulsing jugular and kept banter with his fellow vampires. At this point, he must be famished. He hadn’t fed in what you guessed three weeks. Lesser vampires would have withered in a couple days without blood. Vampires could get nutrients from human food, but blood is where they thrived.

Mixed with the suspense of having to kill Baji without getting slaughtered and the suspicion that Baji refused to feed from you, you were more fidgety than normal. Picking at your fingernails, your eyes bounced to the door and then subtly to Baji. If you were quick you could puncture his carotid artery and sprint out, praying to whatever god that Chifuyu and Kazutora would be too stunned to instantly pounce on you.

A whisper breathed against your ear, “getting antsy, little hunter?”

Fuck.

You instantly struggle in his hold but he wrapped his arms around you tight, tight, tight.

He snickered at your misfortune, “don’t think you could trick me, little hunter, I saw you eyeing out the club weeks before finally presenting yourself on a platter. Thorough aren't you?"

Spiteful, you clenched the dagger hidden in the garter belt and stabbed right through the meat of his thigh. He growls at the pain, face contorting more demon-like. Vampires were good at hiding their true forms unless presented with silver.

You sprung yourself from his lap as he cradled the wound. Him refusing to feed came to bite him as the wound would take longer to heal. Cursing yourself for only having a dagger, you raised your fists in self-defense. You were so worried about the attention a gunshot would bring, you forgot how useless a dagger would be.

Inching towards the door away from the three vampires, you braced yourself. "I will kill you all.”

Kazutora giggled, "how boring." He looked at you as if you were a kitten hissing.

Your face twitches at the taunt.

Still cradling his thigh, Baji’s voice cut through the room, "how about let's make this a game. I will give you five minutes to make it out of the club. Do so and I will let you leave. If I find you, though, little hunter, you're mine. My eternal."

Your eyes widen at the proposition. You will not become a vampire's pet.

Weighing your options, you seethed, "fuck you."

He simply pouted before grinning, "tick tock, you now only have 4 and an half minutes left.”

Even if you didn't want to play he was going to force you. You looked at the three vampires before you. Baji elated, Kazutora bored and Chifuyu looked almost concerned, but you knew it was falsely placed.

You ran out the room with the haunting cackles calling after you. How naive of you to think these creatures were any different. They will always satiate their hunger before anything else. Gluttons, the lot of them.

Sprinting down the intimate, winding corridors, you were confident in your escape. You memorized the path over the week, knowing it would come to this. But before you were even in the vicinity of the stairwell, you felt woozy.

The red walls blending together, the hues likened to meat more than plaster and wallpaper. Shaking your head, you steeled your teeth. The fucker put something in your drink.

You weren't going to be shackled to him no matter what. Leaning against the walls, you try to hurry away from the private rooms and down to where the population was. Hopefully you could slip away as easily as you planned before. It be damned if you were punished by the higher ones for failing this mission, you weren't going to lose your autonomy to a vampire of all things. You rather lose the eye you sure were going to. The repentment was always a high price.

Willing yourself to push forward, you kept your weight against the wall. If you played your cards right—and stayed awake—you could possibly make it out of this alive. He did say he would give you five minutes. Despite this, with the drug pumping through your veins, time slowed. Every muscle in your body was sluggish. Clutching onto the blooded dagger, you tread on. The one thing you had was your stubbornness and you let that fuel your heavy bones.

There had to be a reason you lasted this long, especially with spending most of it alone. You were built to endure. And endure you must if you truly don’t want to become a vampire's eternal.

Brain swimming, you made it to the stairs. Almost there, you reassured yourself. Once you make it to the crowd, your scent and form would disappear into the pool of bodies. Surely, Baji would lose you like a bloodhound presented with too many stimuli. Hope was all you could cling on for now.

Trying your best to forgo the fuzziness, you race down the stairwell back into the forsaken hallway that started this all. You were almost there, all you needed to do was exit the winding corridor. You would crawl back from the mouth of hell.

A chuckle bellowed in the deserted space. Speak of the devil.

At the top of the stairwell was the very last creature you wanted to see. Stood before was the very vampire that damned you. Smugness reeked from his posture. His hair was tied back. Doom settled in your belly.

“Hard to focus, huh?” He mocked.

You sneered. Even if he caught sight of you, this morbid game of hide and seek was not done until you decided so.

Adrenaline pumping ever faster, you ripped open a door not too far from you. Slamming it closed and locking it, you ignored the screaming of a woman. On a couch very similar to the one upstairs was a woman with a vampire drinking from her wrist.

“Get the fuck out!” The vampire sneered, her body shielded the woman. How sweet.

“Don’t let him in,” was all you replied.

This room also had no window, though there was a door to the right. You swung open to see it was another room just like this one. Must be a safety precaution. Doesn’t matter, all that does is that you can use this to your advantage. You will just room hop until you reach as close as you can to the exit.

Baji slammed against the door of the room you had just left. Not tempting fate and not wanting him to know you knew all the rooms were connected, you jumped over the couch to the next door.

You opened and once again you were met with nothing. Sighing in relief, surely if another person kicked up a fuss Baji would instantly pinpoint your location. Dagger in hand, you barged into room after room. The repetition of decor flashed in front of you like a fever dream.

After what could have been the tenth door you were met with a deadend. This must be the last room in the hall. Inhaling as much as you could, you open the door to the hallway. You were met with nothing and the red lights poured into the hall. Just as you were about to leave the room, a hand grabbed your lower face and pulled you backwards. A scream caught in your throat as the door was pushed shut. Slammed into a tall, freezing body, you struggled.

How the fuck were you caught? You were careful, this wasn’t fair.

The body wrapped their arm around your waist and hauled you further into the room until you both collapsed onto the couch. Sat upon the lap of the very vampire you wanted far from you, you dug your nails into the skin of his arm. He simply squeezed you tighter.

“Guess you lost, little hunter.” His tone was condescending and amused.

No, no, you weren’t done. This wasn’t over until you decided it was. The forgotten dagger was quick to dig into the meat of the arm binding you to him. He growled in pain. The hand clutching your lower face, moved its grip to slam your head against the arm of the couch. Your brain wobbled in your skull. Blood gushed from your nose. Everything was in a daze.

Baji ripped the dagger that poked from the other side of his forearm. You were sure you nicked yourself, but it was worth it. He threw your only weapon far from the both of you.

He leaned over you and gripped you by your throat. “You brat.”

You laughed in his face. You had definitely sealed your fate as rage built in those molten eyes, but the satisfaction was worth the penalization.

“You content with yourself?” He mocked, and as you laughed harder, something in him shifted.

In those golden irises, mischief crept in. Baji never liked prey that rolled over and let him devour. The best part of a meal is the anticipation.

Still clutching your fragile throat, he leaned down and licked the blood that pooled from your nose down to your lips. A moan left him as his nails grew sharper and the teeth in his mouth stretched. Feeding was always a vulnerable time for vampires as their true forms manifested. Still beautiful, but oh so haunting. Black veins spidered from his under eyes as his mouth became a darker hue.

“You are absolutely divine.” The words were meant to flatter, but you recoiled. Baji saw the fear start to build. “Now don’t be like that. I won’t hurt you, unless you want me to.”

“Get off me!”

He pressed his body further into yours, his cold meshing with your warmth. The chase had left you heated and your body almost craved the ice he gave.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun, little hunter. Your kind are always the adrenaline junkies. Can’t say I can judge, though.”

You sniped at him, “yes, running for my life was very thrilling.”

“That's the spirit!” He laughed. This damned vampire was insane.

You squirmed, wanting him off you. Your arms still freed, you slapped and hit what you could, but it was useless. Baji easily gathered your wrists into one hand and pinned them to the arm of the couch. His weight pressed further into you. His legs, he pried yours apart so he could slot your crotch to his. There was no way you could escape his hold now.

Exhausted, you don’t know if you even want to. The drugs still haven’t left your system.

Baji nosed the side of your neck as he did the past week. “See, it doesn’t have to be hard. Just give in to me and you will never have to worry again.”

The words were tempting, but how can you believe the words of a forked tongue beast?

Still seeing you hesitating, Baji pushed more, “it can’t be a great life as a hunter. You spend your days in solitude, in fear of your Higher Ones. With me, you will no longer be afraid.”

You furrowed your brows, his words were too accurate. “How do you know that?”

“I have watched you for so long, my dear hunter. You can say I’m a picky eater.”

Of course, he had been stalking you, why would you think anything else? “Get off. Get off!”

Baji’s thumb stroked right where your carotid artery is, entranced of the blood flowing under the flesh. He stopped listening to your defiant quips. The vampire forgot how long it had been since he fed and he has his meal right under his thumb. He wanted you to be more willing about this, but if he must be mean, he will.

Moving his thumb so it dug into your jawbone, he tilted your head to the right. Baji licked your neck before diving in. A screech bubbled in your lungs when he bit down. His teeth were needles and the more he sank in, the more agony spread throughout your body. Your feet kicked in instinct. God, it fucking hurt but as he gulped down your rosy life essence, your body became pliant.

His saliva finally hit your system, endorphins clouded your mind. These happy chemicals dimmed the pain and how he was draining you of all your worth. Your screams ebbed into tiny whimpers.

Seeing you had calmed down, Baji pulled away from your neck and licked the blood that fell from the open wound. Falling into blood lust, Baji grew hard from your noises and the taste of you. A warmth grew in his tummy. He needed you and he needed you, now.

He dragged himself from your body until his knees hit the ground. You were too blissed out from the blood lost to refuse him. Taking advantage of that, Baji pulled your pants and panties off you. Despite his hunger, he was gentle with how he undressed you. The vampire wanted to savor you.

He took your shoes off as well so you were completely bare for him. Groaning, he spied how slick collected on your slit from the endorphins and fear. Taking your right leg and placing it on his shoulder, he kissed your calf. He slathered you with open mouth kisses until he reached your inner thigh.

You whined at how he teased you. The build up was making you clench around nothing. Your clit throbbed, begging to be stimulated in any way.

Baji laughed at your impatience. He kept up kissing your inner thigh, switching to the other side to give it the same amount of attention. Dragging his teeth gently over the skin, you whimpered when his breath hit your cunt. You bucked. He took his other hand and splayed it on your tummy to hold you down.

“Patience.”

You kicked him and he scowled at you. The endorphins were wearing off faster than he wanted. Baji went back to your right thigh, so close yet so far from your cunny, he placed another kiss. Before he bit down once again. Your eyes shot up from the half-mast and you gasped in pain. Baji was quick to remedy the pain and licked you. A moan left you when he drank from you again.

It was borderline addicting how your life was drained from you. The familiar sluggishness crept back up. No wonder people were feeds. To stay in this cloudy sensation was heavenly.

Baji parted from your thigh and finally licked your pussy. Blood was smeared over you as he sucked your clit into his mouth. You yelped at the attention. He laughed into you. The vibration of his mouth sent more pleasure down your spine. He pulled off your clit to drag his tongue from the bud down to your hole. The appendage dipped in, testing the waters. Bucking up again, or at least attempting to, Baji took that as to keep going.

And keep going did he. Nose deep, he kept tonguefucking you. It was an odd sensation but not unwelcome. His tongue was more dexterous than fingers. He twisted against your walls. Pulling his tongue out, you whined but he was quick to shut you up by taking your clit back in his mouth. The constant attention was becoming too much.

Finding purchase, your hands gripped the one holding your hips down. He welcomed the contact as he kept pushing you closer and closer to the edge. It was unfair how good he was at this.

“Please, please!” You begged. At this point for more or for him to stop, you didn’t know. It was just too much.

His tongue flicked against the swollen bud as his hand dipped down to split you open with two fingers. The intrusion was almost enough, you just need more. Moans poured out. The stuttering of your chest and the shake of your thighs was enough of a tell to Baji. Ending your misery, he sucked your clit in his mouth as he curled his fingers just right.

Ringing in your ears was all you could hear as you fell apart for the creature you swore you would end tonight. Tears bubbled up at how overwhelmed you were. Baji gave a few more licks and pumps to slowly bring you down from your orgasm. Like he cut all the strings from you, you flop further into the couch.

Oversensitive, you whined when he took his fingers from you and pulled away from your thighs. Blood coated his lower face along with your slick. Your face almost steamed from the humiliation. Still kneeling, he kept eye contact as he brought his fingers to his lips, coated just the same as his face. He dragged his tongue from his palm up to the underside of his appendages.

A wicked gleam flicked in his now ruby eyes, “here, you have a taste.”

He crawled back up to crowd and pin you against the couch. Without poise, he shoved his fingers into your mouth. You gagged at the intrusion and the taste of your own blood and cum. Though still high on the happy hormones, you sucked on his fingers. Maybe if you clean him, he will release you of the taste. “Fuck,” he breathed, slack jawed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You kept his gaze, eyes bleary. That was enough for Baji. He pulled out from your mouth and sat back up. Impatient, he flicked up the button of his black jeans along with the zipper. The vampire couldn’t take it anymore. He had to be in you. From what he gathered tonguefucking you, you were warm and tight.

He tugged down his pants and boxers with the crass he lacked when he undressed you. His cock was heavy as it flopped out from the constricting material. Baji sighed in relief. His cock was pretty. It was about average length but it was thick. His pubes were untamed and you squirmed at how it would feel against your already overstimulated clit. Precum drooled from the head.

Thank fuck he opened you up or else you don’t think you could handle it with no prep. Baji gathered your arms again. Now filled with your blood, Baji was warm, hot. With his free hand, he lined himself up to your twitching hole.

With no warning, he breached your slit. You groan at how the head bullied its way inside you. Baji followed the noise as he forced his hips further. The drag of his cock against your almost reluctant walls was having you see stars.

He went back to wrapping a hand around your throat, fingers almost meeting at the back of your neck. Baji was so much bigger and stronger than you. He was just a tall man in general, but as he hovered over you with his hips smooshed against yours, you melt at how he engulfs you.

Buried to the hilt, the vampire brings his mouth back to your throat, the wound still throbbed.

“So good,” he slurred.

At that he started his rhythm. He pulled his hips back until only his cockhead was in you. You whined at being almost empty again. He shushed you. Right when he slammed in, he bit down on your throat, a lower place than before. You screamed.

“T-too much!” you cried.

“You can take it.”

Baji ignored your pleas as he fucked into you like a piston. He was using you like a cocksleeve. His pace was thorough and hard. His cock was filling you up in ways you never had before. It was like he was trying to mold your cunny to the shape of his cock.

Baji kept gulping down your blood until you were fuzzy again but this time it was from the blood loss. If he kept drinking from you, you might actually pass out.

You clenched down at the thought. Would he still keep fucking into you even if you were unconscious? A sick part of you wanted him to. So drunk off him, you wanted to be used by him in any way he needed. Why were you so set on killing him only hours ago?

Fuck, maybe you were dying. What a whorish way to go out.

Baji squeezed on your wrists as he lost his rhythm.

“I’m close, fuck, you are divine. Your blood and your pussy. You were built just for me, my eternal.”

A sense of foreboding tried to dig into your consciousness but you were so focused on how you were right that his pubes digging into your clit was too much. Almost to your end as well, you canted your hips in tandem to his.

“More, more,” you pleaded. More of what? You had no clue.

Baji did know what you needed as he pressed his hand further into your throat, squeezing the sides to cut off blood flow to your brain. That was enough for you to clench down so hard that Baji growled. As your cunt fluttered around him, the vampire bit further into the juncture of your shoulder until teeth almost met teeth. You screeched at the pain and Baji’s hips stuttered as he came deep in you. Him filling you has that same ringing blind you.

You came right after him as he kept thrusting his hips into yours, not ready to leave your warmth. The strain of cumming left you limp in Baji’s grasp. Pulling his teeth from your throat, he saw the mess he left of your neck. It was as if you were mauled by a wolf rather than the vampire before you.

You were losing blood fast and no matter how much Baji licked your wounds, it wouldn’t take back all the blood he took from you. Releasing the hand from your neck, he ripped open his own wrist so the life he stole from you and cycled through his undead heart poured from him.

He brought the bleeding arm to your mouth, “drink,” he commanded just as he did earlier tonight.

With no way to resist, you drank. You drank until your belly was filled with his blood that was once yours. Letting go of your bound hands, you cradled the wrist as you swallow all you can, desperate. This was likened to drinking liquid candy.

“Enough.”

Baji pulled his arm away as you whined, missing the taste. Your chin was drenched with blood just as him. Slowly your wounds started to close and your missing blood was replenished. Despite this, you still were in an endless fog.

The vampire leaned back on the other end of the couch and gathered you in his arms. He rested your weary head on his plush pectoral. Whatever drive you had was gone. You wanted to stay in his arms forever. Eternally.

network: @tokyometronetwork

#yandere baji #yandere baji x reader #yandere x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yander tokrev x reader #yandere #yandere baji keisuke #tokyo revengers smut #viruses #dark.web

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wormthing · 6 months ago

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Taking commissions for some Animal Jam items:

I've been playing Animal Jam Classic lately, and drawing in their Art Studio, and I cobbled together a wish list of random items I want. I'll draw a piece of art for you for some of those items; it doesn't specifically have to be for an in-game Masterpiece item. Check below the Read More for the list of items I'm looking for.

(And of course my commissions for $ USD are always open still!)

Please trade me at least one item off the list below in exchange for a piece of art.

Please message me about your proposed commission and what items you'd like to trade! Let me know if you want this drawn as a Masterpiece item, or if you just want a regular image file in exchange, probably done in MS Paint in a similar style above.

Give me a few days to get the drawing done!

If you want me to draw your avatar, I am not going to draw culturally insensitive items. I'll let you know if I have an issue with your proposition.

I can take payment when the art done/approved and we can trade, but I can also do half-payment up front.

If you want a Masterpiece item:

A Masterpiece Token included in the trade is appreciated, but not required.

Give the art time to be approved. If it isn't, I'll see if we can work something out.

Please keep complexity down, especially in regards to colour schemes.

Click below for my wish list! I'll cross things off as I get them (or add to it if I see stuff I really want).

Check out the Animal Jam Wiki (link) to look up these items (or other related pages). (I also said what event they were from if applicable.)

Den items:

Painter's Palette ("Let creativity fly" collection) [Got it!]

Fancy Pottery Wheel (same) [Got it!]

Cosmo plushie (2023 scavenger hunt) [Got it!]

Peck plushie (same) [Got it!]

Rare Wavy Bookshelf (2013 rare item monday) [Got it!]

Rare Giant Panda Plushie (promotional) [Got it!]

Rare Giant Tiger plushie (Lunar new year prize)

Art Camp Bead Station (2021 Art Camp collection) [Got it!]

