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married2avampire · 10 months ago

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The Way You Look Tonight

Chapter Eight • Teeth and Tongue

Ao3 | tip jar | Next

A/n: for the sake of this fic, having your blood sucked by a vampire does not turn you into a vampire or a ghoul. Also, things are heating up! Stay hydrated. NSFW in the next chapter! I’m trying to keep smutty stuff as a solo chapter so that those of you who don't like it can just skip it & not miss anything!

P.S. For a romance writer, when things actually get romantic… I struggle! I suppose I’m a piner at heart. I’m always striving for it to be felt through the page, with hints of realism here and there. Hopefully, the feelings I'm trying to express in this chapter are tangible and come through the pages. Sometimes I worry… “Is this as exciting and romantic to my readers as it is for me?!”

Contents: MULTI-CHAPTER, Alucard (Hellsing)/fem!reader, eventual NSFW, written in 2nd person, relatively ambiguous time period but pre-2000s, reader and family members descriptions (other than clothes and personalities) are kept ambiguous for the sake of inclusion, ghost Alucard (kind of?), spooky stuff, Integra is dead and the Hellsing Organization has been dissolved, Alucard in the flesh, super duper vague yandere/obsessive themes, I’m on team Alucard With Long Hair, blood, biting

6K words

You’d slipped only once on the cold walk back to the manor but had not fallen. As Alucard had promised, you weren’t met with cold, hard earth but a strong arm looping under yours, keeping you aloft. The vampire seemed rather proud of himself for catching you and you supposed that you had, after all, been proven wrong. Sly and villainous he may be — he was genuine in his desire to take care of you.

He’d walked you to the edge of the forest, where the two of you parted for a short while to avoid him being seen by any of your family members. There, at the forest’s edge, he’d whispered a smug word or two into your ear, which you’d found yourself unable to ignore like you once had. Something in the way his breath sounded so close to your neck.

Lately, your ears had been more perceptive than you were used to. Once, you’d been able to drone out Alucard’s purring tone with relative ease. Now you find that even the slightest sound from him — a clicking tongue, rustling fabric, a short inhale — has your head turning and attention drawing to him. No other sound drew you quite like he did, though; not the crackling of the hearth in front of you, the low whine of storm wind at the window, or the clack of your mug of tea being set down on the coffee table by your own hand.

You were sitting in the recently finished drawing room late at night. The fire was the only light in the room, casting a flicker of orange over your skin and chasing away the winter cold. There was a time when being in this room like it was now — dark, with hardly enough light to expel the inky black shadows — would have terrified you, lest a looming figure come creeping through the door to wick the fire out like a mere candle. That looming figure still lurks, only now you’re aware that it belongs to you.

You curl your legs up on the sofa, leaning drowsily against the armrest as you watch the fire and listen to the shifting of fabric behind you. The air feels weighted and you look up only to find a pale face already peering down at you. It startles you a little; Aluard’s observational expression and the long black hair that trails down far enough to nearly tickle your cheeks. He smiles. It’s not a big smile, but you catch the glimmer of a snaggly fang in the firelight.

“What?” you whisper up at him.

Alucard tilts his head slightly, an eyebrow raising. “Am I not allowed to look at you?” he whispers in return.

You say nothing, eyes trailing along the shape of his teeth before turning your gaze back to the fire. Those teeth… You wondered how many had died from those teeth. Alucard was very old and had seen war and carnage you were positive you couldn’t even imagine. He’d killed with blade, hand, and jaw alike, you were sure. He could have slain you down in the basement, easily. But he hadn’t wanted to.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t wanted to. Alucard had settled for licking up the blood from your wound instead of ripping you apart. Those teeth that were once so good for killing now rested patiently behind his lips and had never once broken your skin.

“What are you thinking about, my master?” Alucard rounds the sofa, coat fluttering behind him. He comes to sit on the recliner at your right, crossing one long leg over the other and steepling his gloved fingers in his lap.

Your eyes are drawn to the glimmer of his leather boots in the flickering light of the fire, travel up a dark, rumpled pant leg, up to the buttons of his suit, and then to those jagged teeth barely visible through the slight part of his lips.

“You said you can go without blood for as long as I wish you to?”

“Yes,” Alucard confirms with a slow nod. He raises a curious eyebrow at you but otherwise stays silent.

One day, you knew, one day you really would have to feed him unless you wanted him to go back to being a dry, old corpse. What would you do when that day came? Would you prick yourself? Would you have the strength to break your own skin? You suppose you could simply permit him to go out and find blood as he pleased, but something about the idea of Alucard digging his fangs into who knows what struck a chord with you. He said he can go without blood for as long as I wish him to, but…

But what? You distract yourself by reaching for your mug of tea and settling back into the couch. Your mind swims as you take a sip and stare into the crackling flames in front of you.

How would it feel?

To be on the receiving end of a bite like that?

You remember the feeling of his tongue well. It was strange then, cold, wet, and long. But how about his lips? His teeth? The brush of his nose on your skin?

You swallow your sip of lukewarm tea and cough a little on it. You must have lost more than just your mind down there in the basement. Or maybe… you’ve gained something. Looking at Alucard now, your wonderings become less wondering and more concrete.

“Are you hungry?” The words slip out before you even have half a mind to stop them.

Crimson eyes glitter for a moment, brought to life. Alucard’s lips twist into that villainous smile you’ve come to know well. “For you? Master, always.” He purrs and inclines his head in confirmation, lidded eyes staring at you through dark lashes. It's quick, but you catch the flick of a hungry tongue along his bottom lip.

Your breath catches in your throat at that. Unable to look at him, you avert your eyes to the silver vase above the fireplace and clutch your mug a bit tighter. “I think…” You begin to get up from the sofa, hoping the walk to your room will calm your thrumming heart. “... I should head to bed.”

“Oh, yes, It’s very late.” Alucard’s voice is filled with knowing. He too stands and follows behind you at an easy pace.

“Why did you say that?” You ask when you’re in the privacy of your room after brushing your teeth and washing your face. Rummaging through your dresser for a pair of pajamas is your best excuse for not looking at him. Alucard’s answer to your question had been playing in your head since he’d said it.

“Say what, my dear master?” Alucard’s boots tap on the marble as he nears you.

You watch his shadow move behind you, cast by the flickering light of a candle at your bedside. “You know what.”

“Why did I say that? Hm… The same reason you asked it, I suppose.”

