#supernatural fear inducer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nudijsmos · 4 months ago

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₊ 𖦹﹕TEAR YOU APART! ₊˚ c. bangchan.

summary: Dating as a supernatural being has always been difficult for you, but thanks to Mystic Match—a new dating app for monsters and the supernatural—you found your current partner: a werewolf. The only thing that has been bothering you is not being able to spend your heat cycles together. But tonight, you're determined to change that.

Or, the one where wolf!chan and bunny!reader spend their heat together for the first time by accident.

tags: werewolf!bangchan, bunny!reader, beastars AU, hybrids, petnames, heat cycle, rough sex, male dom, fem sub, size difference, predator/prey dynamics, forced heat/induced heat, knotting, dirty talk, doggy style, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment of aftercare.

wc: 5.6k

a/n: reader’s a bunny hybrid of a french lop and her petname’s flops. this work is a collaboration with @doestalker. english is not my first language!

[This was based by this script by AdventKitt on ScriptBin. All the corresponding credits go to them for inspiring this fanfiction.]

In the modern world, supernaturals and monsters were not as feared as they were centuries ago. Now they were able to roam the streets and live their life like every other human just with sharper teeth and more body hair than them. You could say that the normalization of the supernatural would also better the chances of dating. And it did, for most of them.

Them not including you. A shy bunny hybrid like you could never go out to a bar and start a conversation without feeling like a burden to anyone, even if they showed interest in you. You were just not made for the whole casual thing, the flirting with strangers, the hooking up and one night stands—you felt like you were built for something more meaningful, a genuine connection with someone else.

All of your friends encouraged you to get out of your shell and “just talk to someone”, but they didn’t get it, that you wanted long-term commitment from a partner instead of just a wild night and a kiss goodbye. Whenever you went out with them, they would always bring up the fact that you haven’t dated someone in the past two years as a way to manipulate you into going to someone and flirting with them. It obviously didn’t work. But you didn’t mind it, you knew it was in their best interest, they wanted to see you happy with someone.

After many failed attempts to throw you in the dating pool of your city, they opted for a new approach to convince you. They’ve been talking for a few weeks about this new dating app for supernaturals that was super trendy at the time—Mystic Match. You were a bit skeptical about the whole thing, you thought it might be dangerous to meet up with someone you met online, but all the stories your friends told you about the app actually succeeding at matching them with people they liked got into your head and convinced you to make a profile.

It was a simple yet cute bio, a nice selfie of you in front of the mirror and your favourite hobbies. You were looking for someone older than you, that you could spend a cozy evening with, that was kind and funny, and that liked sweets as much as you did.

The first week was hell. All kinds of monsters and hybrids ghosting you, sending unsolicited nudes, standing you up on dates or just being too boring for you. You almost gave up on the whole thing, but it was a new profile popping up on the app that caught your attention.

Name: Christopher Bangchan. Type: Werewolf 🐺 Age: 26 (in human years) About Me: Full moon enthusiast. When I’m not running out in the woods I’m working as a personal trainer. I’m looking for someone who I can share late-night adventures with, belly rubs and lazy morning naps. What I’m Looking For: A soulmate who doesn’t mind a little fur on their couch and enjoys midnight snacks. I don’t mind if you’re not a werewolf ― I believe love transcends species!.

You giggled at the silly humor and the attractive selfie the guy had chosen. You’d never dated a werewolf before. Being around a predator as a prey-hybrid was a big deal for your kind—all the cautionary tales your mom told you when you were little flashed through your mind for a second. But you brushed them off and swiped right. The world has come a long way since your mother’s time.

When the date finally happened, it was as if the universe felt bad for all your past failed attempts and decided to make it up to you with a giant werewolf sporting cute dimples and puppy eyes. A simple coffee date turned into a second date at a bar, which led to a third at a restaurant, followed by a kiss in front of your door. And just like that, six months later, you found yourself in a beautiful relationship.

Bangchan was all that you could ask for and more. He has been a gentleman the entirety of your blossoming relationship. The only thing that’s been bothering you is the fact that anytime both your cycles sync up, he pushes you away until they end. He has helped you with your heat when it came before or after his, but not the other way around.

Since you’ve never known a werewolf like that, you didn’t have any idea what it was like for them during heat. To you, a bunny hybrid, was a time when you were super needy and clingy and horny. So being away from your boyfriend at a time like that was some kind of psychological torture. You didn’t know how you could have spent the past two years of heat without his massive cock filling you up. Him keeping it away from you when you needed it the most and when he also needed to pound you the most was so mean of him!

Luckily you managed to convince him to come over to your apartment and talk about it. You were open about everything else, so syncing cycles were so complicated. A touchy or sensitive topic to talk about. He always understood your opinions on certain things about the relationship so you wanted the same, and if this situation was far away from his confort, you wanted him to tell you so you would not step over his boundaries.

A loud knock sound made you step out from your thoughts, running to your door just to see that man standing with his characteristic smile abroad his face, God he was too much.

“Hey Flops,” greeted your boyfriend. He liked to call you like that because of your floppy bunny ears falling on the sides of your head. “Hope I didn’t make you wait long.” He said, as he embraced you in his warm arms. His wooden coffee scent mixed with his cologne enveloped you and you buried your nose further into his chest so you could take in more of it. He hummed as you tighten your grip around him, liking the way you fit in his arms.

After a little small talk you both made your way into the living room space. He sat by your side on the comfy sofa and rested his left arm around your shoulders. “So, what is it that you wanted to talk about again?”

You paused for a moment before letting out a sigh, taking courage. “I wanted to know why we haven't spent our cycles together when they sync up.”

“Ah, I figured you’d ask that,” said Bangchand with a small laugh, his tone changing to that of a mix of anxiety and nervousness. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know I’ve been avoiding us doing anything intimate when we get closer to our cycles. I-It’s not that I don’t wanna do anything with you!”

“Well…it feels like you don't, because I feel like you always push me away when I need you the most,” the man let out a nervous sigh, he did really care about your feelings and everything about you. You were right, he did in fact push you away in many encounters. But he believed he was doing the right thing! It was too early to show you his most feral and unhinged form, the one who knew no boundaries and only cared about scratching his itch. He didn’t want to scare you, he knew how delicate a relationship between a prey and a predator could be, and he loved you so much it would actually kill him if you started to fear him.

“Look, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to spend that time with you. I’m just― fuck,” he interrupted himself with an anxious chuckle. “Sorry, I’m not the best at explaining things.” He took a slight deep breath before continuing speaking. “The main reason I want to avoid us having sex in our cycles is because I can get… Well, a little too aggressive…”

“But—” you started to complain, but he cut you off.

“And no, it’s not the normal kind of aggressiveness you would expect from a predator. I’ve had some pretty bad experiences,” his face wrinkled when the memories flashed on his mind, “in my younger days, when I would be intimate with someone during that time. So no, it’s not just you. I’ve been avoiding intimacy during my heat for a long, long time.”

There was a long pause before you filled in the silence. “I can handle it,” you mumbled, cheeks heating up.

“Hmm?” hummed the raven-haired man, an incredulous look in his eyes and a small smile showing off his dimples.

“I know you’ve had some bad moments, but I honestly believe I can handle it. I’m not made of glass, especially during heat.”

“I like your enthusiasm, Flops, but I’m not talking about some simple kind of aggressiveness. It’s not the regular kind humans experience, it’s something much more… primal. I know about your ex-boyfriends, I doubt you’d been with someone like that,” he chuckled. “It’s something that lives deep inside my skin. It’s like a need to have some sort of control over the person I choose to mate with.”

You frowned at the sight of your boyfriend, trying your best not to burst in frustration. You weren’t some delicate porcelain doll anymore—you craved his touch just as much as he claimed to crave yours, in that raw, primal way.

“But baby, I know you’re not the same guy you were before,” you huffed, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. Leaning in, your mouth hovered just inches from his. “I’m not as weak as you think,” you murmured, your voice small and shy—just to mess with him.

“I know you are, Flops… it’s just—” Bangchan looked at you and felt dizzy for a moment, every inch of you driving him crazier than regular. Your face, the way your lips pouted as you spoke, the way you sat so close to him. Fuck. “I never said that you were.”

He sounded so flustered all of the sudden, like he was trying to filter the words coming out of his mouth so they didn’t sound insulting to you. You rolled your eyes and straddled his lap, feeling a hint of satisfaction from the way his warm hands instinctively settled on your waist. From the amount of cuddling you both did, this position became quite natural. You placed your hands on his neck and the instant his nervous eyes met your gaze, all of his muscles relaxed. “Even if I was used to mating with other prey hybrids before, I promise I can, in fact, handle you, Christopher,” you said in a soft voice, trying to calm down that giant anxious mess of a boyfriend.

You could tell by his body language and the way his scent hitched and spread all over the room that his rut was coming. The suddenly-strong smell of coffee and wood and leather was starting to affect you, making you feel lightheaded. His hands, still on your waist, pulled you closer to his chest.

“Let me help you with your heat, baby, pretty please,” you hummed, playing with the soft baby hairs on the back of his neck.

“M-My heat? What?”

Oh. He didn’t realize he was in heat?

“Oh, fuck!” he whisper-yelled. “I really thought I had more time. I can’t believe I didn’t keep track this time! Shit, it must have come early or something.”

His stressed pheromones were bittering the nice smell of the room. You wrinkled your nose a little.

“Flops, please get off my lap,” there was concern in his voice, but the fire in his eyes was telling you to stay right where you were. You didn’t move, and despite his request and his obvious strength, he didn’t move you either. “It’s a really bad time, babe, get off or―”

“Or what?” You cut him off, one eyebrow lifted as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Or I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Stop being so careful with me, Chris…” You pouted. “I love you. I would never regret helping you out.” Your hands were back on Bangchan’s neck as they pulled him towards you. Your lips connected in a slow kiss where you were the one in control.

“Princess, please…” he mumbled between kisses. “I know you want to help me, fuck, I can smell it on you. I just don’t want to hurt you by accid—”.

You silenced him with another kiss, this one needier, more desperate. Still, it wasn’t enough to completely distract him.

“Flops, I’m being serious. I need you to—”. His words faltered, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest as your hips rolled against his lap. “—get off my lap.”