Mira Tapestry (2017 Mira v Zios event)

Mira Banner (2017 MvZ event, not to be confused with the Beta mira banner)

Glowing Spiked Phantom (2019 box prize)

Clothing:

Phantom Beanie (2017 Fall box prize)

Slime Green skullies (2022 trick-or-treat event)

Cursed Hypno glasses (2021 spooky sale)

(I'll also take the Rare Hypno Glasses with the similar colour scheme instead!) [Got these ::-)]

Classic Werewolf mask (2022 spooky sale)

Classic Creature mask (same) [I got a bunch of spooky masks from someone!!! ::-D]

Huntress hat (this is the only members item here)

Low priority:

Any other* promotional plushies (for non-members)! I love them ::-) [*Note: I now have: Rare giant panda, Rare giant raccoon, Rare monkey]

Any Slime Green clothes (for non-members)

Non-member Halloween masks from 2022 (Classic Vampire Mask, Wicked Witch Mask)

A green spiked collar for non-members [Got it!]

My Den has other art I've done, some of which is from 2024 but some is from 2017! My username is 113457.

#animal jam #jamblr #animal jam classic #ajc #commissions #art commissions #animal jam commissions #masterpiece commissions #fortis arbor's art #image described #wolf character belongs to my friend dog ::-)#i also have just a bunch of random items from over the years so if ur interested in trading normal-style let me know.

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thethirdromana · 2 years ago

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If you think about it, both Dorian and Dracula were ruining/taking lives while maintaining/regaining youth. Though there's no portrait in Dracula's case, unless you count his oldness going to youthful Jonathan.

You're right, the more you look for parallels the more considerable they become.

Going to pop the rest of this under a cut for Dracula spoilers and discussion of suicide.

While Jonathan doesn't explicitly age like the portrait does, he undoubtedly looks older once Dracula has finished preying on him than he did at the start, as well as the other ways in which he and Dracula swap places (e.g. Dracula going out wearing Jonathan's clothes).

Association with both of them is damning too. In Dracula's case literally, as the people he feeds on become vampires in turn. In Dorian's case because he drags his victims down with him. Sometimes that is also literal: it includes two deaths by suicide, namely Alan Campbell and "that wretched boy in the Guards", and suicide is traditionally a mortal sin.

There are parallels in their victims. Dorian makes use of social convention to avoid the consequences of his actions, particularly as an upper-class man who preys on lower-class women (among others); an affair with him is socially ruinous for women but he comes out nearly unscathed. Dracula doesn't choose his victims quite as deliberately, but his choice of Lucy has the same effect. For instance, when Dracula lures Lucy out of the house in Whitby, Mina's first priority is to keep that a secret for the sake of her reputation.

They are both at their most powerful in their own spheres: Dracula in Transylvania, Dorian among London high society. They struggle when they step outside those spheres: the people in the opium den come much closer to recognising Dorian for what he is that anyone from the upper classes; Dracula is foiled by travelling to England. We don't see Dorian leave the country (we know he goes on holiday, but that doesn't really count) but I feel like if he went fully out of his sphere, he might be more readily identified. (A factor here is that Bram Stoker is more willing to demonise a foreigner than Oscar Wilde is willing to demonise the British upper classes).

And writing this has made me realise that pop culture Dracula - suave, sexy, encouraging people to lose their inhibitions - actually resembles Dorian quite a bit more than actual Dracula.

There's also at least one difference where you might expect a similarity. A key theme in Dracula is the relationship between the generations: Dracula is old age eating youth, Van Helsing is old age guiding and advising youth.

Meanwhile, something that strikes me about Dorian Gray that it's oddly timeless; we get told that twenty years have passed, but there's never much of a sense of that beyond everyone else looking older and Dorian remaining unchanged. No one has children, no one dies of old age, society and technology seem much the same from the start of the 20-year span of the novel to the end, despite the significant changes of the late 19th century.

And that timelessness, I think, is part of how little the novel is interested in the relationships between generations. There's not much sense that Dorian is now a middle-aged man (by Victorian standards, don't get annoyed with me, I'm in my 30s too) acting out a young man's role. There could be, it would be consistent with the plot, but that's not something that Wilde explores. There is a very strong message that Dorian should be a better person but not that he's behaving in an age-inappropriate way.

(I wonder if this relates to the novel's autobiographical elements. It can be fun and sexy to think of yourself as debauched and evil and corrupting but not so much as someone who's just been acting like a teenager for a decade too long).

This plays into other things as well. Dracula is a deliberately modern novel: it has telegrams, typewriters and trains. It's the battle of the modern against the medieval. Dorian Gray doesn't have any of these things. The conversation in chapter 3 about Americans is very much of its time, but there's not much else that places the action anywhere in the 19th century in particular. Dorian Gray is captured by a portrait, not a photograph. And he lives an oddly old-fashioned life, in some ways, for someone who is supposed to represent the Spirit of the Age. That's not a criticism of the novel, but it feels notable. It makes me wonder how Dorian Gray might have differed if Dracula had been written first and Wilde had read it.

Anyway, that was probably more rambling than you wanted, anon, but thank you for the ask, it was fun to consider :)

#dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #dorian gray weekly #tpodg

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foxyanon · 2 years ago

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Welcome to my den!!

My name is Foxy and this is my little den of chaos and magic. This is a safe space for nearly all unhinged or deranged nonsense. A few things to know about me are that I am a practicing witch, a pagan and I’m bi. With that being said, here are a few HARD rules to know before we get into the good stuff.

I will tolerate absolutely ZERO hate or discrimination. This is a safe space, I will not let anyone desecrate that.

I am a pagan, BUT I DO NOT SUPPORT WHITE SUPREMACY! If you come here with those beliefs, leave and don’t let the door hit you where the gods split you.

This is an 18+ blog, so minors DNI! I don’t care for whatever reasons you want to give, this is non-negotiable.

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE TALK ABOUT THE PERSONAL LIVES OF ACTORS IN MY ASKS! We are here to thirst over their work, support them and share our OPINIONS.

Failure to comply with these rules WILL RESULT IN AN IMMEDIATE BLOCK.

🔮@legitalicat’s spiritual twin🔮

Dividers by the lovely @zaldritzosrose please do not take and use!

Icon and header by @zaldritzosrose!

Fic Navigation

I write fan fiction for Sihtric Kjartansson and Masema Dagar, switching between OC fics and reader fics. If you wish to be added to my taglist, send me an ask! I have crossposted my works to AO3, link is below.

Thank you @zaldritzosrose for helping me with my face claims!

Fic Requests are currently: CLOSED

My WIP list: Here

Fanfiction Masterpost: Here

AO3 Link

Looking for a new author? Check out my rec list!

After my blank TLK timeline? Get it here!

Interested in the sims I make? Look at #foxys sims or they will be linked below!

-Simsema (Vampire!Masema Dagar)

-The Pretty Boys plus One

-Rhaenerys Targaryen & Sihtric

-Corvina & Vampire!Sihtric

-Spellcaster!Aesira & Werewolf!Sihtric

-Elf Spellcaster!Tisevia & Human!Sihtric

AI Navigation

I used to create AIs for BetaCharacter and have created a world on AIDungeon. I only made canon characters so if you were looking for a specific scenario, I recommend checking out @julessworldd, @zaldritzosrose and @iamyourdailydoseofbi!

*AS OF NOVEMBER 2024, I AM RETIRED FROM MAKING BOTS!*

AI Requests are currently: CLOSED

CharacterAI Masterpost: Here

AIDungeon: Here

Witchcraft Navigation

I will occasionally write posts about witchcraft and different spiritual practices, you can find my writings about them here. I have decided to open my commissions for tarot readings, so please read the rules before sending me a message.

Tarot Reads are currently: OPEN

Rules, Types of Readings and Spreads

Witchcraft Links: Here

For those interested, my husband has a photography business called Black Flag Photography. If you ever want to take a look at his work or check out his merch, the links are below!

Facebook

Instagram

Merch Store

#pinned post #masterlist #navigation

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astarionfreak · 10 months ago

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Exile (Or: How you learned to stay) | Ch. 8 - Shadowheart: Hanging

// Ascended Astarion x Reader (Fem!Durge) + Shadowheart x Reader (Fem!Durge)

Shadowheart returns to Astarion's palace with Gale and Minthara. Things go about as well as you'd expect.

18+ • NSFW • 3.7K words (8/?) | Read on AO3 (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Check tags for warnings)

You steel your nerves as you approach Astarion’s palace. A potion bottle is pressed tight to your chest. You keep it against your skin so you can feel it, so you know you have it. It’s the critical first half of a plan that could give her an advantage.

The potion has to work. You can’t fail her. You won’t fail. If you don’t get this right, all is lost.

You glance over at Gale. He’s facing forward, not looking at you. What is going through his mind? He’s been quiet since you started your journey here.

The sun shines brightly in the sky, a striking contrast to the first time you came. Back then, it was so dark. There was only a sliver of the moon in the sky to light your path. Perhaps that was a warning.

You were on a mission to rescue Astarion then. Now, you’re fighting to undo the mistakes of that night.

The spawn come in the dead of night. You were sleeping. You wake to a fight. You fail. They take him.

They take Astarion.

She gathers her things, holding back angry tears as she pulls on her gear. Blood drips down into her eye from a deep gash on her forehead. “They took him. They took him and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop them. I failed — I failed him,” she says.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “We were all here. This does not rest on your shoulders alone.”

The rage on her face is unmistakable, there’s a tremble in her voice when she tells you to get dressed. Her breath comes in rapid-fire bursts. She’s not thinking clearly.

“Just breathe, love. We’ll get him,” you say, trying to find your conviction. You reach for her, but she pulls away. Your heart sinks. She won’t let you touch her. She won’t let you comfort her.

You begin to whisper a healing spell.

“Save your magic. We’ll need it,” her voice is flat and distant.

She won’t let you heal her.

“Let me do this, please,” you say.

“No.” She sheaths her daggers and slings a light crossbow over her back. “I’m not worth it.”

“A potion, then. I am not foolish enough to set foot in a vampire den with someone who is actively bleeding,” you say.

She grunts something that you accept as a begrudging ‘okay, fine.’ You reach into your pack and find a small healing potion. You take her wrist and press the bottle into her hand. For a moment, it’s as though she comes back to you.

Her eyes soften. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Shadowheart. He wasn’t ever supposed to go back to that place.”

“I know,” you say. “He’s going to be okay.”

“We were going to handle this without him.” She curls her fingers around the potion bottle but doesn’t pull her hand away from yours.

Your thumb moves in small circles around her wrist. An attempt to comfort her. “I know.”

She stares at you with wide eyes, her chest heaving with each breath. Her lips are softly parted.

You wish to pull her into your arms, to comfort her in the only way you know how. But she is not yours to hold. Not anymore. When all this is over, Cazador, the cult, the brain — maybe you can win her back.

“He’s going to want to ascend,” she whispers. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop him.”

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Bonus oneshot: Palisade afternoon

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #ascended astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #af.op

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jxrm · 4 months ago

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book log - 2022

his last wife by gia pere

a very merry bromance by lyssa kay adams

behind the messages by ella-may williams

the wife upstairs by rachel hawkins

pride, prejudice, & turkish delight by k.c. mccormick ciftci

the long way to a small, angry planet by becky chambers

honeymoon for one by rachel bowdier

let it snow by beth moran

resting scrooge face by meghan quinn

window shopping by tessa bailey

the family upstairs by lisa jewell

poster girl by veronica roth

x by sue grafton

queen bee by nina manning

the vibrant years by sonali dev

untamed by glennon doyle

book lovers by emily henry

the zookeeper's wife by diane ackerman

daisy darker by alice feeney

mating in captivity by esther perel

miss meteor by tehlor kay mejia

carrie soto is back by taylor jenkins reid

a good girl's guide to murder by holly jackson

the lesbiana's guide to catholic school by sonora reyes

fat chance, charlie vega by crystal maldonado

lakelore by anne-marie mclemore

you love me by caroline kepnes

happiness for beginners by katherine center

not my daughter by barbara delinsky

last tang standing by lauren ho

no filter and other lies by crystal maldonado

the southern book club's guide to slaying vampires by grady hendrix

does my body offend you? by mayra cuevas

i'm the girl by courtney summers

the expatriates by janice y.k. lee

emily, gone by bette lee crosby

after hours on milagro street by angelina m. lopez

i'm glad my mom died by jennette mccurdy

my best friend's exorcism by grady hendrix

#murderfunding by gretchen mcneil

looking for jane by heather marshall

midwife murders by james patterson

final cut by s.j. watson

darling rose gold by stephanie wrobel

all the pretty people by barbara freethy

when i was you by minka kent

been there, married that by gigi levangie

malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid

covery story by susan rigetti

the paris apartment by lucy foley

stiletto sisterhood by fallon demornay

her perfect secret by t.j. brearton

take a chance on me by beth moran

the watcher girl by minka kent

no conscience by phil m. williams

reminders of him by colleen hoover

her last move by john marrs

we were dreamers by simu liu

the book of cold cases by simone st. james

all i stole from you by ava bellows

violeta by isabel allende

once of us is next - karen m. mcmanus

just the way you are by beth moran

the latecomer by jean hanff jorelitz

klara and the sun by kazuo ishiguro

the sorority murder by allison brennan

one italian summer by rebecca serle

what lies between us by john marrs

the maid by nita prose

sex and vanity by kevin kwan

funny you should ask by elissa sussman

the seven day switch by kelly harms

three perfect liars by heidi perks

everything must go by camille pagan

no ex before marriage by portia macintosh

the other mother by carol goodman

california girls by susan mallery

one little secret by cate holahan

apples never fall by liane moriarty

the promise by teresa driscoll

ghost boy by martin pistorius

close to you by ana jolene

oona out of order by margarita montimore

the stepson by jane renshaw

all adults here by emma straub

his & hers by alice feeney

mexican gothic by silvia moreno-garcia

anatomy by dana schwartz

the resting place by camilla sten

will by will smith

good me, bad me by ali land

while we were dating by jasmine guillory

the lion's den by katherine st. john

when we left cuba by chanel cleeton

left neglected by lisa genova

the suspect by fiona barton

park avenue summer by renee rosen

group therapy by b.b. easton

the half sister by sandie jones

shipped by angie hockman

when we were sisters by emilie richards

the chain by adrian mckintu

not a happy family by shari lapena

clap when you land by elizabeth acevedo

if the shoe fits by julie murphy

the girlfriend by michelle frances

let me hear a rhyme by tiffany d. jackson

death by dumpling by vivien chien

yoga pant nation by laurie gelman

the cousins by karen m. mcmanus

in a holidaze by christina lauren

people we meet on vacation by emily henry

the candy house by jennifer egan

you've been volunteered by laurie gelman

broken by jenny lawson

you can't be serious by kal penn

the final girl support group by grady hendrix

home before dark by riley sager

one of us is lying by kate m. mcmanus

the vanishing half by brit bennett

the cross and the switchblade by david wilkerson

the henna wars by adiba jaigridar

the fashion orphans by randy susan meyers

the good girl by mary kubica

the comeback by ella berman

the magician's nephew by c.s. lewis

the bright lands by john fram

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vampirelover890 · 10 months ago

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To Hunt a Vampire (1/17)

Hunt Log #1

Day 1:

As of today, I shall start recording my daily achievements in the hunt for the Count or Countess, I’m not quite sure, actually, but what I do know is that New Wallachia, Massachusetts, is no longer safe. It all started last when my granpappy called me over during a family reunion, and gifted me his old slayer whip, made of pure holy silver and waxed in garlic oil. He handed me his prized treasure and leaned over to whisper in my ear,

“Run.”

And so I did. I ran and ran, across the Massachusetts border, and straight to New Wallachia, but they’ve found me again. Don’t know how or when, but they’re here, I can feel it. So I began to hunt and slay. Or atleast I would have if I wasn’t in prison for running the border.

Anyways now I’m out and the hunt is on. Today I investigated my neighbors house, as I could feel evil and malcontent seeping from their walls. From the roof of my house I made a leap over the fence that protects her metaphorical palace, after which I made my way into the kitchen. There was shattered glass on the ground. Clearly her prey had struggled earlier. Further I’d travelled into the demon’s den, and more disturbing imagery I’d found. Magical apparatuses that broadcast seemingly satanic messages from the Nefarious Possession Report (what I assume NPR stands for) and finally, I stumble upon the bedroom. There before me stands a robed figure looking at me. She has decided to confront me. And so it was.

When all was said and done. She wasn’t the one. Oh well… it’s all for the greater good. The Count and/or Countess will fall to my hands.

#vampire #short story #journal #story #writing #THaV

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lenofauris · 2 years ago

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I hacked my 3ds so I finally am able to play Tomodachi Life !! I made Lestat and Constantine in the game

I also have Carmilla(fate) and Faust(mhyk) in

Everything is going well but also Lestat rejected Constantine 😭😭 It's ok sweety you'll get your wife soon

#messages from the vampire den #constat #lestat #vampy plays tomodachi life #im so sad (no)#no but this game Is helping me get over my bad split last night and im happy abt that ^^

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gazrgaley · 1 year ago

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C.R.O.W (chapter 16)

Victoria leaned against the cold, rough wall, her back pressed firmly against its surface. Ashley stood by her side, their bodies tense and hearts racing. The air was heavy with a sense of impending danger as they awaited Rex's signal, knowing that he and Justin were positioned somewhere on the opposite side of the building. This was new for all of them. They had never attempted to take out a nest when they knew humans would be present.

For this Victoria was grateful Grendel and Milo wasn't there on time that night. They had proven themselves strong. But Rex was right, Grendel was a loose canon and was unpredictable. The humans may have put themself in this situation, but that didn't mean they should die for it.

The night had quickly descended upon them. Making this mission out of the ordinary for another reason. This granted the vampires an extra measure of strength. However, the hunters took solace in the fact that the bloodsuckers were preoccupied within the building. Unlike the previous nest they had eliminated, caution was imperative this time.

They needed to ensure they didn't inadvertently harm any humans, even though these individuals willingly participated in the grotesque act of allowing vampires to feed from them. Victoria couldn't help but shudder at the thought of these humans, willingly placing their lives in such perilous danger. The place was reminiscent of an opioid den and a brothel.

Most of the people where half naked and high. Lounging around, oblivious to anything around them. This made it particularly hard to have any empathy for the willing participants. But this was a fight against the vampires, and regardless of how foolish they were. At the end of the day they were still humans.

Her focus sharpened, Victoria eagerly awaited the signal from Rex, her gaze fixed on her phone. A silent text message arrived, causing a surge of adrenaline to course through her veins. It was time to make their move. Victoria and Ashley swiftly swarmed into the room from one side, while Rex and Justin advanced from the other, effectively blocking all escape routes.

Armed with the new weapons provided by Miller, this raid felt entirely different. For the first time, they were executing their plan in the presence of humans, no matter how morally reprehensible they might have been.