You tense when two hands slide past your own and pluck a set of pajamas out of the drawer for you. No more excuses. You take the set and slowly turn to face him. The same reason I asked him? You weren’t sure what that was supposed to mean — no, wait — interest. Maybe a little more than interest. Yes, interest is a title you’re comfortable calling this feeling. You’re interested in those teeth of his. You’re interested in the ever-changing length of his hair, which seems longer when he's excited. You’re interested in his unusual clothes, in his eyes, in his purring tone, in the way he converses with you, and in the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Turn around,” you order, spinning your finger in the air.

Alucard turns, long, black hair sweeping in the air before settling in messy waves down his back. He’s so tall he blocks the candlelight from you. “You don't need my help getting changed, then?”

Your grip tightens momentarily on your pajamas as you glare at the back of his head. “Since when did I ever need your help?”

“I recall a time.”

“A time that wasn’t your own doing?”

“Touché.”

You almost snort out a laugh while you also turn your back to him and begin to shrug off your clothes from the day. The set that Alucard had selected was more comfortable than they were flattering. Plain and unremarkable. You toss your old clothes into the hamper before brushing past him.

A firm hand catches your arm, causing you to stumble before you turn to look up at Alucard.

“Tell me what you were thinking about down in the drawing room.” He’s serious. You see no playful twinkle in his eyes.

Part of you wants to come back at him with a cheeky remark about whether or not he should be making demands of you… but you want him to know. “I was…” you slide your arm out of his grasp, collecting your thoughts. “... Thinking about your teeth.” It sounds strange out loud, so you wince slightly.

Alucard looks vaguely confused. “My teeth?” He grins as if to show them off in all their sharp, jagged glory. “What, not white enough for you?”

You scoff. Nothing would remove centuries of blood staining. Besides, he’d only be even more creepy if his teeth were pearly white. “Not that.”

“Then what? Too sharp?”

“No. I was only wondering what a bite from you would feel like.” You say it casually as your nerves build and your confidence in steering the conversation toward your unspoken end goal falters. You turn to climb into bed but are stopped by a hand gripping the back of your shirt. Again, you stumble to a stop.

“Ah? Now you have to elaborate. A bite from me? Master, is it possible that you… want me to bite you?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks, shoulders tensing where you stand. Alucard doesn't give you a chance to speak, though.

“Ah, I can’t do that, now can I? I promised no harm would come to you. Unless you really want it.” The last few words are muttered right up against your ear.

You shiver quite obviously and cross your arms over your chest. “Your coaxing won't work,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel a pair of hands ghost down your waist.

You both know it already has.

Alucard whispers a word in a language you’re unfamiliar with. It sounds like a curse; quick, hissed, and heavy. The sound has your nerves tingling and your head tilting like you might catch it again.

He sweeps you around with a firm hand and you’re quick to cling onto him. Fingers dig into the strange texture of his coat and you look up, bewildered, and standing on your tippy-toes. In a blur, you’re seated on your bed. Your weight sinks into it in time with Alucard sinking to his knees.

Before you can even react with any amount of flusteredness, your hand is taken in Alucard’s and your eyes are captured in the deep crimson of his own.

“I-it seems like you want it more than me,” you stammer, beginning to sweat due to your climbing body temperature.

“So you do want it,” purrs Alucard, whose eyes go wide with excitement. Before you can speak a false objection, Alucard tugs your hand. “Where shall I bite, master? Here?” His lips brush against your wrist.

You blink down at him quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you stammer some more.

Alucard’s mouth trails higher, bottom lip dragging softly up to the meaty part of your forearm. “Here?” he whispers, like a demon in your ear.

You gulp down a sigh and will yourself to think. It was as if your brain had turned to mush. There? No. You shake your head slightly and shudder as those lips trail higher.

“Here?” He’s at your bicep.

Through the hammering of your heart, you manage another shake of your head. No.

When Alucard’s lips brush against your shoulder, you jolt and shift your dangling legs. Bare toes press into the warm fabric on his thighs. You feel the muscle underneath, strong, and undying. His body is between your thighs now, leaning ever closer.

“Here?”

“No,” you whisper, fingers gathering into the lapels of his coat, subconsciously pulling him in.

Alucard leans closer, arms sliding past your waist to plant on either side of you. He rises higher on his knees and your legs slip further apart at the motion. Your nose is filled with the scent of him; strange, coppery, and somewhat sweet.

There’s a tension there, palpable in the air. You felt like if you moved in any way that string pulled taut in the air would snap and the both of you would fall into a discordant mess.

Alucard noses gently into the crook of your neck and your eyelids flutter. His breath is hot and you catch the wavering of excitement in it. Soft hair tickles your cheek and warm lips ghost across your neck and you grab him. It's unspoken and instantaneous. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull him close, muttering ‘Right there.’

Alucard hums low against your skin, pressing up against you like a lulling tide. Chest to chest. His lips part and you feel the slow lave of that long tongue along the side of your neck. It makes you shudder out a gasp, a nervous jitter growing in your belly. Alucard’s teeth drag and then snag and he holds you against himself before he bites.

“Ow, Oww!” You screw your eyes shut and crane your neck away, fingers digging into his hair. It hurt. You kick your legs out and bring them back in, digging your heels into his spine. It hurt bad. For a moment, with his teeth dug in deep, you wonder if pain alone can kill you. Tears spring at the corners of your eyes, only slightly soothed by Alucard gently removing his teeth to lick around the bleeding wound.

Alucard hums a sound that makes you feel as if you’ve done a good thing. Praise. He gathers you into his lap, sliding you carefully off the edge of the bed and onto his thighs. There, he places warm, bloody kisses across your neck, occasionally stopping to suck lightly at the wound and swallowing with a shuddered breath.

Your thoughts go from pondering death to nothing at all. You cling to him thoughtlessly, feeling no more pain. It had been replaced with a slow-building pleasure that seemed to spread out from your neck, where he laid a thousand affections. Your legs lay out haphazardly on either side of him and not even the chill of the cool marble on the soles of your feet is enough to distract you from his teeth and tongue. You’re crying, you think… but you’re not sad or in pain. There’s a feeling lulling in your chest, heavy and strong. It pushes at your ribcage like it knew his was right there pressed up against it; like if your chest could open up it would fill his with that feeling too. You wonder deliriously if Alucard’s heart beats so strongly too, or if it even beats at all.

“There, there, master.” Alucard pulls away from your throat with a gulping sigh. He rocks you slowly, a soothing hand rubbing up and down your spine. “Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

You nod your head faintly where it lays on his shoulder, wet eyelids drooping.