His voice might have sounded like a warning, but his scent, the way his hands gripped your waist, and the heat radiating from him told a completely different story.

But your kisses were cut short as his hands suddenly shoved you away, sending you sprawling onto the soft carpet. A startled gasp left your lips as you looked up at him. From this angle, his tall frame loomed over you, more menacing than ever.

Your gaze flickered to the living room window—the clouds were shifting, slowly unveiling the full moon at its highest point in the night sky.

It was time.

Bangchan’s body began to change. His sharp canines grew even longer, glinting like knives meant to tear through flesh with ease. His warm brown eyes burned into a bright amber glow. His nails extended into short, deadly claws, and his wolf ears twitched, fully perked, as if he were locked in a constant state of alert.

He growled—a sound unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. It was deep, raw, and primal, sending a shiver down your spine. The sheer vibration of it made every hair on your body stand on end, triggering every prey instinct buried inside you. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run.

But the scent—God, the scent—was intoxicating. Sharp and overwhelming, it curled around you like an invisible force, keeping you rooted in place. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, mesmerized, watching your boyfriend caught between man and beast—his half-true form both terrifying and captivating.

You should have been afraid. You should have run.

But you couldn’t.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You naughty bunny…” His voice sounded a little bit deeper. His eyes roamed kneeled form up and down. “Look at you. Such wide eyes you have, but that smell…” He deeply sniffed the air and let out a chuckle. “Fuck, that’s not just fear I’m smelling from you.”

He leaned in closer, his face now mere inches from yours, the heat of his body radiating against your skin. His sharp amber eyes burned into you as he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. Another low, rumbling chuckle left his throat - amused.

His breath fanned over your parted lips. “I can smell the desire coming off you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “It’s sweet… like nectar.”

His canines glinted as he curled his lips into a slow, knowing smile. His claws traced lazily over your hair, just enough to make you shiver.

“Look how small you are compared to me. Such a delicate, beautiful little darling…” His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something dark and possessive. “I can already see the heat starting to take you over… ah, those beautiful eyes of yours.”

His voice was deep and unhurried, each word drawn out with a lazy confidence, and the rich vocal fry sending waves of heat down your spine. Your stomach fluttered at the sound, at the way he loomed over you, at the intoxicating mix of danger and desire wrapped around you like a snare.

Whenever you were taken over by your heat, your pupils would dilate in a way that consumed almost all the colour of your eyes. Bangchan’d always liked how your eyes morphed into a doe-like shape, he said they looked bigger and shined so pretty. If the warmth spreading across your cheeks was any indication, they should be fully flushed by now. And your panties were probably ruined by now from all the slick your cunt was producing.

Bangchan sniffed deeply, followed by a satisfied groan when the pheromones of your arousal stuck on the back of his nose. Every groan and growl coming from him ended up making more of a mess on your underwear. Not even your best detergent would make them soft again.

“Mm, such a sweet scent,” purred Bangchan, looking at you from above, his amber eyes focusing on every little detail of your body. “Look at that ass,” he growled between teeth. “That fluffy little tail is the best part. The way you shake it, you look like a puppy,” he laughed, caressing your shoulders with his large hands. They were warm, not surprising because every creature’s body temperature rises whenever in heat. “Let’s take this short off, mhm?”

You did as told, shimmying your pajama shorts off along with your underwear, tossing them aside on the floor. He hummed in approval, that went straight to your core.

“C’mon baby, on the couch, ass up. I need to taste that sweet cunt.”

Again, you did as he told you. You laid your stomach over the couch, your knees supporting you as you perked up your ass, slick pussy in full display for your boyfriend.

“As much as I love looking at your pussy, I need to taste it. Let me just―” you let out a sharp gasp as his index and middle finger spread your lips and the tip of his tongue made its way into your dripping cunt. He started slow, just moving it up and down, but after a couple minutes he began to lap like a fucking thirsty dog. The way he was just drinking your slick and teasing your clit with his thumb made you gasp and whine and wish for it to never end. God, you could swear he was nose-deep into your pussy.

He introduced his middle finger, moving it at the same time his thumb played with your clit, and moved his face away from you so he could speak. “Such a sweet fucking pussy,” mumbled your boyfriend. “So wet and hot on my mouth. How does it feel, bunny?” He asked, the shit-eating grin clearly audible even from behind. You didn’t answer, and that seemed to annoy him, because he introduced another finger and curled them in a way they could reach your soft spot, making you let out a high-pitched moan. “Answer me, you dumb little rabbit,” he muttered. “Do you like my tongue? Do you like how wide it is? How deep can it get?” His fingers still moved against your spot, fingering the answer out of you.

Your reply was a loud and whiny “Yeesss～” as your body squirmed around his thick fingers.He chuckled at your pathetic moan.

“I know, I can tell by the way you whine, so needy and desperate.”

His tongue was back on you, playing with your folds and lapping on your slick once again. Every single touch sends electric shocks to your whole body, like a big wave of pleasure hitting you all of a sudden.

His mouth was taking every slight drop of your slick like some desperate ole’ dog searching for water, his tongue lapping his way through your pussy and rubbing the end of his nose on your wet hole. Both of his hands were gripping your thighs as he ate you from behind, claws ripping your skin as your hips started to press against your boyfriend’s soaking face. “Fuck.. that’s it, bun. Fuck my face and make a mess out of it”, he growled near your cunt sending another goosebump to your spine as the hot breath clashed with your soaked core, arching your back to get more contact with his tongue.

“Keep moaning, let me know how good it feels.. Atta bun.” Just another teary moan of yours took from him to shove his large tongue inside you, widely opening your cunt for his own pleasure, slick dripping out of his chin as he roughly started to penetrate you with it. The constant ‘pop!’ and ‘slurrp!’ of his mouth on you, the firm but messy way he was grabbing you, even if you tried you couldn’t keep your eyes open. He was completely eating you dry.

Numb in pleasure it was obvious to you that it wouldn’t take you too much time to cum. Your boyfriend did eat your pussy a million times before when he was on a mission to help with your heat. But this time was different, it was so... painfully good that the fact that you didn’t squirt on the wolf’s mouth was crazy.

“C-Chris.. baby, if you d-don’t sto—” you cried loudly, hands grabbing the sofa as much as you could. Bangchan knew, and he didn’t hesitate to take his soaking wet tongue off your cunt, a string of your slick coming out from the tip of his tongue. A loud and cheeky chuckle escaped from him, “What? Did you really think I’d let you cum?”

His hand grabbed your hair from the back, twisting it around his left wrist and forearm. “As much as I’d love seeing you squirt on my face, I’d much prefer you did when I’m breeding this absolutely pathetic cunt. Bet you like the idea don’t you?” He shouted as his hand aggressively pulled your hair to make you trip over on your words.

A slight nod was enough to him, so he grabbed you by your waist before letting your hair go. “I need to rail you right-fucking-now, and your room’s too far, so excuse me if I…” A ripping sound interrupted him as both of his hands tore your top, exposing the lace bra you were wearing under. He huffed, amused. “You had all of this planned from the beginning, didn’t you? You amaze me, Flops.”

Another cocky chuckle came out from him, his eyes racing from your chest to your flushed face, smiling widely. “Fucking hell Bun, I can’t get enough of you… Now strip off that thing and open your legs a bit more…” Bangchan ordered with a raspy voice while letting his canines show up in his smile.

Your legs started to shake from all the stimulation you suffered before, but you still managed to stand up, tripping over a few times because of the scent of your boyfriend, which was now becoming stronger by seeing you slutted out. Your hands reached for the bra’s clasps behind your back. You smiled when Bangchan’s eyes followed the slight bounce of your tits being freed from your bra.

“Fuck, that’s it,” groaned Chan, grabbing one of your boobs and lightly squeezing it, his thumb caressing your soft nipple. “I can never get enough of your tits,” he cupped the other one. Now both hands massaging your boobs. You gasped softly when he pinched one of your nipples. “They fit so nicely in my hands,” he said softly, but the cuteness lasted just a second, before he growled: “On all fours, I’m going to mount you.”

You placed your knees on the sofa and leaned over the backrest. Your back was arched, putting your slicked pussy on display, and your eyes were fixated on the reflection of your bodies on the window behind the couch. The metal sound from his buckle being undone and the unzipping of his jeans made you grow more and more impatient. When his clothes hit the floor, your head turned back so you could take in his naked form.

Your eyes widened, your mouth watered. He had such a big cock in his regular form, and apparently a much bigger one in heat. It was thick and veiny and such a nice rosy shade. Your intense staring caused Bangchan to laugh.

“You like how big it is? I didn’t even put it in and I can see how your cunt is clenching, she’s begging for it.” He closed the small space between the both of you, placing his big hands on the sides of your hips and squeezing the meat of your cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to fill her up.” Bangchan leaned over your body to whisper in your ear: “I’ll make sure she knows who she belongs to.”

One of his hands left your hip and grabbed his cock, guiding it to your needy hole. Going against all of his instincts of fucking you senseless, he took his time and nudged it between your lips, covering the tip on your juices. Bangchan slowly pushed the tip inside you, relishing the tight feeling around his cock and your soft cries. As he pushed deeper, your walls squeezed him harder, making him groan.

“Ohh, fuck! That’s it baby, such a tight little cunt,” his voice was now a little coarse, like if his throat went dry from the sudden pleasure. “I’ve been dying to fuck you like this.”

He knows you don’t need time to adjust, heats give you a lot of endurance and stamina to make sure you breed successfully. That’s why he began to rock his hips without any warning. You moan loudly against the cushioned backrest of the couch.

His skin smacked against yours with his sharp thrusts. And he lowers his gaze to watch himself disappear inside your plush lips over and over again, captivated by the way you take him so easily.

“I love the way my hands fit so well around your hips, how those cute ears bounce with my thrusts,” panted the man. You mewled at the praise from your boyfriend. “We’re gonna fill the room with our scent. Your neighbours are probably smelling how good your boyfriend is fucking you.”

The feeling of his thick cock rubbing inside your warm gummy walls with each push was inebriating to say the least. The pleasure of his tip nudging against that sweet area near the front was making you see spots from the corner of your eyes. Your stomach is tightening from the sharp pleasure.