The hunters unleashed a barrage of water projectiles, the modified water guns in Ashley and Justin's hands far more sophisticated and expensive than the ones typically found at children's birthday parties. The room erupted with the splattering sound of water hitting flesh as they soaked everyone in sight. Rex and Victoria were responsible for delivering the lethal blows, shooting anyone who started to smoke from the water. It was an unsettling sight, even more disturbing than anything Victoria had witnessed before, as screams echoed from the humans throughout the room and chaos ensued.

Just when Victoria thought they had the situation under control. Several humans, realizing that the hunters' weapons were nothing more than harmless water, launched themselves at Ashley and Justin, overpowering them. In the midst of the ensuing confusion, a few vampires managed to escape, slipping away into the night.

Casting a quick glance around the room, Victoria noticed that the majority of those left behind were human. Determined not to let any more vampires flee, she took it upon herself to pursue them.

As Victoria sprinted through the dimly lit alley, her heart pounding in her chest, she unexpectedly collided with Grendel. For a few seconds Grendel's firm grip held her in place as she tried to regain her bearings. With a swift glance around, she scanned the surroundings, searching for any trace of the escaping vampires.

"You're late," Victoria mustered, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and reproach. As her eyes met the gaze of one of the vampires, she noticed him freeze at the end of the alley, his eyes locked not on her but on Grendel. Confusion washed over her. Why wasn't he fleeing like the others? Before she could process the situation, she saw the look the vampire was giving Grendel, a mix of spite and rage.

In that fleeting moment, Grendel's eyes darkened, a seething hatred emanating from him with an intensity she had never witnessed before. A surge of concern coursed through Victoria, prompting her to open her mouth to question him. However, before she could utter a word, Grendel turned towards her, his face adorned with a disarming smile.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Grendel said, his voice laced with an air of nonchalance. "Looks like you had already begun the fun without us."

Releasing his grip on her, Grendel let Victoria go, allowing her to regain her balance. As Milo approached the two of them, a sense of relief washed over Victoria. Despite the lingering questions in her mind, the presence of the two of them provided a small measure of comfort amidst the chaos unfolding around them. Any escaping vampires wouldn't have a chance with the three of them.

"Is the guy with the weird gloves with you?" Milo asked as he approached the two.

"Gloves?" Victoria asked, her voice tinged with confusion. The rest of their group remained inside the building. Who was he talking about?

In a sudden and shocking turn of events, Miller emerged from the shadows, pushing Milo aside with an urgency that pierced the tense silence. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between himself and Grendel, his intentions masked by a grim determination. Before Victoria could process what was happening, a sickening crunch of bones shattered the air, sending a shiver down her spine.

Miller now loomed over Grendel, his face contorted with a mixture of anguish and determination. Echoes of a ripping sound reverberated through the alleyway as Miller's hand, encased in the industrial-strength gauntlet, plunged mercilessly into Grendel's chest. The scene played out in a nightmarish tableau, each second stretching into an eternity.

Wet gurgling sounds escaped Grendel's lips as he attempted to pull away from Miller, his body instinctively rejecting the intrusion. But all resistance was futile. In an instant, Grendel's hands dropped limply to his sides, and a lifeless gaze consumed his eyes. Miller withdrew his hand, revealing a mass of bloody tissue clutched within his grip, Grendel's heart.

Victoria's heart pounded in her chest, disbelief and sorrow coursing through her veins. What had just happened? Why was Miller here? and why had he taken Grendel's heart? She was left with all questions an no answers, leaving her paralyzed.

Before Victoria could utter a word, Miller was propelled backward, crashing into the wall with an incredible force that shook the surroundings. The impact dislodged the lamp above, causing it to sway and casting eerie shadows amidst the crackling tension. It was as if an unseen force had thrown Miller back, leaving everyone bewildered.

But her attention swiftly shifted to Milo, who stood over Miller with an air of raw power and dominance. His hand clenched tightly around Miller's throat, his other hand pinning Miller's free hand against the wall. A surge of dark energy emanated from the pair, enveloping them in an ominous aura.

"Give it back!" Milo's voice reverberated with an intensity and fury that surpassed anything she had ever seen from him before. Victoria felt a chill crawl up her spine, witnessing a side of Milo she had never imagined existed. His anger seemed to radiate from deep within, fueled by an insatiable desire to reclaim what was taken.

Miller, despite his disadvantaged position, wore a twisted smile, seemingly reveling in the unfolding chaos. His eyes met Milo's, a gleam of fascination and amusement dancing within them. "Now, isn't that something? You're something new, aren't you?" Miller's voice dripped with sinister delight, his words hinting at a deeper understanding of Milo's true nature.

In response, Milo pulled his head back before forcefully slamming it against the wall, an act of brutal determination. "I said give it back!" His words echoed with a mix of desperation and unyielding resolve. Victoria strained to observe their confrontation, but the encroaching darkness, like an ethereal fog, swallowed both combatants, obscuring their figures from her sight.

The mysterious darkness intensified, shrouding the alley in an atmosphere of foreboding. Victoria stood frozen. The clash between Milo and Miller had transcended the physical realm, delving into something far more enigmatic and dangerous.

As the ephemeral fog dissipated, revealing the aftermath of the intense confrontation, Miller lay sprawled on the ground, subdued and defeated. Meanwhile, Milo, carrying an air of solemn determination, made his way back to Grendel's lifeless form, cradling the precious heart delicately in his hands.

In the midst of everything that was going on, Rex, Ashley, and Justin emerged from the building, watched on with disbelief, frozen in shock.

Milo crouched down beside Grendel's motionless body, his touch gentle yet unwavering. With great care, he eased Grendel's heart back into the cavity that remained, aligning it precisely. As Milo withdrew his hand, a profound transformation began to unfold. Tremors coursed through Grendel's revived form, his body responding to the reunion with his heart. Milo held him close, supporting his head as he choked up blood.

Victoria, observing the scene unfold, felt a profound sense of realization wash over her. She had known that Milo and Grendel shared a deep bond, but witnessing this extraordinary display chilled her. At that moment she knew neither of them could have been human. But for the briefest of seconds, none of that mattered.

In that moment, the complexities of their mission and the secrets they harbored seemed insignificant. The bond between Milo and Grendel transcended the boundaries of anything she had ever seen, their connection etched with a depth of emotion that moved Victoria to her core.

As Grendel's consciousness gradually resurfaced from the depths of uncertainty, his survival instincts propelled him to seek solace in the presence of Milo. Gasping for air, he reached out, his trembling hand yearning for the reassurance of his companion's touch.

Milo held him close, enveloping him in an embrace of unwavering support. With one arm wrapped protectively around Grendel's trembling form, Milo pressed their foreheads together, their heads nestled intimately against each other. In this tender moment, their shared bond became a lifeline.

However, the tranquility was abruptly shattered as Miller made his move. Swiftly approaching Milo from behind, he seized him by the head, forcefully tearing him away from Grendel's grasp. Before Milo could react, a sharp pain pierced his neck as Miller injected a syringe into his flesh. Within seconds, Milo succumbed, his body succumbing to the immobilizing effects of the injected substance.

Grendel, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, managed to regain his strength, pulling himself up. As he reached out, an unexpected projection emerged from his hand. In the same instant, a spark ignited from the street lamp above them, casting a haunting shadow over Miller.

Miller, undeterred by the unfolding chaos, seized Grendel's arm with a vise-like grip, deliberately contorting it in a grotesque manner, causing his elbow to bend in a direction nature had never intended. Grendel howled in pain, his features twisted in anguish.

Unrelenting in his assault, Miller then seized Grendel by his hair, asserting control over his battered form. With a callous disregard for his well-being, Miller plunged a second syringe into Grendel's vulnerable neck, injecting the unknown substance into his bloodstream.

#vampires #writing #wattpad #vampire #gaz042 #chapter 16 #crow #C.R.O.W #gothic stories #vampire writing #warm blooded vampires series

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cinberella · 1 year ago

Text

DEVIL IN DISGUISE

Artist: @skylar102

Rating: M

Pairing: Malec

Word Count: 48.500

This fic was created for the Mini Bang 2023 presented by the @malecdiscordserver

CHAPTER 6/7 Unleashed

"God, Magnus, what have you done?"

The Vampire’s voice holds stupor and dismay in it as if he could not believe his eyes. Truthfully, the scene before him is nothing less than horrifying. It reminds him of what he found inside a rogue vampire’s den a while ago. It was macabre. And Raphael is pretty used to dealing with blood, isn’t he? But so much of it? From just one man? He is frozen on his spot, disturbingly aware that the blood, on the floor and all over the walls as well, belongs to one of his friends.

"What I had to."

Magnus answers him, his burning eyes glowing with a feral amber light.

"Did you torture him? Angels above, Magnus… Meliorn has always been one of us, how could you…”

Raphael can hear the horribly beaten man’s slow heartbeat, so he knows he is still alive. For now, at least. Magnus looks different, though. He has never looked more like a Prince of Hell than now.

“Meliorn is hiding something from us. I know the Queen is involved in this mess, and he will tell me where that fucking Sword is. Unless his loyalty to the Queen is worth losing his life.”

“I didn't think you would go this far... The Queen won't forgive you so easily if you kill him."

Magnus rolls his liquid golden eyes, snorting. As if he cared about the Queen; though, he cares about his dear Vampire’s feelings. Raphael may be difficult to deal with but he has always been a loyal friend and a fair man.

"Look, Raphael, I didn’t have fun doing this, ok? Ragnor here can confirm that I tried to reason with him at first.”

“He did.” Ragnor confirms, calmly, sitting comfortably in an armchair on the other side of the room, unbothered, looking carelessly at the Seelie man chained to the ceiling by his arms stretched upward as if he meant nothing to him, as if his life meant nothing.

Meliorn seems to be unconscious; his face an unrecognizable mask of blood and bruises and his eyes are swollen and black all around. Raphael wonders if looking like that, he’s going to lose his sight. He is shirtless and his torso is covered in cuts and bruising contusions. And a mix of dried and fresh blood as well. So much… blood.

All in all, the scene is quite disturbing to watch, especially because of the utter stillness of the man, which appears somehow unnatural.

As they step further into what seems to have become a chamber of horrors, Raphael hears the terrified gasp the Warlock that he is roughly pushing inside lets out, perhaps realizing he is the next one. Raphael also notices the slight but constant shaking of his body. Galaster hasn’t drawn a single breath since they walked in, probably as shocked as the Vampire was at being faced with such barbarity.

After Ragnor caught him and brought him to Magnus’ hideout, the High Warlock welcomed him and seemed ready to deal with him right away, but something made him change his mind. In fact, a fire message arrived, out of the blue. The tone of those written words, read aloud by Magnus for everyone’s benefit, was urgent and frantic, asking, demanding Magnus to open a portal for whomever it was. Magnus looked mischievously pleased by the unexpected visit and ordered Raphael to take Galaster, already handcuffed with special restraints blocking his magic, to another room. Magnus was emanating a spine-chilling, frightening aura and was sporting a wicked smile on his lips; that was a grimace Galaster has never witnessed before. Before being dragged away, he saw Magnus open the portal, and Meliorn step out of it. It seemed much more like a trap, but Galaster couldn’t know what happened next. He guessed Magnus and Ragnor would proceed to interrogate the man about the Queen’s real intentions. On the other hand, the Queen had just tried to trick him, or so Ragnor told him, and surely Magnus wouldn’t trust Meliorn to be on his side, despite their century-old friendship.

But this was no interrogation… This was brutal and merciless agony. Galaster has made many bad decisions in his life. Decisions he is not proud of. In the past, he had thought for a long time that Valentine could really be the only hope against Demons... But then the outcast Shadowhunter turned out to be a visionary psycho-murderer and Galaster regretted having fought alongside him. He contributed to the deaths of his fellow Warlocks. Of innocent Downworlders. But Galaster has always been a coward and has been in hiding for 20 years, knowing he wasn’t worthy of forgiveness. Magnus Bane, instead, has always been a man of different moral stature. So far at least. Now he too seems to have lost that same humanity that makes Warlocks better than their demonic parents.

Galaster starts squirming against Raphael’s body. He is terrified. Meliorn was Magnus’ friend, so he can’t even think about what the Warlock may have in store for him. What kind of physical and mental torture he will make him endure? And Galaster is not that strong, is he?

“Unfortunately, I still need confirmation that the Sword is kept at the Seelie Court.” Magnus goes on, wiping his bloody hands on a rag. He could have cleaned them magically, but the effect would be different. Way less dramatic or horrid.

Raphael holds the Warlock firmly, still gawking at Magnus with a shocked expression. Magnus is finally showing what his true nature is, isn’t he? He is more than just a half demon, in his veins runs the blood of one of the most powerful Greater Demons. Raphael gets it, but this? Torture?

His face must be showing his consternation, because Magnus laughs at him, half amused and half annoyed.

“By Lilith, Raphael, don’t look so appalled! Meliorn is a tough nut to crack. But I am going to give him a little respite, ok? I guess I can lavish some of my attention on our dear Galaster now. What do you say, Ragnor, will we be luckier with this one? Will he tell us what we want to know? Or will he break too soon… He doesn’t seem very… resilient.”

At that moment the chained man moans and begins to cough up blood.

"Help… Please... Raph…" His voice is feeble and gurgling as he keeps drooling reddened saliva.

Magnus throws the blood-soaked rag to the ground angrily and stalks toward the man, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back violently, causing him to whine in pain again.

"Meliorn, don't be so annoying. We are having a conversation here. You better shut up and save your breath for later. Don’t worry, I’ll make you scream again soon. Now it’s Galaster’s turn, though. So, be quiet, yes? And enjoy the show.”

He releases Meliorn’s hair and spins around to stare at the other Warlock.

“Galaster, are you ready? I think you'll find these chains very interesting. They not only prevent you from using magic like the handcuffs you're wearing now, but they're made of adamas. So, they will be very unpleasant against your skin. You know that those marks don't heal, right? You will carry the scars forever, assuming you’ll survive."

"What? That's barbaric. Please Magnus, no… You can’t..."

Magnus shrugs nonchalantly, while Raphael starts pushing him to make him advance toward the chains dangling from the ceiling. The Vampire has not much of a choice, even if he doesn’t agree with Magnus’ methods, he won’t get in his way. He is not that stupid.

"Well, Galaster, I can, actually. Yet… what is gonna happen it's up to you, really. Meliorn has been useless so far and I'm losing my temper. If you tell me where is the Sword and who got it in the first place, I'll let you go, you will be free to run away and keep hiding like the filthy rat you are. Otherwise, I'll take all my wrath out on you, Galaster. This is a promise… I won’t hold back; I won’t spare you any suffering. Or even death, if necessary."

"Fuck, Magnus. We're not like that. Don’t you want to try and persuade him to cooperate? You can’t kill someone in cold blood like this."

"Oh, no? Well, watch me, Raphael. We have demon blood, my dear. And it is cold. Shadowhunters are right about that. Our blood calls for blood. And I'm sick of everything. Rebel Warlocks, hypocrite Nephilim people, and even friends who don’t trust me…”

That sounded dangerously like a threat. Raphael widens his eyes, taken aback, but shuts his mouth once and for all. Magnus’ expression softens then.

“Raphael, I would never hurt you, but I won't let this world go to shit. Not if I can avoid it. There are still people I care about and I need to make it clear to the Consul that if she doesn't want the Shadowhunter line to be exterminated, she'll have to listen to us. I’ll put my hands on that damn Sword, no matter what the cost and I am not going to hand it back to the Clave. It’s too dangerous. By Lilith… They are nothing more than a bunch of incompetents at best and bloodthirsty traitors at worst."

Magnus looks around, catching the irony in his words, and giggles briefly.

"My God, Bane, you're a monster."

Galaster whispers with a strangled voice, trying to escape the lethal grip of Raphael’s hands around his arms. But he isn’t strong enough, and his magic is obstructed by the restraints Magnus put around his wrists. Magnus lifts one of his eyebrows, smirking. Raphael shivers again.

"Am I a monster? Me? And what about you, then? You joined the Circle 20 years ago, you betrayed us and stained your hands with the blood of so many innocents. I just want justice, Galaster, and I may spare your life if you tell me where the Sword is. Otherwise, you are going to suffer… well, a lot."

A sob erupts from the Warlock’s mouth, his face transfigured by fear.

“Magnus…” Raphael knows he is not going to stop him. But…

“Raphael, if you're not strong enough, please leave the room, I've made it soundproof so you won't hear his screams, as I bet you didn't hear Meliorn's.”

Raphael shakes his head.

"No, I'll stay. I don't like this, but if this is the only way..."

"You know it is... We need to retrieve the Sword before it's too late. Shall we proceed?”

With a flick of his wrist, Meliorn is freed from the chains and his battered body slumps awkwardly to the ground.

Ragnor stands up from the armchair and kicks him away with his foot, making room for Galaster to take his place. When he deems it enough room, he turns to the Vampire. The British Warlock oddly seems to be having a great time.

"Raphael, bring him here so I can hang him. I think Meliorn has passed out again and won't wake up anytime soon. Magnus went a little rough on him.” He sounds almost amused by the situation.

“Magnus, this time try to make this last a little longer, ok?" He concludes and Magnus shrugs,as to say “I’ll try” and starts rolling up his sleeves intently. Raphael thrusts Galaster forward to make him move, but Galaster puts up some resistance.

"No… Wait, please…”

The Warlock drops to his knees, resting his forehead on the ground in prostration before Magnus; he is sobbing in earnest now, but Magnus looks down at him with undisguised contempt. For being a magical immortal being Galaster is admittedly reduced to an embarrassing begging mess. But he must know he is nowhere as powerful as Magnus, and if the High Warlock has decided to torture him to death, his only hope is to tell the truth and implore his mercy.

“Please, Magnus… I’ll talk, please.”

Magnus stops rolling his sleeves and grins.

“I’m listening.”

Galaster straightens up, sitting on his heels and looks up at Magnus like a mistreated puppy.

“Ok, sure So… Valentine... when he died… I knew I had to run away… And I never meant to go back to New York, I swear… But they found me, somehow, and they asked me to portal the Sword from Paris and to obscure any trace of the portal. They threatened me, and I thought… I could do just this one thing, right? I could disappear again, afterward, I thought… but Ragnor... Shit... I didn't mean... Please, Magnus… forgive me, ok? I'll do whatever you ask me. Just… Spare my life… I am immortal, I cannot die... Please…"

The Warlock is rambling by now, having his fear taken the best of him. Magnus’ eyes are cold and unforgiving, though. His words even more, spat out through his teeth.

"Frankly, you are unforgivable, Galaster. As I said, I have no pleasure in inflicting pain, although I am good at it since as you know, I am my father’s son, after all. Do you wanna have a taste of my skills?"

"No… For God's sake... Magnus… Please…" Galaster whines and Magnus’ eyes shine with impatience.