The lack of a biting comeback or witty words from you has Alucard laughing deep in the back of his throat, like the purr of a dragon. He licks his lips, tilting his head to breathe in the scent of your hair. “My sweet, sweet, darling master.”

You feel weak in the morning. Dull, winter sunlight cast through your window, waking you from a deep, dreamless sleep. It had taken you just a couple of moments to realize your neck had been carefully treated and bandaged sometime in the night. There’s still a dull ache there, and a bruise, probably.

The next thing you notice is that you’re entirely alone. This would be the first time since you agreed to Alucard’s deal that you’ve woken up alone. You frown a little — no, maybe it's more of a pout — as you sit up in bed and push the covers aside. He always said good morning. Sometimes you even let him fix your hair, but that was more recent.

“Alucard,” you call him, sliding your legs so that you’re perched on the side of your bed.

There’s no response. Usually, he’d appear before you within moments, saying something silly like yes, master? What can I do for you, master? You look especially lovely today, master. It makes you blink a couple of times before clearing your throat and re-adjusting how you sat.

“Alucard,” you tried again, a little more demanding this time.

Nothing.

Your bottom lip twitches as you feel a pang not only on your neck but in your chest. Why aren’t you here? Momentarily, a thousand worries erupt in your mind; he only ever wanted my blood. He’s got it, now he’s gone. Maybe drinking my blood was his final wish and he’s gone off to some other plane of existence like a satisfied ghost. You shake your head and force the thoughts out, reassuring yourself that he must be off doing something else. What else?

There’s nothing you can do about it, really, so you get yourself ready on your own and head downstairs for breakfast.

Your family is quick to notice the bandage wrapped around your neck, eyebrows raising. Your brother speaks first.

“What the heck is that?” he points his fork, accidentally flinging a bit of scrambled egg across the table. Your mother reaches out warningly, pushing his hand back down.

You chew on your bottom lip, pushing your scrambled eggs around the plate while frantically trying to come up with an excuse. With a blink, you find it. “I was… I took a walk yesterday in the forest and got scratched by a branch.”

Your mother sets her fork down and fixes you with a worried look. “You shouldn’t be walking about alone in the forest. What if somebody kidnapped you? This place is so large we wouldn’t even hear your scream.”

“That’s morbid, dear,” your father murmurs from behind his newspaper, earning a scoff and eye-roll from your mother.

“At least take your bother with you next time.” She picks her fork back up and resumes eating, giving you the same worried look your brother’s giving you, though his looks more suspicious. “And how- how deep is it?” She lifts a hesitant finger like the ghost of this mystery branch that supposedly wounded you would whip through the air and get her too.

You swallow a bite of egg. “I don’t know. I felt it when I got back so it must not have been that deep.” Out of the corner of your eye, you catch your little sister slowly tilting her head at you. Before she can say anything you shake your head the smallest amount at her. She closes her mouth, glancing at Mom before continuing to eat her cereal as if she hadn’t figured anything out.

After breakfast, when you’re on your way to the garden to look for Alucard, you feel tiny hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt. Curious, you stop and turn around, pausing just before the two large front doors. Your sister’s looking up at you with a pouty bottom lip. You say her name sweetly and crouch so that the two of you are the same height. “What’s the matter?”

“Al bit you.” Her voice is wobbly like she might cry. “I told him to be nice to you!”

“Oh,” you sigh, heart clenching. “He is being nice to me.” Sort of. You glance sideways nervously.

“But he bit you!” Your sister reaches up to poke at the bandage wrapped around your neck. Thankfully, her jabbing fingers don't press on anything tender.

You take up her smaller hand in yours. “I…” How does one go about explaining this to a seven-year-old? “... I let him. It’s alright.”

Your sister scrunches her nose and tilts her head. “Huh?”

Oh boy, you think with a sigh. “Well, Al um- he- uh- well, he needs blood to survive.” That was sort of a lie. Alucard just needed blood so he didnt turn into a rotten old raisin, but your sister didn’t need to know that.

She gawks at you. “He’s a vampire?”

“Well…” Really, you had nowhere else to go with this. “... Yes.” You wince, hoping you won't hear a shriek of horror or something similar.

“Cool.”

“C-cool?” You blink.

“Yeah, cooler than a ghost.”

Wait, she knew he was a ghost? You decide not to ask her any of your boiling questions. You were sort of in the middle of something. Looking for Alucard. Speaking of which. “Have you seen Al at all today?” You steer the conversation away from his apparent vampirism and towards his whereabouts.

Your sister shakes her head ‘no.’ “Have you?” She tilts her head.

“No, I…” you stand to your full height, brushing off your knees. “... Haven't seen him at all today. Usually, he says good morning to me.” Looking towards the doors, you notice your sister hasn’t said anything in return. At her silence, you glance back down at her only to find her smiling like she knows something you don’t. “What?”

“Nothing,” she giggles.

“You know something.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.” You wiggle your fingers warningly. Your sister bursts into laughter before you can even tickle her, backing a few paces away and holding her sides.

“Okay! Umm… I think he likes you.”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Likes me?” You’d guessed that much after all the kneeling devotion, but it felt flustering to hear it acknowledged out loud.

“Uh-huh. He asks me about you sometimes.”

“What… kinds of things does he ask?”

The small girl taps a finger on her chin. “Um… he asked me what your favorite book was but I dunno that. He also asked me your bedtime but I dunno that either. Oh, he asked me your favorite tea. I knew that one!”

Ah, no wonder you’d find a cup of your favorite tea set out whenever you craved it.

“Don't tell him I told you,” your sister gives you a worried look. “I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“Oh, I doubt he’d be mad at you.” You reach down and ruffle her hair. “From what I can tell, he cares about you very much.”

You’d checked the garden, hoping to find Alucard amongst the hedges, but were met with nothing but frosted leaves and distant birdsong. You called, but nothing came.

The dining room was empty and you found the overcast lighting too dreary and depressing to stay around for long. Months ago, you’d encountered him here in the dark of your lamp going out. Now, it was cold and empty. You called, but nothing came.

You checked many of the other empty rooms, most of them dusty and containing sheet-covered furniture. You called to Alucard in each of them but received no answer.

The last place you could think to look was the basement. You still dreaded going near it even though every threat it possibly held had been removed; even the mold, which was what the inspector had commented on when your father called for one back when it was discovered. You were getting desperate, though, and your earlier fears of Alucard leaving you — which you’d previously dismissed — were starting to feel too real. So, you made your way down to the basement, into the part of the manor that was left alone despite it being fixed up — like that side had a permanent plague that permeated the air.