“Fuck, Chan! Fuck, fuck me just like that! Ngh～” Your desperate moans only served as motivation for him, causing him to speed up his movements. His balls were now rocking forward and hitting your sensitive clit with each thrust, making a wet sound because of your slick running down your legs and his pelvis. Your pussy was clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, fuck, I can feel you tightening around me.” His fingers were gripping your hips so tight that they would definitely leave some bruises. But he didn’t care, he’ll kiss them better after. “Goddamn, you feel so good baby～ I’ve been dreaming of the day I’d get to take you like this. Been wanting so hard to lock inside you and pump you full of my pups.”

Every word said by the wolf was going straight to your core and melting you from the inside.

“Ngh, Chan～Want you to fill me up, please,” you cried out, your fingers gripping the couch and turning your head back. Your eyes locked on his and you noticed they were different now. The amber burned brighter yet his gaze was darker, more predatory.

It was so thrilling how every prey instinct in your body screamed at you to run, to hide from the predator behind you. But instead of fear pushing you away, it coiled deep in your stomach, twisting into a wicked blend of fear and pleasure. The rush of adrenaline only fueled the heat thrumming through your veins, turning you on even more.

“Want to knot you so bad,” muttered the wolf between clenched teeth, slowing down a little bit so he could lean over your back and breathe against your ear. You moaned in agreement, perfectly fine with that proposition. “Oh, you want my knot, baby?” Cooed the man in a soft whisper.

You nodded your head, too fucked out to even say yes, just whines and moans leaving your plushy mouth.

“Hold on tight, bunny, ‘cause I’m gonna breed you so good.”

His thrusts picked up the pace once again. The wet sounds of your pussy swallowing his cock filling up the room, mixing with growls and moans. The amount of pleasure was so unbelievable that you almost felt angry at him for keeping this kind of experience away from you. Although there was a tiny grain of nervousness, after all you’ve never been knotted by such a large creature like him—Hell, you’ve never been knotted at all!

Your head focused a little too much on that, and by the way Bangchan’s thrusts began to slow down, he noticed, so he petted your head, moving all the sweaty hair away from your face. “Don’t worry, my little bunny. I’ll make sure you enjoy it all the way through.” Whispered your boyfriend with a tone of voice much different than the previous deep and growly one. This soft murmur on your ear helped to ease your nerves and let your body loose so he could start to knot you.

“Thank you, Chan.” You mumbled softly.

“Are you ready now? Want me to knot you?”

You hummed in approval and rested your forehead on your arms, arching your back a little more and shaking your fluffy tail. He snickered under his breath and started to pick up the pace again. His thrusts now harder and reaching deeper into your pussy, crushing that spongy spot that made you see stars out of the corners of your eyes.

The living room was now filled by the sounds of sweaty skin smacking, low groans and breathy moans. The overwhelming smell of arousal and his personal scent made your head spin. It didn’t take long until you were coming first.

“That’s it! Come for me, come for me!”

Intense shockwaves of pleasure shook your body all the way to your core and a loud moan tore away from your throat that it would probably let it sore in the next hour. Your heat orgasms were always powerful, but this one in particular felt too much. Maybe it was because you loved Bangchan so much that being able to share this intimate moment for the first time intensified the feelings.

Tears of joy and tiredness pooled on your eyes, but didn’t threaten to fall out, until you began to feel a light sting on your sensitive pussy.

“Okay baby, get ready, ‘cause here I’m gonna shove this knot in and finally claim you for myself,” the wolf mumbled into your hair, caressing the sides of your hips for a little comfort. Since you weren’t biologically made to just take his knot, he made sure you came finished first so your pussy would be more flexible when taking his.

Bangchan started to count down from five, his breath erratic just like his movements. Your abused cunt cried at the overstimulation of his growing knot.

Five, four, three, two..

When he reached number one, you could feel his hot cum filling your insides. He let out a loud animalistic howl. If your neighbours weren’t sure if you were getting railed into oblivion, now they were. You bit your lip to stop whimpering as his cum continued to fill you up and his knot reached full size.

It was strange at first, much bigger than the girth of his cock, but as he started to shove it in your pussy the stinging sensation felt so delicious. You felt so full, full of him. You were being claimed by your boyfriend, by your wolf, you were now completely his and it felt so delightful that the tears pooling in your eyes finally fell through your flushed cheeks.

“Ohh, fuck yes!” Howled the man behind you. “My knot slipped right in, sofuckinggood, can you feel my cum spilling out? Fuck!”

Indeed, his cum was leaking from your cunt and running down the back of your thighs. From his point of view it looked so fucking hot with you stretched out beyond most prey capabilities.

“Hmm, fuck me. That was just—” the only way he could describe the experience was a cheeky chef’s kiss that made you giggle.

As the orgasm bliss faded just like his knot, he carefully pulled out of your overstimulated cunt and hugged you from behind, laying you both on the comfy couch.

His chest was so warm against your back and his arms were holding you in the perfect tightness, while his lips trailed soft and caring kisses along your neck and shoulders, occasionally biting on your floppy bunny ears.

“Are you okay, princess?” His voice turned back into his normal deep yet soft tone. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He sounded genuinely concerned. You smiled even though he could not see you from behind.

You turned in his arms so you could face him, taking a moment to admire the afterglow on his face. His lips and cheeks shared the same shade of bright pink and his eyes were glossy with satisfaction.

“Yes, I’m perfect, baby. I enjoyed it.” You whispered, brushing your fingers against his cheeks. He grinned and leaned against your touch, closing his eyes for a second. The scene was so serene compared to the animalistic fucking that was happenning a few minutes ago.

You both just layed there, enjoying one another’s touch while your soft breaths filled in the silence.

Until Christopher speaked again.

“Perfect, huh?” The calmness was replaced with a playful glint on his eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “Good, ‘cause now we’re gonna be like this for quite a while.”

This was just the beginning of a long night.

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boombox-fuckboy · 6 months ago

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#audio drama #fiction podcast

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literaryvein-reblogs · 11 days ago

Note

Do you have any ‘rare’ supernatural creatures?

Writing Ideas: Rare Supernatural Creatures

Bokkenrijders: Little is known about these figures from Dutch folklore, who called the name of the devil to summon flying goats that they would ride through the air, to practice untold acts of mischief. The name — "goat riders" in Dutch — was applied in the 18th century to bands of robbers that wild rumors described as the terrifying, flying goat riders of legend. Men suspected of being bokkenrijders were tortured and executed, with accusations condemning 31 people from a single municipality in Belgium between 1744 and 1776, the Belgian website Flanders Today reported.

Draugr: The resurrected corpses of Viking warriors, were terrifying, zombie-like mythical creatures that roamed the world searching for their victims. They could be clearly recognized by the stench of rotting flesh and their deathly black or blue skin. The draugr possessed staggering strength, could increase their body size as they wished, and haunted the dreams of the living. In some versions of the myth, these undead mythological creatures were also thought to have several magical powers such as shapeshifting, premonitions, and weather control. The only motivation for these bloodthirsty creepy creatures was to slaughter any living being, whether humans or livestock, to satiate their thirst for flesh and blood. The draugr condition appeared to be contagious, like modern ideas of zombies, as those killed by the draugr would resurrect themselves as these creatures. The draugr were pretty indestructible, and the only way to kill them was through decapitation, incineration of the body, and discarding of the ashes in the sea.

Finfolk: In the Orkney Islands, an archipelago off the northeastern coast of Scotland, people once whispered of the Finfolk, a tribe of sorcerers and shapeshifters who were skilled at boating and who could bend the ocean to their will. Finfolk could live underwater or on land, though their permanent home was usually described as a marvelous city at the bottom of the ocean, and they would venture into towns and villages to steal humans as husbands or wives, according to Orkneyjar, a nonprofit website describing Orkney history and folklore.

Futakuchi-onna: This eerie creature looks like an ordinary woman, but has a ravenous second mouth on the back of her head, hidden by her hair. The mouth is insatiable; it gorges on any food it can find, fed by animated strands of the woman's hair, and usually appears as a punishment afflicting people who are extremely greedy or stingy, according to Yokai.com, an online database of Japanese ghosts and monsters.

Gashadokuro: Gigantic mythological creatures amalgamated from the bones of human skeletons in Japanese mythology. In situations of mass death, such as famines or wars, individuals could not receive proper funeral rites and thus were unable to move on after death. As their bodies decayed, their souls became twisted with wrath and resentment towards the living. Their souls and bones merged into one enormous being called a Gashadokuro, translated as the “starving skeleton.” Terrifyingly silent, aside from the unnerving chattering of their teeth, these mythical creatures skulked around deep in the night, looking for their prey. Finding their victim, they decapitated them and drank their blood. A Gashadokuro would continue terrorizing the night until the resentment of every soul residing within the creature had dwindled, no longer animating the skeletal monster.

Mare: In Norse mythology, a mare was a demonic spirit who had the ability to induce nightmares in sleeping people. During the night, this mythological creature would sneak into a person’s home through their keyhole. Climbing upon the chest of the sleeping individual, they would provoke terrifying nightmares based upon the sleeper’s fears and anxieties. Their victim would experience a heavy weight on their chest, awareness of a dark presence, and find themselves unable to move or wake up, an ancient mythological explanation of what is now known as sleep paralysis. A mare was considered a female demon who was typically depicted as either a youthful, beautiful woman or an old, hideous hag.

Nuckelavee: The Scottish Nuckelavee is a "skinless centaur" with a snout like a pig's that expels gusts of steam, a single enormous eye, and arms that drag upon the ground, according to the "Encyclopedia of Fairies in World Folklore and Mythology" (McFarland, 2013). It lives in the ocean and can kill people by breathing on them, leading them to waste away and eventually die.