"Stop begging then and tell me where the Sword is, so Ragnor can bring you back to whatever sewage he found you all in one piece."

A glint of hope lights the Warlock’s eyes. He nods frantically. He will talk, he will tell Magnus anything to save his life.

"The… The Sword is… It is already in Idris, ok?” Galaster is clearly overwhelmed by sheer terror and seems now unable to stop the tears, as he tries to speak between sobs.

“They… They asked me to create a portal near… near Brooklyn so you would be indicted… But the Sword was taken to Idris, I think... Oh God… I think pretty much right after I portaled it to… to New York..."

“Whom are you talking about? Who brought it there?” Magnus asks, relentlessly. He expects the Warlock kneeling before him to say Alec’s name; Alec Lightwood and his siblings were responsible of this whole mess. He has been so damn sure, but… apparently, he has never been so wrong in his life.

"Johnathan Morgenstern.” This is the name Galaster chokes off in the end, bowing his head forward in total surrender.

Magnus frowns, wordlessly. Because Johnathan Morgenstern is, was actually, Valentine's long-dead son. So, maybe he got it wrong.

“Who?”

“You heard me right. Valentine's son. I know, he died when he was just a toddler, I… I can’t explain why, or even how he has come back… But he is not human anymore. He’s not even a Shadowhunter anymore. He returned from Hell to take his revenge. He wants... He wants to break down the gates of Hell and rule Edom together with his sister. He told me as much. And I know he has made a deal with the Queen. She… She will reign on Earth, this world will be a… colony to her Seelie Court, while Johnathan wants to dominate Hell. But… there will be no more barriers between worlds, they will merge into one single realm. With the Cup and the Sword, he will be able to control demons and annihilate all the Nephilim people who are now protecting Mundanes... So, they will all die. Everyone without demon blood in their veins will die. I am so sorry…"

Galaster seems to have regained his eloquence, but what he just said… It makes Magnus' blood run cold in his veins. Raphael and Ragnor seem equally petrified. Valentine's son? The little baby had horribly died in a fire at the Morgensterns’ mansion in Idris, shortly before Jocelyn managed to deceive and end her husband's life with the help of Lucius Greymark, the man’s parabatai. That night Jocelyn got pregnant with a girl, who was born nine months later in Alicante.

How did Johnathan even survive? One thing is for sure though; being Valentine and Jocelyn’s son, the boy must be a Shadowhunter, he has angelic blood and could not have survived in Hell. So, what Galaster said makes no sense. In any case, his angelic blood may have granted him free access to Idris until now, and if he already brought the Sword there… It would be a disaster.

“Look, there's no way he survived the fire, much less he came back from Hell. Don’t mess around with me, Galaster… You don’t wanna play this game, do you?”

The Warlock seems calmer now, as if resigned to his fate. There is not much more he can do. He is at Magnus’ mercy and there is no point in keeping the truth for himself.

“Magnus… I’m not lying. He is a monster… He has demon blood in his veins and he is powerful…”

He is not human anymore… The Warlock’s previous words sink in, eventually. Magnus’ eyes widen in realization.

"...there is something wrong with him… I mean, he’s not a Warlock, or a Seelie, but he has something absolutely demonic in him. And he is a shapeshifter… I saw him change… so he now looks like one of them... He took the place of the nephew of the Head of the Paris Institute a while ago and he had been living there for months.”

The Warlock stops speaking and looks up at Magnus, desperation and regret clear on his face.

“It’s too late, Magnus. He has the Sword…. And when he puts his hand on the Cup... He... He will destroy our world to its foundations. I am sorry… So sorry."

Magnus’ jaw twitches and his hands close in tight fists. It’s way worse than expected, but it’s not his habit to give in without a fight.

"Raphael… We have to hurry."

The Vampire nods, looking alarmed, and willing to follow Magnus’ orders.

“I know… Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it… Just… It seems that Alec is not involved, after all.”

“No, he isn’t.” Magnus admits, flatly. He is relieved, but he has no time to process what happened with the young Shadowhunter. It must be an explanation for his behavior. Raphael and Maia, and even Meliorn, they were right.

“And Isabelle either, right?”

When the Seelie man, still laying on the floor, speaks again out of the blue, Galaster trail off in surprise. Meliorn scoffs then, shaking his head and lithely sitting up. His voice is firm and steady and he glances up at Raphael, grinning at the Vampire. Then he turns his awfully swollen eyes toward Magnus.

“I told you, didn’t I? Isabelle is not a traitor.”

He stands up easily, a moment later, his lopsided smile still plastered on his bruised face. Galaster gapes at him, and he gasps in surprise when his whole body shape becomes blurred and glows with a multicolor light.

Right… He thinks. Seelie magic.

When the glimmer around his figure fades away, all the bruises, wounds, and even the blood that covered his skin have disappeared. Meliorn is completely unharmed and standing in front of the Warlock in all his angelic-and-demonic combined glory.

“What the fuck?” Galaster mutters in disbelief.

Magnus can’t help but chuckle softly at the man’s mystified reaction, while Meliorn picks up a tunic that was on another armchair and puts it on.

“Galaster? Are you ok? You seem a little pale…” Magnus mocks him with evident satisfaction.

“You… You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t hurt Meliorn, I don't usually engage in torture and turn my back on my friends. I’m not that kind of man, and I pride myself on trying to listen to them, despite my prejudices. I was sure that the young Lightwoods were behind this, but they made me reconsider my assumption. Or at least they convinced me that there might be another explanation. As much as I don't trust Shadowhunters, I do trust those who have stood by me for centuries. I can't say the same thing about you, though. You betrayed us twenty years ago, and you are going to pay for that, now. We will deliver you to the Clave and you will be tried for the crimes you committed when you were in the Circle. I'm sure the Clave won't have as much mercy on you as I'm having. I didn’t lie, you know? I don't like to inflict pain... But you... You deserve no mercy, Galaster, and my hands are itching… Raphael? Please, take him away, before I can indulge in rash deeds."

"What? No… No, you promised to let me go if I told you the truth. Magnus… You gave me your word…"

Magnus scoffs and points at him, looking at Meliorn in clear amusement.

"He still doesn't get it, does he?” He asks the Seelie man, feigning incredulity.

Then Magnus steps forward and crouches in front of Galaster. He utters his following words coldly and in such a detached way that the kneeling Warlock seems to be about to burst out crying again.

His eyes are wet and his lower lip is trembling, but Magnus doesn’t pity him.

“This was all a farce, Galaster… Everything I said was a lie. Besides, I can't let you go. You're my ticket to get to Idris now, I need you. You shall meet with none other than the Consul herself, in her opulent office in Alicante, pleading your case. Raphael? Call Isabelle and tell her to get ready, we're taking this scum to the Institute."

"Got it… I'll call Izzie right away. Let me just get this package ready to be delivered to the Clave, ok? Just… Don't you think you overdid it with the amount of blood? It bordered me on the far-fetched side."

Magnus shrugs. “Maybe. But it worked; so…”

Raphael is unabashedly grinning now as are Meliorn and Ragnor. Who can blame them, though? This was so easy, after all, and they played a great team game. More than great. And above all, Magnus is such a good actor, isn’t he?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Every Shadowhunter knows that in one of the guarded rooms adjacent to the Consul's office, there is a permanent portal, that can be connected to all Institutes in the world. It is mainly used by high-ranking officers of the Clave visiting one or other Institute or by the Heads living and working in the diverse cities who need to go to Alicante for whatever reason, or even to transfer prisoners who are to be incarcerated, tried, or executed at the Guards. The procedure is magically complex and is operated by a few portal workers, properly trained to interface with each portal on the other side of the magical channel. They are responsible to make sure that travelers arrive at the desired destination safely.

Clary and Sebastian are walking along the corridor to get there and two guards are following them, as ordered by the Inquisitor, but the girl knows that, provided they really go through the portal, it is very unlikely that they will land in South Africa as they should. Probably, one of the Shadowhunters in charge of their transfer is a traitor. But Clary is prepared. For starters, she is ready to react, she has her weapons and won’t hesitate to use them in case the blond Shadowhunter attacks her. Secondly, she has activated a special rune to be localized by her mother and Lucius, Luke, as she has always called him. And most importantly, the Cup she is holding in her hand is not the Cup.

It's a simulacrum. A fake. The Cup has already been brought to safety for some time. When all this mess started, Clary was sent to New York undercover, to figure out who at the New York Institute could be the traitor. Because it was obvious there was a Shadowhunter involved. It must have been. A Downworlder alone could not have activated the Sword and in any case, Jocelyn knew that Magnus Bane was a man of honor, even though the two hadn't interacted in the last 19 years and were never friends. But both knew the value of loyalty. During the Uprising, Jocelyn pretended to be part of the Circle, she double-crossed Valentine, dangerously putting her life at risk. And she lost a son for the cause; in the end, she murdered her husband and Magnus respected her for that; he understood her pain, in some respect at least. And Clary knows her mother has always returned the favor toward the Warlock. But the Inquisitor... She had no idea, and she issued an arrest warrant for the High Warlock. In fact, no one knows about Clary’s true mission. Only her mother, Luke, and the Consul of course. Not even the Inquisitor knows the truth; as far as she is concerned, she did entrust the Cup to Clary a few minutes earlier and Magnus Bane is nothing less than a criminal. Well, the Clave will apologize to Magnus Bane when it's all over. The High Warlock is on the run at the moment and Clary hopes they don't catch him. She doesn't want him tortured or worse when she knows he's innocent. Not that she could do anything about it right now. Now she has to stay focused; anything can literally go to hell in a blink of an eye.

Now, Clary's at the reckoning. The Sword hasn't been found yet, but she knows it's her job to find it, and to do so she must humor this imposter, whoever he might be. The short distance from the Inquisitor's office to the Portal room feels longer than usual. Clary feels the tension in her shoulders as she walks unhurriedly, Sebastian following.

In the end, nothing happens and they cross the portal, under the watchful eye of the few Shadowhunters in the room. She is not very surprised, though, when past the glowing light of the portal, finds herself at the edge of a forest edging the shore of a lake. Well, the place is familiar to her. She has often seen those tall conifers and the silver water of the lake; on the other hand, she grew up in Idris, so she knows immediately that they are near Lake Lyn and the fact that Sebastian, or whoever this intruder is, wanted to take the Cup with him is concerning. She knows what that means, even more, if he has the Sword as she suspects.

And she bets the Sword is nearby. Who the Hell is this man? A well-disguised Warlock? But he entered the Institute and Idris’s wards without issues, so he must have angelic blood in his veins.

This makes no sense at all. He must be a Shadowhunter, but he needs demon blood to accomplish the ritual with the Cup. Maybe he has an accomplice… She must be very, very careful.

Clary is walking ahead of Sebastian again, slowing her pace and with all her senses on alert. The young man follows her and doesn’t say a word, but she needs to face him, so she stops in her tracks and spins on her heels, abruptly to look at him straight in the face. He is… smiling.

“Clarissa. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I have waited for this moment for so long, you have no idea.”

She frowns. The impostor cannot know it, but Clary met Sebastian five years earlier and it is not possible that the boy doesn’t remember her. They were barely teenagers when they met and they traded a soft, innocent kiss on the lips. Sebastian had been living in Paris for a few months then, after having lost his parents, and he was a timid and kind boy, and Clary spent a few days with him when she accompanied her mother to visit her friend Elodie. She and the blond boy clicked very fast somehow; they were so young and after those few days together and that delicate kiss they hadn’t seen each other again. Clary had her life in Idris and Sebastian in Paris, but she is sure he would remember that kiss.

However, when she introduced herself to him, the day before at the New York Institute, he gave no sign of recognizing her. And he looked eerily different. His eyes had lost all their gentleness.

Clary immediately considered that he had just arrived from Paris... and it was a sketchy coincidence, right? Of course, she couldn't share her suspicions with anyone. Not even with the young Lightwoods, who immediately welcomed her with open arms. Well, at least Isabelle and Jace.

She had yet to figure out what kind of person Alec was. But it was pretty clear that he didn't trust her, which made him either a possible suspect or a precious ally in her eyes. Clary leaned more toward the latter. Again just because of her instinct... And yet, she was rarely wrong.

"Where are we? And above all... Who the Hell are you?"

She finally asks, showing no agitation or fear. Her mother knows where she is, or at least Clary hopes so. Someone will come soon for her. And the Cup is far away, somewhere safe.

"Oh, you're right sorry. I should introduce myself. And maybe show you what I really look like. I bet you'll notice the resemblance."

Saying so, the young boy changes his shape, his appearance. It’s a complete, full morphing of his body and face and even though Clary has already seen shapeshifters change their shape before, she knows no Shadowhunter possesses that ability. They may use a glamor but the effect is not the same. It drops altogether, it’s just an illusion. Therefore, the transformation that is slowly happening before her eyes is fascinating and horrific at the same time. The body structure of the boy, his skin, his eyes... everything transforms deep to its inner essence. Sebastian is gone in a few moments and instead of him, another boy is standing before her, more or less of the same height, slender, with red hair and green eyes, exactly like she and her mother.

"Hello… Sister." He confirms with a smirk.

"No... It's not possible. You are dead. Our father killed you; you died swallowed by the flames."

"No…” He retorts angrily, “our father saved me. He took me away from the fire and entrusted me to my mother. Or at least to the mother who actually raised me, nurturing me with her blood."

"Who are you talking about?"

Johnathan shrugs as if anything he was referring to was absolutely obvious.

"Well, Lilith… of course. I grew up in Edom, Clary and I assure you… It was not an idyllic experience. But the time will come when I will get my revenge against her, too. I will get even, Clary, in due course and for everything that happened to me. I will rule over Edom. I will dethrone her, and I’ll do it for you. I... I want to make you my Queen, what do you say? When I heard that our mother had another baby, that I had a little sister... Well, I decided to survive in Edom to come back to you. Despite the torture and all the pain Lilith inflicted on me every single day I spent with her, the thought that I still had someone to live for... To fight for, well, it made me hold on. Now give me the Cup, Clary... You need to drink my blood before I can put an end to every Shadowhunter’s existence, reduce them to be human again as they should be."

"Your blood?"

Clary mutters in dismay. She is shocked by what this boy revealed. Is he really her brother? And was he raised by Lilith? The Queen of Edom?

"Yes... Lilith’s blood in my vein will make you a creature of Edom, like me if you drink it from the Mortal Cup. When our sword, the Morning Star Sword, finally burns your runes away and gets rid of any drop of angelic blood in our veins, we will rule over Edom, together."

Johnathan looks so calm and confident, and Clary is overwhelmed by a new feeling. She is sorry for him. Alone and abandoned, raised by a Demon, unaware of what love can be. What having a family even means. But she can’t let him win. She can’t.

“I am not going to Edom. Here is where I belong, ok? And you too. I am not going to drink your… blood.”

The mere idea makes her stomach churn in disgust.

“Oh, but you will. This is the most precious gift I can offer you, or do you prefer to become a Mundane and succumb to the horde of Demons that are about to pour into this World?”

Good Lord.

“How…”

The boy rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by her continuous puzzlement.

“The Sword, my dear… The Morning Star Sword that has belonged to our family for generations and that only you and I can activate with a simple touch, because of our name, can open a rift between here and Edom, but first I need to get rid of Raziel’s blood in our system.”

Of course, he is the only one who can use the Sword even if he is not a Nephilim anymore. That’s… terrifying. Clary can’t allow him to put his hand on that infernal blade.

“Where… Where is the Sword?”

“Not far from here. So... Are you with me, Clary? I know you are not to blame for what happened to me. You weren’t even born. Our mother abandoned me to die in that fire and our father left me in the hands of the Mother of Demons. But you? You are not to blame and you are my lil’ sister. I want to share my glory and power with you. We'll get to know each other, and I promise you, you'll be happy with me. Nobody will get in our way; you will get everything you want. I'm your brother, Clary, I just want to protect you and you'll learn to love me back. I'm sure of it."

He spoke his last words more sweetly, as if he really believed them and it’s heartbreaking in its craziness.

“Johnathan… I can't believe you survived… But our mother… She didn't abandon you, she tried to save you. It was Valentine's fault. That night… It was he who started the fire… She… She loved you and she has never forgiven herself for failing to protect you. I'm so sorry for what happened to you, but… I can't give you the Cup. You will have to kill me, Johnathan. Is this what you want?"

The boy's young but unsettlingly sharp face hardens a bit more at her rejection, and his eyes turn pitch dark. They are evil, bloodcurdling, revealing his demonic nature. Clary notices that he has no runes on his skin, at least on the visible parts of his pale body, and wonders if he can even bear them without losing his mind. Even more than he has already had.

She instinctively recoils when those devilish orbs meet her eyes. Her brother stares at her with those abyss-black eyes and Clary suddenly feels weak, and dizzy, her wobbly legs are suddenly unable to keep her on her feet.

"What the Hell… What are you doing to me?"

"Sleep, little sister, and when you wake up, it will be in a new world. A wonderful world that we will build together..."

Clary feels her lids heavy as she collapses, somehow gracefully, to the ground while her senses leave her, rendering her vulnerable and completely at her brother’s mercy.

She won't surrender… she must stop Johnathan and retrieve the Sword… It’s her mission, she must resist the sleepiness… But it's a losing battle.

Clary closes her eyes, as darkness envelops her. She hopes that her mother is on her way before it’s too late. Before Johnathan can open a rift to Edom, before he finds out she hasn’t the real Cup, cradled to her breast and his hopeless wrath destroys the World.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Alec enters the Consul's office, head held high and a stern scowl on his face, pushing Galaster Qibynn in front of him, in an attempt to make him walk faster. They were just in time, the portal to Idris was about to be shut down.

The plan Magnus Bane proposed to them was… well, literally crazy. But the Warlock was persuasive enough and convinced him that this was their only way to get to Idris in time. The unsanctioned transfer of the rogue Warlock would cover Magnus’ traces entering Alicante’s wards. Or at least, this is what they hope. Alec of course, but also Isabelle, Jace, Maia, Lily, Raphael, Meliorn, Catarina, and Ragnor.

They stayed in New York, waiting at the Institute to Maryse's sheer bewilderment; she was however silenced by a truly menacing Raphael.

Such a large gathering of Downwolders all together under the roof of the Institute was surely unprecedented. They are ready to jump into the portal, should it open again. But for now, Alec is alone. The Consul is standing in front of her desk and is glaring furiously at him.

"Alexander Lightwood, you know we were about to close all the portals for a reason, don't you? You were not allowed to bring that Warlock here. The orders were clear. So, I wonder… what on Earth was so difficult for you to understand in the sentence "No Downwolders are allowed in Idris"? My life is at stake here."

