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gnocchibabie · 5 months ago

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Desire and Blood (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 4.7k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

A/N: You can find the previous chapters on my masterlist!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

!!! This chapter contains dialogue in High Valyrian, which will be designated by bold and italics...enjoy :)

A week had slipped away since Jaenara and her family had settled into King’s Landing. She found herself passing time by discussing plans for the upcoming coronation with her mother or entertaining little Aegon and Viserys. Occasionally, she rode out on dragonback with Baela and Rhaena, savoring the freedom of the skies above. When she was up amongst the clouds, the princess forgot all about what her life had become down below. Sitting atop Aetherion, it was as if nothing else mattered.

Yet above all, Jaenara found herself occupied with a careful dance of avoidance whenever Aemond Targaryen crossed her path. She had escaped several close calls, ducking into unoccupied rooms whenever she saw the prince at the other side of a hallway. Jaenara had often wondered to herself if she could continue to keep up this game of cat and mouse well into their marriage, but the prospect of having to constantly hide from the man who was to be her husband did sadden her. Ever so slightly.

Currently, the princess found herself in the castle gardens walking shoulder to shoulder with Helaena. Jaenara had not had as much alone time with her aunt as she would have liked, and was eager to reconnect with the one member of the Targaryen-Hightowers she could actually stand to be around. Helaena seemed to be pleased with the company, though it was difficult for Jaenara to tell at times. Her aunt had always been a somewhat emotionally distant person, even when they were children.

“My mother tells me that the planning for Rhaenyra’s coronation is almost finished?” Helaena inquires.

Jaenara and Jacaerys had both been closely involved with the planning of their mother’s name day ceremony. The preparations had proven to be stressful, even now plaguing the princess’ mind. Temporary discomfort is a small price to pay for mother to sit the Iron Throne - Jaenara had told herself. Though, she could not say she felt the same way about the looming, permanent discomfort she would soon find herself in…

Rhaenyra had even tried to include Aegon in the ceremony planning as well. An offering for the position he had given up for his older sister. Though he had seemed less than interested, opting to disappear for hours at a time instead. Even now, Jaenara wondered where her uncle often took off to, leaving her sweet aunt and their children alone. She questioned if she would be condemned to such a fate as well - Aemond fluttering about doing gods know what while she was left to care for their babes alone. The princess decides it is best not to mull over such depressing possibilities that she may soon enough find herself in.

“Yes, her name day will be here before we know it - just a short week away. Though I find myself anxious about the festivities.” Jaenara finally responds.

“I understand,” Helena breathes, “I am not one for crowds either.”

“Well then we must stick together until the whole ordeal is over.” Jaenara reassures her aunt. And herself.

“I would gladly,” Helaena giggles, “Though when your wedding day arrives, my brother will stand at your side, not I."

Jaenara sighed - another formality she had been dreading heavily. She’d venture to guess that the moment her mother’s name day passes, planning for the wedding will begin immediately. The princess knew that her scarcity of interactions with Aemond would not last for much longer. Not if either of their mothers could help it.

Jaenara felt she had little to discuss with her betrothed. What else was there to say?

Helaena came to a halt, bending down to pick up a large, green beetle. Jaenara winced - she had never been one for bugs, save for the pretty butterflies she had often chased with her aunt in their youth. She watched as the beetle began to travel up Helaena’s arm. Jaenara found that Helaena looked serene, her blonde-white hair picked up by the breeze and a content smile on her lips. The princess decides to take advantage of the peaceful moment to ask her aunt a troubled question.

“What is it like? Being married, that is.” Jaenara’s face grows serious.

Helaena removes the beetle from her forearm with a gentle touch and places it on a leaf below.

“It doesn’t really feel like anything,” She says, though her aunt does not sound particularly bothered by the dreary thought, “Aegon does not pay me much mind. Save for the times we have…done our duty.”

Jaenara clears her throat awkwardly.

“So, I suppose it is not so bad. I am free to do as I please. As he is. Though I think Aemond will make a better lover.” Helaena finishes. Jaenara looks at her aunt as if she has three heads and scoffs. She looks back at the princess with a coy look on her face.

“What a terrifying thought.” Jaenara sounds defeated as the two women resume their walk. A calm silence passes over them once again, as does the gentle breeze.

Helaena looks as though someone is speaking to her and finds herself gazing up at the sky for a moment - and then to her niece.

She smiles, as if the clouds have told her a secret.

— — —

On the far side of the Red Keep, The One Eyed Prince begins to lay the groundwork of his plan to put his soon-to-be wife on the Iron Throne. Aemond has decided he must get in the good graces of his family - especially Jacaerys - if he is to carry out familicide without raising any suspicion that he had a hand in it. Something easier said than done, Aemond knows. Any amount of decency he could afford the heir and his brother would be met with scrutiny. A few kind words will not undo years of victimization dealt on both sides.

Aemond clenches his jaw as he searches for his nephews throughout the grounds of the Red Keep. Locating them had proven to be challenging, though not as much as finding their sister. Aemond knew that Jaenara had been purposefully avoiding him. One evening, he had even caught sight of her ducking into her mother’s chambers when he had turned a corner, entering the same hallway as her. Her elusion frustrated the prince. If he could not speak to the princess and build up a rapport with her, then she would assuredly be the first to point her finger at him when news of Jace’s murder came about.

Just when Aemond is about to give up entirely, he spots Jacaerys and Lucerys in the training yard, wooden swords in hand. Aemond lurks back for a moment, watching them practice their drills. Their moves are quick and calculated, proving that his nephews had become even more skilled fighters during their time away from the Red Keep. Though their moves had a certain unrefined quality to them. Aemond finally moves from his spot, drawing nearer to the princes. Lucerys spots him first and mumbles a curse under his breath, as hid older brother turns to meet Aemond’s eyes. Aemond smirks at the boys, and he can tell it takes all of Jace’s strength not to throw down his play sword and saunter off.

The prince stands tall over his nephews, to hide the uneasiness he feels about approaching them. He’s pulled his long, sleek hair into a bun. His own sword, a practice blade worn smooth from countless hours of swinging, hung loose at his side

The air is tense around the group and a short silence hangs over them. Clanking of wood and metal and grunts fills the yard as the princes all stare at each other.

Aemond finally clears his throat and breaks the quiet.

"You're both too cautious," he remarks in a voice that carries authority but also a hint of patience. "Don't overthink your strikes. Let them flow naturally. It's about instinct as much as it is about technique."

Jacaerys narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You must think of us as fools, uncle. Why would we listen to you? You do not practice the habit of fighting honorably - Luke and I’ve both seen that.”

And what would you know about fighting honorably? Aemond remarks to himself.

Where is the honor in gouging out a boy’s eye?

He inhales a deep breath to calm his rising frustration.

Lucerys, ever the more reserved of the two, held his ground but watched Aemond with a cautious curiosity.

Aemond knows he should not make the jest, but before he can stop himself, the words fall from his smug mouth.

“Fools? No - I only see two Strong boys before me.”

Both of the brother’s harden their gaze. This time, Jacaerys does take off, with Luke trailing behind.

Fuck.

“But!” Aemond is quick to add to his lecture, desperate to keep the boys where they are, “Honor in battle is not always as straightforward as the songs would have it. There are times when survival demands unconventional measures.”

“And how,” Jace has stopped and turned to face his uncle once more, “would you know anything of a real battle?”

“You forget I train with Ser Criston Cole.” “You forget we trained with Daemon Targaryen.”

Aemond chooses to bite back another remark about how - despite training with one of the realm’s most formidable soldiers, the brother’s still lacked the necessary knowledge and skills.

Instead, he walks back towards their place in the yard and motions for the Velaryons to follow him. Jace stares at him a moment, lets out an exaggerated huff and mutters, “Come on, Luke.��

At their return, Aemond demonstrates a quick feint, his movements precise. “You’re signaling your intent with your movements, Jacaerys. And Lucerys, you hesitate before every strike. Be bold, but calculated. Like this," he continued, demonstrating a fluid series of strikes and blocks. Luke, with a touch of reservation, takes up a fighting stance in front of his older brother.

Aemond nodded approvingly. "Let's try it again. And this time, don't hold back."

For the remainder of the afternoon, Aemond guided them through drills and techniques, offering pointers in between bouts. Slowly, the initial wariness between the boys and the Targaryen prince faded, replaced by a grudging respect for his skill and knowledge.

When the sun had begun to dip into the horizon, the three young heirs sheathed their swords. Aemond found a rare smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. He did not find any joy in the times he sparred with Aegon, which had been few and far between lately. His brother had no real interest in learning and bettering his skills. And Criston Cole was becoming predictable - through no fault of his own. Aemond simply had no one else to spar with that was anywhere near his level. He found unexpected fulfillment in teaching his nephews.

Jace finally deposits his wooden sword with the others in the training yard, Luke following suit.

With a huff and an expression that makes the prince seem physically pained he tells his uncle, “Well. That was rather…I did not think I’d ever see the day where you would give us any kind of genuine advice. Nevertheless, I am…grateful for your counsel uncle.”

“Yes. Thank you, Aemond.” Lucerys adds curtly.

Aemond gives them a nod as acknowledgment.

Naive fools.

With that, Jace and Luke begin their journey back into the Red Keep. Aemond watches the boys stride away side by side. He almost resigns himself to turning in for the day, when a thought suddenly enters his mind.

“Do you know where I might find your sister?” He calls after them.

Jace remains silent continuing his walk. Aemond rolls his eyes.

She has sworn them to secrecy.

Lucerys seems to take some sort of pity on his uncle after their shared afternoon - much to the dismay of Jace, “I think she spoke of spending time in the gardens…” the younger brother’s sentence trails off when he sees the look Jacaerys gives him.

Aemond nods gratefully, though no one sees it, and sets off towards the gardens, his mind already racing. He knew spending time with Jaenara was another crucial part of his plan he needed to begin sowing the seeds for. As much as she may detest it.

The believed that if he could convincingly pretend to be infatuated with his niece, to the extent that she truly believed his feelings were genuine, it might help divert suspicion away from him regarding her brother’s eventual murder. She may even come to defend him, when the time comes. Though this would prove to be a challenge.

“You can expect a union that does not harbor any illusions of love” Aemond’s own words from her first evening back at King’s Landing echoed in his mind.

Aemond lets out a frustrated groan and picks up his pace.

When he reaches the gardens, Aemond finds Jaenara and his sister seated on a weathered stone bench in deep discourse, while their ladies-in-waiting linger nearby, amusing themselves.

The distant laughter of the two maidens surprises Aemond and stirs a hint of a smile on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time his sister had laughed so freely. It was then, he realized, he had never heard Jaenara genuinely laugh. Everything she let out in his presence was nothing more that a scoff or dry laugh. This, he thought, was a nice change of pace. Happiness suited her.

I should leave them. Aemond’s resolve falters for a moment, and he pivots for a swift and silent retreat. Yet, his sister catches sight of him before he can vanish.

"Aemond!" Helaena's voice rings out, compelling him to sigh and reluctantly turn back to face them.

Helaena's eyes glint with mischief as she waves a hand, beckoning him over. Meanwhile, the fleeting smile on Jaenara's face vanishes, replaced by an indifferent gaze.

"Aemond," his sister greets again, her tone laced with curiosity. "Where have you been?"

"Just sparring with your brothers," Aemond replies, his gaze drifting towards Jaenara.

The surprise in Jaenara's eyes is evident and impossible to conceal.

"With Jace and Luke?" she questions, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You seem…unscathed. I trust the same can be said for my brothers?"

"It was just a training session - nothing if not civil. I only meant to give them a bit of advice," Aemond responds, a smirk playing upon his lips.

Helaena suddenly springs to her feet. "I don’t believe you two have had many opportunities to speak as of late. I will leave you to catch up" she suggests, a faraway look on her face. "I must attend to the children." Her lady-in-waiting follows closely behind as she departs.

Jaenara starts to rise, offering to assist, but Helaena insists she stay. Aemond can't help but conceal his amusement at Jaenara’s desperate state.