Penanggalan: In Malay myth, a Penanggalan was once a mortal woman who performed witchcraft and black magic. A popular version of the myth states that one woman agreed to become vegetarian for 40 days in exchange for youthful beauty. Ultimately, she broke her pact and was cursed to become a flesh-eating Penanggalan. During the day, she resembled an ordinary woman, but at night, her head would detach from her body, floating around with her trailing entrails. This disembodied figure flew around searching for sustenance in the form of pregnant women and infants, draining them of their blood; those fed on by this vampiric creature ended up contracting a fatal disease. Returning to her abode, a Penanggalan would soak herself in vinegar to shrink her organs back into her body. A Penanggalan, therefore, could be recognized during the day by this tell-tale smell of vinegar.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

List of Legendary Beasts & Monsters

Medieval Beasts (1) (2)

You can find more in the sources. Once you've chosen your preferred creature/s as story inspiration, doing more research on them is advisable. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #creatures #character development #writeblr #writing reference #literature #dark academia #mythology #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing resources

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gaywineauntsstuff · 3 months ago

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My favorite thing I’ve seen is AUs where characters are trans and nothing changes and nobody knows until they accidentally have to lore dump and they’re fine with it bc they lowkey assume these people close to them know they’re trans and everyone’s like??????? HUH? Since when

Anyway support my trans!Dick Grayson headcanons bc fuck you i can

- Dick told his parents he was a boy at like age 3 and they were like… fuck it sure.. we’ll pick you a new name

-John Grayson then despairs bc his brother then gleefully informs him that John promised to name their first boy after him bc he lost a bet. Mary thinks it’s too funny to not go along with

-3 Yro Dick has a lisp and can’t pronounce his own name and finds out Dick is a nickname and proceeds to immediately go by it and yell at anyone who doesn’t use his new name

- Kid has no documents and grew up in a circus so when he ends up in Gotham. There are literally no issues at all.

- Bruce adopts him as Richard John Grayson and is none the wiser about anything

-Alfred is the first one to find out when at 11 Dick freaks out and thinks he’s hemorrhaging in the bathroom bc he’s bleeding. Cue realization moment! Followed by many many many awkward questions and Alfred being awesome assumes his grandson is stealth and maybe doesn’t want anyone including Bruce to know so he takes over every and Dick gets the medications he needs with no issue

- second person to realize is Roy bc they’re messing around btw (Dick did not inform him of this before, Roy is 100% Cool with it and goes… damn okay…anyway bc he’s chill like that)

-now about 700 new bats have happened and Dick is nightwing and literally the only people who know anything at all are his current/previous partners and Alfred

And shenanigans ensue with Jason catches Dick injecting something…while he has no injuries�� no nothing

Now Jason freaks ofc bc??? DICK WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Listen he might hate all of them but he is VERY MUCH not okay losing another relative to addiction wtf he’s not having a panic attack fuck you

Anyway

Dick just goes “Jason calm down it’s just my t-shot” and Jason who definitely didn’t jump to conclusions bc he’s sleep deprived and has a 16 hour run in with fear toxin is like

“What the fuck is that?? Is that something new on the street what’s happening dick? Are you doing untested Shit?

And Dick who has had to DEAL with Jason during 16 hours of fear toxin induced terror, as well as the rest of the family and would really like to go chill days in front of many of his family members: testosterone Jason. Bc I’m trans

To which everyone is confused

Dick is too tired to realize this and goes the fuck to bed

Bruce then panics bc “wait what if he wasn’t that accepting when Dick was younger and that’s why Dick didn’t ever come out? What did he do that made his son feel like he couldn’t talk to Bruce about it”

Tim is annoyed bc he is supposed to know things and now he owes Bernard money bc they had an argument over which letter each batfam member corresponds to

This is based off that one supernatural fic where somehow Sam was oblivious to his brother being trans anyway

#dick grayson #nightwing #everyone is the batfamily is gay #support my agenda #idc that’s idealized to shit #it’s fiction #this is how I will cope with queer rights disappearing everywhere

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spookwriter-xo · 6 months ago

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Coppélia

Chapter 8 - The Lightening King

Chapter Summary - A storm hits, igniting an unexpected fear from one of the boys, and bringing him a little closer to Y/N. Y/N decides to investigate Hongjoong's office while home alone.

warnings: trauma-induced fear, oral (f receiving)

Series Masterlist

MINORS NOT ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT

It had been a long time since I'd had company during a storm. However, it was still the same as it was before. I had no one to turn to.

I had been in the kitchen since about 2am, waiting for the storm to pass while sipping on some water to calm my nerves. It was worse when I was alone living in that crappy apartment, I'd usually cower in my bathroom until the storm would pass.

I was sitting on the kitchen counter, far away from the window by the sink. I was usually calm this time, like something supernatural was comforting me. As I sat, another crack of lightning illuminated the room, revealing a silhouette in the doorway.

I let out a yell, luckily muffled by a boom of thunder. The silhouette steps out of the dark, revealing Jongho watching me with a puzzled expression.

"You scared me!" I snap.

"Why are you awake?" He asks, his voice rough from sleep. He steps a little closer, I notice he glances at the window briefly before moving away from it. "I went to check on you-" He shuts his mouth quickly.

"What?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. Did he go into my room?

He stays silent, avoiding eye contact. He sighs, hopping up onto the counter beside me, not looking at me as I just stare at him dumbfounded. This is probably the longest we'd stayed in a room alone together.

He glances at my wrist, his eyes scanning over the healing area. "Does it hurt?" He asks softly, looking at me.

I glance at him before looking down at the cup in my hands. "Not anymore," I answer. The bruise had died down after a few days, I kept it uncovered on purpose so I could rub it in Seonghwa's face a little.

He refused to look at me, not even in passing. Wooyoung and Hongjoong had tried to speak to me, but I'd ignored them. That's what they get for doing nothing. Wooyoung had gotten pouty once he realised I was ignoring him, whining whenever I'd walk away from him if he wanted to talk about his day. Hongjoong seemed to not care, his infuriating grin visible even in my peripherals.

I missed Seonghwa a little, which was strange considering what he had done. Maybe I missed the idea he had fatuated for me.

"Y/N?" Jongho calls out softly, causing me to snap out of my thoughts. "I am sorry... About all this."

"Why are you apologising?" It wasn't his fault, I was the one who agreed to do this, I wasn't forced.

"We should have warned you about things." He says, staring down at his feet that dangled. I took a moment to take in his attire. Rarely did I see them in something as basic as a shirt and sweatpants. Jongho only wore a baggy shirt and grey sweatpants in that moment, a look I could have never imagined on him up until this point.

"I knew I was getting into something shady." I say, "So don't feel bad for me."

Jongho hums softly, glancing at me briefly. "Why are you up so late?" He asks, looking me in the eye for the very first time. His eyes were so calm. Something about them made me want to fall into them and never return to this world.

"I'm scared of thunder." I say, causing him to raise his eyebrow. "You better not laugh." I huff.

"No, it's fine." He chuckles. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't like lightning."

I stiffle a snort. Big, gruff and scary Jongho is scared of lightning? Who would have guessed.

"I'm not laughing at you!" He complains, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Is there a reason?" I ask, placing my cup down on the counter.

"I suppose." He says, face dropping. "Does your fear of thunder have a reason?" I nod in answer.

The night I left, my father chased me up the stairs in rage. I never thought he'd actually cared that much about my presence to be so angry that I had made it into the Society. I managed to lock myself in my room, but the banging on my door went on for hours. The profanities, the promise of my death, every possible name or slur under the sun was thrown at me that night. I managed to pack a bag and sneak out of my bedroom window, not even bothering with goodbyes.

My mother never came to help. No one did. My sister was too weak at that time to plead with him, and as far as I knew, Chalita was dead. I had no one.

I told Jongho the part about my father, I'd never told anyone about it before. But something about the boy next to me made me want to open up to him, to tell him everything.

He listened, his eyes never leaving my face as I talked for what felt like hours.

"I'm sorry." He says softly, hesitating for my hand before pulling away. "No child should ever go through something like that."

I nod in agreement. I'd come to terms with my shit childhood long ago, like most children of abuse do at a certain age. Though it sticks, you grow from it and vow to never repeat those actions again.

"What about you?" I ask suddenly.

"Me?"

"Why're you scared of lightning?" I ask.

Jongho looks around the kitchen for a moment before speaking. "When I was little, my house caught on fire. Electrical wire in my dads workshop caught on fire while I was at school. My younger brother decided to stay home that day too." He explains.

"I wasn't even there... Yet, for some reason, whenever I see lightning or wires just laying around, I get scared." I nod in understanding, and unlike him, I don't hesitate to take his hand. He looks at me, somewhat shocked before squeezing slightly.

"How old were you?" I ask.

"11." He answers. "I didn't grow up in this life. My families riches was nothing compared to this." He says, gesturing around, referring to the house in general.

"How did you get here then?" I ask.

"Yeosang found me." He says, looking towards the centre island. "I was working as a bouncer for a bar back in college and dealing with these two guys tryna get in without ID. Guess he liked me." He chuckles. I smile at his story. "By the time he convinced me to meet Hongjoong, everyone was almost here. Well, except Wooyoung." He states. "Wooyoung was the last to join."

I listen intently, picking up the small crumbs that I could about these men.

"They aren't that bad." He says, noticing my analysing. "They just... We all have our issues."

"Issues that involve threatening me?" I say, giving him a deadpanned look.

"Well, that was a bit much, I agree." He says with a sigh, looking down sheepishly.

"I just want to be accepted properly." I say, hopping off of the counter to stand in front of him. "I want to know you guys, I don't want to be an outcast or some woman that will one day give Hongjoong an heir." He flinches at my last sentence. I guess they didn't know that I knew of their true intentions.

Asami had laid it out for me during the brunch. I could respect her bluntness in all honesty.

"I don't want to be just an incubator."

"You're more than that." He blurts out. "Mingi can see it. I can see it." He hops down from the counter also, standing in front of me. "Look, I don't want to make excuses for them because what Seonghwa did was wrong." He says, gently tilting my chin up to look at him. "But that doesn't mean that they aren't trying."

"Well... They're not trying very hard." I grumble, causing him to chuckle. A rumble of thunder, which makes me jump in surprise, gripping Jongho's forarms tightly.

"Come on." He says, taking my hand and tugging me along. I follow mindlessly, as he leads me back towards the stairs and to my bedroom.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep." He offers, closing my door behind us. I head to my bed, not hesitating to jump onto the soft sheets. He comes to sit beside me, his feet still firmly on the floor as I sit up to look at him.