The basement door creaked open underneath the push of your hand and with it, a gust of cool, damp air. “Alucard?” you call down into the dark, squinting into the strange darkness that allowed you no more than a few feet of visibility in front of you. Your voice echoed down into nothingness.

Like all the other places you’d looked; it was empty. You didn’t feel him here like you felt him when he was around. Alucard always filled up the room with his presence. At one point, that feeling had been choking and uncomfortable, but now, after weeks and weeks of his presence, you’d come to find it a comfort.

Without it, you felt… cold and alone.

It was nearly sundown now. The halls of the manor were a hazy orange as the sun dipped down the horizon and lit the clouds up like pink-tipped fire. You skipped dinner, feigning a stomachache, and made your way up staircase after staircase, heading to your room.

You wouldn't cry. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry. It was stupid. He was only gone for a day. But he could’ve told me why. You don't know why it’s so upsetting. You should be overjoyed that he’s disappeared.

No… I can’t keep lying to myself like this. You push the door to your bedroom open, wiping your wrist on damp eyelids. The truth was you’d been hoping to see him that morning after he’d bitten you. You were hoping for tender, cooing words. Hoping to be coddled a little, cared for, and looked after. Before you thought too hard about it and made yourself actually cry, you cut the thoughts off. A shower should ease your mind. You were sweaty from walking up and down stairs and checking in every room of the manor for Alucard. Maybe that was part of the reason you felt so emotional.

Pushing the door closed behind you with your heel, you look towards your dresser when you notice a shape in the corner of your room by your bookshelf. There Alucard stands, book in hand, flipping through page after page. You feel relief first, then joy, then anger. The latter comes out in a growl, like a wounded animal.

“Where were you?” You stay put by the closed door, glaring at him and quickly wiping away whatever dampness still hung around your eyes.

Alucard looks up from the book he was pretending to be interested in and snaps it closed. It disappears from his hand a second later. “Forgive me, I had something that needed taking care of.” His expression changes for a moment as he looks at you more closely. Long arms fold behind his back and he slowly makes his way towards you, head cocked.

Your glare turns colder. “You could’ve told me before you decided to disappear for a whole day.”

Alucard leans down, long, black hair sliding off his shoulder. “Were you looking for me?” His tone is surprised and he can't seem to help the quirk of a lip. A gloved hand reaches to capture your chin, tilting your head up.

“Don’t change the subject,” you avert your eyes and pull your chin free from his grasp. “I don't believe your excuse. Why were you gone all day? Why didn’t you tell me?” You focus on the marble of the floor, inspecting the dull, swirling shapes within it. When Alucard doesn’t answer you, you look up at him, irritated and confused.

He’s smiling down at you faintly, straightened up to his full height. “Hm.” His eyes flick down your body so fast you question if what you’ve seen was real. “I was out of sorts by morning, master, you see; your blood is very stimulating.” There’s a wild shimmer of glee in his eyes, which narrow as his jagged smile widens.

You stiffen, watching him out of the corner of your eyes as he circles you. Stimulating? Alucard circles slowly, once, twice, and your eyes widen when he comes to stop in front of you once more. “You were…?” You gawk at him.

Alucard bursts into laughter, deep and rumbling. The sound reverberates in your ribs and leaves you wide-eyed and shy.

“Ew!” You shove his chest, ignoring the way he didn’t even falter, and rush to your dresser to pull out a change of clothes. “I’m showering. You stay here!” Flustered, you quickly make your way out of your room and to the bathroom. You didn’t want to hear any more, especially not when it made you feel… like that.

The tile is cool under your toes as you strip and prepare the shower.

Your blood is very stimulating.

Alucard’s words echo in your head as you gently peel the bloodied bandage away from your neck. It’s already scabbed over. You're thankful for that as you step under the steaming stream of water. You cup your hands, letting them fill with water before splashing it on your face. It’s not very refreshing. The water’s hot and it does little to erase the image of him pacing around you in your mind.

You think — rubbing water from your eyes — that your blood couldn’t possibly be so stimulating it put him out of commission for the entire day. Wasn’t he an all-powerful vampire?

You open the lid to your soap and pour a little in your palm.

No, that was just it, wasn’t it? Alucard had mentioned weeks and weeks ago how he found enjoyment in — as he put it — delicate things. Mortal things.

Your hands rub the soap across your arms.

Had he really been…? You can’t even bring yourself to think the words. Just imagining Alucard like that was too… too… mortal. Too human.

Soapy fingers glide down your chest.

He was an all-powerful vampire. Surely he didn’t have a need for mortal pleasures; unbuckled pants and slicked fingers. You see him for a moment, without the coat, with a few buttons undone, with a little more skin showing, glittering, sharp teeth, and heavy breath and you suddenly feel too hot under the water.

When you return from your shower with damp hair and warm skin you can’t bring yourself to look at Alucard. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed. You can see the dark shape of him out of the corner of your eye but make no move to acknowledge him.

He acknowledges you, though. The vampire rises from his perch, peering at you as you pass by to fluff your pillow and pull back your covers.

You don’t want to look at him. Something’s changed in you — you see it now. The idea that he’d been so out of sorts because of you, well, what wasn't flattering about rendering an ancient vampire to that kind of state? Not only that, you realize; you’ve been rendering him to all sorts of states the entire time. How many times had he pledged his loyalty, dropped to a knee, and proven himself with unwavering patience as you try time and time again to wrap your head around your situation?

“Is something the matter?”

The low, steady tone of Alucard’s voice draws you out of your head and you catch yourself bristling like he might've been listening in. You know he hadn’t and that he wouldn’t. Not after you’d told him not to.

You can’t seem to find words. Instead, you busy yourself with making your covers as wrinkle-free as possible, which is ridiculous, considering you’re about to climb in them.

Alucard steps a little closer. You can practically feel him leaning over you. “Did you set the water a little too hot, master?” His voice lowers. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s rather… fast.”

You feel your skin prickle at his comment, side-eying his shadow in the candlelight with wide eyes. Even without reading your mind, he could find you out one way or another. You’re quick to try and change the subject. “There’s no way you’d be gone that long if you were doing that.” You bring your previous conversation back to light.

“Doing what, master?” Alucard smiles something slimy and knowing for having such a coy tone.