The princess exhales sharply and resumes her promenade through the gardens, without so much as a glance over her shoulder at Aemond. With a huff, he follows behind her, as her lady-in-waiting mirrors.

The prince wishes he could dismiss the attendant, wishing for a moment alone with Jaenara to speak without restraint.

He thinks of another solution.

Aemond peers down at his niece and lets High Valyrian fall freely from his lips.

“You have been avoiding me.”

Jaenara does not remove her eyes from the path in front of her.

“You have not sought me out.” She retorts, her tone cool and collected. Aemond lights up. He had not expected his niece to be fluent in their mother tongue, and hearing her voice enunciate the ancient words caused something unknown inside of him to stir.

“I am now,” he replies evenly, “ And I have to say, I had not expected you to be so fluent in Valyrian. Not even my brother speaks it so well. That idiot can barely piece together a single sentence.”

Jaenara laughs, “I am a Targaryen. Every Targaryen should speak their language. Understand their history.”

Aemond nods, “Something we can agree on, niece. Though I have to say, you speak it better than I thought a-”

“Then a bastard would?” Her words are laced with a bittersweet acknowledgment that catches Aemond off guard. His niece had never spoken the truth of her parentage in front of him - or anyone for that matter. In truth, Aemond found him unsettled from her acquiescence. Though he understood the only reason she dared to acknowledge the truth now, is because no one around them had a clue what she was saying.

“You’re not laughing, uncle. Very unlike you - you who never passes up an opportunity to remind me of my blood.” Jaenara still seemed unfazed, her attention drifting to a cluster of blue irises at their feet. She bends gracefully to touch the silky petals, and Aemond finds himself captivated by the way her dark hair spills like a cascade of black silk over the blossoms. He clears his throat.

“You are to be my…ābrazȳrys (wife). I no longer wish to humiliate you over things out of your control, such as your parentage.” Aemond’s voice is steady and controlled, betraying his inner turmoil over making such remarks.

Jaenara lets out a laugh, though it sounds hollow. Much unlike the laughter she had shared with his sister. Her lady-in-waiting shifts uncomfortably behind them. “Actions speak louder than words, Aemond.” The princess rises from her spot amongst the flowers, turning to face her betrothed.

Aemond is filled with a stubborn determination at hearing her challenge, and takes a few steps towards her - until he can feel his niece’s breath fan over him. He stares down at her, and finds that he enjoys how she does not shrink under his gaze.

“Pār nyke jāhor gaomagon.” - Then I will act.

Jaenara laughs again, but it is quickly put to an end.

“I do not know why you laugh, Jaenara. I am being sincere.” His gaze is hard.

She considers his words for a moment, and turns back to the garden path. The princess returns to the common tongue.

"Come along, it is growing darker," Jaenara says, her voice carrying a hint of finality as she resumes their journey along the garden path. Aemond follows silently, his mind still processing the weight of their conversation. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the estate grounds, while a cool evening breeze stirs the leaves of ancient trees. When the couple finally reach the stone archways and paths of the Red Keep, Aemond speaks up once more.

“You will have breakfast with me. Tomorrow” It is not a question, though his tone remains soft..

“I will?” Jaenara asks, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

“This is me taking action.” He offers her a wry smile.

Jaenara exhales and looks to her handmaiden, who skillfully avoids her gaze. “Fine. I will see you in the morning” She stomps off to her chambers, lady-in-waiting trailing behind. The princess does not get to see the small, honest smile that settles on Aemond’s lips.

— — —

Early the next morning, Jaenara awakes to a polite knock on her chamber door. Alora, her lady-in-waiting, entered cautiously, offering a sheepish greeting. "Good morning, Your Grace."

The princess rubbed her eyes wearily and yawned. "Good morning, Alora. And please, call me Jaenara when it is just us. No need for formality in the privacy of these chambers." she replied with a tired attempt at a smile.

"Oh! Yes, my lady—I mean, Jaenara," Alora stumbled over her words, feeling conflicted over addressing a princess so casually. "Um... Aemond - the prince - sent me to assist you with dressing. He wishes to have breakfast with you?" She sounds uncertain.

Jaenara sighed lightly and pushed herself to her feet. "Very well. Let's not keep him waiting," she said, giving Alora a reassuring glance.

Alora deftly combs out Jaenara's long, ebony hair, swiftly braiding half of it and letting the rest fall down her back. As the princess gradually awakened, she engaged in light conversation with the younger girl, easing her nerves.

With gentle assistance, Alora helped Jaenara into a splendid dress—its upper half a deep shade of black, its lower half a rich crimson. The sleeves were wrought with golden embroidery. Once satisfied with her handiwork, Alora guided Jaenara to the dining room, where Aemond awaited their arrival.

“Thank you, Alora. I think that will be all for now.” The princess smiles at her lady, dismissing her. Jaenara hesitantly pulls out a chair across from Aemond.

“Good morning.” She offers. An honest attempt at niceties.

Aemond hums, sounding pleased. “Good morning.”

It remains quiet for a while, as the two begin to serve themselves and take a few bites of the breakfast that has been prepared. The prince steals glances at his niece, observing how her dark curls frame her face. Watching her spoon her food gracefully. Noting how her dress clings to her.

At last, Aemond ventured to break the quiet. “That dress suits you well.”

The princess pauses her cutting of a sausage. Jaenara had not expected to hear that kind of comment so early in the morning. And no less from Aemond of all people. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What?” She asks, as if offended.

Aemond pauses, mid-bite. “I only meant it as a compliment. The Targaryen colors agree with you.”

Jaenara continues with her meal, deciding that pretending as though she had not heard her uncle was the best course of action.

Why did he say that? Does he mean to mock me?

The prince breaks the silence once more, wanting to change the subject. "I hear your mother's name day preparations have been finalized."

Jaenara swallows a mouthful of food and clears her throat. “Um…yes. I believe so. Everything should be in place by now. The ceremony will be in…five days? I believe.”

"My mother seems unusually eager for the occasion," Aemond remarked. "She and Rhaenyra have been quite chatty lately."

“You’ve noticed too?”

“It is hard not to.” Aemond admitted.

Jaenara shrugs, “True enough. Well, they seem happier anyway.”

Aemond only hums in agreement. “My mother, although…she seems to be even more excited about the wedding than the coronation ceremony.”

Jaenara sputtered on the ale served alongside their meal.

A smug grin spread across the prince's face.

“Oh? Is that so?” She asks as nonchalantly as she can.

“Oh yes,” Aemond sounds amused, “I hear her and Rhaenyra have taken to planning a few things.”

"What!?" Now Jaenara could not hide her surprise. Her outburst drew the attention of nearby servants, and Aemond grinned at her fluttering.

“Um - I only meant. I had not known they were already planning the ceremony.” She finished, dabbing a napkin to the corners of her mouth.

“Well someone has to. We certainly have not spoken about it.” Aemond remarks.

Jaenara almost feels guilty. She searches Aemond’s eyes for any indication of regret or sadness over their lack of time together.

“Well then…what would you like to discuss about it?” The princess makes an attempt to turn to the matter.

Aemond considers the question. “What kind of cake would you like?”

Jaenara lets out a true laugh at that, catching Aemond off guard.

“If I must tell you,” She says while catching her breath, “I am fond of lemon pastries.”

Aemond makes a noise of agreement. He recalls that her mother favors the sweets as well. “Then we shall have them.”

Jaenara looks up from her meal and the couple lock eyes. She stares intently into his, trying to decipher his unreadable expression.

What are you doing, uncle? She is left to wonder. Jaenara feels a crack begin to form in the walls she had put up to keep Aemond out. But the fracture is filled as quickly as it appears when she considers that Aemond is simply playing his part. Putting up a charade. The princess looks at the man before her, and can only seem to remember the cruelties that he has dealt. Her heart hardens.

"Why do you care?" she questioned, her tone accusatory. Despite their heartfelt conversation in the garden the day before, Jaenara only continued in her struggle to believe in her uncle's sincerity.

“Because I want to care.” Aemond is taken aback, though he makes an effort to sound earnest.

The princess scoffs and takes a swig of ale. She rises to her feet.

“I am full.” she declares, signaling an end to the meal and perhaps to their conversation. Jaenara stands and walks the length of the table, drawing near to the door but coming close to Aemond.

That strikes a chord within the prince, “You are about as stubborn as a damn mule,” he mutters under his breath.

The retort is not lost upon the princess’ ears. Jaenara spun around abruptly, facing her uncle where he was currently still seated. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Damn it," Aemond whispered to himself, closing his eyes briefly.

“And here I thought you were being truthful yesterday when you said you no longer meant to belittle me.” She bites.

Some unseen force compelled Aemond onward. He reached out and gently but firmly grasped his niece's wrist.

"I only meant..." He struggled to find the right words. "Gods, you're infuriating."

Jaenara felt a stirring within her at his touch, but she pushed the sensation aside, focusing instead on his words. "I’m infuriating?"

Now, Aemond raises his voice. “Yes! Infuriating. I am making a sincere effort to get to know you, and I am met with nothing but resistance. There is nothing we can do to change the marriage we will soon find ourselves in,” He rises from his chair, hand still gripped around Jaenara, “but I am making a sincere attempt to make it more bearable. For you.”

A part of Aemond understood that his words were primarily to uphold a facade, to maintain the illusion of feigned interest in his niece. Yet another part of him recognized sincerity in his sentiments. He couldn't help but feel pity for Jaenara. This thought had crossed his mind repeatedly—in the quiet of his chambers, in the stillness of the night, and even yesterday as he watched her depart from the estate gardens. She had undoubtedly drawn the short straw amidst their betrothal.

Jaenara Velaryon was being forced to marry Aemond, a scarred and flawed second son by his own reckoning. While Aemond had initially perceived the proposal of marriage to his own bastard niece as an insult, he couldn't deny the faint attraction he harbored towards her— a sentiment he was certain she did not reciprocate.

The princess regarded her uncle with a peculiar mix of curiosity and contemplation, allowing his words to sink in. Jaenara's relationship with her uncle had always been incredibly strained — tense. Yet, as she observed the furrow in his brow and the genuine anguish in his eyes, she sensed a truth in his earnest plea. She reflected on her initial hopes—that they might spend their lives avoiding each other, barely exchanging words. Yet, standing before him now, she reconsidered. If Aemond—of all people—could muster some semblance of kindness, however feigned, Jaenara resolved she could reciprocate. Even if it was nothing but a lie.

For in the convoluted dance of courtly alliances and familial expectations, sometimes even the semblance of civility could hold more weight than honesty in securing fragile peace.

With hesitant resolve, she reached out, gently clasping his hand in hers. Aemond feels goosebumps form on his skin from the additional contact.

"Aemond," she began quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. He makes an effort to memorize how his name sounds on her lips.

Gods be damned, he thought.

"I apologize. I hadn't fully appreciated your efforts. You are right. For this marriage to have any chance of contentment and peace, we must find common ground. We must make an effort to get to know each other."

The princess finished her apology, her words hanging in the air between them. All Aemond could manage in response was a silent nod, fearing that his mouth would betray him if he were to open it.

Jaenara withdrew her hand from his with a slight hesitation. "Well…I should be going. I intend to meet with my mother to discuss our impending wedding. There is much to plan," she added, her voice faltering slightly as she hurried out of the room.

Aemond stood there, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He glanced down at the hand that had briefly held his niece's, flexing his fingers thoughtfully, a mixture of uncertainty and determination swirling within him.

A/N: As you may have noticed, this chapter is structured a little differently! I decided to make these changes for narrative purposes/so everything flows better. Because of this, I will be revising the previous two chapters, so the next chapter may take a little longer to come out (I also have a job interview coming up, so I will be doing a lot more than just brainstorming and writing now T-T) Anyways! As always, thank you for reading :)

Tags: @toodlesxcuddles

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc

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l0v3-qu4rtz · 5 months ago

Text

Cat and Mouse

Summary: you've been chasing Spencer for months and finally caught him.