Alec can’t really help but roll his eyes. He is already so…done. Everything happened incredibly fast and he has still to understand how he ended up in Idris with this handcuffed Warlock. At the same time Catarina was updating Maia about what happened with Galaster, Isabelle called him, summoning him back to the Institute. Apparently, Magnus had gotten his hands on the one who stole the Sword and was willing to hand it over to them. But the Warlock demanded that the prisoner needed to be taken to the Guards in Idris, using the portal at the Institute. Galaster Qibynn would talk to the Consul and the Consul alone, revealing Johnathan Morgenstern’s plan. Isabelle explained that the Warlock wanted to get immunity for himself in exchange for information about the Sword’s whereabouts. That was what Raphael told her.

Alec then rushed to the Institute with the two werewolf girls only a few moments before the small delegation of Downworlders arrived, dragging Galaster in chains with them.

Obviously, Maryse Lightwood freaked out, but eventually, faced with proof of Magnus' innocence and the real risk that the Sword could have been already in Idris, she let Alec go, pursuing this crazy idea Magnus came up with. Just before jumping into the portal to Alicante, though, Magnus grabbed his wrist and looked straight into his eyes. It wasn’t a friendly look. And his words still resonate in his ears.

"Apparently we need to work together for the greater good, Shadowhunter, but don't think I can ever forget that you deceived me and tried to incriminate me for things I didn't do and would never even think of doing. You got into my pants for your vile purposes and I hope you did have fun because that won't happen again. I despise you, are we clear? When we get out of this mess, just stay as far away as possible from me... The risk that I may try to incinerate you remains absolutely plausible. Do you understand?"

Alec was overwhelmed by guilt and regret and he was sorry for… for everything. But Magnus’ hurt feelings and his anger needed to wait. So, he rebutted, trying to convey his displeasure, but cutting it short nonetheless.

"Magnus… Look, I don't have time for this right now. But don't worry, I promise I won’t bother you with my presence. I know I hurt you and even if it wasn’t my intention, I am well aware of what I have done and I’ll take full responsibility for that. Now let's go and get the Morning Star Sword before Valentine's son succeeds in ending the World, shall we?"

Magnus’ eyes shone with something similar to admiration, and a weird form of respect.

"Lead the way, Shadowhunter."

The Warlock said in the end.

And now here he is, following Magnus’ plan, trusting him, and putting himself at risk, fully and without any safety net. Good Lord… He is going to die, isn’t he?

"Consul, I am well aware, but I wouldn’t have brought him here if it wasn’t crucial. Much more than your life is at stake here. There's no need to lie. You should know that someone with Demon blood has already managed to sneak into Idris, so there is really no point in keeping those people who can help you away from here. They can help you… We can help…"

"So, this is the Warlock involved in the theft of the Sword? I remember him, he is a traitor, he used to work with Valentine. But he is of no help now and he can’t remain here. You need to take him back to New York. You can put him on trial there if you want. I don’t care. You can also execute him right after, for what matters."

Galaster fidgets on the spot, clearly at unease with the Consul’s words.

"You’re not listening to me, Consul.” Alec goes on. “We know who else is behind the theft of the Sword. We know who wants to derune us."

She furrows her brows in sign of annoyance.

"How do you even know about this? It’s classified."

"Seriously? My mother told me. I can’t believe you hid this from all of us. We could have lost... everything... Our runes, our blood, our power… our angelic mission…"

"Lightwood, I can assure you; it wouldn't have been of any benefit if Shadowhunters panicked and started picking on the Downworlders. Fear is no good counselor and emotions cloud judgement."

God, why she keeps giving out platitudes?

"Well, but it wasn't a Downwolder who wants to destroy us, but a Nephilim, right? So, you need to secure the Cup, now."

And it’s then that the Consul does something unexpected. She snickers smugly at him.

"The Cup is perfectly safe and Clarissa Fairchild is pursuing the finding of the Sword. We think the Verlac boy may be the culprit. His Aunt is already under arrest and the Paris Institute is compromised. I know you and your siblings don't think highly of the Clave, but we're not a bunch of idiots."

An ungracious and disrespectful snort resonates in the office.

"Well… I beg to differ, Consul."

It was Galaster who spoke so irreverently and quite rudely to the woman, making her eyes widen in surprise.

The man easily jerks off Alec's steel grip around his bicep and the cuffs around his wrists vanish into a blue cloud of magic. The glamour falls in the blink of an eye and the Warlock standing there next to Alec is no longer Galaster, but Magnus Bane in person.

Alec can't help but look in admiration and awe at him. His posture, his proud gaze, his loud and intimidating power. Something flutters in his stomach, something that is more than wonder, more than respect. It's something he can't come to terms with at this moment. Now they apparently have to go and save Clarissa Fairchild, left alone against her demonic brother. If only they knew where he brought her. Magnus seems to read his mind.

"Where is Clarissa?" the Warlock requires, in a resolute tone that demands nothing but an answer. "Her life is in danger and I can't believe you let her go alone."

The Consul seems more irritated than concerned.

"By the Angel, what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Bane? Ms. Fairchild is perfectly capable of neutralizing one Shadowhunter. She is with Sebastian Verlac, and we don't know yet if he is the traitor. We are waiting for her to report back. They headed to the Johannesburg Institute where they are ready to receive them. We need to understand his motives and to find out whether there are other Shadowhunters involved. It's a very delicate mission, as you surely understand. In any case, the Cup is safe. You don’t need to worry about that. We gave her a fake one."

Magnus closes his fists and glowing blue sparks start spreading from his hands. He looks furious.

The Cup may be held somewhere secure, but the Clave always puts its people’s life in danger, recklessly and without sparing a second thought. Clary is alone with an infernal monster and Magnus cannot stomach their indifference to her fate. What would happen when Johnathan discovers she doesn’t have the Cup? Who knows how he would react?

"Idiots! Sebastian Verlac has probably been dead for months. The Shadowhunter with her is Valentine’s son, her brother. And he came straight from Edom to destroy us all."

The Consul looks at him dumbfounded. Now she is decisively listening to them.

"What?"

"Valentine's son. He didn’t die in the fire at the Morgenstern’s mansion as we thought, and, don’t ask me how, but he has Demon's blood in his vein. You see, Consul, he is a Nephilim, and even with his contaminated blood… he can both activate the Sword and use the Cup to derune us all."

At that moment, a red-haired woman and an African American man burst into the Consul's office.

"Jia! Clary has never arrived in Johannesburg… She's still here, in Idris… she's at Lake Lyn… We need to go."

Alec hears Magnus whisper a curse that no one would dare to utter in the Consul's presence, but… whatever. He is not wrong. The two men look and nod at each other, with the same resolute expression on their tense faces.

"Let's go. Maybe it's not too late. Jonathan doesn’t have the Cup, after all." Magnus says, whirling his hand to open a portal. Maybe he can’t obliterate the Nephilim kind, but he can still hurt Clary and open a rift to Edom. No Demon Tower in Alicante could protect the city then.

Alec braces himself to jump into the light with the Warlock, thinking once again that it’s true… He is going to die, isn’t he? Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s for a good cause. They will stop Johnathan Morgenstern at any cost. He and Magnus together.

#malec fic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #shmb2023

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lucifermorningstxr · 2 months ago

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It wasn't unlike Lucifer to invite his friends over to LUX on a midnight whim, nor to give them the VIP treatment as a favor. Favors were his thing, after all. He and Asa had grown to be fast friends, although the hot sex they'd had on the first night they met really helped seal the deal. Whatever the case, the Devil was excited to see his friend tonight, the arrangements already made and waiting as was par for the course.

The weeks leading up to and from Halloween were always excellent for business at the elite Los Angeles hot spot. Humans loved to dress up in their most revealing costumes, get wasted and high, and practically do it on the dance floor. Nowadays, a few post-it notes passed for a suitable Halloween costume, and Lucifer absolutely loved it! This was his den of sin, after all. None of his guests would be judged here, at least not just for being themselves.

Lucifer sat at the piano, being his devilishly charming self with a group of LA's finest. When one of the bouncers slipped over to relay the message of Asa's arrival and the added fun of a surprise, the Devil was even bigger smiles. Whatever theatrics that vampire was planning would likely be great for business, but even more than that, he just wanted to see his friend's antics in whatever performance he was about to stage. It was sure to be fabulous!

As soon as the King of Hell saw his vampy friend strutting out of the elevator decked out in his classic Western garb, a mischievous smirk crept onto his handsome face. With a swift move to the keys, he began his arrangement of Poor Mans Poinson's "Hell's Comin' With Me," a song the pair had bonded over for obvious reasons, and one surefire way to ensure a performance. The mic sat at the ready for Asa's taking, the song began to consume the popping nightclub.

[text: Asa] *video downloaded, seen three times*

[text: Asa] Oh, you bad boy, you. You need to be punished, don't you? 😈

[text: Asa] Not in a cringey way though. In a 'I'm the Devil and I'm gonna punish you but make it fun' kind of way.

[text: Asa] See you then. I'll have a bottle ready.🍾 😈😘

#tumblr rp #rp #roleplay #lucifer morningstar #lucifer netflix #lucifer #lucifer x asa

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superspookyjanelle · 4 years ago

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Oc Social Media; Delancy “Darcy” Mikaelson [ Messages From Her - To Be Determined ]

❝ Bi and ready to die....❞

TAGGING; @witchofinterest @fiercefray @sweetenemyfire @eddysocs @jasmineisabella

#darcy mikaelson #delancy mikaelson #messages from her #the originals oc #the vampire diaries oc #legacies oc #my oc babies #my oc story #ocappreciation #oc community #social media #social media edits #edits #fic #fic edits #gifs #kat dennings #teen wolf oc #crossover

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ridhearts · 2 years ago

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VAMP AU - basics iii.

Interested in the Octavinelle Coven? Be careful...it’s never wise to poke your nose in vampire business unaware, but dealings with these vampires never end in the favor of the human.

CW: blood, death, stalking/hunting, religious imagery, dark/obsessive/possessive characters. this au is not NSFW, but it does deal with darker content and sometimes discusses sensuality and sensual topics. reader discretion is advised.

Dorm-Specific CW: murder

overview. ❧ heartslabyul. savanclaw. {octavinelle.} scarabia. pomefiore. ignihyde. diasomnia.

The Octavinelle Coven has a powerful hold over the human realm, though nobody knows of their influence by name. They tend to live in urban coastal areas, thriving off of the drunkards and gamblers and other impulsive nightlife within the cities. Their coven head hasn’t changed for years and years and years, so long ago that nobody really gives much thought as to how they came to power and who they are. The Octavinelle Coven is one of the covens that is very loose with the internal sense of belonging. Vampires associated with Octavinelle usually either have a strong affinity for hypnosis or telepathy…..or maybe they’re just really, really smart and persuasive?

Usually these vampires use feeding as a threat for their “deals” or to send messages to people and groups they don’t like. A lot of Octavinelle Coven members have human friends that have offered to be their blood source, or they just rob a blood bank once in a while.

༻ ✞ ✟ ✞ ༺

Azul Ashengrotto - Blood Oath

Azul is the leader of his coven, though his charges are mostly left to their own devices. They know better than to try and strike deals with him, so nobody ever asks him of much, and if they’re summoned, they know it means trouble. Some work for him, of course, but the relationship is strictly professional.

He pretends he is a true vampire, as there are few ways to tell if somebody is lying, but in reality he was turned long, long ago. This is a source of great embarrassment to Azul, as he feels it would undermine all of his work. (It wouldn’t, at least, definitely not in the human realm, but even as a vampire Azul’s still got some issues rip) Only Jade and Floyd know this about him.

Azul was turned as a result of a few vampires looking to turn some new allies. As a human he was weak, and he couldn't fight off a vampire on his own, let alone four. After turning him, they made him follow their orders, sure he would never be able to one-up them and gain his own independence. Of course, Azul is a spiteful, clever being, one that should never be underestimated.

As a turned vampire, Azul's magic should be weaker than a true vampire's. However, he spent centuries mastering every craft he could get a textbook or a mentor for, and now he's one of the most powerful vampires around.

He met Jade and Floyd shortly after freeing himself from the vampires that turned him, still determined to make sure nobody could ever make a fool of him in the ways they did again. The twins, who freshly inherited a certain side business of “their father,” thought Azul would be fun to play with and offered to help him become the coven head of Octavinelle. They only wanted to be his right- and left-hand men in exchange…and teasing privileges.

The coven has a front of a rooftop night lounge, one of the most iconic and influential places in the city Azul resides in. It also serves as the coven “headquarters,” and are where coven members are summoned if they need to be dealt with. The lounge menu and infrastructure are safe for both vampires and humans - but it’s an unspoken rule that it’s not really a safe place for humans in the long run. Good thing the city is full of thrill seekers.

If you find yourself having fallen into the lion’s den, he wouldn’t be so cruel as to completely withhold a way out. He remembers how it felt to be as helpless as you are right now, so he’ll throw you a bone. But you can never get something for nothing, and Azul is far stronger than he used to be…just don’t cross him when he’s already giving you the chance of a lifetime, or else you might find yourself bound to him for eternity.

༻ ✞ ✟ ✞ ༺

Jade Leech - Blood Brothers, part i

There is an extremely rare occurrence in which the magical flow of the universe ebbs for just a moment, and a perfect equilibrium is achieved throughout all realms and mediums that use magic. Jade was “born” in this moment a long time ago to a Vampire that wished for a prodigy and, in a dire situation, a successor.

Eventually his father became infatuated with a human, and, as Jade grew into maturity, his father ordered him to hunt this human down. He was told where she lived, and that she had a son - Jade was ordered to get rid of this child and take her back, alive, at all costs.

Jade was more than capable of completing the job, but when he got to the city and found the family of two, he was hit with a…feeling. He began to follow the woman’s child, Floyd, around - one who was about his same “age,” and looked strikingly similar to him - before realizing that he and this human understood each other on a wavelength that he could tell was special. Immediately, he decided to turn Floyd, using a ritual that would bond the two of them as brothers for eternity. Instead of hiding away and taking care of this fledgling until he reached maturity, the two of them found the woman and Floyd fed on her. Together, they hunted Jade’s “father” and eventually took him down, as well.

Jade took over his father’s “business,” which is exactly as it sounds in canon and deals with both humans and vampires. Jade doesn’t go out onto the field unless he’s bored, though. Still, with a life as long as his…the amount of “trouble” he’s gotten himself into is still substantial. You’re best off not asking about it.

He was interested in Azul for multiple reasons, mainly because he saw it as an easy allyship (and a fun person to tease). Azul was hellbent on making sure those who wronged him now answered to him - so why not make all Octavinelle vampires answer to him? It’s all too easy for an eternal creature to get complacent, but Azul seems to have a never-ending supply of willpower. He’s formidable in any form, and it’s even better to see how far he can get when the right buttons are pressed.

Jade doesn’t mind his work for Azul. After all, it’s the most efficient way to witness all kinds of people in the lounge. And so many shady deals go down within the booths and dim lighting…it’s fascinating to watch as humans and vampires alike walk into blatantly laid traps, or how they try to wriggle out of one.

So if he finds you fascinating, you best watch your back. Jade is an expert manipulator, and frequently seeing him out of the corner of your eye is almost worse than having to answer to him head-on. Don’t be so scared! He’ll be gentle with his favorite little human…but if you knew how he treated others, that might not be saying much…

༻ ✞ ✟ ✞ ༺

Floyd Leech - Blood Brothers, part ii

Floyd was born on that same rare moment of magic harmony that Jade was, but with a catch - he was born much later, and he was born a human. However, Jade’s “father” had imprinted on Floyd’s mother, not quite in love with her, but obsessed.

Throughout his entire life, Floyd felt disconnected from the people around him. He was always more sensitive to his environment, too. While his propensity for mood swings is just part of him, he always found himself in a worse mood around summer time and during the day. He thought himself stronger and faster than most of the people around him, too. Eventually, he got wrapped up with a bunch of shady folk (who he would eventually learn were the more casual members of the Octavinelle coven) and lived a sort of half-human, half-vampire lifestyle.

As soon as he met Jade, he knew Jade was a vampire. But he also knew that the two of them got along better than anybody else, and that there was a certain kinship they shared that he couldn't describe (not that he was particularly motivated to). When Jade proposed turning him, Floyd didn't need to think about it before agreeing. When he had his first feeding, he felt more apathy than distress. Perhaps it was his soul leaving his body in the turning, or how he was bonded to Jade. Although, he had a feeling he'd stick with Jade no matter HOW he was turned…

Floyd is supposed to work in the lounge with his brother, but more often than not he’s roaming the streets, either in search of trouble or in search of blood. As a result of his frequent outings, he’s usually called on when there’s a turned vampire who needs a supply of blood, STAT. However, he gets bored with sitting there and letting them drink all the blood he worked so hard to get. When he pulls away, they’re willing to do almost anything to get to be able to finish drinking. These fledglings are such desperate fools…

Floyd doesn’t get why Azul is so bent out of shape about being a turned vampire. He’s turned, after all, and look how much cooler he is! This is a major point of contention between the two (read: Floyd teases Azul about this relentlessly. It’s a wonder nobody’s found out that Azul’s not the true vampire he claims to be with how incessant he is about it.)

If his history is anything to go by, Floyd knows when he likes something and when it’ll stick. He’s been with Jade and Azul for centuries, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever leave! So, if he happens to take a liking to you, your fate is as good as decided. However, Floyd’s never minded a bit of a chase, so be sure to make this one fun, mmkay?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #vamp au #octavinelle vamp

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blossom-hwa · 2 years ago

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taking care | k.th

I was... inspired. yes. let’s just call it that. definitely not me projecting my idiot brain into a fic. Definitely Not.

Pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, slice of life!au, sick fic, editor!taehyun, writer!reader

Triggers: cursing, mentions of medication (prescribed), panic attacks are mentioned once but no one actually has one

Word Count: 12.6k

When Taehyun goes missing from work, you hunt him down to his apartment where you find him sick. Attempts to take care of him ensue. It doesn’t all go as expected.

Seungcheol (SVT) Ver. | TXT Masterlist

It is two am on a Friday morning when you finally emerge from your little den of sadness and misery to actually attempt to be somewhat of a functional human being.

(The little voice in the back of your head that sounds annoyingly like Beomgyu reminds you that no one is ever able to actually function at two am like a normal human being, and the fact that you are only able to attempt functionality at this hour speaks to something deeply, deeply wrong with your sleep schedule and mental psyche. You swat it away.)

Switching on a light, you blink into the brightness. For a moment it feels like your eyes are burning. Sometime over the past five days, you became a vampire, probably. Minus the bites and fangs and sexy undead creatures.

Wait.

Five days?

You pat your pockets for your phone, which does not seem to be on you. Ah. Yes. You often shove it away when you're in gremlin writer mode so that the bright light won't distract you from your empty word documents. Shuffling back into your study, you flip on the light there too and start throwing things around.