Flustered now, and desperate to avert his attention from your rising heartbeat and straying imagination, you stammer. “You… You… You know what.” You round to face him, eyes trailing quickly up each button of his coat until you’re looking into narrowed, gleaming, red eyes.

Alucard hums softly and tilts his head to the side before leaning down in an unnatural fashion. “Touching myself?” His breath blows a strand of his dark hair against your burning cheek when he speaks.

“You’re a pervert.” You quickly avert your eyes, confirmation making your head swim more and more. He was so close. So close you could feel his breath on your cheek. So close you could dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat and—

“And why is that?” Alucard puts on a fake pout, tone dipping into something more condescending.

What? You watch his puffed-out bottom lip move as his lips twist into a grin and catch yourself biting your own. You feel like you’re forgetting. Forgetting words, forgetting why you were even putting up a fight and trying to hide from him. Why is he a pervert..? You spin the question around and around in your mind but can't seem to even care enough to find an answer. All you know is that he’s teasing you.

“No answer?” Alucard studies your face like one would inspect an interesting artifact.

You can think of nothing to say. Nothing, until — amidst you clinging on desperately to the last strings of your resistance — a question comes to mind. One last test. Something that had been nudging the back of your mind for a short while.

“... Just my blood?”

Alucard’s features twitch faintly with confusion. He turns his head a little, pointed ear closer to your lips. “What was that?”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before opening them and fixating on the topmost button of his grey suit. “Was it just my blood that made you feel that way?” You suddenly feel a little ridiculous for even asking, not wanting to seem like some lovesick fool in front of him. Were you? It scares you to confront it and you lift a hand to cover your eyes.

There’s a ringing silence that makes you want, more and more, to sink into the floor and go to whatever dark room Alucard had pulled you into once so long ago.

But then there’s a rustle of fabric and a gentle hand clasps your wrist, pulling your hand away from your eyes. You catch a glimpse of some tender expression on Alucard’s usually jagged features and quickly hide away from it with a duck of your head.

He doesn't let it last, long fingers catching your chin and raising your eyes to his. “Look at me,” he urges you sweetly when your eyes try and dance away. A faint smile — something gentle — graces his features when he watches you struggle to maintain eye contact. “My little master, always so headstrong. Who knew you could get so shy? Is that what you’ve been hiding from me?” He leans closer and doesn't miss the way your bottom lip trembles. “It’s never been about your blood. Last night, when you gifted me a taste, I did not feel as if I was drinking blood; but you.”

His words feel tangible like they’re plucking at every rib in your chest. You’re sure he can hear your thundering heart. You can. You can hear it. That and feel a trembling need. Like some beast had just woken up in your chest, unafraid now of being seen. Your fingers tremble as they twist the hem of your shirt and you can no longer bear staring into his eyes. You turn your head sideways to hide once more but Alucard brings you back to him with a firmer jerk of his hand. You exhale louder than you’d wished to, heart spiking.

You realize he wants you to say something but you feel like there’s cotton in your mouth. You try anyway, holding onto the lapels of his crimson coat. “I… I think…” Your head’s spinning and a thousand words buzz past you too quickly to select any.

You make up your mind and Alucard seems to sense it just as you do. He drops your chin, weaving his arms around your waist just as you rise onto your toes and drape your arms around his neck.

His hair’s like a curtain around you, long and soft. His lips are soft too, meeting you halfway and with a low purr that makes you dizzy. Your breath mixes sweetness, dipping into the saccharine. Sharp teeth graze your bottom lip, the blade of his nose pressing against your cheek as you both tilt your heads to get closer.

Teeth and tongue.

#Hellsing #hellsing ultimate #hellsing alucard x reader #alucard headcanons #hellsing alucardxreader #alucard x you #alucardxreader #alucardhellsing #alucard x reader #alucard hellsing #alucard #hellsing organization #hellsing manga #alucard hellsing fanfic #hellsing fic #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing fandom

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pamwritessometimes · 4 months ago

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The Great Invasion: Chapter 1

Dean Winchester x female!reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: mentions of murders of hunters, horrible description of a fight, kidnapping, demons being demons, captivity.

Theme song of the chapter: Champion by Barns Courtney

Series masterlist

Chapter 1: The Hunter Games

The stadium was packed like it was Super Bowl night and Taylor Swift was about to perform at the halftime show. The air was littered with different kinds of noises, laughing, heckling, betting, heated debates over who’d win this match. Names were chanted aggressively all around the field, bets were shouted across the aisles. From a distance it looked like any massive sports event, even sounded like one.

Just one friendly match…

But upon taking a closer glance one could see it wasn’t a regular game, not by any means.

Those seats weren’t filled with your standard-issue fans.

No, these spectators were monsters in every sense of the word. Ghosts floated uneasily above the cheap and creaky seats like they were haunted by the idea of proper lumbar support. Ghouls gnawed on concessions — and occasionally on each other — while witches cackled from different corners like it was open mic night at a coven comedy club. Werewolves let loose howls at random, probably to remind everyone they were there, and demons? Well, demons were the VIPs, lounging like they owned the joint…. Because let’s be honest, they actually did.

All of them packed the stadium to watch the same spectacle: humans fighting for their lives.

It was a standard form of entertainment now, events like this. Humans, hunters, more specifically, trying to fight for their lives.

And monsters ate up the whole event, not being ashamed of their monsterness. In a chaos like this, anyone could mingle, blend in.

This was the first thing she noticed and was fathomlessly grateful for. Since The Great Invasion, she rarely left the walls of the only safe place she could find, and with good reason. Even now she wore a dark green cloak pulled tight and sunglasses perched firmly on her nose. The kind of low profile look that ironically screamed, I don’t want to be noticed!

But so far, it worked. No one seemed to recognize her, and she intended to keep it that way.

Once seated, she tuned into a nearby conversation.

“Eighty-eight wins! Can you believe it?” a demon behind her said, his voice dripping with excitement.

“Don’t care” grunted another. “She doesn’t look like much. Probably just lucky.”

“She’s more than lucky, idiot. She was one of them. A real hunter. Ya know, back before we took over?”

“Yeah? So what? All of them down there are. She ain’t special. I’m betting she’s done for tonight.”

Rowena smirked faintly to herself. This was the right place, then.

Y/N was here.

Down on the field, the coordinator strutted out, a smarmy grin plastered across his face and a ridiculous suit clinging to his body. He raised his hands, and the crowd hushed in an instant, sensing the greatest shitshow of entertainment was about to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fiends and freaks…” he began, pausing just long enough to milk the moment, “Welcome to the Second Hunter Games!”