Pairing: Unsub!Reid x BAU!Reader

Warning: One use of Y/N, mention of serial murder, heavy cursing, weapons and use of them, blood, kissing, small make out session, heavy romantic tension, dark romance, UNSUB REID !!! Proofread with love by me, my best friend, and boyfriend <3

Word Count: 3.7K (holy moly)

A/N: This took a whole month and a half to write. It was mainly just procrastination and my lack of commitment to things. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, it took a lot of work <3

Spencer Reid is a criminal, a serial one at that. The FBI has been investigating him for months but everytime he surprises them and goes completely against the profile. He kills dead-beat fathers who abandoned their families. He thinks they're nothing but pigs who are cowards, abandoning their families when they really need them. He's been able to outsmart the FBI for months but not this time. You were completely obsessed with the Reid case, investigating every piece of evidence to the smallest atom. Hunting him every chance you got, every tip, every body, every city, you were there to try and catch him. Unfortunately, every time you failed but not this time. You were on a case in Columbus, Ohio when the police station received a call about a suspicious man in a motel. The description matching the Spencer Reid, you jumped in excitement and rushed to your Federal car. You instructed the police to park across the road and wait for a signal to come in. You waited in an empty motel next to his room, waiting for any sign of movement. Once you heard footsteps, you quietly snuck out and stopped the door before it shut fully. Your footsteps were soft despite your racing heart beat, you finally saw the curly hair you've been longing to see for what felt like ages.

The sound of your gun cocking and fills the room, the air instantly becoming heavy and tense. He lets out a single chuckle. "Finally, Agent L/N." He says with a smirk, his back still facing you. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna catch me." He teases, he was sort of expecting you.

"Spencer Reid, put your hands where I can see them and turn around" You command before adding, "Slowly." You said slowly, your eyes glued to his every movement with a firm grip on your gun.

He lifts his hands in the air and begins slowly turning towards you, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally make eye contact with the killer you've been engrossed in. He has a wide smirk on his face as he finally gets a good look at you, "Is that any way to greet an old friend ?" He teases as he slowly takes a step towards you, not even remotely threatened by you holding a gun right towards his chest. "I'm actually quite glad you're here, but-" He glances down at your gun and the firm grip you have on it, "we both know that wont do you any good here." He looks back up to make eye contact with you.

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, your whole body tense and your grip only growing tighter on the gun, "Shut up, and don't take another step or I'll shoot !" You threaten, the smirk on his face only growing wider and wider til he becomes a cheshire cat like smile.

He chuckles at your response, amused by your empty threats and tense posture. He takes another step forward as your back hits the wall. "You and I both know you won't shoot me, darling" He mocks you and slowly lets his arms collapse to his sides, "You had so many opportunities and you never seized them." He looks down at you, amused by the height difference. You were like a little puppy to him.

You lunge forward and push the barrel into the bottom of his chin, effectively putting distance between you and him from fully pinning you to the wall. "This time is different." You say, quietly and bitterly.

Spencer pushes and leans forward, his face only inches away from yours. "Oh, is it now ?'' His voice is low and teasing. "you've been saying that for years and look where we are" He chuckles before leaning in closer to your ear "You can't bring yourself to do it. You love this little game we play."

Your gun is pressed firmly against the bottom of his chin as he leans closer, "you're nothing but a big pile of unfinished work." You spit out, your voice is bitter and callous.

Spencer gasps and puts his hand on his chest, fauxing offense. "Oh, how you wound me" He mocks and puts his hands in his pockets, still leaning in. "And here I thought our game actually meant something to you" He chuckles and adds "We both know the truth, princess. You can deny it all you want, but I know you love our game"

You quickly bring your leg up and give him one kick to his stomach, causing him to back up from you. You aim your gun and shoot a warning shot near him on the ground. "The only game i'm interested in playing is the one where you're behind bars" You aim your gun at his head. Your voice matches your face, stern and serious. Spencer's cheshire smile turns into a look of amusual at the sharp boom of your bullets.

He raises an eyebrow and looks around, putting his hand out in mock surrender. "Come on, darling, there's no need for the violence" His voice is dripping with sarcasm as his gaze returns to you. "You can never put me behind bars. All your other attempts have been futile." He laughs bitterly and shoves his hands in his pockets again.

You scoff at his almost narcissistic confidence, "I'll do anything I can to make sure you rot in prison like the piece of trash you are." Your voice radiating venom as you speak, poison dripping out of your lips.

Spencer smiles and laughs at your threat, taking a small step towards you. "Wow ! You've got a fire in you today !" He teases "I always knew you were feisty, but this is a new record" He laughs as his eyes focus from your gun to your face. He smirks at the determined look in your eyes.

You take a side step so you aren't up against the wall anymore. Your gun is still aimed and your grip is still firm. "You're a pig." You throw insults to try and shatter his ego.

He turns his body and smiles at the insult, his demeanor still nonchalant and relaxed. "A pig ? Wow how original, princess." He chuckles darkly, taking small slow strides towards you. "You can call me whatever you want, baby" he pauses and looks down at the floor for a second. "But you can't hide the fact that you're attracted to me." He finally says what's been on his mind the whole time he's known you.

You scrunch your face and shoot off another warning shot, this one blasting right past Spencer's face and grazing his ear. Burning at the flesh of his earlobes, making his crimson red blossom. "You're so full of yourself, classic narcissist" You say and laugh sarcastically as he brings his hand up and lightly touches his bloody earlobe.

His face twitches as the bullet burns his ear. He smiles, assumed by the sudden blood. He rolls his eyes at your comment and continues walking his long lanky legs over to you. His grin widening with each step. "Your confidence is bullshit. You think killing fathers who do wrong makes you so righteous, when in reality you're just as bad as they are." You spit angrily at him.

He raises his eyebrows and laughs darkly. "Oh now you're tryna lecture me on morality ? That's quite rich coming from a federal agent who's been hunting me for months." He retorts and steps even closer "Your hands are just as dirty as mine" he smirks, pulling his hands out and making sarcastic jazz hands.

You flash him a fake smile, "at least I can wash mine by saving people and putting pieces of shit like you in prison." Your voice slowly raises as you continue to spit insults at him. You snarl, scrunching your face in disgust as he leans closer and closer.

He snorts slightly, ”Your typical hero complex” He steps closer, the height difference making him tower over you more and more with every step closer. “Let's be real, here darling. You love chasing me around like a lost little puppy. You don't actually want to see me in prison because that means you lose your favorite game” He mocks you and laughs darkly.

You push your barrel into his chest, your grip tightens as he gets closer and closer. Your breath is shallow and rough. “Self projection, much ?” You respond, your tone sarcastic and disgusted, “Me putting you in prison means I win. It's not your place to get rid of bad people '' Your tone is firm as if you're getting on to a child who did something wrong.

Spencer laughs, amused by the banter filling the lone apartment. “Winning ?” He asks rhetorically “You really think you're going to win ? That you can just lock me up and put me in the past ?” He leans in and smiles, looking deep in your eyes. The gun pushed itself deeper in his chest. “You're forgetting the most important part, lovely. You've been trying to catch me for years and you've failed. What makes you think this time is any different ?” He asks, teasingly.

You gulp and try to calm your nerves by reminding yourself that a whole police squad is outside. “I've never had a gun pointed directly at your heart until now” You threaten.

“Ah yes, the almighty gun” Spencer chuckles at your mention of the gun. “You really think that's gonna stop me ? You can point a thousand guns up to my head and yet-” He raises his arms up, “Id still be alive and well.” He mocks the way your confidence hinges on a single weapon. “You don't have the guts to pull that trigger” He challenges.

“I have twice now, nothing is stopping me from doing it” You say with confidence, referring back to the warning shots.

Spencers entertained by your confidence and laughs. “ Act tough all you want, baby. We both know that deep down in that burning center of yours...” he softly points in between your breasts and laughs at your flinch. “You don't actually want to see me dead, baby. You're addicted to this little game we play” He leans closer to you, his face mere inches away from yours “You're addicted to me” He whispers softly.

You breathe hitches at his closeness. “I hate scumbags like you” You seethe.

Spencer smiles calmly, unphased by your hard head demeanor. “There it is, your usual insults. Ya know that gets tiring after a while, baby” He smiles at the way your ears flush at the contrast of his name calling versus yours. “You're just in denial about your true feelings.”

With one swift swipe, you bring your gun up and pistol whip him. He grunts in pain as the butt of your gun makes contact with his forehead and he stumbles backward. You quickly back up more and aim your gun back at him. Spencer lays his head on the wound, blood trickling down and filling his palm. Even with a gash in his head, he still looks up at you with a mischievous smirk.

“You could've asked nicely if you wanted to hit me, darling” He wipes away the blood and puts his hands in the air again. His cockness and nonchalant behavior only makes you more pissed off.

“The only reason I haven't killed you is because I wanna be able to watch as you age in prison and become a sad shell of a person.” You spit, hoping to crack his pride even just a little bit.

Yet, somehow all your threats only succeed to make him even more cocky. He chuckles for the millionth time. “Ah, of course...” He begins, his tone sprinkles with fondness. “The classic watch your enemy rot in prison tactics.” He takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. “It's not exactly original but i'll give you points for effort” He shrugs as he mocks all your attempts to break his image.

“You're a bitch” You spit through gritted teeth as a weak attempt to break him down as much as you possibly can.

He only laughs at your poor attempt, not in the slightest deterred by your repeated jabs. “Such harsh language, lovely” He takes a step forward, frankly you're amazed how determined he is to get so close to you. After pushing him away countless times, he still yearns to be close to you. You find this slightly enduring but you quickly push that feeling away. “But let me ask you something” He begins, never looking away from your eyes.”Why do you keep pushing your love for me to the side ?” If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed he was hurt.

You scoff slightly, backing away again “I'm not in love with you” You clarify plainly.

Spencer continues to get closer to you, you're like a magnet to him. A drug he has to have on hand at all times. “Oh yea ?” He responds sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at your denial. “Deny, deny, deny it all you want” He says as if it's some matra, or a sick lullaby. “But actions speak louder than words.” He says lowly, his signature smirk falling off his face. His body is now close to yours, he lightly rests his hands on your hips and his fingers hide a spot in your pant belt hoops.``Your body language, your flushed ears, the way your breath hitches as I get close” He reads you like a book before reaching up and tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. “Admit it, You're already mine” He teases softly, his smirk slowly coming back to his face.

You quickly raise your hand to strike him across the face but he blocks it by grabbing your wrist. He shoves it against the wall above your head, grinning. “Ah ah ah, Naughty darling” He softly scolds you. “You need to learn how to play nice” His voice is teasing. He moves his body flush against yours and smiles. “We both know you like this no matter how much you struggle”

You reach your hand that's holding the gun to aim it at the bottom of his chin, but he also grabs that wrist. He slams that wrist against the wall next to you, knocking the gun of your hand. Your heart drops as you hear the gun fall on the carpet floor, leaving you helpless under his grip.

“That's better, lovely” His voice is low and smooth. “Now we can talk without you waving that gun all over me”

You struggle against the grip, your panting and your hair falls in your face. “Let me go !” You grunt.

Spencer chuckles at your feeble attempts, his grip tightening and earring a slight wince. “Don't struggle, lovely” He says, his tone bordering on mocking and reassuring. He pushes his body more against yours, pinning your whole body to the wall. “Relax, I won't hurt you… unless you ask me too” He winks.

Your breathing is labored and shallow. You met his eyes with hate. “Youre sick” You spit lowly.

Spencer continues to be amused by your attempts to defy him. He leans in closer, his face so close to yours. “Look at you. All worked up and out of breath. Your body is betraying your words” He teases as his eyes trail up and down your face. He smiles as he watches your face contorted with anger and stubbornness.

You jerk your neck and spit in his face. Your salvia landing under his left eyes and he narrows his eyes. His confidence mixes with anger but he doesnt let your wrist go, instead his grip tightens and pushes you harder into the wall.You yelp and whimper at the tight grip, sure it'll leave bruises. “You really know how to get under my skin, don't you ?” He growls as you try to push yourself into the wall to get as far as you can away from his touch.