"You don't have to." I say softly, but he doesn't get up, only shifting a little closer.

"I want to." He whispers. "I know I don't talk much." He starts, his breath fanning across my face. "But I think you are one of the prettiest women I have ever laid eyes on."

In an instant, I feel his lips on mine, his tongue running across my lower lip seeking entry. I grant it, much to my own surprise, humming softly as he gently moves me to lay down against the soft cushions.

A heat stirs inside me as he pulls away, his hard gaze boaring down at me so intensely my skin felt on fire. I pull him down again, tangling my fingers in his hair, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. He grinds his hips down on mine, desperately seeking friction as his hands scrunch up the sheets around my head.

"Do you want this?" He whispers, his lips hovering close to my ear.

"Yes." I say, voice could barely be heard over the thundering of rain outside. But, he heard me. His lips moved to my jaw, then to my neck, then finally his fingers unbuttoned the first button of my pyjama top to reveal my collarbone and top of my cleavage. He left soft bites and sloppy kisses there. My hand stayed behind his head as he went, my fingers tugging on his hair lightly with every little nibble he punctured into my skin.

He looked up at me through hooded eyes before moving down, his hands spreading my thighs further apart to make space for him before his hands found the waistband of my shorts. A flicker of question flashed into his eyes, darkening once more when I nodded.

He pulls my shorts and panties down together, throwing them towards the end of the bed before lifting my thighs to rest on his shoulders. I could feel his breath, cold against the searing heat of my core.

I laid my head back, waiting for contact with bated breath. He moved his head forward, pressing his tongue flat against my clit to test the waters. When my body jolts, he moves to my core, groaning at the taste before beginning to devour me like it's his last meal.

The storm outside is forgotten. All I can feel is the way Jongho explores and brings me pleasure I have never felt before with only his tongue. I look down, my eyes meeting his as he watches my every reaction, my bodies movements, and facial expressions with every flick of his tongue. He reaches a thumb up to gently circle my clit, causing me to let out a soft gasp.

My moans are soft and high pitched, only stirring him in more as he presses his face impossibly closer, practically smothering himself with my slick.

I can feel my orgasm approaching, the cord in my stomach tightening as I neared the edge. I knew he could tell, the way his thumb moved faster over my clit, bringing me closer and closer as if coaxing me towards release.

I felt something snap, letting out a soft cry as the pleasure washed over me. He helped me through it, not pulling away until my body fell limp and my breathing steadied. He slowly moves back up my body, pressing a gentle kiss to my forhead before laying down beside me.

"What about you?" I ask softly, my voice hoarse.

"I'll be fine." He answers, his strong arm pulling me closer. "You can return the favour another day."

Feeling watched wasn't an odd thing. It had started since the first time I noticed Aurora's portrait, and I found a comfort in it.

The presence didn't feel hostile, despite the lack of affection from the men I lived with, making this odd prison feel a little warmer.

I heard a call of my name on the breeze as it flowed through the winding halls of the estate. It was as if it was beckoning me towards Hongjoongs office, one of two places I was forbidden to go. I knew if he'd found out I went in there, Seonghwas threat would become reality. However, that didn't deter me.

I waited until I was home alone, which was normally between 7am and 5pm on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, giving me plenty of time to snoop. I had no idea what I was looking for in hindsight, but someone wanted me in there. Or something.

Hongjoongs office was a mess. Books staked to great heights and pushed away into corners of the room, his desk covered with so many papers I could only get a glimpse of the desks surface.

I move around the office, careful not to trip on anything as I look at a specific bookshelf full of folders. The folders had names written on the side, all members of high society. I stopped briefly when I saw my own name, the dust on the shelf indicating it had been recently taken down and put back. I looked for others with similar dust patterns. Kim Namjoon, YangYang Liu, Lalisa Manoban. I paused when I saw it, my breath hitching and heart stopping briefly; Chalita L/N. My sister.

Hongjoong had a file on my sister? The one I pursumed dead over 10 years ago. Why?

I take the file, staring down at the cover for a moment before opening it. There were photos from our childhood, of her, myself, and our youngest sister, all smiles without a care in the world. She was 7 years older and was a firecracker, to say the least. I missed her.

I heard the front door open and close downstairs, making the hairs on my arms stand up. Did one of them come home? I glance around, noticing Hongjoongs laptop still sitting on his desk. Shit. I stood my ground despite the fear coursing through my veins. He knew something about my sister, I had to know what.

When his office door swung open, he stood there in shock. For once, I had him by surprise, and it had me thrilled.

"What are you doing here?" Hongjoong snaps, his eyes turning into a glare.

"What do you know about her?" I ask, ignoring his question and holding up the file. "What do you know about my sister?"

"Put it back. You shouldn't be in here." He snaps, stepping closer, but I raise the file in defence.

"Don't tou dare tell me what to do when you've done nothing but lie to my face!" I yell, causing him to step back.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He says gently, holding his hands up.

"Cut the act." I scowl, causing his face to relax into a teasing grin.

"You're picking up fast, Princess." He chuckles, stepping closer and gripping the file and ripping it from my hands. He walks towards the window, gazing down at the cover.

"Chalita is a topic of interest right now." He says simply. He glances at me for a moment, studying me. "So it's true you thought she was dead?"

"How did you-?"

"I know a lot of things." Hongjoong says. "Everyone my men come in contact with, everyone you know, everyone that you will know, I know them all." He says, walking to stand in front of me again.

"How did you know I thought she was dead?" I ask.

"Your father did that. Told everyone that she was years ago." He explains. "Said he found her mutilated, like a victim of The Cobra." He says, noticing the flicker of familiarity in my gaze.

"But she's alive?" I ask.

"Yes." He answers simply, sliding the file back into its place. "Now, should I tell Seonghwa you snuck into my office?"

I scoff. "Do it, when he comes raging, I'll already be out the door." I say, turning on my heel before he stops me, taking my wrist gently.

"He is sorry." Hongjoong says, but I don't turn around.

"It's not an apology if it comes from someone else." I say, ripping my hand away and walking out into the hallway. I stop for a moment. "Maybe you and the others should take notes from Mingi and Jongho. Or have they not told you of our time together?" I ask, turning to see his puzzled expression.

"What?"

"I see they left details out." I laugh, turning once again and heading back towards my room with a skip in my step, knowing full well Hongjoong is watching my every move.

By 8pm I was hiding away in my room once again. I hoped Mingi or Jongho would join me, my stomach feeling giddy at the feeling.

When I heard someone knock on the door, a smile spread across my face. I jumped up and shuffled hastily to the door, only for my smile to drop when I realised that it was neither.

Seonghwa stood there, one hand behind his back and the other reaching out to stop the door from slamming shut in his face. It backfired, his fingers getting wedged roughly in the door causing him to let out a grunt of pain. I swing the door open again in shock, staring at his fingers and then at him.

"Guess that makes us even." He jokes through gritted teeth, cradling his hand against his chest. That's when I noticed it, a box clutched tightly in the hand that was hidden. "Can we talk?"

I blink for a moment, processing his words before foolishly stepping aside. He enters slowly, making his way to my bed and sitting down on the end. I stay standing, opting to sit on the loveseat by the window.

"I'm sorry." He says, breaking the awkward tension. "I shouldn't have reacted that way."

"Yea, you shouldn't have." I say, crossing my arms. He huffs softly, a smile spreading across his face.

"I promise I'll do better to keep my anger in check. I did not mean to hurt you. Understand that." He says, moving now to kneel on both knees in front of me. "You were right with what you said with Jongho. You don't deserve to be just a woman to us when you've accepted us so kindly and without much complaint." He says, flattening my palm and placing the box in my hand.

"What is this?" I ask.

"A peace offering." He says, gesturing for me to open it. I do, shocked by what I find inside.

It's a ring, but not an engagement ring. It was an exact replica of the one each of them had on their finger. Signifying their bond to each other, that they were a family. This ring would mean they were recognising me as one of them. How good did Jongho talk me up?

"Seonghwa.."

"You don't have to accept it right away." He says. "Just- Know that we're trying."

My gaze softens as I look at the ring. The details are so much clearer now, every dent and engraving.

"I know." I whisper, looking up at him. "And I'm trying to."

taglist

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@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingisglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland @joonhasjiminsjams @atzlordz @lightwxodd

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theplotmage · 7 months ago

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50 Supernatural Entities to Haunt Your Halloween Night for Paranormal Fantasy Writers:

1. Vampire

Description: Blood-drinking creatures of the night.

What They Do: Feed on the blood of the living, sometimes charming their victims first.

Appearance: Pale skin, sharp fangs, often dressed in dark, old-fashioned clothing.

2. Werewolf

Description: Human by day, wolf-like beast by full moon.

What They Do: Transform into violent wolves and hunt at night.

Appearance: Muscular, covered in fur, with fangs and claws; halfway between wolf and human.

3. Ghost

Description: Spirit of a deceased person.

What They Do: Haunt places they have ties to, usually in a restless state.

Appearance: Translucent, often resembling the person they were in life.

4. Banshee

Description: A female spirit who forewarns of death.

What They Do: Wails loudly to signal someone’s impending death.

Appearance: Gaunt, with long hair and wearing white or gray robes.

5. Poltergeist

Description: Mischievous, noisy spirit.

What They Do: Throws objects, slams doors, and causes disturbances.

Appearance: Invisible but known for chaotic energy and moving objects.

6. Revenant

Description: Corpse risen from the grave for vengeance.

What They Do: Seeks revenge on those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Decayed and skeletal, with tattered clothing.

7. Wendigo

Description: Cursed, cannibalistic spirit.

What They Do: Feeds on human flesh and spreads madness.

Appearance: Tall, emaciated with antlers and pale, cold skin.

8. Zombie

Description: Reanimated corpse, often mindless.

What They Do: Wander in search of living flesh to consume.

Appearance: Rotting, decayed, with vacant eyes.

9. Ghoul

Description: Creature that feeds on the dead.

What They Do: Raids cemeteries, feasting on corpses.

Appearance: Grayish, decayed, with sharp claws and teeth.

10. Shadow Person

Description: Mysterious dark figure, often seen in peripheral vision.

What They Do: Follows or observes humans, inducing fear.