“Beautiful,” you mutter, finally dragging the device out from under a pile of scribbled-on papers. “Please turn on, please turn on—”

It turns on. Bless, so it isn't dead. Squinting at the tiny screen, you check the date and time. Two oh seven in the morning on Friday, November seventeenth.

(The tiny rational voice in your brain that sometimes sounds like Soobin and sometimes sounds like Taehyun reminds you that you could have easily checked your still open laptop for the date and time instead of rooting around for your own. You swat it away, too.)

Hm. So it has been five days. That's... interesting. And mildly concerning. Not because of your fucked up sleep schedule which isn't even a sleep schedule at this point, but because this means Taehyun is off schedule. And by that you mean he didn't show up on the third day of your writer gremlin-induced madness to bring you coffee.

It happens like clockwork. You get sucked in by a deadline, ergo you go MIA. You ignore all texts and messages for two days, ergo Taehyun deduces you have spiraled into deadline induced writer gremlin madness. Coffee is the only thing that sustains you on a day to day basis, ergo Taehyun shows up at your apartment on day three, your favorite coffee in hand and not the bitter unsweetened shit you make yourself at home, and forces you to take a nap while he cooks.

It's a neat little syllogism. Or something. You don't quite remember the names of all the literary devices your writing teachers tried to shove into your head in high school. It all became irrelevant anyway in college when you could have arguments with your professors over the merits of the Oxford comma (it has many merits, but sometimes you just like to be contrary and your professors grew to know this very well). But now the syllogism has been broken because it's been five days since you sank into your little black hole of word documents and black coffee and Taehyun has not shown up once.

Ergo, concerning.

Your fingers have pulled up Taehyun's contact before you realize what you're doing at this time of the night—well, morning. You cannot call Taehyun right now. He's most definitely asleep because he's an actual functioning human being who goes to the gym, eats semi healthy food, and has a sleep schedule. And also happens to be ridiculously good at editing every anxiety-infused chapter you send him of your in progress novel. Therefore you cannot bother him before six in the morning, which is when he actually wakes up. It would be unholy. An even greater transgression upon the gods, assuming they exist.

You close your laptop, making sure to double and then triple save your work because accidents happen and you don't need any of them at two am on Friday when something's already wrong with Taehyun, then shut off the light before shuffling back into the room where you're actually supposed to sleep. The bed looks extremely inviting all of a sudden, what with all the nice little blankets and pillows that you haven't seen in days because you've just been taking cat naps in your office, and it's all you can do to force yourself to brush your teeth first and attempt to wash your face before plugging your phone into its charger and falling onto the bed.

In minutes, you're fast asleep.

. . . . .

When you wake up twelve hours later, at first you don't really remember why there's anxiety buzzing in your chest.

Your eyes feel crusty. So does your mouth. It feels like something died on your tongue. And your entire body feels grimy, probably because you haven't showered in a couple of days, so you ignore the little flutter of anxiety for now, just for now, and head to the bathroom.

One shower and a set of fully brushed teeth later, you stand in front of the bathroom mirror and attempt coherent thought.

Fact 1: You feel somewhat anxious.

Fact 2: It is true that you can sometimes feel anxious for no reason. It's called anxiety and it's the reason you see a therapist.

Fact 3: You're finally on track to meet your deadline in several days thanks to the past five days of gremlin behavior.

Conjecture 1: The deadline is not the source of your anxiety.

Conjecture 2: Something else is the source of your anxiety.

You blink. Wait. How many days has it been since you went into writer gremlin mode?

Five. It has been five days.

Your final thoughts from two in the morning come rushing back. Right. Taehyun didn't come by on the three day mark to bring you coffee, make you food, and force you to nap.

Somehow in the light of day, this realization seems more concerning than ever.

You head back into your room to check your phone, which is now happily and fully charged at your bedside. Several new text messages, but none of them from Taehyun.

Concerning has now become worrying.

You flick through the other texts. One from Beomgyu that's just a weird meme, one from Chaewon reminding you to take a break at some point. Nothing from Taehyun at all.

You call the office.

“Hello?”

“Is Taehyun there?”

A pause. “... Y/N?”

“Yes, it's me, I'm incredibly offended that you don't remember my voice,” you rattle off. “Is Taehyun there?”

Soobin pauses again on the other end. The sound of shuffling papers fills the phone. “Greetings to you too,” he snarks, and you really want to hit him. So much. But he's several miles away in an office building and your only connection is through like... electrical wires. Or waves. Or something. Science wasn't your strongest suit in school. Point is, you can't hit him. “Glad to see you've dragged yourself out of your writer gremlin induced stupor. And no, before you ask again, I don't think he came in today.”

This is more worrying than you thought it would be. Taehyun doesn't miss work. He's always on time, if not early—the one time he came in late and you were on time, you thought the world was going to end.

“Cute, thanks. Have a good—” you check the time— “four more hours of work!” You hang up before you can hear his reply.

So not only has Taehyun not texted you or called you at all in the past few days, but he isn't at work either. These levels of worrying are starting to get dizzying. Which means only one thing:

You need to find him.

Luckily, you've been to Taehyun's place several times for both work and social purposes, like when Yeonjun and Beomgyu convinced him to host a little Christmas party that ended with almost everyone tipsy or drunk and passed out in his living room by morning. You were on your meds so you couldn't drink, so you got saddled with the fun responsibility of bullying everyone into drinking hangover cures when they woke up.

It was actually kind of fun getting to record them doing and saying stupid shit, though. You were able to stock up on at least a year's worth of blackmail material in just one night. Efficient.

Not the point. You know where Taehyun lives. Now you need to go there and ascertain whether or not he's alive. And if he isn't alive, see if his cat is doing okay before you go have a mental breakdown because Taehyun can't die. It's like, impossible. He's pretty much invincible. Anyone who goes to the gym every day like it's his religion can't die.

You throw several things into your beaten up bag, then on second thought shove your laptop into its case to bring it too. Another voice that sounds ridiculously like Yeonjun chirps something like you bring that everywhere.

“It's called separation anxiety,” you say out loud.

No one replies. Which is good, because if someone did, you’d have a whole new problem on your hands.

With that, you grab your laptop charger, shove it in the bag, and head out the front door. You only almost forget to lock it on your way out.

. . . . .

It only hits you that you might be overreacting when you're right outside Taehyun's apartment. When you've literally raised your fist to knock on the door.

Because maybe he's... fine. Maybe he's perfectly fine and he's just tired of coddling you like a child. It would be valid. He shouldn't need to bring you coffee every third day of your gremlin life. He shouldn't need to learn to cook for you just so you can actually eat a fresh vegetable every so often. He shouldn't need to make you take naps like a toddler because you forget to take care of yourself a little too often to be acceptable as a full grown adult.

Maybe you should have called him beforehand and seen if he actually needed you before coming here.

Okay, no. A voice that sounds suspiciously like your therapist cuts through your spiral of negativity. Taehyun is your editor. He is also your friend. Friends check on each other and make sure they're doing okay.

Yes, but friends don't usually do... all of that. Taehyun's cooking has actually improved in the process of attempting to make you eat. That's dedication you aren't sure you deserve.

That's the effort he's putting into your friendship, your mind therapist says. And you put your own effort into the friendship. It's not like he's doing this all alone.

Right. You look at the door. You've shown up to his apartment unannounced because you were worried about him. That has to count for something, right?

Yes! your mind therapist cheers.

No, says the bitch ass part of your brain.

This hurts, says the arm that is still raised in the air, ready to knock on the door but unable to because anxiety.

Whatever. You sigh. You've already made the entire subway ride and walk to his apartment and are standing outside his door. Might as well check on him while you're here.

You knock.

No one answers.

You frown. Maybe he's not home, in which case finding him will be considerably more difficult. Or maybe he just didn't hear you. That would be the better option. Maybe you should knock again.

You knock again.

This time, to your relief, something does sound behind the door. To your concern, however, it sounds like a groan mixed with a crash, which is not something you ever thought you'd hear from Kang Taehyun's apartment. You did not prepare yourself for a possible horror story on this bright Friday afternoon.

“... Taehyun?” you call through the door.

Another sound follows, more like a thump this time. There's also a meow that sounds like Hobak, which is reassuring. “Coming,” you make out very faintly.

Well, it sounds... vaguely like Taehyun. You frown. You could kind of hear the undercurrents of his tone in the garbled mess that you made out as coming. Maybe it's not a horror movie monster in his apartment, then.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other as you wait for what is presumably Taehyun or some sort of Taehyun-esque form to open the door. Someone is staring at you out of the corner of your eye at the end of the hall and you really don't want to be out here for longer than is necessary.

Finally, you hear something click in the door. You have about one second to prepare yourself for something ghastly and horror movie-like before it swings open.

You blink. So does Taehyun.

“... Y/N?”

Okay, so not a horror movie monster. At least not one that's possessed him. But honestly, if Taehyun had told you such a monster had ransacked his apartment and left him to die, you'd have believed him because this is the worst you've ever seen him.

His eyes are red. So is his nose. He's got this huge fluffy blanket wrapped around him and—is he shivering? You have to look again. The Taehyun you know would never look like this. He always looks so put together, even when he's just come from the gym—which is ungodly because you always look like shit after you've gotten off the treadmill—and even when he's wading through your little writer gremlin cave he never looks out of place, but right now...

“You aren't, like...” You gesture vaguely. “You are Taehyun, right?”

Taehyun blinks. That's how you know he’s really in bad shape—it's taking him a full one, two, three seconds to actually buffer and process the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth when it normally takes him less than one. “Yes, I'm Taehyun,” he mumbles, all congested and muffled, and if you weren't so shocked you might actually laugh because it's kind of cute.

“Oh. Okay.” You blink again. “You're sick.”

Taehyun's face flushes redder, which you thought would’ve been impossible. “I'm not that sick.”

“Taehyun, you are very, very sick.” You push your way into the apartment and shut the door. “As in I've never seen anyone this sick before, even myself. Which is weird because I thought you could never get sick, given that you're actually a healthy human being with a functional eating and sleeping and exercising schedule that you actually keep to on the regular.” You dump your bag on a nearby chair—how is he still so neat even when he's probably a mess on the inside? “Where were you before I came? On the couch?”

He nods feebly.

“Go back to the couch and sleep.” You steer him toward it and push him lightly onto the cushions. He does it without much protest, which is highly worrying considering Taehyun is made of many pounds of pure muscle and you shouldn't be able to maneuver him this easily. “I'm going to make you soup. Or something.”

“You shouldn't be here,” he mumbles, though his eyes are already closing. You might coo if you weren't half worried he'd spring up and kill you for it. “You'll get sick.”

“Lucky for you, I have an immune system of steel.” Which is kind of a lie, but you'll take your chances while Taehyun is too conked out by his own shit immune system to counter you with facts. “And I can make a mean fucking bowl of soup. Do you have masks?”

“By the door,” he mumbles, even softer than before. “Thanks.”

“You're very welcome.” You pat his head. “Now go to bed. There'll be soup and meds for you when you wake up.”

He's knocked out before you finish your sentence. Which is just as well, you think as you locate the masks and pull one over your nose. He shouldn't be exerting himself at the moment, and you need to concentrate on making some soup.

. . . . .

An hour later, you have made one trip to the grocery store and convenience store and returned with a variety of things with which to make soup and some pills that you think Taehyun might need. You're not a doctor—the universe should thank you for that—so you're not sure what exactly he's come down with, but you checked his forehead and it was hot, so fever pills are probably a safe bet. Hopefully. As for the soup, you've made this so many times you could do it in your sleep. Mostly because when your mom made it the first time you were sick, you liked it so much that you kept bugging her to make it again and eventually she taught you to make it on your own so you'd stop bothering her.

Good memories.

It takes a while to locate everything you need in Taehyun's kitchen because he's not an organized mess like you are, he's just organized, therefore because there's no chaos in the kitchen you can't really find anything at first. This is not made better by Hobak attempting to climb up your leg every five minutes, but eventually he goes to his refilled food bowl, which gives you time to get together all the things you need and can start cooking. Taehyun doesn’t make a sound in the background, which worries you several times, but each time you check on him to change the wet cloth you've draped across his forehead, he's just sleeping. Very, very soundly.

According to Google, that's a good thing. Because he needs rest. So you leave him be.

Soon, the soup is done, and you can smell its wonderful aroma even through your mask. Probably because you're standing right in front of it. But the point is, it smells wonderful, and Hobak clearly likes the smell too since he keeps sniffing your fingers, so hopefully Taehyun will also be able to smell it being wonderful if his nose isn't too congested. Maybe then he will also be able to appreciate its taste. Something in an intro psych class you took in college said smell and taste are very much related. You also didn't need an intro psych class to tell you that because you have experienced the connection several times in real life firsthand.

Like when you were sick.

Luckily for you, Taehyun's eyes are beginning to flutter open when you check on him after ladling half the soup into a bowl. He kind of blinks when he sees you like he doesn't really believe you're there, so you wave a hand in front of his face. “Hi.”

“... Hi,” he says. “You're actually here.”

“What, did you think I was just a dream?”

He nods, then winces. “Yeah.”

“Fortunately for you, I'm not a dream. And to prove it, I made soup.” You point to the kitchen. “Can you smell it?”

Taehyun blinks blearily. “Vaguely.”

“Oh, great.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “Your nose isn't completely shot then. Do you think you can eat it?”

“... Maybe?”

“All right, I'll go get it for you.” Bustling back into the kitchen, you return with a hot bowl of soup and a glass of water. “You should take some of these meds before you eat, probably,” you say, indicating the bottles you dumped on the table before.

Obediently, Taehyun swallows the pills you give him and drinks the full glass of water. When you hold up the soup bowl, however, he grimaces.

“What's wrong?” You put it down. “Does it smell bad? I promise even if your sense of smell has been completely corrupted by whatever illness you have, it tastes good.”

“No, no, it smells good.” He coughs. “I just... don't know if I can hold it. The bowl.”

“Ah.” You look at the soup, then at him. That might be something of a problem. Hm.

Oh, simple solution. You pick up the spoon yourself. “I'll feed you, then.”

For some reason, Taehyun seems to balk at this. For the entire world you can't understand why. “Do you want the soup?” you ask. “If you can't eat it, I can just store it away for later.”

“I want it,” he mumbles, looking very put out and very childish in a way you never thought you'd see on the one and only sturdy, steady, reliable, healthy Kang Taehyun. “You just shouldn't have to feed me.”

“Well, I don't see why not.” You wave the spoon in the air. “You're sick. You want soup. You can't hold the bowl without dropping it and I am here. Ergo, I will help you drink the soup. By feeding you.”

Bam. That's a good syllogism. If that's even what a syllogism is. You still haven't checked the definition.

Taehyun finally relents, nodding slightly. “Okay.”

You pat his head. “Good boy,” you smile before dipping the spoon in the soup. Blowing on it softly, you extend your hand. “Open wide.”

“I'm not a child,” he mutters, but he follows your instructions anyway. You feed him the soup. “Good, isn't it?”

“I think so,” he says, swallowing.

You blink. “You think so?”

“I can't fully taste anything,” Taehyun complains. “My nose is stuffed.”

“I can't believe you're missing out on my mom's famous soup,” you say, shaking your head. “You know the first time she made it, I bothered her into making it so many times after that she just taught me how to make it myself at some point so I wouldn't keep asking her.”

Taehyun swallows the second spoonful. He coughs and you hand him a second glass of water. “You kept asking her, didn't you.”

You grin beatifically. “Well, when I'm at home with a mother who's willing to cook, I'm going to try and take advantage of that. Otherwise, I will go into my messy kitchen and cook it for myself.” You poke another spoonful into his face. “Drink.”

Sip by sip, Taehyun empties half the bowl before he decides he's had enough. You carefully push the rest of the soup away so that you won't accidentally spill it before handing him the glass of water. “Drink the rest of that,” you say, “and then you should probably sleep some more.”

He grumbles, but he finishes the glass. You pat his head again. “Go to sleep, now.”

“Don't wanna sleep,” he mumbles. “I slept so much earlier.”

“I'm pretty sure you slept like—” you check the microwave clock, which now reads five in the afternoon. “Two hours since I got here. At most.”

“I slept a lot before you came,” he mutters. “Why did you come, anyway?”

Oh. You blink. That's a question you weren't exactly expecting to have to answer. “Uh. Well. I kind of, uh, emerged from my den yesterday. Well, this morning. At like, two am.”

Taehyun makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. Out of the kindness of your own heart and mercy for his sick little body, you ignore it.

“And I realized five days had passed since I spiraled into my deadline anxiety, and then I realized you hadn't come by on the third day to bully me into halfway taking care of myself, and then I checked my phone and saw that you hadn't texted or called me at all, and then I kind of passed out because I was going to call you but then I saw the time and thought no reasonable person should actually ever call anyone at this time of the morning and especially not you, so I passed out for like twelve hours and then I woke up and called Soobin and he said you weren't in the office. Which is extremely worrying because you always go to work on time. So I kind of panicked and decided to find you and then I showed up at your front door.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. “I realize I probably should have called before coming, but I only came to that conclusion when I was like... right outside.”

Taehyun blinks about five times before he actually says anything in response. “I got like... half of that.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “Sorry.”

“It was enough,” he reassures you, and you feel kind of bad because even sick he's still having to reassure you about dumb things like talking too fast for his sick brain to keep up with, but then he coughs again and you have to go fill up the glass a third time and the thought flies away. “Anyway, if you'd called, I probably wouldn't have answered,” he admits after drinking more water. “I was kind of dead to the world for a while.”

“Why didn't you call anyone?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “I'd have thought of all people, you'd be the reasonable type to actually call someone for help, you know. Like Kai. Or Yeonjun. Or Beomgyu or Soobin. They would've brought you meds.”

“None of them can cook,” Taehyun says.

You pause. “Yeonjun can cook.”

“He has the ability to put things in a pan and not burn them,” Taehyun corrects, and you have to admit that he's right. “That's not exactly cooking.”

“It's cooking. Just not cooking well,” you say, and Taehyun grumbles a little but nods in the end. “And anyway, they could've brought you convenience store soup or something. Doesn't need to be home cooked.”

“Home cooked is best,” he says.

“Taehyun, you could barely taste what I made for you.”

“Still.” He pouts, and this time you actually coo. “What?”

“You're cute when you're pouting.” You pat his cheek, which is still worryingly warm. “Hang on, I'm going to change the cloth on your head.”

You half expect Taehyun to have gone to sleep in the time it takes to wet a new cloth with cold water, but when you come back, his eyes are still open. “You really aren't sleepy, are you,” you say, draping the new cloth over his forehead.

“No, I'm not,” he says, like a petulant child.

“Sleeping will help the sickness pass faster,” you point out. “I don't really know what you were thinking, keeping this from everyone for what—five days? Were you sick this entire time?”