“Let go !” You scream and try your best to wiggle out of his grip.

Spencer simply ignores your cries and pleads. He tightens his grip even further, causing you to wince. You feel your hands go numb as the blood stops circulating. You raise your gaze, your hands and see your hands have gone pale. “Ah ah ah, you're not going anywhere” His voice is smooth and authoritative. “I have you exactly where I want you” He chuckles, leaning close to your ear and his breath grazes your neck “And you're enjoying every second of this, aren't you ?” He teases.

“Fuck you” Your snarl through quick, exhausted breathes. You try to jut your foot and legs out to kick him but he quickly pins them to the wall with his knees. Keeping you completely trapped.

Spencer smirks at your defiant language and coos. “Such dirty profanity coming from those pretty lips of yours''. He pulls away from your ear and looks between your eyes down to your lips. “That hot-headed attitude of yours won't do you any good, and I bet you know that. You know you're all mine, whether you like it or not '' He says, his breath filling your nose with coffee and subtle mint.

“You don't own me” You softly claim, feeling as if your hands have been cut off and it's making you slightly dizzy.

Spencer laughs darkly as he notices how faint you are becoming. “But I do.” He counteracts your claim. “Even your body agrees with me. You're all mine” He smirks and leans closer. His eyes flicker to your lips then back your eyes.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to regain your composure as much as you can. You slam your forehead against his, instantly regretting it as it makes you feel even dizzier. The center of your forehead throbs with pain. He winces but he doesn't let go, much to your disappointment. He grunts, feeling the pang in his forehead then he smirks. “There's my feisty girl, the one that I love. You really know how to keep me on my toes, angel” He presses his body impossibly close to yours, pinning you tightly against the wall.”But you know what they say about playing with fire…” He leans in close to your ear, dropping his voice to a deep whisper “It's only a matter of time before you get burned’

The side of your cheek is pressed against the wall, your head turned to avoid being too close to him. Your breath is quick and shallow, feeling completely defenseless and at the complete mercy of this serial killer who was responsible for the death of several men. You dig your top teeth into the skin just below your bottom lip as your brain searches for any possible way to regain control. “Okay ! Okay..” You begin, your voice is full of defeat as you surrender. “Maybe I like investigating you and chasing you down” You admit, still very angry and annoyed.

Spencer grins at your admission, his pupils filled with mirth. “That's better, angel. It's about time you admit it. You enjoy the chase as much as I do. You love tracking me down and constantly failing.” He chuckles and you turn your head to face him head on. Your brows are furrowed and every muscle of your face is filled with animosity. “But you know what I love most about our game ?” He asks rhetorically “Is the fact that you're just as obsessed with me as I am with you” He leans in closer and his nose lightly brushes against yours.

“You're a creep” You insult him softly, almost as if your breath is being pulled out of you as he gets closer and closer to you.

Spencer lets out a small puff of air, amused by your half-assed insult. He can sense the fact that your walls are beginning to crumble and fall. The change in your voice and the way you're out of breath fills him with amusement and a weird sense of hope. “Just give in, darling. Stop fighting it.” His voice is almost pleading and beckoning.

Without a second thought or a second to waste, you suddenly slam your lips onto his with searing passion. He's taken aback but quickly recovers, returning the action with just as much intensity. He finally releases your wrists, leaving a red and slightly purple band in its wake and moves his hands down to your sides. His fingers softly grip the just below your vest. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and you feel the tip of his nose lightly caress your cheek. He feels your heart beating just below your chest just before he pulls away. “I knew you couldn't resist me” He mutters against your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your tongue inside his mouth. He moans at the feeling of your tastebuds against his own. His hands roam your body passionately, then he pulls away. He's slightly out of breath and he looks deep into your eyes with animalistic desire. “You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, love” He admits softly and wickedly.

Your lips stretch into a smile “And you have no idea how long i've waited for this.” You reach into your belt holster and pull out a taser. You push the taser into his abdomen, your finger gripping the button, sending several volts of electricity into his nerves. Spencer groans and his body convulses as he falls to the ground. You pull the collar of your shirt towards your mouth, finally giving the command for the officers to move in. You move down to your knees, placing one on his back. He doesn't struggle as you handcuff him, grunting more than resisting. “You really know how to spoil the moment, darling”

“Glad you think so.” You reply plainly through labored breathing. You secure the cuffs and stand up, watching cops take him away. He takes one last look at you, almost as if he was taking a mental picture of you in your current state. Messy hair, Smudged lipstick, disheveled clothes all make him wanna break free and tear you up. He smirks and lets out a single chuckle.

“This isn't over, love. Not by a long shot”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #i love spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #dr reid #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fic #dark romance #criminal minds fanfic #bau reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months ago

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You are ours - Blacks

Blacks x fem!reader (hostage)

characters : Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, Rhaenys

Warning : hostage (trapped), hurt/comfort, implied possession, emotional, kiss, war, fear, implied death, filth (slightly implied), Targaryen incest, f/f, m/f, no use of y/n

Summary : Held hostage after the Black's escape, the princess of the realm could do nothing but hope for rescue at last, while the color black shrouded her more and more in emotions far beyond hate and love.

info : so now the counterpart to the green ones yes yes i would like to be trapped on both sides but well let's see…i hope you enjoy reading and thanks for the support :)

masterlist

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He was the rough prince he was the ete pirnz of the realm the brother of the king he was feared by all he was unpredictable maybe he was just like his great-great-uncle Maegor. He was the wielder of Darksister and flew on Caraxes the blood worm.

He had always had a right to the throne and even if he had children with his wife, even if he had two daughters with his second wife, in the end he was only the prince regent of the realm, subordinate to his queen and niece Rhaenyra.

But in the end, he still had her, ,,The green sister-in-law was a little mouse at court and couldn't do anything to prevent the rise of this false cunt king," he continued to talk to her as he stood in front of her cell.

He was grateful to his cousin Rhaenys that the queen had brought the widow queen's sister with her on her escape with Meleys, it was one more thing they had in hand against the leeches.

But perhaps it was because the prince had taken a fancy to the sweet mouse since he arrived in King's Landing more than ten years ago that he was amused by her.

She wasn't like her younger sister Alicent she was a wanderer she stood up for herself didn't let herself be manipulated by her father or at least less than the dowager queen and had an opinion. ,,The mouse that will survive the dragon…mice breed quickly and what family doesn't back its own blood?" she replied and rose from the simple bed, exchanging the dress that was once green on her for a black one and leaning lightly against the bars.

She saw the hatred for her, for her sister and nephews and her niece and twins. He hated her and hated all her blood, but above all he realized that the mouse was dancing around his nose, ,,Hiding in plain sight with the prince, what does your father say?" he asked, coming closer to the bars and seeing how she tensed up even though she showed no fear.

In all other cases he was stronger, he was always stronger and he realized this with a grin as her eyes lingered on his violet eyes and his center for a moment too long. The mouse had a fascination for dragons, ,,What would he say if his daughter came home with a bastard child? The star of Oldtown desecrated by me mhhh?" he came closer to her and saw her looking at him uncertainly as the dragon wallowed in her fear.

Daemon grabbed her wrist hastily before she could move into the cell and pulled her back so that he could see her body pressing against the bars, a little unsteadily and yet the fear in her eyes mingled with the daring smile on her lips. ,,Then my nephew the king will kill you-" she began, sure that the green ones would hound her, but his lips were quicker. He wrapped her in a kiss, making her fall silent and his hands held her.

It was one kiss of many they threatened each other keeping her limited position in mind and yet she couldn't help but wear more and more black and red the blood red as perhaps in the lost texts of the books she did give birth to a child but whether it was the dragon's no one knew in the centuries that passed. But who could say what was clear was that she was a prisoner of the black under the control of Daemon Targaryen the Rough Prince.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhaenyra : The Queen of the Blacks the Queen who was the first child of King Viserys was her step niece a woman of power. A queen who should not be lait the green according to her nephew, according to the Widow Queen's sister.

However, it was not in her position to say the contrary, it was completely different since she was taken as a hostage as revenge for the death of Lucerys, she was the bargaining chip in a war that was about to break out. A war that could have been prevented, but things had happened that had led to this.

The queen had chosen a new one in her circle of ladies-in-waiting. The Lady Hightower of Oldtwon the star of the house elder sister of her former friend Alicent.

Maybe it was because she had the look of the living Hightower, maybe it was because she was Alicent's sister or her voice was similar to Alicent's…maybe she was just looking for someone who was like her friend.

But it didn't matter because she had made her her lady in waiting, of course, with guards who were with her so that no attack could be made. But the color of the dress was black with red, the conversations went on about the past and Rhaenyra found herself looking for her former friend's company when she was alone in the evening, ,,You wanted to see me Rhaenyra?" she asked and came into the room and saw the queen standing at the balcony.

One of the Queen's Guard was in the room watching the two of them and was about to kill the star if they lost leverage, but they accepted that. But perhaps she herself liked the position she was in, ,,Stand by me, I want to watch the stars with you," the Targaryen ordered her old friend, who came striding towards her.

It was a position in which she felt like a beautiful thought back then, ,,They are beautiful like you," she replied and saw Rhaenyra's smiling face and the violet eyes on her.

There was a kind of back and forth between them, a teasing and a hatred that lay between them. ,,Flattery will get us no further dear," she reminded the star of Oldtwon before they both looked up at the sky again, looking at the star constellations they had already seen when the three of them sat in the garden or on the balcony and looked up at the sky.

But Rhaenyra was right, she was only here as a prisoner for information, if it went near Daemond she would be tortured but Rhaenyra hoped for other ways, ,,Even if it would be nice to have it like back then," the older one admitted and saw the sad expression on the violet eyes lips that seemed to tremble for a moment and hands that held on to the railing.

Rhaenyra looked away for a moment, seeming to want to gather herself, only to see her hand raised in a wave of her eye and her nostrils turned to panic. With a hasty movement she had her former friend against the railing of the balcony, ,,Is this what you want? Or do you want to hurt me?" asked the queen, pushing her further and letting her go, while the two women saw the tears in each other's eyes. They held each other tightly, seeing the pain, knowing that in the end there was a way out, a war that ended in death.

Before she could slowly break away, Rhaenyra allowed her to do so, leaning her head against hers and stroking the queen's cheek. It was silent tears that they exchanged, they just held each other and she knew that the black thread had been in her heart for years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jacaerys :

Jacaerys : The first prince of the realm to succeed his mother on the throne, the brave young prince with a duty to serve his mother.

A young boy born into a crige who tries to kill him because of his blood but before that he was a young man with a gentle nature who after the death of his brother wants to see an end to the war the sooner the better but whether his decision was right when his family fled King's Landing on his dragon to take his great aunt with him he did not know.

It was a thought, a feeling that he could not otherwise protect his family, a shield that would protect them all, but for them for long? But now after weeks of being on Dragonstone with his family and her still being here made him realize that his decision was wrong.

He had taken his own aunt hostage what prince does that or was he too lost in grief? Questions he couldn't answer and walked helplessly through the castle, his thoughts diminishing as he trained, when he was with his fiancée and her sister it was bearable but as soon as he saw them the feeling of guilt returned.

A feeling that consumed him and he didn't dare to speak out, she on the other hand always had a knowing look in her eyes when she brought the wine to the war table, cleaned the rooms or stood by the cliffs she was a green dragon in a cage of black fabric which was actually her family.

But the least he would do was apologize when his boots echoed in the corridors and he was on his way to the cliffs that pointed towards Driftmark where the dragons flew over their heads and he could call Vermax if he needed his dragon. But in fact she was there as she usually was in her free time he never knew why and the rest of the family and their vassals seemed uninterested.

His hand loosely on the hilt of his sword, his cloak blew gently back and forth with her dress as the winds on the cliffs were always stronger than in the castle where it was like a breeze.

Winds he felt whenever he flew over the castle on Vermax it was one of the few places of peace where he could talk, cry, laugh it was a place he hoped to stay forever. ,,You are always here, dear aunt," he said and saw how she did not turn her gaze away from the sea but a slight smile came to her lips, a sad smile.