Appearance: Tall, dark silhouette without detailed features.

11. Lich

Description: Undead sorcerer who achieved immortality.

What They Do: Uses dark magic to control other undead beings.

Appearance: Skeletal, with tattered robes and glowing eyes.

12. Mummy

Description: Reanimated, embalmed corpse from ancient tombs.

What They Do: Seeks vengeance or protects their treasures.

Appearance: Wrapped in bandages, often missing pieces.

13. Grim Reaper

Description: Personification of death.

What They Do: Collects souls of the deceased.

Appearance: Hooded figure in a black robe, carrying a scythe.

14. Succubus

Description: Female demon that seduces men.

What They Do: Drains life energy through intimate encounters.

Appearance: Attractive, sometimes with bat wings and horns.

15. Incubus

Description: Male counterpart to the succubus.

What They Do: Preys on women, draining their life force.

Appearance: Handsome, often with dark or demonic features.

16. Dullahan

Description: Headless horseman from Irish mythology.

What They Do: Rides a black horse, heralding death.

Appearance: Carries their own head, glowing eyes, wearing dark armor.

17. Necromancer

Description: Sorcerer who commands the dead.

What They Do: Raises and controls undead creatures.

Appearance: Dark robes, carrying a staff or book of spells.

18. Hellhound

Description: Fiery, demonic dog from hell.

What They Do: Guards the underworld, hunts souls.

Appearance: Large black dog with glowing red eyes and flames.

19. Draugr

Description: Undead Norse warrior.

What They Do: Guards treasure and attacks intruders.

Appearance: Bloated, decaying corpse with armor.

20. Chupacabra

Description: Beast that preys on livestock.

What They Do: Drains blood from animals, mainly goats.

Appearance: Reptilian, with spines and sharp teeth.

21. Djinn

Description: Ancient spirit capable of granting wishes, often with a trick.

What They Do: Manipulates wishes to harm the wish-maker.

Appearance: Wispy, ethereal, with sometimes human features.

22. Yurei

Description: Vengeful spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Haunts those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Pale, disheveled, with long, dark hair.

23. Headless Horseman

Description: Decapitated rider seeking revenge.

What They Do: Rides at night, often hunting for a head.

Appearance: Headless, in dark clothing, riding a black horse.

24. Gorgon

Description: Snake-haired monster that can turn people to stone.

What They Do: Hunts or curses those who look upon her.

Appearance: Female, with snakes for hair and a terrifying visage.

25. Kraken

Description: Giant sea monster, often attacking ships.

What They Do: Destroys ships, drags sailors underwater.

Appearance: Gigantic, tentacled beast resembling an octopus.

26. Nosferatu

Description: An older, monstrous version of a vampire.

What They Do: Preys on blood, more feral than elegant vampires.

Appearance: Rat-like features, bald, with elongated claws.

27. Shtriga

Description: Witch from Albanian folklore that preys on children.

What They Do: Sucks life energy from young children.

Appearance: Elderly, shriveled, with a long, pointed nose.

28. Jiangshi

Description: Chinese hopping vampire.

What They Do: Drains life force, hopping instead of walking.

Appearance: Rigid, dressed in ancient attire with a pale face.

29. Aswang

Description: Filipino shapeshifting creature.

What They Do: Hunts humans, especially at night.

Appearance: Changes from human to monstrous form with long tongue.

30. Noppera-bo

Description: Japanese faceless ghost.

What They Do: Terrifies people by erasing their face.

Appearance: Normal human but with a blank face.

31. Kitsune

Description: Fox spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Plays tricks on humans, can possess or enchant.

Appearance: Fox with multiple tails or as a human with fox traits.

32. Rakshasa

Description: Demonic being from Hindu mythology.

What They Do: Devours humans, uses magic to deceive.

Appearance: Animal-like face, often with fangs and claws.

33. Wraith

Description: Malevolent spirit tied to a place of death.

What They Do: Harms those who enter their territory.

Appearance: Shadowy, with skeletal hands and a hooded cloak.

34. Ghast

Description: Larger, more terrifying version of a ghoul.

What They Do: Consumes living and dead flesh.

Appearance: Grayish, skeletal, with sharp teeth.

35. Kappa

Description: Water demon from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Drowns humans and feeds on them.

Appearance: Humanoid with a beak, webbed hands, and water-filled head.

36. Selkie

Description: Mythical seal creature that transforms into human form.

What They Do: Lives as human on land, as a seal in water.

Appearance: Human with soft features, seal-like in water.

37. Manananggal

Description: Filipino monster that detaches its torso to fly.

What They Do: Feeds on unborn children and blood.

Appearance: Upper body separates and grows wings at night.

38. Gashadokuro

Description: Giant skeletal monster from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Crushes and devours people.

Appearance: Enormous, skeletal, with fiery eyes.

39. Pontianak

Description: Vengeful female spirit from Malaysian folklore.

What They Do: Attacks men, especially those who wronged her in life.

Appearance: Beautiful, but transforms into a blood-stained, terrifying figure with long nails.

40. Strigoi

Description: Undead creature from Romanian folklore, precursor to modern vampires.

What They Do: Rises from the grave to feed on blood or energy.

Appearance: Gaunt, pale, with sharp teeth, sometimes bearing claw-like nails.

41. Demon

Description: Evil entity from various mythologies.

What They Do: Possesses or torments humans, spreading chaos.

Appearance: Often with horns, red skin, and menacing features, sometimes invisible.

42. La Llorona

Description: “The Weeping Woman” from Mexican folklore.

What They Do: Wanders near bodies of water, crying for her lost children.

Appearance: Pale, drenched in white, with a sorrowful, ghostly presence.

43. Kelpie

Description: Shape-shifting water spirit from Scottish folklore.

What They Do: Lures people, usually children, into water to drown them.

Appearance: Often a beautiful horse, but can appear as human.

44. Dybbuk

Description: Malevolent spirit from Jewish folklore.

What They Do: Possesses living people, usually to fulfill unfinished business.

Appearance: Invisible, but exerts dark energy around the possessed.

45. Hag

Description: Wicked, old woman often associated with witchcraft.

What They Do: Casts curses, manipulates people, sometimes feeds on fear.

Appearance: Elderly, with wrinkled skin, often carrying magical trinkets.

46. Mare

Description: Spirit that causes nightmares.

What They Do: Sits on the chests of sleeping people, creating disturbing dreams.

Appearance: Shadowy, mist-like figure, sometimes with a vague human shape.

47. Fenrir

Description: Gigantic, mythical wolf from Norse mythology.

What They Do: Destined to bring about Ragnarok, devouring gods.

Appearance: Massive, fierce wolf with powerful jaws.

48. Tengu

Description: Supernatural creatures from Japanese folklore, part bird and part human.

What They Do: Mischievous or malevolent; protect forests and mountains.

Appearance: Humanoid with bird wings, red face, and often a long nose.

49. Doppelganger

Description: An exact double or duplicate of a living person.

What They Do: Appears to forewarn misfortune or even bring harm.

Appearance: Identical to a specific person, but with an eerie, lifeless presence.

50. Nightmare Horse

Description: Fiery, demonic horse that haunts dreams and the night.

What They Do: Gallops through night skies, bringing fear to those who see it.

Appearance: Black horse with glowing red eyes and flaming mane and hooves.

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

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Illusions of the Mind

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Psychological Manipulation, Mind Games, Power Dynamics, Angst, Emotional Intensity, Angst with Happy Ending, Dark Themes, Supernatural Abilities, Manipulation, Mental Health Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Mind Control, Disturbing Imagery, Possible Mind Breaking or Distress, Anxiety/Stress-Inducing Situations, Heavy Psychological Themes, Violence, Emotional Manipulation.

Tagslist: @azrieeeeeee, @themiddletenmasibling

The quiet hum of the Astral Express was the only sound that filled the room, the flicker of the halo behind Sunday’s head casting soft shadows on the walls. You had seen him many times before, calm and composed, yet there was always something deeper in his eyes—an unspoken weight. You weren’t sure what had drawn you to him, but it was in his demeanor, the way his wings fluttered when he thought no one was looking, or the subtle shifts in his halo when emotions gripped him.

You knew he was haunted, though not by demons or monsters. His own mind was a battlefield, torn between idealism and harsh reality.

Tonight, as you walked into his quarters, you didn’t say a word. You only met his gaze, offering silent understanding. His eyes flickered, wary but accepting. You sat by his side, letting the room settle in a comfortable quiet, before you made your move.

Your power was subtle but potent. You could tap into a person’s mind with nothing but a glance, weaving through their memories, pulling them to the surface like threads in an old tapestry. Sunday’s eyes, always so watchful, widened slightly as your gaze met his.

He wanted to speak, to push back, but your influence was too strong. You didn’t show him the horrors of his past, nor the weight of the lives he had touched with his decisions. Instead, you brought him to a place of peace, a dreamscape where he could feel the gentle flutter of doves—Charmony’s doves—symbols of a time when hope seemed endless. You gave him a moment of reprieve, where the guilt, the survivor’s trauma, and the weight of his leadership faded into the background.

It was only a brief escape, but in that moment, Sunday allowed himself to relax, to simply feel without judgment.

When he woke, his wings were still, his gaze soft. “Thank you,” he whispered, though his voice trembled. You knew it wasn’t just for the dream you had given him. It was for the moment of peace. The one he seldom allowed himself to have.

Aventurine was a man of endless games—an expert in manipulation, a strategist by nature. He’d never met anyone who could match him in a battle of wits, at least, that was his belief. But then you appeared, and the game shifted.

The first time you locked eyes with him, there was no hesitation. He smiled, the glint in his eyes as sharp as ever, yet there was something deeper behind that smile—a flicker of uncertainty. You knew what that meant.

“You think you’re clever,” you said, your voice a calm contrast to the whirlwind of schemes swirling around him. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And you think you know me,” he replied, his tone playful, but you could feel the weight of his words, the tension beneath them. “What are you really here for, if not to play the game?”

You didn’t answer him directly. Instead, you looked into his eyes again, and in a moment, you delved deep. His mind was a labyrinth, a maze of secrets, lies, and hidden fears.