“I wasn't. I started feeling kind of off on... Tuesday, I think.” Taehyun screws his eyes shut, as though trying to remember, which is ridiculously cute but you manage to keep yourself from cooing this time. “On Wednesday I still went in to work but then I was coughing by the end of the day so I didn't go in on Thursday and just slept like the whole day and now it's apparently Friday, I guess.”

“Aw, look at you. You're the one figuring out the days of the week this time, not me.” You giggle at Taehyun's death glare expression as you pat his head again. “Seriously, though, why didn't you call anyone? All of the people I mentioned before would've helped if you'd just said something.”

“Why didn't you mention yourself?”

Okay, another weird question you weren't expecting to get asked. It actually takes a moment to formulate your answer because you don't even know it. It doesn't rely on undebatable facts the way your previous answer did. Just stupid personal opinions.

“Uh, probably because I'm a mess?” you finally say, raising an eyebrow. “Like a certified, grade A mess, Taehyun. I'm like one of those grade A eggs at the supermarket that are expensive, but a mess. Not an egg.”

“Yeah, I figured you weren't an egg.” Taehyun goes into another coughing fit and you pat his hair through it—which he seems to like, at least unconsciously, by the way that he keeps sort of leaning into your hand. “That's what snark will do to you,” you say seriously as he drinks the rest of the glass of water. “It'll throw you into a coughing fit. Better watch your mouth, Taehyun.”

He puts down the glass of water with a withering glare that gives you hope he might fully recover, because that's a normal Taehyun expression. Not the weird, sick one he's been sporting for most of the past few hours. “Be quiet,” he mutters. “Anyway, you're not—that much of a mess.”

You laugh, loud and sharp in the silence. “I'm very much a mess, Taehyun. There's no need to sugarcoat it for me. I've accepted it.”

“Y/N—” he starts, but you cut him off. “I go into like... hibernation, but more messed up because I'm not a bear for like. A week in a row. Sometimes. Because I have spiraling anxiety about deadlines and stuff and like, yeah, I'm going to therapy, but it still happens so you have to bring me coffee and cook for me and make me nap and shower because I can't really take care of myself like a normal human being sometimes, Taehyun. I'm like... a certified mess. By anyone's standards.”

Taehyun stays quiet for a moment. You realize then how much you dumped on him and how you really didn't mean to do that at all.

“That sounded kinda like trauma dumping, right?” You try to laugh. “Sorry. Didn't mean to. Just ignore everything—”

“I don't do any of that because I have to,” Taehyun says quietly. “I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.”

You blink once. Twice. How do you respond to that?

“And like, you kind of are a mess,” he continues, “but it's not like the most destructive mess in the world. You realize what's up and you get help for the things you need help with. I think that's pretty commendable.”

Your heart is beating a little faster. This is not what you needed. Or expected. But for some reason you're getting it anyway.

“You're the one who came to me when you thought something was up,” he says. “The others didn't. They probably will, at some point, but you're the one who came first.”

Now you really don't know how to respond. Like even saying supercalifragilisticexpialidocious wouldn't cut it. Or whatever the fuck that word is.

“Y/N?” Taehyun's looking up at you now with a very strange expression on his face—not the sick one, not really, but very... earnest. And honest. It's how you know he wasn't lying with his words, not the way the fucked up part of your brain would try to have you believe.

“Huh? Yeah, I'm still here.” You smile. “I just—thanks, Taehyun.” Your voice drops a little. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“I appreciate you a lot,” Taehyun murmurs. “A lot of people appreciate you too. You just don't see it, sometimes.”

That's probably true, if you operate under the assumption that Taehyun's second statement is true. His first statement too. Which is a logical loophole because the veracity of the third statement relies on the truthfulness of the first two but your brain is a little fried from Taehyun's compliments so you decide to just take them at face value. He's probably right about all three things, as hard as it is for your little fucked up brain to believe. If people do appreciate you as much as he says, you have a hard time noticing it. But hey, that's what therapy's for.

“Maybe,” is what you eventually settle on as an answer. Ambiguous enough to not fully agree, but also to not fully disagree. Taehyun will understand. He always does. “Are you sleepy now?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Well, uh.” You check the time. Wow, you've been talking a while—it's almost six. “Do you want to try drinking the rest of your soup? I can heat it up again.”

Taehyun blinks. Coughs. Eyes the bowl of soup at the end of the table where you can't accidentally knock it over. Hobak might have a chance at it if he weren't asleep in the corner by now. “I can try,” he says warily. “I don't know if I'll be able to finish it, though.”

“Don't force yourself,” you say. “If you don't want to drink it, we can save it for like, tomorrow.”

Taehyun looks up at you with a strangely hopeful expression. “Are you going to stay until tomorrow?”

You pause. Well, it's more like you were planning to go home, fuck around with your word documents for several hours, pass out, and then come back. But with the way Taehyun is looking at you... “Do you want me to stay?” you ask.

He burrows into his blankets even more, like he's shy. If you weren't sure that Taehyun would find some terrible blackmail on you and leak it to all your good for nothing friends, you'd take a picture. “Kinda,” he mumbles.

“I mean, uh...” You think. You have your laptop with you and there's another bowl of soup for yourself waiting on the stove. “I'd probably have to go home and get a few things. But if you really want, I could stay the night...?”

“Please,” he mumbles into the blankets. “I don't really want to be alone.”

“You're so cute when you're sick,” you coo, patting his head. The look on his face would be more menacing if he wasn't curled up in a blanket burrito with a very red nose sticking out. You tell him as much.

“Stop being mean to me when I'm sick,” he mutters.

“I'm not being mean. I'm telling the truth.” You point at the half empty bowl of soup. “Now do you want to try and drink the rest of it, or no?”

He does end up finishing about a third of the remaining soup before he decides his stomach can't handle more. You get another glass of water into him before pulling your own soup out from its spot on the stove, and then you put on some random white noise Netflix drama on Taehyun's laptop as you eat your own dinner. Taehyun makes interesting commentary on the characters and you shit on the plot. At some point, Hobak wanders into your lap, and Taehyun complains about his cat liking you more than him. It's like things are back to normal, except for his sniffling and coughing and you periodically helping him sip water from his glass.

Eventually he does doze off and only then does Hobak decide it's time to snuggle with his owner, so you take the opportunity to clean up the living room table a little, sweeping a few tissues into the trash can and wiping down the table itself. His place is still annoyingly clean even though he's sick—if you were in his position in your apartment, it'd be even more of a shiftiest than it is now—and when you're done washing the dishes and throwing things away, you finally check your phone.

More memes from Beomgyu, a cat picture from Kai, a missed call from Soobin and a following text. You open that up first.

did u find taehyun? is he ok?

You rattle off a quick message in reply.

he's sick at his apartmnt. dw I made him soup and he's sleeping now sorry didn't se ur call earlir

Immediately your phone buzzes with some sort of response, but your brain is already headed in a different direction. Namely trying to decide whether or not you should change the towel on Taehyun's head again. You end up changing it because he still feels pretty warm, but his nose is dotted with sweat. Maybe his fever will break soon.

Settling back down on the floor, you scroll through your phone for a bit and answer Soobin's ensuing text as well as the other meme messages before remembering that you're staying the night, which means you need to head back home and get a few things.

Taehyun's still asleep, though. And you feel kind of bad leaving him here without any notice, even if you know you'll be coming back within an hour. You debate between waking him up and just leaving a note, but in the end you decide to shake him awake a little. He wouldn't want to wake up to just a note, you know that much.

“Taehyun.” You nudge his shoulder lightly. “Taehyun.”

He mumbles a little, eyes blinking open slowly. “Wha…”

“Don't move, you'll disturb Hobak.” You hold him in place. “I'm going to go back to my place to get a few things,” you whisper. “I'll be back within an hour.”

You turn to leave, but something's tugging you back. You look behind you to see one of Taehyun's hands gripping your sleeve.

“... Taehyun?”

“Don't go,” he murmurs adorably, and your heart nearly breaks at the sight. “I have stuff. Spare toothbrush under sink. Sleep on my bed.”

“Taehyun, as much as I appreciate it, I need clothes,” you say. “Not just a toothbrush. Probably a towel too, I'd like to shower. Remember?” You wiggle your fingers. “You're all germy and gross and I've been here for several hours.”

“I have extra towels,” he protests, his eyes blinking awake further. Damn it, this is ruining all your plans to just shake him awake and be on your way in a minute. “And you can wear my clothes. I have stuff that'll fit.”

You have to buffer for a minute to make sure you're hearing this correctly. “Me. Wear your clothes.”

Taehyun nods.

So you weren't hallucinating sounds. You shake your head. “Taehyun, seriously.”

“I'm being serious,” he whines. And he looks so very heartbroken at the thought of you leaving, even if it's just for an hour, that you actually find yourself reconsidering. Kang Taehyun, a full grown man with muscles and a sleep schedule, is acting like a child and melting your heart in the process. “You can use my shampoo and soap too.”

Oh, God. He's being so ridiculously convincing. What is his problem. You sigh. “I'm going to make a mess, probably.”

“I don't care.” Taehyun pouts and it's even more ridiculously convincing. “Everything's already messy.”

You look around. That's a blatant fucking lie. Everything is still in very much spotless condition. But when you look back at him with a raised eyebrow, Taehyun's eyes are already fluttering shut like a cute little baby and you find your heart melting again. “You can't deny me my dying request,” he mumbles.

“I never thought you'd be this dramatic when you were sick,” you mutter. “All right, all right, I'll stay. On one condition.” You point at him. “Go back to sleep.”

His eyes narrow. “Promise you won't leave?”

You sigh again. “I promise.”

He goes quiet, then, his eyes fluttering shut. You turn toward the bathroom, ready to take stock of whatever he's got in his unnecessarily neat cabinets, but a little noise makes you look back once more. “Hm?”

“Can you pat my hair,” Taehyun mumbles, so quietly you can barely hear. He looks half asleep—his eyes aren't even open as he speaks. “'s soothing.”

That's it. Sick Taehyun is actually going to kill you because of cuteness overload. You settle on the edge of the table like you did when you were feeding him, not even bothering to hide the smile on your face anymore. “Sure, Taehyun,” you say, stroking through his messy hair. “Feel better?”

“Mm.” He snuggles deeper into the blankets. Your heart is melting more than you thought it could. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you murmur. “Sleep now, okay?”

“Mm,” he mumbles. He's already half gone.

You smile wider as his breath evens into sleep.

. . . . .

One shower and requisite cleanup later, you've settled on the small armchair by the couch and set up your laptop to write. No longer does a blank word document stare back at you menacingly when you open the application, which is encouraging, and for some reason, the soft sound of Taehyun's sleeping breaths is good background noise as you try to get into this final chapter.

Once you've lost yourself in the writing, it can take anywhere from a few hours to like, a day, or maybe three or five days, for you to pull yourself out of the daze. When you look up from your laptop, eyes burning with the need to look at something that isn't a screen and throat parched for water, the clock says it's a few minutes past midnight.

Time for a break, then. You sneak a glance at Taehyun, who's still fast asleep. If he were awake he'd be forcing you to drink water right about now, anyway.

You down a glass of water in the kitchen, then bring another back into the living room only to see that Taehyun has since shifted in his sleep and is about to kick off all his blankets. Probably half due to Hobak, who has made a nest right on top of him and clawed off several sheets.

That can't be a good thing. You go to pull them back up around him but he shifts again, this time actually kicking half the blanket burrito off of him. Hobak does not help matters by waking up and skittering his way off the couch, taking the other half of the burrito with him. In the process, he also manages to drag Taehyun's shirt... up.

Oh. Okay. This is—totally fine. So, super, totally fine. You put down your glass of water before you can do something like drop it and shatter it and make a huge mess that you're unqualified to clean. Like, logically, you know that Taehyun goes to the gym every day he can, but somehow you did... not make the connection between gym every day and abs.

Because Taehyun has abs. Very nice ones, in fact. The intrusive thoughts are telling you to touch them but you have just enough sense at ten minutes past midnight to abstain, which is something you should earn an award for. Instead, you avert your gaze and pull the blankets back over him as much as possible, swatting away the image of abs abs abs abs abs whenever it comes up. Which is too many times for a single minute.

You sigh, looking back at your abandoned laptop. Part of you wants to go back to writing but another part of you still wants a break (aka time to think about abs abs abs abs—shut the fuck up), so you pull out your phone and settle on the ground. If it's past midnight, that means the new day's wordle is up.

Sure enough, a blank puzzle greets you when you pull up the site. You try a random first guess—grief, it's got two vowels so it can't be too bad—and come up with some decent clues. Hm...

Your second guess goes without much luck. So does your third, though at least all the letters that are confirmed to be in the word are in the correct place. You scan the rest of the keyboard that isn't completely blacked out. What makes sense? Is there even a word that makes sense? What if it's something stupid and contrived, or even worse, a word with a repeating letter—

“Merit.”

You shriek.

Taehyun blinks owlishly from above on his perch on the couch, staring at you heaving on the floor. “Y/N?”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp. “Taehyun, don't scare me like that—I thought you were asleep—”

“I was. Then I woke up.” He blinks. “I feel better, I think.”

“Let me check your fever.” You place a hand to his head. Even under the lingering coolness coming from the mostly warmed over cloth, you can tell he's come down a few degrees. “Oh, good. It looks like you aren't lying.”

Taehyun scowls. It almost looks like a normal expression for him. “Of course I wasn't lying.”

“Uh uh.” You shake your head. “I'm ninety nine percent sure you'd probably lie to me so that you could end up going to work tomorrow. Don't try to refute me.”

He grumbles, but in the end says nothing. You take that as a win. “Give me a second, I'm going to change the towel.”

With a new towel on his forehead and the sweat wiped away from the rest of his face, Taehyun actually looks somewhat better than the death warmed over look you saw on him when you first arrived earlier today. Or yesterday, since it's past midnight. Wow, your schedule is seriously fucked.

You sit back on your heels. “Okay, what were you saying before? Something about merit?”

Taehyun blinks. “Your wordle. Try merit.”

You look down at your phone where it's lying on the floor, your incorrect wordle guesses staring back up at you, taunting you like you're a fucking imbecile who can't guess the correct word in three tries or less. You blink, picking up your phone. Merit might actually work... You tap it in.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whisper, staring at the screen in horror.

It's the correct answer. It's the correct fucking answer. You glare at Taehyun, who glances back at you innocently from his little burrito on the couch. “Was it correct?”

“Yes, it was, you—argh.” You put your phone down before you can do something stupid like throw it across the room. “Why the fuck are you being my editor when you're sick as a dog?”

Taehyun blinks. “I'm not being your editor.”

“STOP EDITING MY GUESSES!” you screech.

“I didn't edit anything,” he replies in a matter of fact tone that makes you want to scream even louder. “I just found the correct answer.”

You groan, flopping to the floor. “I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn't still be here.”

You glare at him. “Bet. I'll leave right now.”

“You wouldn't.” Taehyun stares back at you, steady, resolute, but...

Aw. There was a little tremble of uncertainty in his voice.

Instantly your heart melts, but you have too much pride (you shouldn't, your dignity was flushed down the drain at birth) to give in completely. “Yeah, I won't leave,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I'm staying until you get better, doofus. Now go back to sleep. I don't know why you woke up.”

Taehyun pouts. “Can I get some water?”

“Anything for you, Your Majesty.”

He successfully drinks half of the glass you bring back to him, and then you have to help him shuffle to the bathroom. When he comes out, you shuffle him back to the couch, where he collapses into a blanket burrito once more. “Sleepy,” he mumbles. “Pat my head.”

“What a demanding little child you are.” You start patting his head anyway. “Go to bed, Taehyun. You'll feel better in the morning.”

“Mm.” He snuggles closer to your hand, and you have to fight back a coo for the umpteenth time today. Or in the past twenty four hours, because it's Saturday. Allegedly. “Goodnight.”

You laugh a little, stroking his hair. “Goodnight, Taehyun.”

. . . . .

In the morning, Taehyun's fever has mostly broken, and by midafternoon, he's able to get up and walk around. Soobin and Yeonjun show up at lunch with some convenience store soup that he can actually taste, and then for dinner, when Beomgyu and Kai come around, you make your mom's famous soup and all of them say it tastes better than convenience store anything. You beam with pride.

All this is to say that when evening comes, you're mostly convinced that Taehyun is actively getting better (he hasn't had a coughing fit in five hours, you were counting) and he probably won't die if you don't spend the night. Taehyun doesn't seem as convinced, but when you show him the reading on the thermometer that Beomgyu brought along, he kind of acquiesces. At least that's what you think he does when he sinks back into the couch.

“Look, your nose isn't even that red anymore.” You show him a picture you took when he was sleeping, then snap another picture right now before he can protest. “See the difference? Before and after. It's evidence.” Taehyun likes evidence.

So eventually, after washing your clothes from yesterday and changing from the t-shirt and sweatpants Taehyun lent you, you head back to your apartment. It's dark and Taehyun-less and Hobak-less and for a moment, standing in the doorway, you feel a little lonely, but then you remember you have a deadline to meet in three days and half a chapter left to write and your mind decides to latch onto that.

Which is to say when Taehyun calls two days later, demanding you open your door, you're mostly a mess. Not entirely, because it's only half a chapter and you have probably just a few paragraphs left, but you've written the ending three different times and each time it just sucked more. You'd probably start biting things if it weren't for Taehyun's call.

Stumbling out of your little writer cave, you throw open your apartment door. “Hi. Why did you ask if I had a mask.”

“I forgot one from home and I thought you might possibly be sick. Also, I might have leftover germs.” Taehyun pushes into the door, vaguely reminiscent of when you shoved yourself into his apartment the day you found out he was sick. “Have you eaten? And do you have one?”

You blink. He looks... mostly normal. There's a little sparkle back in his eyes, and even though you can't see his nose under the mask to tell how red it is, he doesn't sound nearly as congested anymore as he used to be. He actually came all the way to your apartment so he can't be feeling too bad.

But there's still something kind of... off. You're not sure what it is. Maybe it's the remnants of sickness still clinging to his body, but while the conjecture makes sense, it doesn't feel right.

He looks at you. “Are you listening to me?”

“… No.”

Taehyun sighs. “I asked if you've eaten. And if you have a mask.”

“I ran out of masks like two weeks ago and forgot to restock.” Ignoring Taehyun’s groan, you purse your lips. “I... think I ate a cup of ramen last night.” A memory returns of you dumping an empty ramen cup into the wastebasket by your desk. “Yeah, I definitely ate ramen last night.”

“So maybe you aren't sick.” Taehyun sighs, and it sounds kind of relieved. “What were you thinking, coming over and staying the night when I was sick?”