He tried to follow her gaze to find out where she was looking until he saw her nod, ,,Two families Jace from here on a good day you can see King's Landing a bit I feel closest to them…but please can I do something for you?" she asked back and turned to him e saw the tears in her eyes she seemed to have weighed another stone of guilt inside him.

He felt his heart beat faster with nervousness as he looked away from her at the sea and breathed shakily, ,,I…I apologize for what I did I thought it would help us…help my mother the queen but now I see it was wrong" he admitted lowering his own gaze and smacking the lump in his throat and wiping away the tears as the memories came back, memories of his brother, of the short happy time until it all went down.

But suddenly he felt her hand on his, a gentle squeeze and a look that told him she didn't blame him, ,,A prince who wants to protect his family is nothing to condemn believe me I don't approve of what my nephew did either and yet I tried not to do the same to you the pain is the same" she reminded him and gave him a moment before pulling him into a brief embrace the sniffling of both of them lost from the winds as they knew they had to forgive and resent everything at the same time in this uncertain time as family and as enemies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhaenys : The queen who never was was a title she had accepted for a long time since her birth, her beloved mother and father had perhaps hoped or wished that she could become queen. She was older, had a dragon and was of the blood of the heir to the throne but she was a woman and a woman would be dropped by the council in the face of her cousin Viserys.

It was hard, the beginnings were truly hard but the longer she watched the game with Viserys the more relieved she became as she realized the dangers and her beloved husband Corlys let her know that even if she was robbed of her throne he was there for her. Until she saw herself in another woman "the queen that was meant to be" a title that belonged to Alicent's elder sister.

A woman younger than Rhaenys and yet a fate that Alicent shared, being queen was a false choice her older sister more fit for the throne than a young woman.

But it had happened and after retreating from the castle they had simply taken her away, not that she was to blame, it was a decision of the Prince Consort and she would follow her Queen.

But now whenever the two crossed paths there was a caution and understanding between them, a "My Lady" and a "My Princess" as a formal and polite form of address, even though they were enemies, they came together again and again, it was a meeting of conversation and curiosity about how to deal with such a title. A title that Rhaenys gave up and a title that she wanted to have.

A fact they both did not deny but with another meeting that evening in Rhaenys' chamber while Corlys was away showed how they fit together. ,,I ask you now as the title of a woman who never received a crown…do you believe your nephew has truly inherited the throne?" came the question as the two women sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, the light making their shadows dance and the amused smiles appear as they took a sip.

The Lady shook her head, ,,I was there when my father proclaimed the title of King…but I think we both know that was not your cousin's wish," she admitted and took a long sip. Everyone in the black party knew that Viserys had appointed his daughter, that he had given his son to a ram but not to the throne.

Rhaenys sat up slightly in the chair and leaned slowly towards the younger woman, ,,I know that, but you deserve the crown, don't you? Being passed over for a queen because of your own younger sister's looks makes you sorry, doesn't it?" she asked and saw exactly how the wariness appeared in her lady's eyes, her gaze lowered for a moment only to want to retreat, which Rhaenys didn't allow.

She had it where she wanted it and knew that even if she never got the crown, any ally in green could be used to put the black on her and create the illusion of a crown.

She knew when their eyes met she saw the determination in the Hightower's eyes she knew there was something between them, always had been, that they would use.the Lady was not a dragon but when Rhaenys placed her hand on the younger one's the fire crackled in the hearth the green seemed as hot as the dragon's blood flowing through the black.

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#hotd #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #rhaenys targaryen #daemon x reader #rhaenyra x reader #jacaerys x reader #rhaenys x reader #house of the dragon #male x female #female x female

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btsmosphere · 6 months ago

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Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 10: Is This Not Control?

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: You're forced to come to terms with the danger – and the beauty – in the way your powers burn.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 4.7k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, swearing, near-injury, arguing, skipping a meal, nightmares containing death (this is brief)

a/n: THIS is the chapter that made me keep going with this fic. I read it back after a looong break, and realised I wanted to finish after reading some of this where our main pair are so.... close... to revealing something. especially Jungkook... what is going through his head?

“You’re getting too good at this!”

The shriek came from Hobi, currently several metres in the air.

Laughing, you let him come down to you, where he landed with ease befitting a villain. You really ought to work on that yourself – which was precisely why you were here. He had asked you to train with him, bringing you the chance to work on something more athletic, and him to add even more danger into his death-defying stunts.

Smirking, you flipped your hair.

“Maybe next time I’ll really try, then you’ll have another think coming,” you goaded.

Grin wide, he scoffed.

“You really are as bad as Kook. He was always insufferable when we did this too!”

“You’ve trained like this with Jungkook?” you asked, “in that case, I don’t know why I’ve been going so easy on you.”

That joyous laugh of his filled the training space, already raring to go again.

“Let’s see what you got then!”

Just like that, he took off, eyes igniting yellow before he was springing from the floor and kicking off a higher block to rejoin the array of obstacles.

“Can’t fly, my ass,” you muttered, turning to take the long way up.

Even if Hobi claimed his power to be purely athletic, you still couldn’t fathom the way he navigated the skies with such ease unless some sort of gravity fuckery was involved. With a leap, you pulled yourself onto a platform, finding him already streaking ahead.

Beginning to run, you aimed your first shot at the same time as you launched over the next gap.

Blue cut through the air, Hobi’s laughter ringing out as it hit the floor he had just been standing on. By now, he was swinging away on suspended ropes.

Spyng another opening, you fired a longer bolt this time, forming a glowing barrier in the air. Kicking his legs up, Hope managed to swing and arc over it. Impressed, you cut off the attack, heart only stopping for a second as he landed hard against a ladder protruding from the wall. Though you had full faith in his abilities, it never got less jarring to see what he could pull off.

The two of you continued like that, a cat-and-mouse around the obstacles. It certainly kept you both on your toes.

As you went, settling into the movements, you took a few more risks. When in the training room, it was fun to test it out. Not to mention, knowing Hobi was this capable also boosted your confidence in having each other’s backs in a real situation.

Exhilarated from the rush of movement, you pushed yourself, sprinting and leaping over gaps and vaulting corners, an equal amount of focus on your electric offensive.

As much as you had joked with Hobi, you couldn’t bring yourself to aim with everything you had. Besides, aiming your shots to only brush the air beside him would improve your accuracy more, if anything.

In true Hope fashion, he stayed constantly ahead of you, practically running loops around the ceiling while you tried to keep up.

He leapt overhead as you pulled yourself onto a platform, making you spin to follow his change in direction. But you could predict the path he would take. Stopping for a moment, you raised your arm, lining it up to graze the soles of his trainers as he leapt towards a series of steps.

Pulling himself out of the way in time, his momentum continued his path while your bolts chased him, blue splashes in his wake.

Grinning, you finally followed him, jumping up a level and letting another shot go at the same time.

But as you landed, your feet slipped with the force, arms instinctively shooting out to correct your balance. The training room floor wobbled too far below you, teetering for a heart-stopping second at the edge.

Safely righted, you turned back to find Hobi.

Your chest tightened, heart seizing once more.

The dazzling, dangerous blue sizzled through the air, not hitting the mark you had intended. Time slowed down as Hope jerked away from it, only to fumble his footing on the next landing, only a thin ledge high on the wall.

His body slammed against it, his arms grappling for the edge he had just slipped from.

Blue collided, scorching the dark wall above him, but you could only watch in petrified terror as he started to fall. It was too fast, while your body was left frozen, powerless as he plummeted.

Somehow, he twisted, trying to kick off the wall on his way down, as you had seen him do so often. His path changed a little, velocity easing as he grasped a rope, but it escaped his fingers, unable to catch on with the speed of his fall.

He reached the floor. Rolled, half-colliding with the base of one of the scaffoldings you had just been racing around.

“Hobi!” you breathed, lungs only just beginning to cooperate.

With the newfound movement returning to you, you unthinkingly stepped off the side of your own platform, shooting blue lightning to the ground to support your descent. It wasn’t a skill you had practised much, and with the way your arms were shaking, you didn’t make it smoothly, but you stumbled onto the ground, just managing not to fall on your face.

You were already tripping over yourself to get to Hobi’s side.

He was sitting up – how, you had no idea. Somehow, you seemed the most stricken of the two as you practically collapsed at his side while he grinned around at you, rubbing his head. Was he hurt?

“Oh my goodness, Hobi, I’m so- I didn’t mean to actually-”

“Hey, don’t worry-” he tried to say, a bit breathless but still smiling. You barely heard him, though, hands quickly coming to his head where he was clutching it.

“Shit, I wasn’t looking, I shouldn’t have shot…”

Your panicked apologies accompanied you kneeling up, trying to get a look at him. Neither of you noticed the figure passing the doorway, stopping as he saw you two knelt together.

“Y/N!”

Hobi succeeded in getting your attention only by catching your wrists, stopping your hands as they fussed over him. Looking up at you, he fixed you with a firmer gaze than you were used to from him. Checking he had your attention, he placed your hands away from him and relaxed.

“I’m fine,” he emphasised, “you think you’re going to knock me down so easily? Imagine, ‘feared villain falls over in training, defeated.’”

Heart still pounding a little too much, you huffed a bewildered laugh.

Dropping your hands entirely, he sat back. You kept them there, some of the frantic energy fizzling from your body.

Grin taking up residence on his face once again, Hope leaned in conspirationally.

“I thought you would be pleased to get the one-up on me,” he teased, “you literally said you weren’t going to go easy.”

Your real challenge had been to aim near enough but not too close, but of course Hoseok didn’t know that. The precision practice you had been going for had failed, you hadn’t won!

Swallowing all that down, you half-heartedly tried to smile. You stayed kneeling opposite him, still too shaken to stand.

“Are you sure your head’s ok?” you asked weakly.

To your surprise, he laughed brightly. But then again, that was a signature Hobi response.

“Yeah, I just hadn’t bargained on a free haircut!”

Bringing his hand up back to the spot you had noticed him grabbing earlier, he pulled on a chunk of his hair, showing it to you. The lock was shorter than the rest of his hair which flopped around his head; it had been chopped off roughly, the ends singed and blackened.

You gaped, staring at it even as he let it fall back among his hair.

“See, it was only my hair, and it needs a chop,” he elbowed you, “no black hole through my heart!”

That certainly wasn’t an image you wanted. Any reminder of how close you had been to hurting your friend was unbearable, the black splotch in his hair bad enough.

You blanched, but didn’t get any further into apologising.

“Looks like she tried hard enough, though.”

Instantly, you tensed at Jungkook’s voice.

Hobi’s grin slipped a little, glancing past you. You, too, turned, finding Jungkook advancing, fists clenched at his sides. He had clearly come from working out: in his gym clothes, hair tied back but falling loose from movement. Except, in place of the animalistic vigour you knew training infused in him, his glare towards you was hard and shut-off.

It scared you more than what you had seen there before. Normally his fury burned, but now it was cold.

“Get away from him,” he ordered.

For once, nothing in you fought to argue. With the heavy weight of your mistake sitting in your stomach, you could only agree, and silently complied.

As you stood, Hobi shot to his feet quicker.

“Kook, leave it. We were training, this shit happens-”

“You were training with her?!” Jungkook exclaimed, “that was bound to end badly.”

“Then it’s my fault!” Hope pressed. He stepped towards Jungkook, but you only shrunk back from the two of them. “I asked her to join me!”

“You weren’t the one who shot you out of the air.”

“That’s hardly what-” Hobi sighed, “Kook, you’re being dense, there’s no problem. I trust Y/N.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” the younger ground back, before turning a glinting eye on you, “maybe you shouldn’t.”

You sucked in a breath at his words, feeling them lodge deep inside you like bullets. But it was your own guilt that dug them in there, the reason they didn’t deflect. He was right.

That didn’t make it sting any less.

Feeling nothing but his gaze fixed on you, you longed to escape it. Run free of the reminders of what you did, what you almost caused, and how that hurt him as well.

And so you did.