It made Rowena cringe a bit; it felt like a tacky attempt to imitate human pop culture, but the crowd seemed to eat it up.

“As you all know” the announcer continued, “this is where the tables turned. We’re the hunters now, and they” he pointed smugly toward the cages at the edge of the arena where ten poor ragged humans huddled, “are the prey. Let’s see if they’ve got what it takes to entertain us, shall we?”

The crowd erupted again and the announcer basked in the spotlight.

The games began with the first hunter shoved onto the field like a lamb to slaughter on its birthday. He was tall, mid-twenties at most, but he had the look of someone who’d already given up. And let’s be real, he probably truly had. His opponent was a standard werewolf, if werewolves could be called normal. The creature took him down in less than five minutes. The crowd cheered but only half-heartedly during the first round.

They weren’t here for warm-ups.

One by one, the hunters went out. Some tried to fight, others tried to talk. One even tried a heartfelt speech about unity and coexistence — he didn’t make it past “coex—” before a wendigo clamped down on his skull. The audience howled with laughter, blood spattering the arena floor like confetti.

Panem et circenses.

Finally, the energy shifted after the ninth round.

Here comes the main event.

The announcer strutted back to the center of the field, his grin somehow stretching even wider and smug enough to suggest he was about to introduce King Charles to a stadium full of overly enthusiastic Brits.

“And now” he drawled, stretching every syllable like he was getting paid by the second, “the match you’ve all been waiting for! Our reigning champion. The hunter who’s racked up more monster kills than you’ve had hot meals. Eighty-eight wins across countless blood-soaked battles. A walking nightmare for anything with fangs or claws. The only reason she’s not still out there handing you all your asses on a silver platter is… well, someone got to her first.”

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Give it up for the one, the only… Y/N Y/L/N!”

Rowena’s eyes were glued to the field, her anticipation was running high and it seemed like for a moment even Earth stopped turning. She heard a ton about you, some seemingly far-fetched anecdotes about the only hunter who could make it this far in this world. Just thinking about it, a strange feeling tugged at his heart.

Then you stepped out into the arena.

And for a second, Rowena hesitated, even looked crestfallen almost.

Her? This plain-looking thing?

Was this the great champion she’d been sent to find, or were Jack and the trench coat baby just shitting her? Was she the one she was strangely excited to see?

Your appearance didn’t scream legendary hunter nor acclaimed champion, just… a plain ole regular hunter. Your hair was thrown into a sloppy ponytail and you wore a basic black tank top under a khaki jacket that looked more functional than fashionable. The only things that were new were your boots, but that seemed more like a perk of your status than an actual necessity.

However, for some reason, you didn’t have that desperate, hunted look that clung to the others’ faces.

Then your opponent stepped into view and the crowd fell silent.

He was tall, broad and built like a marble statue from afar, his every movement a study in control and power — like seeing a perfectly executed villain performance in a Broadway musical. His jawline could have cut glass and his eyes were cold enough to freeze it. He was dressed in all black, looking more like an assassin sent from the upper echelons of Hell than a combatant. Even his walk wasn’t just a walk. It was a declaration: he wasn’t here to fight. He was here to win.

Rowena watched as you faced him. No dramatic pose, no fear, just you, standing there, calm and almost… bored. Meanwhile, the guy smirked, already acting like he’d won.

The whole thing felt strange.

The crowd was a mess of cheers and jeers, half rooting for you, half betting you’d finally crash and burn. But Rowena noticed the phlegm in your eyes and your suppressed confidence that didn’t match the plain outfit you were rocking on the outside.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that you had something up your sleeves.

Then, the bell rang.

The man lunged first but you sidestepped his hand and his attack sliced through empty air. It was all for a show, really. Any match like this was. You knew it, your opponent knew it, the whole arena knew it.

This is not how you fight a demon.

But that’s what the crowd wanted and that’s what they are getting. A circus.

The audience gasped as you landed a swift, clean jab to his ribs. It wasn’t a heavy hit but it was precise enough to make him (or rather his vessel) flinch.

Your opponent circled you, his smirk widening, but there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes now. He was used to fights that ended fast and messy, but you weren’t giving him that satisfaction.

He lunged again and this time you were ready. A subtle flick of your wrist sent a splash of liquid from a hidden vial straight onto his hand. The faint sizzle that followed was drowned out by the crowd’s cheers but Rowena saw it and so did he. His smirk faltered, just for a moment.

Holy water.

Rowena’s lips twitched into a smirk.

There she is.

She had no idea how you managed to keep holy water on you (smuggled it, stashed it, conjured it, got it, who knew?) and she couldn’t understand why the other hunters hadn’t done the same. Could they not? But one thing was crystal clear: you weren’t here to lose.

The fight went on but calling it a fight feels generous. To be fair, you were running the show. You moved like you’d choreographed the whole thing beforehand, because you dodged his strikes like you knew everything was going to happen.

And all the while, you were muttering something under your breath.

Rowena tilted her head, her ears catching the sound with some magical help. Latin.

Her grin spread wide.

An exorcism. Clever little thing.

You weren’t just fighting him but you were dismantling him piece by piece.

Your opponent’s movements grew sloppier as his vessel started to reject him by your ancient words. Each syllable you muttered chipped away at his hold and every dodge, every counterstrike added to his frustration. The crowd thought he was just losing steam, but Rowena knew better.

You were breaking him from the inside out.

Then came his final, and just as desperate charge. He lunged at you without actually realizing how clumsy his punch was. You dodged easily, stepping out of the way like it was nothing. This time, your voice got louder, the words now audible even to the crowd:

“…ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

That was it. His body jerked violently, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as thick black smoke poured out of his mouth. The vessel dropped to the ground, staying limp and seemingly lifeless. You just hoped the human was alright.

You stood there, brushing off your hands like you’d just finished a chore not a fight to the death. Rowena leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs with a look that screamed satisfaction while her red lips curled into a sly grin.

Maybe she isn't as fragile as I thought so.

You hadn’t just won, you’d also put on one hell of a show.

And in this world, where blood and spectacle ruled that was what mattered most.

Sunlight poured through the long red curtains, spilling a golden glow across the pearly white walls of your room. It was the kind of quiet beauty you’d never taken the time to notice and bask in before.

Your dad’s voice echoed in your head: It’s the little things that count. Back then, you’d dismissed it as sentimental fluff people spouted when life was falling apart. But now, sitting in this room that was yours, but not quite yours, you got it.