“I—what?” You poke his forehead. “You were the one insisting that I stay over! Do you remember yourself? You were literally begging me to stay, you wouldn’t let me leave to even get clothes—”

“You shouldn't have agreed!” Taehyun snaps, and that's when you see the anxiety buzzing around his figure. Ah. That's what was off about him. He looks a little jumpy. “You should have gone home and not worried, Y/N, I would've been fine.”

“No, you wouldn't have.” You wish you hadn’t left your phone in the office, you could show him pictures—evidence—that he was sick as a fucking dog for the day you were there. “You were dead and dying on your couch. Who was going to take care of you? Hobak?”

Taehyun looks at you for a very long moment, almost tensed to spring. Then, all of a sudden, he deflates. “I didn't want you to get sick too,” he mumbles. “You already overwork yourself.”

“Says you.” You snort. “And you’re forgetting, I have an immune system made of steel.”

All Taehyun does is raise an eyebrow.

Damn, you forgot that he's mostly back to normal, which means you can't get away with speaking outrageous untruths because he'll catch you in them immediately. “Well, that means you're better,” you mutter.

“Huh?”

“You're judging me with that raised eyebrow.” You point. “It took you a whole three or five seconds or something to process my bullshit when I came over. Now you're back to dealing with it in one.”

“I feel like your standards for determining whether or not I'm sick are kind of concerning,” Taehyun replies. “Whether or not I'm able to judge you.”

“Well, it's that, and also you look considerably better than when you were burritoed on the couch with Hobak sitting on you like a fluffy hat. In addition to the fact that you were able to get on the subway and walk here like a normal human being.” You blink. “Anyway, why are you here? I have a deadline. I feel like I probably mentioned this to you. Actually wait, you're my editor. Don't you have my deadlines memorized better than I do?”

Suddenly, Taehyun looks very... embarrassed. Which is interesting and concerning because he rarely looks embarrassed. You've seen shy Taehyun, giggly Taehyun, cute Taehyun, but never really embarrassed Taehyun.

“Just...” He shrugs slightly, then doesn't say anything else.

You put your hand to his forehead and he jumps. It's not feverish, but you still narrow your eyes. “Are you still sick? You're weirdly jumpy today.”

“I'm not sick,” he mumbles. “I just... thanks.” He swallows very visibly. “For taking care of me.”

You blink once. Twice. It's like when he complimented you when he was ill—how the fuck do you respond to that?

“It's fine,” you eventually say, feeling like something is definitely not fine because there's still tension in the air except you don't know how to resolve it. “I mean, you're always taking care of me. It was the least I could do for you.”

For some reason, that seems to upset Taehyun more. His eyebrows knit together like he's worried and you have no idea why anything you said could have made him more jumpy or nervous or upset. “... Taehyun? Are you mad?”

“It's not a negotiation,” he says, and now you're more confused than ever. Negotiation?

“It's not like... a tradeoff.” He blinks and this time you can't look away from his big eyes looking at you like the saddest, most worried puppy in the world. “I take care of you because I like taking care of you.”

Vaguely, a memory starts to re-form from when Taehyun was sick and you were sitting by him on the couch and you were probably patting his head while talking. Or maybe not. You're not entirely sure. But you do very much remember talking about how he shouldn't need to make you take care of yourself because you should be able to do it on your own, but your brain has made it clear that one some days you can't, and then he said something very akin to what he just said...

I don't do any of that because I have to. I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.

You didn't know how to respond then. You still don't know how to respond now.

“Uh.” You blink. “Is this about, like. What I said when you were conked out on the couch.”

Taehyun sighs. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Okay, we can probably move past that.” You try to smile. “I mean, like. I'm getting help. I'm figuring things out. At some point I'll actually be able to deal with my own shit, hopefully.”

“That's the point,” Taehyun snaps, looking even more upset. “I don't take care of you because it's an obligation, Y/N.”

You're starting to get a little annoyed now, too. “Okay, you've said that several times. It's not as if I don't believe it at all, Taehyun. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

“God.” He puts his face into his hands and stays there for one very awkward, charged moment. When he lifts his head again, though, he looks a little calmer. “You just... act, sometimes, like me taking care of you is this huge burden on me. It isn't.” He takes a deep breath. “I like taking care of you, Y/N. Seriously.”

He's said that twice now. That means, logically, that it's probably true. Logically. But mentally, your brain has decided not to compute it properly. “Uh.” You try your best to hold his very intense gaze. “I gotta ask—why would you ever enjoy taking care of my bitch ass?”

Taehyun almost laughs. You can see it. You can fucking see it and it's more of a relief than anything else, honestly, to see him able to laugh.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asks, now smiling slightly.

You blink. “Spell what out?”

“Y/N.” He steps closer, and suddenly you become much more aware of the very short distance between the two of you. You were already cutting it kind of close before in this little entryway, and now you're even closer. “I like taking care of you because I like you.”

I like you.

Oh. Oh wow. Okay. That's certainly—a statement. A very strange one. One that could be taken—in a myriad of ways, certainly. Probably he meant it in a friendly way. Like, as in he likes you as a good friend and likes taking care of you that way.

But even the idiot part of your brain knows you'd be stupid to think that with the way he's looking at you right now.

“Uh.” Your voice is a lot squeakier than you'd like it to be. “You don't, uh, mean it, like, in, um, a friend way. Right?”

Taehyun shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. You're probably going to have an aneurysm. Okay, he confirmed it which means your brain can stop being a fucking stupid idiot now, he confirmed it and there is literally no reason for him to lie.

Okay, but what if—

“You're not lying to me, right?”

Taehyun blinks. “Why would I lie to you about this?”

Exactly. Shut up, brain. You smile. It probably looks somewhat insane. “Sorry. Brain being stupid. But. Uh. Let me get this straight.” You take a deep breath that feels a little too shaky when it comes out. “You like me.”

Taehyun doesn't even bat an eye. “Yes.”

Oh. Okay. Wow. You close your eyes for a long moment. Maybe this is a dream. But when you open them, Taehyun is still there.

Probably not a dream, then.

You take a deep breath. “Okay, so—you, Kang Taehyun of the gym bros—”

“I'm not a gym bro.”

“—You go to the gym every day, you're definitely a gym bro—of the men who own cats, of perfect abs and bringing me coffee when I haven't seen the light of day for a week, like me, Y/N, writer gremlin extraordinaire and stupid bitch supreme.” You pause. “Did I get that right?”

“You're not stupid.” Taehyun frowns. “Also, when did you see my abs?”

Your mind chooses then to very conveniently place the memory of Hobak dragging several sheets to the floor while clawing Taehyun's shirt up at the forefront of your memory. Horrible. Terrible. You're going to have to have your therapist order you a brain transplant sometime soon.

“You kinda rolled over in your sleep at one point and dropped half the blankets to the floor.” It's kind of funny watching Taehyun's face redden with embarrassment. Or at least it would be if you weren't internally screaming as much as you currently are. “And then Hobak was sleeping on top of you but woke up so he dragged the rest of them with him and in the process he kinda rolled your shirt up and you flashed me.”

Taehyun is very red. Redder than you've ever seen him. And you've seen him drunk. Also very sick.

Before your brain can tell you to shut the fuck up, your mouth decides to speak again. “I covered you with the blanket. Promise.”

“Oh God.” Taehyun puts his face back in his hands. “This is…”

“Look, you just said that you liked me,” you protest. “I feel like this is a fair trade. Or something.”

He looks up at you, deadpan. “A confession for... what exactly? The reveal of an ab reveal?”

“Oh come on, you go to the gym every day and anyone can see the results. You having abs would probably be the least surprising thing ever.” You scoff, very blatantly ignoring the fact that you were extremely surprised for zero reason about him having ridiculously sculpted abdominal muscles.

Taehyun groans. “This is a terrible conversation.”

“As I'm pretty sure most conversations with me are.” You smile widely. It definitely looks insane because you don't know what else to do and when that happens all you end up able to do is smile like a serial killer. “Are you rethinking your past words?”

“No!”

You jump. Taehyun also seems to realize the volume of his words because he kind of cringes into himself. “Sorry. But no, I'm not.”

This is terrible. Not even a ridiculously horrible conversation with you and your over caffeinated, sleep deprived brain is deterring him. You ignore the therapist voice part of your brain that asks why you want to deter him and look him straight in the eye. “Why?”

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

“Why.” You gesture vaguely to the air. “Why do you like me, even now?”

“What do you mean, even now?” Taehyun raises an eyebrow and oooh, this is terrible, he's taking another step closer and there's probably like two feet of distance at most separating your bodies. Vaguely you remember that you haven't even stepped out of the entryway, that you're both still standing right in front of the door. “Your conversations are a very physical manifestation of you, and I like you. So why would talking with you change my mind?”

“Okay, when you put it like that, it makes sense.” You huff. “But also, my brain can't exactly wrap its mind around the fact that someone with their life so put together at almost all times likes me, a...” A meme gif that Beomgyu once sent you pops into mind. It was a blue dumpster set on fire floating down what you presumed was a flooded street. It seems to fit the situation. “A certified dumpster fire that’s floating down a flooded street.”

Taehyun laughs. He actually laughs and you don't know what to do with it. He looks ridiculously cute and it's doing unhealthy things to your heart—like making it skip beats or some shit. “Where do you keep getting these things?”

“Beomgyu.”

“Figures.” He shakes his head. “You may be a certified dumpster fire, but you're also very much... Y/N. A kind, wonderful, amazing person who writes extremely well and has a way with words that makes me cry, who always tries their best in everything they set out to do, who makes a really amazing sick person soup that I would eat even if I wasn't sick.”

He's smiling now and it's doing even worse things to your heart. You never liked the metaphor of someone's heart beating out of their chest because it reminded you a little too much of panic attacks, but now you kind of feel like you need to use it because there's nothing else to explain this feeling. At least it's being used in a situation where you are very much not about to have a panic attack.

Taehyun's continuing. He's continuing with no regard for your sanity and you can't even stop him because your throat is refusing to allow you to speak. “I like that you're self-aware, Y/N, and I like that you're honest. But I also think that you never really understand that you're capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.” His smile softens.

That’s it. You're going to need him to pay your hospital bills. And therapy bills. Actually, your therapist might need to bill him because he's all you’re going to be able to talk about for several sessions straight, just your really hot editor and his really cute smile.

“You're brilliant, you're smart, and you're funny and kind, and really, I don't see how anyone couldn't like you.” Taehyun looks a little nervous now but he keeps going. “Honestly.”

You open your mouth. And then close it, mostly because you think if you try to say anything you're going to make some noise that is extremely reminiscent of a dying whale. It takes you a second to compose yourself and get rid of the stupid lump growing in your throat but finally, you've convinced your brain that you are sane enough to speak—

“My therapist is going to hear about you.”

Oh God. Oh fucking God. You really just said that. And you've scared Taehyun, look at his big eyes, what the fuck is wrong with you why are you such a monster—

“Uh.” He blinks. “Why?”

You blink too and it surprises you to realize that there are tears beginning to form behind your eyes. This is worse than you thought it would be.

“Because you're hot and sweet and kind and you always take care of me even though technically you're just my editor and like I've talked to my therapist about the hot gym bro editor in the office before but that was mostly because we were like, friends or something, and I was worried that you were doing too much for me and I wasn't doing enough for you so then she told me about friendships being a two way street and that I'm definitely not the one forcing you into taking care of me so you're probably doing it of your own volition. And we worked on enforcing that for my brain for a while but that was in a friend context and I never told her that I had a kind of dumb stupid kid crush on you but now you're telling me you actually like me as something that is not a friend and you are complimenting me and holy shit I have so much to unpack.” You take a deep, shaky breath. “My therapist is going to hear about this for the next twenty sessions and she's going to get sick of hearing me talk about you and your smile so she's going to have to bill you because you’re the one who did this to me.”

Great, you're really crying now. Shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes in a botched attempt to stop the tears, you try to breathe. “Pay my fucking hospital bills, dipshit, you're going to send me into cardiac arrest.”

“How about I try something else instead of paying your hospital bills?” Taehyun's voice sounds above you, light, amused, entirely too sweet for your brain to handle. And then—as if that wasn't fucking enough—two warm arms begin to encircle your body, slow, slow, and you know this is Taehyun's way of reminding you that you could back away at any point and he won't take offense, but it feels really fucking good to be hugged right now so you let him wrap you up tight against his chest, your head knocking against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“... I'm going to cry into your shirt.”

Taehyun laughs. His chest kind of rumbles with the sound and it feels ridiculously soothing to your still rapidly beating heart. “That's fine,” he says. “I think I coughed on your clothes a lot more when you were taking care of me.”

“Yeah. About that.” You swallow, choking back another round of tears. “Why were you so pissed about me taking care of you? You'd do the exact same thing for me. You already do the exact same thing for me.”

“... I don't think I've ever taken care of you when you were sick to oblivion, Y/N.”

“You bring me coffee like clockwork every three days when I descend into writer gremlin oblivion and force me to eat, sleep, and shower.” You gulp. “That's how I knew something was wrong with you. Five days passed and you didn't come.” You blink. “Oh, also Soobin said you didn't come in to work that day.”

“Yeah, I know. You told me, remember?” And vaguely you do remember, which should probably make you feel embarrassed at having repeated knowledge to Taehyun who apparently still retains information even when his brain is working at twenty five percent capacity, but now he's patting the back of your head and you kind of just want to space out into the void. “And... I just, I know how you are sometimes. I know how you try to take care of yourself, but even then, I know your immune system can be kind of shit.” Taehyun sighs. “I got worried that you got sick because of me, and I really hated that, and then you weren’t answering my texts for a while...”

“I had a deadline.” You blink. “I still have it.”

“I know. But I also wasn't thinking properly.” He pulls you a bit closer and it makes you want to cry harder. This is too sweet. Too nice. Too comfortable. Too much Taehyun, you’re drowning in him. “It's kind of hard to think properly around you, you know.”

“I live in my own brain, Taehyun.” You let out a very wet laugh. “I don't think properly around me. Ever.”

“Touché.” He joins your laugh. “But in my case, it's because you're sometimes a little too brilliant.”

“Or because I talk a little too fast,” you reply in an effort to deflect because if you let yourself process how sweet that was you’re going to probably die right here and now.

“That too.” He pats your back. “But mostly the first reason.”

His admission forces you to process it, which brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes and now you're getting snot on his shirt instead of just saltwater. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now.”

“I can tell.” You can't bring yourself to look up at him just yet, but you're certain you hear a smile in Taehyun's voice. “It's okay. I'm feeling a lot of emotions too.”

“You're not crying, though.”

“Just because I'm crying doesn't mean I'm not feeling anything.” He pulls back just enough that you look up again to whine about why, but then you lock eyes with him and every word in your throat dies. “Remember? You're the one who said crying was an overused tool to make characters show emotion.”

Fuck. You did say that. You said that on like your second time meeting him when you went off on a rant about cliches and tropes and ended with the caveat that while they can be done well, some people just overuse them for the heck of it and you hate it. “I can't believe you remember that fucking rant,” you mutter.

“I remember a lot of things about you.” Taehyun smiles. Your heart is on its way to beating out of your chest again. “Sorry, was that too cheesy?”

“Yes,” you snap, but Taehyun's smile only widens. “Stop it. You're going to send me into cardiac arrest for the second time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Second time?”

“Yeah, the first was when I saw your abs.”

That was a terrible thing to say. Horrible. For you and for Taehyun. You because you can't get the image out of your brain for the nth time, and Taehyun because his ears are turning red again.

“… Sorry.”

“It's... fine.” Taehyun coughs a little, but it doesn't sound like a sick cough. More like a clearing his throat cough. It sounds kind of shy, which is very cute. “Sorry. I'm just kind of... shy about it.”

You blink. “Why are you shy about your fucking abs?”

“I just am.” Taehyun pouts and you kind of want to slap it off. Or kiss it. Or both. None of those choices are probably a good idea at the moment.

Silence kind of falls for a moment. It's not that uncomfortable. The tension from before is gone, at least. But then Taehyun has to ruin it with his sweet little voice and sweet little smile. Bastard.

“I don't think you ever responded to my confession,” he says, once again trapping you with his dark eyes that you can't seem to look away from in times like these.

You make a very intelligent noise. It sounds something like 'uh.'

“I said I like you.” Taehyun is taking no prisoners now. Actually, he'll have your heart soon if he keeps looking at you like this. “Do you have anything to say to that?”

“... I told you already that I had a dumb kid crush on you.”

Taehyun shrugs. “Does that dumb kid crush mean you still like me too?”

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

He grins. “Yeah.”

“You're a terrible human being, Kang Taehyun.” You jab a finger into his chest, which was absolutely the wrong thing to do because it is hard and muscled and now you're having bad thoughts again. About abs. “I feel like a fucking middle schooler,” you mutter. “I like you.”

“Could you say it again?” Your jaw drops as Taehyun looks at you, all doe-eyed and innocent with so much evil brimming behind that sweet expression. A true demon in disguise. “I didn't really hear you.”

You stare at him for one second. Two. Three.

It's like it happens in slow motion. You watch your arm shoot out, fingers grabbing a fistful of the front of Taehyun's shirt. You watch yourself jerk the arm back, see Taehyun's eyes widen for a just a moment before—

You're kissing him. You're kissing Kang Taehyun, your editor, your good friend, the boy you just nursed back to health like three days ago, the guy you've had a dumb idiot crush on for longer than is probably healthy and who apparently has a dumb idiot crush on you too.

Taehyun makes this small noise into your mouth and your brain promptly goes blank.

When you come to, you've both pulled away, somehow, and you're trying to breathe properly. Which is an ordeal, considering you just kissed Taehyun—you just kissed Taehyun—and remembering that in and of itself is taking all of your brainpower. There's none left for air.

“I like you, Taehyun,” you say too loudly and too clearly, but it's worth it for the sparkly doe-eyed look that burst full force into Taehyun's expression. Yeah. The imminent cardiac arrest is totally worth it.

Wait. Cardiac arrest. Your mind whirls. Hospital. Sick.

Taehyun was sick two days ago.

“Oh, shit.”

Taehyun blinks like he's just come back to Earth. “What?”

You try for a sheepish smile. “So, uh. What are the chances of me getting sick, now that I've kissed you?”

(You succumb to chills, snot, and a light fever exactly one day after your deadline has passed. Taehyun arrives with an overnight bag, plenty of disinfecting wipes, and several surgical masks that he wears the entire time he's here. Which is nice because he shouldn't get sick a second time, but also terrible because you can't kiss him.

It's okay, though. Because when you're finally feeling well once more, the two of you go to meet your publisher at the office, and Taehyun doesn't let go of your hand the whole way there. And when you leave, in full view of the entire lobby and all of your friends parked at various angles around it—

He kisses you. Once, soft, light, gentle.

Someone gasps. Someone else screams.

Grinning widely, you pull him in for a second one immediately after.)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 flower over my fucking casket I'm so down bad for taehyun it’s a problem)

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