At least you kept yourself from breaking into a full sprint. After a charged moment, the tension not allowing you to breathe, you stepped desperately away, rushing for the door.

You paid no mind to Hope’s crestfallen call of your name.

Leaving them behind you, trying not to feel worse at the fact that you couldn’t even stand to face your guilt head-on, you simply blundered your way to your room. You knew some others would be in the kitchen, and didn’t want to alert them, so you forwent slamming your door.

The tension stayed crammed into your arms as you shut the door forcefully, yet painfully slowly. Your hands hovered, shaking, inches away from the wood as you stared at it, breathing heavily.

You breathed in, in, in, gasping like water was rising about your head.

And then, everything spilled out. A tide of air left your lungs, forehead falling forward against the wood, hands dropping despondently to your sides.

Among the whirlwind your life had become, you had focussed so hard on using your powers, building them, trying to prove something. Falling in and out with Jungkook, on top of this – but he had been right all along, hadn’t he? How had you forgotten the real danger this magic brought with it?

You didn’t blame Jungkook for not wanting you around the others. Gone from your mind were all the times you had shared with him and the others, head only filled with his stare. You couldn’t shake him.

That evening, you stayed in your room, not particularly feeling hungry. Or willing to face the others, more like.

You had only winced when Hoseok knocked on your door. Why should he be the one coming to you, after what you had done to him? It should be the other way around.

For tonight, you let yourself be a coward. At least you hoped the boys wouldn’t push; they never wanted to overstep. So you stayed silent, waited after he asked if you were there without giving any response. Waited until his footsteps left again.

Jimin also came past and said goodnight to your closed door, but he didn’t stop long.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and didn’t stay long. You simply seemed to get lost between the darkness in your room and your head. At some point, you thought another set of footsteps came to stop outside your door. But no one spoke.

Somewhere along the way, you must have fallen away from reality, but even then it kept knocking. You had no way of knowing just how deep into the night it was when you startled awake, throwing the tangled covers off you to escape.

You were left alone, panting and staring into the unforgiving shadows. They did nothing to erase your nightmare.

Blue shot from your hands, missing the mark. Hoseok fell, fell, body motionless. You had scrambled back, screaming, at the sight of his bloodied and pale face. The gaping black hole where his heart should have been glared at you.

Blue surrounded you, scorching through your limbs. The stench of burning filled your nostrils as sparks filled the air.

As you writhed on the floor, a row of your friends stood watching on. They didn’t move, frowning down at you. And you couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the power that forced itself from your body, striking them one by one, black burns streaked across their skin.

Last of all, Jungkook fell at your feet.

That had woken you up alright.

Itching to move, you finally decided to give up on sleep and got to your feet, throwing on a warmer sweater. Opening the door cautiously, you found only more darkness welcomed you from the rest of the house.

Still, you knew that with 8 people in one place, meeting someone was not out of the question.

You turned away from the communal kitchen, slipping out quietly towards the staircase which you followed down. On your way, you hugged your arms around you, some ridiculous fear possessing you that your powers could break free, like in your nightmares.

They hadn’t stirred, however, your control well practised. But that didn’t stop the phantom itching, memories of the ugliness your powers held.

The pain they had wrought on you when they first emerged – the pain they must have inflicted on countless others, who had never been as lucky to tell the tale like you. Were they your powers at all, not Bolt’s? But Bolt was a hero. Maybe it was you that made these powers so perilous-

Your feet hit the cool floor of the training hall.

Stilling, you stood and stared across the vast space. Cavernous in its emptiness, it sorely missed the life it usually had when the boys trained, filling it with colour.

Not really having an aim, you slowly walked to one of the adjoining spaces where you felt more apart from the world. Away from your friends. Your limbs moved like you were still sleeping, wrapped up in your head as you were.

You crossed the threshold and sighed. Then you sat, slowly sliding down the wall beside the doorway and curling into it. Retreating.

For a while, you simply breathed in the silence.

You tried to ignore the warring images in your mind. The sudden and unpredictable night when Bolt had changed your life. Back then, this power had been nothing but pain; it had tried to kill you.

But then, you couldn’t help but think of the people who had come to you when you lay alone on a dark road, burning up in Bolt’s wake. The man who the city thought was their hero had sent you off the edge of that building, not saved you. It had been a different group of heroes that came for you.

Mind wrestling with itself, you tried to reconcile the home you had been given, the safety and family that filled it, with this ugly, gnawing worry. Your group were powerful, had nothing to fear as you stood aside from the world.

But what if they should have been looking for a threat within?

You lowered your head to your hands, fingers threading through your hair and stretching, restless from this conflict.

The power that ran through these hands…

How had you grown to love it?

Staring at the floor as this thought struck you, you felt the thoughts grind to a stop. You blinked, relaxed your hands.

With an exhale, you sat straighter, bringing your palms in front of your face.

You had grown to love your power. If you threw your panic aside, you could feel…

Nothing.

No threat, no disobedience, no burn.

These were your powers. You wouldn’t let the thoughts of Bolt chase you away from them. You were in control.

Slowly, you breathed, feeling the flame in your chest ignite like sparks you were blowing to life. In no rush, you let the embers trace their way down your arms, collect in your palms and hover. Blue twined together in the air there. It wasn’t a callous beam of lightning, not aimed at anything, or anyone. Occasionally, a tendril of static would stray from its edges.

Sitting back, finally feeling some tension ease away, you gazed into the light. Neon and shadow swirled together in a globe.

This was what your friends had given you. The ability to control what could be dangerous – could. Instead, they had made it beautiful.

Your mind strayed against your will, thinking of the one person among them who had helped you shape this the most.

“I always knew you were reckless.”

Despite his words, Jungkook’s voice wasn’t harsh. Among the silence, his voice was low, flat rather than accusatory. You hadn’t heard him arrive, but his appearance seemed to come straight from your thoughts, and as such you didn’t even flinch.

You were pulled from your reverie, however.

Blinking at your still swirling orb of blue, it took a moment to catch up with reality before you turned slightly to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at you. His face was lit in pale blue, a light frown thrown into relief by this, the only light among the blackness.

His eyes bore into yours for a moment before he diverted them to the bundle of power you held in your hands, making a foreign lick of blue dance in his irises. The reflection was jarring, and you realised just how used to his warm, golden power you were.

“Reckless?” you repeated.

You saw the moment you took back his attention, his scrutinising eyes returning to you. He stepped into the space, hands buried in his pockets as he walked steadily around you.

“Do you know how much power it takes to kill? A hell of a lot less than you have right there.”

His feet fell evenly, barely audible. It was as if he fell into a short orbit of your globe, focussed intently on its presence where it hovered, its crackling surface and the light it emanated.

Then, he was opposite you, and his eyes flicked upwards. Locked with your own over the fizzing lightning.

“You had a good enough shot at it today.”

The instant his words hit, you bit down on your tongue. But you absorbed their impact, only needing to remind yourself of the energy, harmless in your palm, and the paths your mind had already been down tonight.

“That’s not what this is about,” you spoke softly.

It seemed to startle him, and he considered you for a moment. His keen gaze didn’t waver when he finally decided to press.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not shooting it at you, am I?”

His frown deepened.

“It’s not something that’s there just to look pretty. You- you need to control it.”

“Is this not control?”

He blinked. In the blue light, you saw for the first time complete surprise in his eyes, like such a thought had never crossed his mind. Always, he seemed to be steps ahead of you, but here he was stumped, lost…

Watching his mouth grapple with the ghosts of words, his eyes searching the sphere as if it would give him the answers he could understand, you softened. Instead of preparing to push back at him, you sighed.

And explained.

“It scared me. I don’t want to hurt Hope, of course I don’t. But where will it get me if I fear these… powers?”

You were aware of Jungkook’s eyes intently trained on you, but you let your powers magnetise your gaze. Staring into them, you lost yourself in their depths again.

“This could hurt someone, you’re right. It could kill you – well, maybe not you – but someone, if I wanted right now. But… I don’t. They’re mine. And… they’re beautiful.”

You sighed your last word. Maybe in a more awake state, you would have the presence of mind not to admit this all so readily to Jungkook, of all people. But just speaking the words gave you more confidence in them. You held the light steady.

Meanwhile, Jungkook had drawn closer. He looked down at you with an odd expression, more awkward with the steeper angle now he stopped beside you.

Realising his presence, you snapped away from the hypnotic light, turning to look questioningly at him.

He pressed his lips together, before making a stunted gesture with his arm.

“Can I-”

You stared blankly. A short huff left him, his frustrated gaze tearing away from you before he tried again, fixing you with a glare, as if it was your fault he was desperately embarrassed.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. His question had caught you off-guard, in honesty, though you tried not to show it.

He sat in a hurry, as if it would shake off the previous moment. In his haste, his shoulder brushed your own, and he shifted away a moment later, though the distance was still small enough to feel his warmth.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The ball of light you had formed continued to roil in mid-air, almost proving your earlier words. You were in control, and it made no attempt to break away, to destroy.

Slowly, you lowered your hand, the light dimming with it.

You didn’t dare turn around or make any move nearer to Jungkook, still staring into the semi-darkness. But as your light faded, you caught a motion of his hand. He had turned it over, and flexed his fingers in a jerky way, but as he moved them a couple more times it became almost delicate.

Refusing to turn your head, you kept your eyes on it nonetheless. Jungkook must not have realised you were watching, as he turned his hand over contemplatively a couple of times.

All of a sudden, he seemed to give up, letting it drop. For a moment there, you had expected a warm golden light to join the weak blue that remained of yours. Not about to leave the pair of you in total darkness, you let a cool light simmer from your palms, but they rested on your knees rather than raising to illuminate the space.

It only extended so far as to surround you and Jungkook. A spotlight in the otherwise sleeping house.

You heard Jungkook’s head hit the wall with a soft thud. You heard his breath in, the way it screamed of having something to say. Something he was breathing in the courage for.

But then he breathed out.

While your mind had settled considerably, the reminder of just who you were next to put you on edge again. You would never have envisaged sitting peacefully side by side with Jungkook, yet here you were.

If he was stewing on how to break the silence, however, you were expectant.

Another breath in, followed by a moment where it was held. You did the same, almost tempted enough to turn to him.

The air left him.

“Bolt’s powers aren’t beautiful,” he blurted out. His sharp words landed a blunt blow to the silence.

You let the impact dissipate, breathing in.

“No,” you replied, “they aren’t.”

It was certainly true for you, who had felt their impact. But there was something of that same pain in Jungkook’s voice, the way he spat out the supposed hero’s name.

Beside you, Jungkook shifted.

“How can you say that?”

His words were hard, but you sensed he wasn’t butting his head against you for an argument. It was a genuine question, a lingering curiosity behind his bull-headed disguise.

“Because my powers aren’t Bolt’s,” you said softly, “not anymore. He may be the reason I got them, ours may be the same colour… but they’re in me. That’s got to be as a big a part of it as the lightning itself. The power would be nothing without me, but that’s not true the other way around. I’m more than them.”

“Yeah, well, people don’t see it like that.”

The bitterness in Jungkook’s words surprised you. Brow creasing, you finally looked around at him. He, too, was frowning, but it was directed at the floor, his head bent.

In the meagre light, the slope of his cheeks were washed in your blue, the slant of his slightly downturned lips outlined in shadow.

“Do you?”

At last, his eyes turned to you. A few of his dishevelled strands fell into them, but they still reflected back that blue in their troubled depths.

It took him too long to form an answer, or maybe it just dragged out as you stayed stuck in his gaze.

“Of course not,” he muttered, all in a hurry.

He diverted his eyes, reminding himself of his surroundings, the fact he was staring just as much as you.

But they betrayed him. They darted back to you once, twice.

He dropped his shoulders, before resolutely turning to you once more. Perhaps he had more to say on that strange noncommittal answer? You could only wait as he inhaled again, steeling himself for the words to come.

“…did it hurt?”

What?

You hadn’t expected that.

Nor did you expect the sudden weakness underlying his tone. The kind that made him sound as scared as you had been today, rather than the affront of anger you were used to. The kind you knew you were only hearing because it was the middle of the night, alone.