Because everything had fallen apart. Or maybe it was better to say it had been shattered. And now, the only thing you had left were the little things. The way the light slanted just so or how you could still catch the tail-end of a sunset through your window, even in this messed-up new world.

It wasn’t always like this. You still remembered a time before The Great Invasion, even though it felt like a lifetime ago. It hadn’t been that long, though. Maybe two years? Who knew anymore? The calendar didn’t matter when monsters were in charge and time itself felt like a joke.

The knock at the door broke the stillness and your thoughts’ overflow. You glanced at the clock.

Six p.m. already.

The door creaked open, and in walked Rommer, your suite’s assigned waiter, carrying a tray. His hands were a bit shaky and his posture was stiff but he still managed to hold onto that old-fashioned professional air. Well, mostly, since the tension in his eyes betrayed him: He was scared. Not that you blamed him. You were scared, too.

Rommer had been working here at the Mandarin Oriental long before the monsters took over, so he knew how to fake calm when it mattered. But the truth was in his eyes: he was human, just like you. And every time you looked at him, you were reminded of the kind of life you could’ve had. What other kind of slave you could have ended up as.

He was a little grounding point in your life. The only presence you felt somewhat safe around. The only one that somewhat understood you here.

The little things.

Once or twice, you even tried to make him stay just a bit longer, just to talk and exchange more than five words. You were desperate for human contact, even for just getting to know his first name, but he didn’t seem to be a partner in your little attempt — his rigid posture and tight lips a clear indication of that.

But again, you couldn’t blame him.

Anyone would be tense and terrified if a demon billionaire essentially held them hostage.

It was strange, this life of luxury you were given. A room in a five-star hotel with all the trimmings and a staff that treated you like some lower level royalty. By all accounts, it should have been a dream. But dreams didn’t come with the kind of shadows that stuck to every step you took.

“Evening, Miss Y/L/N” he said, setting the tray down in front of you. Not silver, of course.

“Evening” you replied and offered him a slight smile despite the oddity of the entire situation.

“The usual” he nodded at the plate of perfectly cooked steak and vegetables.

You thanked him and stared at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world… assuming the other seven were still standing.

He hesitated, as if about to say something, but he decided not to. His eyes flicked toward the door where the demon guard stood, watching rather indiscreetly. With a quick bow, Rommer left without saying another unnecessary word.

You stared at the tray, the smell of the food wafting up to you. It was good. It was always good. But somehow it never quite tasted right. It wasn’t the flavor, nor the texture, nor the temperature. Maybe it was because no matter how fancy the room, no matter how golden the sunlight, you couldn’t forget the truth.

This wasn’t freedom. This was a gilded cage.

Still, it was the only way to stay alive… And better than a life spent running forever.

Dean was in his element. A wide, open garage with all the tools he could ever need. It was way better than the bunker’s setup. His hands were covered in grease as he leaned over the Impala, carefully tweaking something under the hood. Honestly, he didn’t care who to thank, Jack, Cas, or the afterlife fairy, just as long as Baby was here with him.

Fixing her up wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was steady work. Something simple. Something he loved. Something that brought him peace.

Metallica blared from somewhere, though he had no idea where. Heaven magic, probably, since he’d never seen a stereo in this place. Not that he was complaining.

Maybe it was the afterlife thing, but there was no rush here. No monsters to kill, no apocalyptic prophecies to stop. Just the hum of the engine and the whiskey-smooth riffs of Whiskey in the Jar keeping him company.

It was nice.

He could feel the presence of someone appearing in the background, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Sammy, hope you found a few glasses of cold ‘cause I’m running out here” he said, still focused under the hood of his car.

"Hi, Dean."

It wasn’t the voice he expected. Dean straightened up, glancing toward the garage door. There, standing in the sunlight with hands shoved in his pockets, was Jack.

Dean blinked, staring for a moment. It’s been a while since he saw the kid. Jack was still… very much Jack. He looked just as young as before somehow, still nothing like a god… more like a kid just stopping by to say hello.

And as much as he wanted to hope this was just a casual visit, a “hey, how’s it going, maybe drink a beer or two” Dean couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t that simple. After all, Jack was the most powerful creature in the universe now — was it weird to want to grab a beer with him?

“Jack” Dean wiped his hands off again, eyeing Jack with a half-smile. “What’s up? You’re not here for a good time, are you? Because I gotta tell ya, I’m on a roll with this carburetor.”

Jack’s eyes flashed with something uncharacteristically serious and Dean’s gut twisted at the sight. Shit. If Jack was showing up here on a peaceful, lazy forever-afternoon, it had to be for a reason.

Dean straightened. “Let me guess… If the big guy himself is here, it’s gotta be an emergency, right?”

“It’s kind of an emergency.” Jack nodded.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Jack took a step forward, and just when Dean thought he’d get a straight answer, the kid held out his hand. A flash of glowing light flickered, and bam, Sam was suddenly standing there in front of them, a pack of beer in his hand, blinking like he’d just been yanked out of whatever peaceful afterlife he’d been enjoying in Heaven.

Well, he was heading this way anyway.

“Huh?” Dean blinked, half-amused and half-confused.

Sam rubbed his eyes, still processing what had just happened. “What’s going on, Dean?” Then his eyes ended on the kid. “Jack? Hey, how—“

Jack didn’t waste time answering, cutting him off. “We need you both. Something’s going on back on Earth. We gotta go to the bunker. Cas is already there.”

It was well past your usual lights-out when you heard a chopped Latin chant. You bolted upright in bed, the satin of your pajama top slipping off one shoulder as you fumbled for the first object within arm’s reach: your bedside lamp.

Damn Barbas. Of course, that bastard wouldn’t let you keep a single weapon for protection. Why would he? Keeping you helpless was part of his twisted game, though you weren’t precisely sure what that game was. Vessel or not, you loathed every inch of him, including that smug, sadistic face of his.

Your eyes scanned the dimly lit room, and it didn’t take long to spot a flashing light flickering in and out in the middle of your suite’s plush carpet.

“What the hell?” you muttered, freezing in place.

Someone had just teleported into your five-star hotel room.

Teleported. Not walked, not snuck in, teleported. No human could pull that off. And with all the layers of magic and muscle guarding this place, no low-tier spell-slinger should’ve been able to either.

As the last remnants of the shimmering magic faded, a figure emerged, a woman from what you could see, her back to you. She wore a dark cloak, though strands of red hair slipped out messily from beneath the hood.