The visions you sent his way weren’t violent or gruesome, but they were far more unsettling. You showed him a life where his manipulations didn’t work, where his risks had failed, where the games he played left him alone—his family gone, his allies shattered, his empire crumbling. You didn’t just show him loss. You showed him irrelevance.

He flinched, the mask slipping just for a second. But before he could stop himself, the fear you planted dug deeper, leaving him silent and contemplative.

But that wasn’t where it ended. You could have left him in that broken place, but you didn’t. Instead, you extended a lifeline. You offered him a vision of success, where the stakes were higher, but so was the reward. A life of power, yes, but one where his bonds were forged from something deeper than manipulation—genuine connection.

When he awoke from the trance, Aventurine was eerily quiet. His smile had returned, but it was different. “Impressive,” he said, his tone no longer just playful but tinged with respect. "Perhaps... I underestimated you."

Dan Heng was always the quiet one—stoic, distant, the kind of person who preferred the weight of silence over the burden of words. He wore his burdens with quiet dignity, but there was something in his posture, a stiffness in his gaze, that told you there was more lurking beneath the surface.

You had seen his nightmares before. His calm exterior was just a mask, and when the lights were dimmed, when the crew was asleep, you knew his mind was a battlefield of its own. His past, his fears, the things he carried—his guilt and the relentless pursuit of a figure from his past.

Tonight, you walked quietly into the room where he sat, his back to you, looking out the window into the endless stars. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply made eye contact, and his body tensed.

In his mind, you saw it all—his self-imposed exile, the regret of a past he couldn’t escape. But more than that, you saw the terror—the terror of being discovered. Of being hunted. Of being seen for who he truly was.

You could have pushed him further into that fear. Could have shown him his deepest nightmare—the faceless figure pursuing him with relentless hatred. But you didn’t. Instead, you made him see something else. A future where the past was no longer a shadow. A future where he was not defined by his mistakes but by the choices he made moving forward.

When he opened his eyes, you saw the moment of relief pass through him. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there. For once, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy. “I... I don’t need to run anymore,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You gave him peace, for just a moment. And that was enough.

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tsukkiyummers · 1 month ago

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Kim Soleum is a Fucking Poser

kse is a coward, but only for the omniscient readers, he is very multifaceted if you look at him in other peoples point of view. although he has a great belief that he is a coward and even inwardly shows that trait this can't be perceived by others (which is why he looks like a very cold calculating and efficient worker for such a mind-fucking company) i still heavily believe that he isn't coward.

first off, he is actually genuinely efficient even though this boils down to his 'cowardness'. as someone who is constantly thrown in ghost stories, he racks his brain to clear everything as soon as he could. next, he is also literally calculating. as someone with real intel about the SCP-like universe, he utilizes his knowledge best to not jeopardize his mental state... but then the most interesting part of his character shows up when this cowardly traits clash with his morality.

kse, a cowardly person who has values and morals almost does everything he can, when civilians are involved, to save EVERYONE possible. no matter if it's a shit-inducing situation, he can swallow up his fear and face everything head on. i think one of the most enjoyable things in this novel is even if the premise of the novel is in the guise of a coward person being in scary situations, he is actually very brave. it is only funny as a reader and very engaging because he does everything he can to minimize his interaction with the supernatural, but these actions consequently makes it seem that he is a phenomenal person for other characters.

all in all, he is very likeable and yes he is also a fucking poser. he's a bundle of nerves but he's actually very brave!!!!

#괴담에 떨어져도 출근을 해야 하는구나 #괴담출근 #Kim Soleum #Kim Soreum #GDCG

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doctorbitchcrxft · 8 months ago

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Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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the-mortuary-witch · 2 months ago

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MELINOË

WHO IS SHE?

Melinoë is a chthonic goddess represented as a bringer of nightmares and madness. She has characteristics that seem similar to Hecate and the Erinyes, and Melinoë's name is sometimes thought to be an epithet of Hecate. The name "Melinoë" also appears on a metal tablet in association with.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: Melinöe is often depicted as a half black and half white shadowy, ghost-like figure, often with the ability to shape-shift and take on various forms. She is said to be able to haunt the living and cause them to experience disturbing dreams and visions, making her a powerful figure in the realm of the supernatural.

Personality: her personality with her devotees is likely to be intense, intimidating and mysterious. She is often depicted as a fearsome and powerful deity who strikes fear into the hearts of mortals, but also as a protector and guide for those who seek her aid. With her devotees, Melinoë is likely to be protective and supportive, guiding them through difficult times and offering strength and resilience. She is also reputed to be a guide in the realm of dreams and nightmares, offering insight and revelation to those who seek her guidance.

Symbols: skulls/bones, the moon, ghosts, rivers, graveyards, and howling dogs

Goddess of: ghosts, spirits, madness, and nightmares

Culture: Greek

Plants: wormwood, mugwort, absinthe, nutmeg cypress, nightshade, wormwood, poppy, birch, and lilies

Crystals: moonstone, obsidian, selenite, tourmaline, bloodstone, and clear quartz

Animals: butterflies, ravens, bats, crows, snakes, owls, and dogs

Incense: opium, myrrh, patchouli, dragon's blood, black blossom, frankincense, and sandalwood

Practices: death witchcraft, shadow work, necromancy, lunar magick, and spirit work

Colours: black and white

Numbers: N/A

Zodiacs: N/A

Tarot: The Moon, Death, The High Priestess, and The Hanged Man

Planet: Moon

Days: Monday and Samhain

Parents: Hades and Persephone

Siblings: Makaria and Zagreus

Partner: N/A

Children: N/A

MISC:

Spirits: Melinoë is often associated with ghosts or spirits because she is the goddess of nightmares and the dead. She is often depicted as a frightening and unearthly presence, capable of inducing terror and dread in those who encounter her. In some myths, she is said to have power over the souls of the dead and is sometimes depicted as a psychopomp, guiding souls to the underworld. Additionally, the name "Melinoë" is often translated as "black-veiled," suggesting a connection to the shadows and the world of the dead.

Nightmares: she is the daughter of the god of the Underworld, Hades, and the goddess Persephone. She is associated with nightmares because in some stories, she was born at night during a full moon and was believed to bring bad dreams and nightmares to those who encountered her. In ancient Greece, dreams and nightmares were seen as messages from the gods and were often interpreted as warnings or omens. As the daughter of Hades, who was feared as the ruler of the Underworld, Melinoë was often seen as a bringer of nightmares and terrifying dreams.

The Underworld: Melinoë, as the daughter of Hades, was closely associated with the Underworld, as she was born there and grew up in its dark, dismal surroundings. Additionally, as the daughter of Hades, she was sometimes believed to have magical or supernatural powers related to the Underworld and its inhabitants, such as the ability to bring about nightmares or to control the spirits of the dead.

Hecate: in some stories, Hecate is depicted as a mentor or guide to Melinoë, offering her guidance and advice as she navigates the dark and mysterious realm of the Underworld. Additionally, Hecate is often depicted as a powerful and dangerous figure in her own right, with the ability to bring forth spirits, cast spells, and control the forces of nature. As such, her association with Melinoë, who is also a powerful and otherworldly figure, makes sense in the context of Greek mythology.

Butterflies: her associations with butterflies stem from the idea that butterflies are symbolic of transformation and resurrection, due to their metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly. As the daughter of two gods associated with the Underworld and the cycle of life and death, Melinoë was often depicted as a deity of rebirth and transformation. Additionally, butterflies are also sometimes associated with dreams and sleep, which are also themes associated with Melinoë in some stories.

The moon: according to some versions of her birth story, Melinoë was born at night during a full moon, and her emergence into the world was accompanied by the light of the moon. Additionally, the moon is often associated with mystery, magic, and the supernatural, which are all themes that are closely linked with Melinoë and her role as a deity of the Underworld and the night.

FACTS ABOUT MELINOË:

She is sometimes confused with Hecate, the Titan goddess.

Melinoë can see, talk to, and guide ghosts and spirits.

According to a hymn about her, Melinoë brings night terrors to mortals by manifesting in strange forms, and can drive mortals insane.

She wanders the earth at night with a train of ghosts that scare anyone in their path.

Little is known about Melinöe, but ancient Greeks used to conduct rituals and acts of praises to her as a sign of devotion and to garner protection from ghosts.

She wanders the earth at night with a train of ghosts that scared anyone in their path.

Melinoë grants madness to those she haunts.

She's a very kind goddess. She can be firm and demanding like Hecate and Hades, but like Persephone, she's very understanding and kind and will help you grow.

Her connections to Hecate and Hermes suggest that she exercised her power in the realm of the soul's passage, and in that function may be compared to the torchbearer Eubuleus in the mysteries.

She is also sometimes confused with Angelos, the god of purification.

Melinoë lives in the Underworld with her parents.

She is described mainly as a chthonic deity, but more so represents duality of the heavens and the Underworld, dark and light, and death and life.

HOW TO INVOKE MELINOË:

Since she’s considered a minor goddess, how the Greeks would have worshipped and honoured her is unknown. She’s only mentioned in the Orphic Hymn as an ode to her domain and power, and acknowledgment of her being a goddess. She would have been prayed to as a protector of nightmares, and an incitor of them.

In modern times, she can be worshipped much the same; as a protector of nightmares and help with facing one’s fears. She would be an especially important goddess to call upon when doing any kind of shadow work. It also believed that she becomes queen of the Underworld while Persephone is on earth during the spring and summer seasons. This is not confirmed in her ancient worship though.

PRAYER FOR MELINOË:

I call upon Melinoe, saffron-cloaked

nymph of the earth, who revered

Persephone bore by the mouth of the

Kokytos river upon the sacred bed of

Kronian Zeus. In the guise of Plouton

Zeus and tricked Persephone and

through wiley plots bedded her; a

two-bodied specter sprang forth from

Persephone’s fury. This specter drives mortals to madness with her airy apparitions as she appears in weird shapes and strange forms, now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness—all this in unnerving attacks in the gloom of night.

O goddess, O queen of those below, I

beseech you to banish the soul’s frenzy

to the ends of the earth, show to the

initiates a kindly and holy face. I hail to you, Lady Melinoë.

SIGNS THAT MELINOË IS CALLING YOU:

Recurrent dreams or nightmares related to the supernatural or the Underworld.