You searched his gaze, trying to puzzle out his question.

“Did what hurt?” you asked carefully.

His gaze didn’t falter, almost pleading, as if he could dredge the answers just from looking into your eyes.

“Bolt.”

You inhaled shallowly. You hadn’t needed the nightmare to remind you of just how excruciating it had been, your memory could tell you easily enough. That kind of experience couldn’t be forgotten so simply.

“Yes,” you forced out, honest and flat.

In his desperation, Jungkook must have leaned closer. Why he had such a need to drink in your answer was beyond you; he had never brought this up before.

You had no idea what more you could say, and were quickly getting distracted, your mind pushed off track by the inescapable eyes locked on yours. Around them, his face shifted at your words, falling almost imperceptibly. But you were busy drowning, engulfed in the dark irises lit with your own blue light.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving you reeling back to your surroundings, feeling like you had resurfaced, gasping, from a lake.

Refocussing, you breathed deeply, calming the powers. You had felt a small spark leap further from the contained glow in your hand.

Jungkook was hunched over, his elbows on his knees and head bowed once more, thoroughly defending his face from your sight. You had no idea where the tension that wracked his frame had come from.

There was no time granted for you to find out, however. He pushed himself up, only sparing a sideways glance for the blue radiating from your hands, before he stormed away as if he had never come.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it let me know! See you next Sunday💜💜

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Text

I think this is probably the last one for tonight. Or...this morning. It's five A.M. and it would likely be logical for me to go sleep now.

Soooo I got two Fluffy Alphabet requests for Sassy McSwordsman back to back with quite a few intersecting letters, so I just combined them both into one post.

This post, even.

Anyway...Mihawk.

A is for Affirmation (How affirming are they of you and their love for you?)

“Yes, I called you 'darling.' What of it? Shall I call you pest instead?”

Has developed a tendency to address you by pet names without being sarcastic about it, and doesn’t even really seem to notice he’s doing it unless you point it out—in which case he’ll fix you with a wry look and probably an equally wry comment.

The L word really doesn’t come out of Mihawk’s mouth very often. It’s not something he’s ever said very much to anyone, he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. If you say it then he’ll respond accordingly, but otherwise he don’t say it much.

Actions speak far louder than words in his case. He has made it clear that he absolutely will not tolerate anyone or anything threatening or insulting you, that he places your safety and contentment on a pedestal and will do whatever he has to in order to ensure you have both.

When he does say it, you know he means it. He makes sure to look into your eyes, to say it with absolute conviction.

Always says it before you part ways, regardless of how long, or before you fall asleep. Given the dangerous and violent nature of his life in general, he knows full well that any time you part could be the last time. He wants to make sure that if that should come to pass, that “I love you” should be the final words exchanged between you.

C is for Courtship (How would they court you?)

“I wouldn’t venture to waste my time speaking with anyone but the most stunning woman here, my lady.”

Courtship is a game of cat and mouse to Mihawk—once he knows you’re interested, he thoroughly enjoys teasing you with his own intentions, and he’s both patient and confident enough to keep the game going until you’re ready to lose your everloving mind.

He’s fairly subtle about it, but not so subtle as to leave you wondering about whether he’s interested. He’ll make it clear enough that he wants you to himself, but he wants to make sure to leave you wanting, to build the anticipation to a breaking point.

Intense eye contact when you’re speaking, peppered with quick glances up and down your body.

Keeping his voice low and intimate when he speaks to you, maybe as an excuse to lean in a little closer…or a lot closer.

His hand curling beneath your chin to draw you in, close enough to almost meet your lips before drawing back and assuming a more formal tone again—eyes glued to yours the entire time, drawing a great deal of entertainment from your reaction.

Greeting you or parting ways with you by bending down slightly to lift your hand and brush his lips to it.

F is for Family/Family (What happens when they’re around other people you care about?)

“Yes, darling, I’ll behave—so long as they do.”

He’s willing to grin and bear family affairs and friends for your sake, though he very much prefers it being just the two of you.

Perfectly capable of being polite and cordial, though there’s going to be the occasional dry comment here or there simply because sass is his default setting.

But if it’s uncomfortable for you to be around anyone, or if you have any family members or fair-weather friends that happen to be vindictive and/or judgmental, then it might be best to leave him out of it—he absolutely will not put up with anyone insulting you.

You’re his treasure, after all—and he’s one of the strongest men in the world, which makes you, as far as he’s concerned, among the most valuable treasures in the world. No one gets away with doing or saying anything to demean you in front of him.

He has more than enough self-control to not get violent for your sake, but he doesn’t need Yoru to tear someone a new asshole if they do or say anything that he deems offensive. He’s just as quick with words as he is with a blade, and the offending party is going to come out of the exchange with a mortally wounded sense of pride.

I is for I Love You (Who says it first, how long does it take, how does it happen?)

“What do you mean, ‘do I mean it?’ Why would I have said it if I didn’t?”

Him. Absolutely him.

Solitary as he is, it’s a bit awkward for him to say in the first place. He wants to be sure you know, but he doesn’t want to make a huge deal of it. It’s just a simple truth that has to be stated at some point, and he has to be sure he’s the one who says it first.

It might take a while. He won’t say it until he’s absolutely sure of it, but his inclination to be in total control of any and every situation he finds himself in means he’s going to take that initiative himself.

If he so much as senses you intend to say it first, he’s going to cut you off every single time.

It’s also going to come completely out of the blue. Not in the middle of some extravagant gesture, but just in passing; perhaps before you go to bed one night, perhaps as you happen to be leaving the room. He intends to catch you off guard with it, to see if you simply return the sentiment single thought, before it fully registers in your mind what you’ve just said—what he has just said.

The more taken aback you are by the realization, the more amused he’ll be; he was halfway aiming to shock you, and he finds it quite endearing.

K is for Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you/be kissed?)

“…And to whom, little one, do those lips belong?”

Firm and unyielding, deep and intense, grasping you by your arms or your wrists to limit your own movement and claim full control. He wants to steal your breath away every time your lips touch, and damned if he isn’t an expert at it.

He loves to press his lips just below the corner of your jaw to feel your pulse quicken while his hands drift over you.

He’s going to leave bruises, marks across your neck and shoulders that claim you as his, so that no one might dare question who you belong to.

Mihawk would never admit to having any weakness, but if he had to admit to just one, it would be when you brush your lips just next to his ear in between intimate murmurs and whispers—it drives him absolutely feral for you.

N is for Needs (What do they need in a healthy relationship?)

“Come now, dear—do you think I would be here with you if I didn’t honestly want to be?”

Not an awful lot, honestly. As high maintenance as he comes across (and he his high maintenance in nearly every other aspect of his life), he really doesn’t require much from a romantic relationship. Just the basics, really: trust, honesty, and loyalty. The three go hand-in-hand, and he would never have even entertained the idea of a relationship with you if he didn’t trust you, so he isn’t terribly concerned.

His confidence borders on arrogance at the best of times, so reassurance isn’t any issue. He can’t see any reason that you would lie about your feelings, nor does he have any reason to lie about his own. He’s brutally honest to a fault, so there really isn’t any reason for you to mistrust him, either.

While he would prefer for his lover to be just as low-maintenance, he won’t fault you if you aren’t. He has no issue offering you reassurance if you require it—though he may taunt you a bit about needing it in the first place.

Quality time would likely be his primary love language; he can stand some time apart, but he very much prefers having you near. Knowing you’re safe in his arms gives him peace of mind.

O is for Others (How do they react when you’re around other people?)

“Of course I trust you, my little bird—it’s everyone else that presents an issue.”

It strongly depends on the people in question. If he knows that you’re in a social situation you find uncomfortable, he won’t leave your side for any reason, and will use his presence alone to intimidate the opposing party until they leave you be.

If you’re among friends, he’ll take on more of a silent observer role. He’s more than capable of being amicable if directly addressed, but otherwise he’s likely to remain off to the side, quietly watching and listening, taking it as an opportunity to learn more about you.

In a crowd of strangers, particularly if he notices any other men eyeing you, he’ll keep an arm curled protectively around your waist. He isn’t much for public displays of affection, but he wants it to be known that you’re his, and that anyone who thinks they can change that will have to answer to him.

He does his best not to come off as imposing or controlling toward you—but while he trusts you implicitly, he doesn’t extend that courtesy to many other people.

#mihawk #opla #one piece #mihawk opla #mihawk one piece #opla headcanon #one piece headcanon #headcanon #mihawk headcanon #mihawk x reader #fluff

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skrunksthatwunk · 11 months ago

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the new (accidental) majima family mascot

discoveries + settling in

she won't sit still for the camera :(

headcanons + backstory + closeups below cut:

ok SO basically my idea's that nishida's got a niece or something and she can't keep her snake for whatever reason (i.e. moving in with fiance who's terrified of snakes), so he's taking care of her temporarily. and he's telling the other majima construction boys about this while they're on break and majima overhears and is like no way. ya Gotta let me meet the snake. because he's curious y'know.

he keeps trying to get her to like... do tricks or to feed her snacks and stuff. like c'mere girlie here i smuggled ya some crumbs ;) don't tell nishida okay ;)) but she is Not Interested because that doesn't even register as food to her. he's surprised by how cold she is and how content she is to just sit there most of the time but he kinda gets attached and long story short. majima family office pet.

kinda wonder if she'd be taken hostage at some point. feels like a substory plot.

anyway she's a corn snake so she's pretty low maintenance, and while majima's like >:/ woulda rather we'd gotten a big big fucker i mean look how small her head is >:// it's probably for the best, since most of the family hasn't had to care for a reptile before

some family members are scared of her. majima tells them to suck it up because he's scarier. if they get too fussy he starts sticking their hands in her enclosure just to fuck with them, until he realizes it scares the snake, and then he stops. he still threatens to take their pinkies and feed them to her, though. sometimes he leaves her shed skin at their desks and is like oooohhh she got out again whoooppss watch out she's a biter

he sticks to feeding her thawed frozen mice because that's what nishida and his niece did, but if he'd been on his own he'd probably have pit a live mouse against the snake to keep her strong and on her toes and bc he likes seeing her fight (don't do this btw)

he's very confused about snake anatomy (like. why doesn't she have eyelids?) and did some research and now knows like. wayyy too much about cloacas. which he tells nishida about because it makes him uncomfortable and he finds that funny

he gets really into enclosure decorating for a while, wanting to build her the biggest and coolest thing he can. it's kind of beautiful actually

given the life majima leads, such a low-maintenance animal actually kinda suits him. she needs him, but it's not for much and there's not that strong an emotional element to it on her end. there's a distance to it that lets him feel safer getting stuck on her, and which makes him feel a lot less guilty when he dips for a few days. (though he's sure to send someone around to check on her, he figures she can fend for herself outside of checking water levels and stuff)

also i feel like saejima would like her. mutual sitting there swag (she's not as energetic as majima and not as chill as saejima. in-betweener)

also majima leaves the gross stuff up to his boys, of course.

#anyway this is dedicated to/based on my snake my beautiful boy my lovely little baby carrot and the four-ish years we've had him <3 #rgg #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza #like a dragon #majima goro #goro majima #nishida #kiryu kazuma #kazumaji #kinda...? ig #skrunkart #also go look up snake yawning just trust me. it's not just vertical they like stretch both halves of each jaw it's really cool #well ok. depends on the snake depends on the yawn #also i don't have a name for her yet so if anyone has suggestions i'd love to hear em

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 6 months ago

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Introductions (2.1.1)

About me:

↪ Leah, she/her/any pronouns

↪ In my early 20s

↪ Reader, writer, sometime animator and artist

↪ Big cannibalism fan. Huge, really ;)

↪ Been doing martial arts for over a decade

↪Fan of CJ Cherryh

↪I reblog stuff from @leahpardo-pa-potato

My writing:

↪ Generally horror, with sides of fantasy

↪Posted in regular chunks of 500-1k words

↪I love tag games, esp OC ones :)

↪I do mini-series, one-shots, and novels

↪I will love you forever if you send me an ask

↪See my full list of one-shots here and my longer pieces below

My art and animation:

↪Masterpost here

↪Mostly blender 3d animations, though I do a bit of drawing too

↪ Don't expect it quite as often as my writing ;)

↪Just interact here to join the taglist!