“Oh, dear, you couldn’t have been more precise” her Scottish tone rang out.

Your grip tightened on the lamp as she turned. Rowena MacLeod. The ex-Queen of Hell herself. Your pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding your veins as your mind raced with all the reasons to hate her. Maybe she hadn’t masterminded The Great Invasion, but she’d failed to stop it. Hell’s gates had burst open on her watch, and the world had paid the price.

“Don’t look at me like that, dear” Rowena said, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her face. “We don’t have much time. I see you recognise me, that’s great. Saves me a lot of trouble.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” You narrowed your eyes, heart pounding in your chest.

Rowena sighed dramatically, folding her arms across her chest. “No time for that little debate club. I’m here to save your hide.”

“Save me? Excuse my ass if it doesn't believe the former Queen of Hell.”

Her lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Yes, my résumé does tend to precede me. But I assure you, I’m quite serious. Your little fortress of luxury here?” She gestured around the room with a dismissive wave. “It’s about to be less... secure.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked as your grip on the lamp was firm as ever. “And why would you wanna save me?”

"Well, let’s just say the ex-Queen of Hell has her ways. I’ve been keeping tabs on you since the Games. You… are quite the showstopper, dear.”

“That still doesn't answer my question.”

She tilted her head. "Well, this place is guarded, almost as much as the hideout I’m about to take you to. And to your misfortune, I couldn’t get past the gates without notice."

The implication hung in the air. “You…”

“I know, I know, I'm a piece of garbage, yes, you can let it all out later. But right now, I advise you to get out of that California king and let me get you out of here before your not-so-lovely captors arrive” she said, her voice dropping an octave and with that all traces of sarcasm was gone. “Unless you’d rather face them on your own. I’d love to see their expressions when they figure you let me in. After all, you’re not exactly on the friendliest terms with them, are you? And I have a feeling they will jump to conclusions about me being here.”

Your eyes widened in shock. She hadn’t just put you in an impossible situation, she’d made it worse than you could have ever imagined. If Barbas’ guards noticed her slipping through the magically guarded gates, and you were damn sure they had, they were already on their way. And if they found the two of you together in ‘your’ room? You might as well write your own obituary. Forget reasoning with them. You were already on dangerously thin ice with Barbas and his crew. Seeing you in this situation would be all the justification they needed.

No second chances. No questions asked. Just the sharp click of triggers being pulled.

No championship would make them listen to you. You weren’t important to them, not really. All they cared about was your skills and the reputation they could leverage from it. You were just a tool in their game, nothing more

The words barely left her mouth when a loud thud echoed in outside from the hallway. Your heart jumped into your throat as Rowena turned her head toward the noise.

“Well, that would be them” she said. “No time for debate, am I right?”

Before you could process what was happening, Rowena’s hands were moving, her fingers weaving through the air in fluid motions. You barely had time to protest when the air around you shimmered and the world around you vanished with a gut-wrenching lurch.

“Y/N! You little piece of shit!” Barbas’ voice thundered through the room, shaking the very walls as he and his entourage of guards stormed in and ripping the door off its hinges like it was a cheap piece of cardboard from a bargain bin as they did.

His eyes scanned the room with the intensity of a bloodhound on a hunt. The bed was empty and there was still a faint shimmer in the air jaut above the plush carpet in the center. Barbas’ jaw clenched so tightly one could hear the bones grinding together.

One of the guards (probably the one that drew the shorter straw) stammered, “There’s no s-sign of her, sir. She’s... g-gone. W-with Rowena M-MacLeod.”

Barbas’ fist collided with the nightstand with enough force to rattle the room. The wood groaned under the impact. “Find them. Now,” he barked, his eyes seething with rage as they flicked over his guards.

That anyone he implied was a very specific someone that can’t know Barbas messed this up.

When the swirling magic cleared, you were standing in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of dust, gunpowder and old books.

“What the—?” you stumbled forward, clutching your stomach as the nausea of teleportation hit you like a truck.

Shit, I shouldn’t have eaten all that steak.

“Welcome to your new home” Rowena said with a flourish, already brushing herself off as if nothing had happened.

“You can’t just—” you groaned, doubling over slightly. “I can’t believe you just did this!”

“Oh, no need for dramatics” she said. “You’ll feel better in a moment. And you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” you snapped and you stood upright despite the dizziness. “You just fucking kidnapped me!”

“Oh, please” She scoffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “If I hadn’t, you’d be in a demon’s stew pot by now.”

“Which you caused!”

You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing from deeper within this strange yet seemingly enormous building. Your heart skipped a beat and you turned toward the noise, tense and ready for anything.

Mostly for throwing a few punches.

A tall man in a beige, worn trench coat appeared from one of the doorways.

He paused and took a long look at the both of you, his expression was almost completely stoic but you could see a hint of some stress and worry buried deep within.

“You made it back” he said to Rowenaz then his attention shifted to you. “I see you found her. Hello, Y/N. My name’s Castiel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 2)

Guns N’ Roses blasted through your headphones, drowning out every thought except the music. You made it your mission to listen to every cassette tape you found in the boxes. By the time you hit cassette number three’s flip side, the music was doing its job at making you feel a bit calmer a little too well. Your eyelids got heavier with every riff and before you knew it, you’d dozed off against the headboard.

The music was loud enough to block out the creak of the door opening but not the voice that followed.

“Why’s there a chick in my room?” a gruff voice demanded. A pause. Then louder, like the words were physically offensive: “Listening to my damn tapes? Wearing my damn clothes?”

Maybe that last part didn’t bother him as much as the rest, though he wasn’t about to admit it. He was too busy scowling and reminding himself that this room, his room, was supposed to be his sanctuary. Instead, here you were, in his flannel, looking entirely too cozy and he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but also borderline irresistible for someone squatting in his space.

Or was this Jack’s way of saying, Sorry I yanked you out of Heaven, but hey, thanks for agreeing to help me clean up yet another apocalyptic mess!?

Because if so—

Congratulations, hunter, you made it this far! Welcome to the bunker.🤭

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the Great Invasion! AndI also hope you buckled your seat belts because we are going to have a wild ride, I tell you.

Can’t wait to read your thoughts on this!!

xx Pam

Read Chapter 2 here

🤍Series taglist🤍

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @artyandink @hobby27 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @muhahaha303 @yeehawgiddyup13 @applelovesposts

🤍 Jensen taglist🤍

@roseblue373

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #The Great Invasion #dean winchester #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x you #dean x reader

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