A growing sense of connection to the night and the dark.

Strong presence of butterflies or other animals associated with transformation and rebirth in your life.

A sense of being drawn to the Underworld or the world of spirits.

Sudden feeling of transformation or a desire to break free from old patterns or beliefs.

Strange or mysterious occurrences that seem to have a supernatural origin.

Feeling drawn to the colours black and white, which are often associated with her.

Having a fascination with magic, witchcraft, or the supernatural.

Experiencing feelings of transformation or growth in conjunction with lunar cycles or the changing of the seasons.

A growing sense of comfort and ease in the dark.

A desire for deeper self-reflection or inner work in the form of shadow work or dreams.

OFFERINGS:

Black and white candles.

Food and drinks: onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, wine, honey, baked goods, water, olive oil, pomegranate seeds, milk, and black & white items/food (like oreos).

Animals skulls or bones (collected humanely).

Dead butterflies (that died naturally, DO NOT kill them).

Crow or raven feathers.

Dark crystals.

Graveyard dirt (collected respectfully).

Moon water.

Images or drawings of her associated animals or ghost figurines.

Dried or dead flowers (especially poppies and funerary flowers).

Oil lamps.

Incense: opium, myrrh, patchouli, dragon's blood, black blossom, frankincense, and sandalwood.

Fire.

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

Honour the goddess’s family members of the Underworld.

Facing your fears.

Visit cemeteries.

Pay repeats to loved ones who have passed on.

Honour the ancient heroes.

Read poetry.

Celebrating Halloween/Samhain.

Wear black and white colours.

Doing spirit work and shadow work.

Pour libations/give offerings to the goddess, the other Underworld deities, and The Souls of the Dead on Hecate’s Deipnon.

Take walks at night.

Pray/meditate in the dark.

Collect dark crystals.

Leave flowers at empty graves.

Connecting with your ancestors.

Respecting nocturnal animals.

Honouring the other chthonic deities.

Taking baths in candle light and have candle lit dinners.

Respect earthbound spirits.

Adopt black cats.

Clean up local graveyards and cemeteries (with respect).

Donate to bat rescues/sanctuaries.

Light black and white candles.

Watching supernatural horror movies/tv shows.

Read ghost stories/research hauntings.

Grave rubbings.

Embrace the darker parts of yourself.

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five-and-dimes · 1 year ago

Text

Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness.

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment.

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands.

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced.

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest.

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power.

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly.

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer.

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.”

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”.

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though.

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth.

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor.

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality.

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans.

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring.

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away.

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more.

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.)

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?”

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage.

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him.

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble.

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again.

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #werewolf/vampire au #planning on drawing some of these guys soon :3

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supremeuppityone · 2 months ago

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This was written for Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek; Week 4 [April 20-April 26, 2025] – Science fiction. Klaus has been trying to save the world. A lot. Unfortunately, there’s only so much he can do before someone inevitably foils his plans.

“...when they ask us what we're doing, you can say, ‘We're remembering.’ That's where we'll win out in the long run.” ― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Endings

The World Ends #19

The world changed once Silas destroyed the veil separating the world from the other side. Nightmare creatures roamed familiar streets, destroyed landmarks, and gutted civilization. Caroline loathed to admit it, but she never would’ve made it this far without Klaus. He’d swooped into to Mystic Falls looking every inch the sadistic boogeyman that the supernatural world used to fear before they learned that the existence of the Originals was the least of their problems. And he’d saved her.

Wearing some sort of talisman that glowed the same eerie gold as his hybrid gaze, Klaus managed to rip her from Silas’ grasp right before he staked her. They’d been on the run ever since. The Originals’ fortress in Faroe Islands hadn’t survived the first wave of monster attacks. And their Tibetan underground bunker went just as fast.

The series of caves deep in the Peruvian Andes had been their home now for...actually, Caroline wasn’t entirely sure. Calendars no longer mattered when you realized there were demons from the deep that could blot out the sun with one claw.

The sound of pebbles scattering near the southernmost cave’s entrance startled her enough to grip the knife she’d been using to filleted the trout just a bit tighter, vampire senses on high alert as she scanned the area for threats. Finding none, she shrugged and marveled again at how fish guts no longer made her squeamish. There were worse things to feel underneath your nails. She’d already drained what little blood there had been, planning to incorporate it into a bastardized version of ceviche that Klaus had taught her.

The cascading sound of pebbles falling had returned, and this time it was more deliberate. Something was toying with her.

It had been years since she’d last heard Silas’ voice, but her entire body froze when that vicious, silken venom violated the syllables of her name. “There you are, Caroline.”

Just as Silas’ ragged nails punched into her chest cavity, she looked beyond his oily smile to see Klaus stumble into the mouth of the cave, his hoarse cries somehow more painful than her flesh ripping apart. As her vision went black, she thought she saw a flash of brilliant light surround Klaus as he swore to her, “This is not the end.”

_____________________________________

The World Ends #71

She should’ve been afraid. It was the first time she’d openly defied her friends and instead came up with her own plan. Instead, Caroline felt powerful as she wielded the carved white oak stake she’d deftly stolen from Mikael when he was battling Katherine and both Salvatores. And her plan worked. The uncharacteristic shock on Klaus’ face as he coughed around the powdered white oak she’d thrown at him was unsettling to witness. No, she told herself fiercely, she was glad he was afraid.

Klaus had come to Mystic Falls and terrorized everyone, murdering and threatening as he went about his weird secret agendas that seemed to alternate between finding a way to destroy Mikael, but also trying to locate the burial site of this ancient witch that was somehow linked to a tribe of vampire hunters. It all seemed overly complicated and her inner project manager cringed every time she saw Klaus screw up basic fundamentals of organization.

Finally, he stopped struggling as his limbs stiffened from the powdered white oak-induced temporary paralysis. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but the stake in Caroline’s hand certainly was.

“You did it,” he rasped, sounding weirdly proud of her.

Raising the stake over her head, she snarled, “You should’ve never come here and hurt the people I love.”

“I didn’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you,” Klaus told her, gray eyes so heartbreakingly sincere her hands started to shake as she gripped the stake tight. “I made a mistake, but next time will be the right one. I can fix all of this.”

No. This was a trap. He was trying to trick her and she’d be damned before she’d let him escape. But why did she have to keep reminding herself that he deserved to die? When the white oak stake pierced Klaus’ chest, one of the necklaces tangled at his throat began to glow, enveloping them in a bright light.

_____________________________________

The World Ends #132

They were doing research. Well, in between kisses they were doing research. Hot, passionate little moments that made Caroline feel like Klaus was branding every moment they spent together into his brain. It was incredibly flattering — and overwhelming to realize that this centuries’-old creature was deeply, ridiculously devoted to her — a shallow cheerleader from a barely-noted-in-GPS small town.

He’d arrived in town the same week as the shady Salvatore brothers, but unlike them, Klaus told her all about the supernatural world that apparently had been drawn to this place for years as a mystical whatsit spiritual energy thingy. She still wasn’t sure why he’d sought her out or why she’d instantly felt a connection to him, but she shuddered to think about all the terrible things that could’ve happened to her had she not been forewarned about the creepy Salvatores and all the other monsters out there.

She carefully turned another yellowed page from the antique grimoire she was studying, leaning over to ruffle Klaus’ curls fondly. Impishly tangling her nails with the collection of necklaces at his throat, she playfully nibbled his lips. He let out a contented purr like a cat, making her giggle. Klaus still swore he was a monster, but Caroline knew better — no “monster” would dedicate his life to destroying a bigger monster. And Silas sounded like the worst of monsters.

She didn’t have all the backstory yet — Klaus could be maddeningly overprotective that way — but his insistence that Silas be killed before he escaped his tomb and blew up the world seemed like a cause Caroline should support.

“This is how you spend your time now? Flirting with some tart barely out of nappies, brother?”

She didn’t know Klaus and Elijah had a sister. Caroline noted how Klaus seemed frozen in his chair, the carved mahogany creaking under the strain of his body gripping the armrests. She took a moment to study their intruder, letting out a small gasp at the tattered remains of what appeared to be a really expensive, vintage ‘20s-inspired dress. Not to mention the giant bloodstain that spread out over the woman’s heart. What the hell was going on?

Klaus sounded resigned, but there was a slight edge of panic there that had Caroline glancing around for a weapon just in case. “Elijah found you. Tell me, sister, did the hapless human he compelled to undagger you also serve as your breakfast?”

Green eyes glittered maliciously as they studied Caroline. “And I see you’ve become the champion for humans. Does your little strumpet know that you heartlessly plan on draining her childhood friend to break your curse?”

Caroline stood up so fast her chair screeched across the hardwood floor in protest while her heart pounded in her chest. Staring at the blatant panic that Klaus now wore, she demanded, “Elena or Bonnie?”

The woman cackled in pleasure, clapping her hands together as the delicate beads and fringe danced along her curves. “So, she‘s friends with both the doppelgänger AND a Bennett witch — no wonder you keep her around.”

A slight twitch of his strong jawline was the only warning they received before Klaus flashed across the library and pinned his sister against a bookcase by her throat. He spoke in his native tongue that Caroline only knew a few words of (something about betrayal and death), but his tone told her everything she needed to know — his sister was telling her at least a partial truth.

Klaus couldn’t be trusted.

Sick to her stomach, Caroline raced as far away as her legs would carry her, overhearing his sister shout, “That was for Stefan!”

Stefan Salvatore? Klaus had killed both Salvatores practically upon meeting them, telling Caroline that they were bad vampires hell-bent on ripping apart her town and everyone in it. And like an idiot, she’d believed him. She choked back a sob. Had the Salvatores been good vampires all along?

And what about this curse Klaus’ sister mentioned? Was he really just using her to sacrifice Elena? Tears streaming down her face, Caroline clumsily opened her car door and peeled out of Klaus’ driveway. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore, other than the fact that she might’ve been sleeping with the bad guy this whole time.

Making up her mind, she headed toward Bonnie’s house to come up with a plan. If Klaus was actually a bad guy, maybe that meant Silas was a good guy…

#klarolinefanficweek #uppitybitch fanfic #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #klaroline does time loops #week 4 science fiction

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