WIPs / Longer stories

The Unwanted Visitor: (Completed)

Aida's house has been haunted by a spirit for as long as she can remember. Thing is, she's grown used to her Unwanted Visitor (or Vis, as she likes to call him). So when exorcists come after him, she does what any sane person would: protect her brother friend.

↪ Urban fantasy-comedy, very light-hearted

↪A lot of found family and sibling squabbling

↪If you like teens causing chaos, this is for you!

↪Final bit here

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl: (Completed)

All Katherine wants is to eat mortal food, bask in the warmth, and be a normal schoolgirl. But when a boy begs her to help him save her parents, she finds herself fighting for her (and his) life once more.

↪Urban fantasy with a side of horror

↪ Basically an inversion of a bunch of tropes

↪My attempt at writing fantasy without mentioning magic by name

↪Full thing here

Convenience Store Vampire: (Completed)

You'd expect vampires to be imposing and terrifying, masters of the night and princes of darkness. But that's not Davie, no siree. He's stuck down by Sunny Mart, working all day to scrape by. The last thing he wants is any trouble. Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what he's getting.

↪Silly urban fantasy shenanigans

↪ What it says on the tin + slice of life

↪Full thing here

A Tale for A Mouse: (Completed)

Who doesn't like to listen to evil old dark lords monologue about their childhood? Take a seat and come hear the story of the Spirit Emperor, as told by the man himself!

↪Cannibalism. Lots of it. World building too :D

↪High fantasy told via monologue

↪I cannot stress how proud I am of this.

↪Full thing here

Fast Food:

An embarrassment to his entire tribe, Hash is lazy and uninterested in anything. So, when he reaches majority, he gets unceremoniously booted out of home. Follow his adventures through Triworld, as he somehow ends up in every single single conflict across the continent.

↪High fantasy with a side of humour

↪Very heavy Lore™ and Worldbuilding™

↪ My excuse to ramble about fictional history

↪Latest bit here :)

A Tale of Love, Death, and Maggots:

Doc's been wandering through hell for a good twenty years, now. He thought he'd seen it all. He thought he'd felt it all. He thought he'd lost it all. But it turns out love just has a way of crawling back into his chest and breaking his heart again.

↪ Tragedy, fantasy?, horror?, Idk it's a weird little thing

↪I hope you like death because this sure has a lot of it

↪Latest bit here and here's a moodboard of it

Lich-Queen (Completed):

Iraela has all but won: the King of Ceredell and his bride are gone, the cities fallen to her army of undead, and the way to the throne cleared for her. But her coronation, and her sanity threaten to fall apart under the weight of duty. Can she hold it together until she truly becomes Lich-Queen?

↪High, dark fantasy with some horror and gore

↪Watch Ira slowly lose her mind in real-time

↪If you like cannibalism, you'll love this

↪Full thing here

The Novel™ (Mind of a Mercenary):

Luna, Terror of Garvenoi, mind-mage extraordinaire, has been caught at last. Whilst everyone celebrates, she is given an ultimatum: Be an indentured hunter for the government, or die. But when she signs on with them, she finds that perhaps death might have been a better choice...

↪ Urban Fantasy set in a Non-Earth world

↪Starring a sassy, mean-girl villain protagonist

↪Enjoy several hundred pages of Luna trying and failing to run from her duties

↪Find snippets here (find the others on my masterlist of writing)

Finally, my taglist! If you interacted with this post/already asked me to add you, and you don't see yourself here, please remind me! I may have accidentally missed you :')

Oh pls kill me I felt so silly doing this- Anyways bye guys hope to see y'all around don't judge me for this

#writeblr intro #writeblr cafe #writblr intro #writerscommunity #writing community #writer stuff #writblr #writerblr #writeblr #writing #Masterposts

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thecountoflondonfansite · 2 months ago

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Though someone this Miss Ito did know Henry Jekyll. Did his brother's new boyfriend get this woman to look into him? If so, why didn't this man just ask Dr.Two-Brains about himself? This raised more questions than it answered. Maybe Henry didn't have the courage to look into his brother after he gave him a little 'friendly' talk. Yet the thinly veiled threats Victor had made shouldn't have been enough to get the teacher looking into Dr.Two-Brains. There was also the fact that Henry had no idea that Victor could find out who was hacking. Perhaps the man was intelligent enough to have the heat on someone else just in case they were found out, but he didn't seem like the type to do so. Especially to someone he had entrusted The Society to. Victor was going to have to get a few agents to take a little trip to check out why they decided to hack like they did. Maybe Robert Lanyon had someone to do with Miss Itos hacking. It would be expected when the man's father had been murdered. Perhaps he wanted to make sure that Henry was safe. Maybe this man was protecting Henry from someone who was threatening him. This could've had the culprit retaliate against the doctor by going after Henry or Robert could be responsible for his own father's murder and for Mr. Carew's attempted murder. The reason both Mr. Hyde and Henry left could be because Robert was threatening one and framing the other. Victor felt a headache coming on. For now, he was going to find out exactly where Robert was. If he wanted to take over The Society, he would've easily done so. Yet he didn't, instead only oversaw important business. He couldn't scratch any of his theories out just yet. He didn't know what was going on, but he was going to find out. He didn't realize that Eris had finally gotten home. He didn't notice the sound of the apartment door opening and closing. “Victor, are you okay? You look like you're stressed about something.” He expressed his concern, brows furrowed. “Eris! I'm fine. I was just overthinking some things.” Eris went over to Victor and placed a kiss on his temple. “Get some rest, my sweet. You'll be able to figure things out better with fresh eyes.” Victor smiled at his boyfriend. “You're right. I'll take a nap. If you'll join me.” Eris smiled at that. He found Victor endearing. The toymaker closed his laptop. Meanwhile in another part of the city, two people were arguing. “Must you stalk these people? I would rather not have the police sniffing around if they take legal action.” The woman shook her head. “It is necessary. I must save that girl from that horrid man. Who knows what he could do to them. I'm doing what is right.” The blond man shook his head. “You admitted that you were interested in our plan.” Calvin frowned at that. “I didn't do anything too crazy. I promise.” Athena muttered under her breath. Athena began to pace a bit. She wanted Dr.Two-Brains to break and admit who he is. “You're making me dizzy, cousin.”

Athena gave a weak glare towards Calvin's rudeness. "You know I can't help it. I haven't been the same after what that demon did to me!" Athena snapped back. Calvin merely huffed. Deep down, he couldn't help but feel some intimidation from the mouse man, especially when he knew what that abomination was capable of. At first, Calvin was shocked to hear what the man did to his cousin. He had always viewed Steven, or Gene, or whatever it called himself, as a sniveling worm with goody moral ethics. He never thought that the man was capable of doing something that heinous, even with his paternal instincts heightened. Things made much more sense to Calvin once he learned of his former coworker's family background. "Very well. Continue with your plans. I have other matters to attend to." Calvin exclaimed in a haughty tone, waving off Athena's anger. Athena gave him a suspicious look. "What are you planning that is more important than my mission?" She inquired. "Well why you have been playing vigilante stalker to a babysitter and her charge, I have been looking into the reason for the Mad Science League's sudden movement here." Calvin explained. Athena looked surprised at that. "Adrian Barton is here?" The B.E.A.W labs' leader has expressed interest in the mysterious Mad Science League. A small group of scientists lead by a self proclaimed immortal man whose made it his mission to fight against tyranny and corruption of the higher classes. Adrian Barton and his associates had proven too slippery for capture due to the man's chaotic and unpredictable movements. Athena was curious and confused as to why he came here of all places. "We don't know why he is here or what business he has, but for some reason he has made himself more open in public though he has maintained a cautious guard. I last saw him talking with Professor Doohickey, though I highly doubt the reason he came to this city was to help the man's predicament." Calvin answered as if he seemed to understand what his cousin was thinking. "Do you think it has something to do with the murder of Mr. Hastie Lanyon?" Athena asked as she recalled hearing about the murder. Calvin shook his head. "I doubt Barton was behind that. He has a clear hatred for the rich and elite, but he would have been more subtle in killing that man, actually making it look like a robbery in progress that went bad. There is another reason why Mr. Barton is here. One in which I intend to find out. So hopefully your antics won't interfere in my mission. Good day Athena." Soon Calvin walked away, leaving the deranged woman to her own thoughts and delusions. "Blimey! Those cleaners know how to clean out goop stains. It looks brand new." Hyde exclaimed in a joyous tone once he received his outfit from Rachel. "Yep. It appears people getting their clothes ruined by goop is a common occurrence around here. So they developed a new way to remove the stains and residue even thought it takes a lot of time. It's definitely well worth it. I must say." Rachel replied with agreement. Hyde ginned widely at his clean outfit. He then looked back towards Rachel. "So, anything happened while ah was gone?" Hyde inquired. Rachel quickly shook her head. "Not really. Like I said, we waited a long time at the cleaners. Also Wordgirl showed up trying to stop a robbery caused by Lady Redundant Woman. She gave a wave to Amber before she flew off. Amber got a little fussy on the way home, but it was likely due to us being out for so long. She's fine now." Rachel explained. Hyde nodded but the usually grinning blonde had a serious expression as he thought back to what happened and what Whiskers admitted to him. "Did Wordgirl seem okay to ye?" Hyde inquired. Rachel looked confused by his question and expression. "She seemed alright to me. Why do you ask?" Rachel was surprised to hear Hyde express genuine concern for anyone that wasn't Amber, herself, or one of the lodgers. Hyde let out a sigh and proceeded to explain what happened today with Two Brains and his sister. @unhingedexperimenter

#the glass scientists #tgs rp

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doumadono · 4 months ago

Note

Hejka, my beautiful friend 🧡. It's been a while. I would like to place an emergency request. I am going to be alone and away from my family for a few months and am very scared. Could I ask you to write me a story on how Kokushibo is my guardian demon? Maybe a little fluff? You know how much I love my imaginary man. Please take your time as this is something I will be experiencing over the course of tge the entire summer and autumn. Thank you 💞💞💞

Unexpected light - Kokushibo x Reader

A/N: please forgive me it took so long to complete your request! I'm really sorry to hear that you're feeling scared about being away from your family. It's completely normal to feel this way, but remember that you are stronger than you think. This time apart can also be an opportunity for personal growth and self-discovery. Stay connected with your loved ones through calls and messages, and try to find things that bring you comfort and joy. We're all here cheering you on! #silnekobietyrządzą

EMERGENCY REQS - PART 2

The forest loomed around you, its dense canopy blocking out the moonlight and leaving you in near-total darkness. You stumbled over roots and rocks, your breath coming in ragged gasps as panic gripped you. The reality of being separated from your family for months had begun to sink in, and the weight of that loneliness pressed heavily on your shoulders. That was why you decided to take a night stroll in the woods — it had provided you with a great deal of solace in the past.

You had heard tales of the demons that haunted these woods, terrifying creatures that preyed on the unwary. You hoped against hope that you wouldn’t encounter one, but deep down, you knew the odds weren’t in your favor that night. As the night grew colder, you found a small clearing and sank to the ground, hugging your knees to your chest. Tears stung your eyes as you thought of your family, wishing more than anything to be with them again.

A sudden rustle in the bushes snapped you out of your thoughts. You scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest.

From the shadows emerged a figure, tall and imposing, with six glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness.

Your blood ran cold as you recognized him: it was Kokushibo, Upper Moon One, the most feared of the Twelve Kizuki.

You took a step back, but there was nowhere to run.

He moved with a grace that belied his size, closing the distance between you in an instant. His eyes bore into yours, and you felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a hawk. "You should not be here," he said, his voice a deep, resonant growl. "Humans who wander into these woods seldom leave."

Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stand tall. "I… I have nowhere else to go," you stammered, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I'm alone. My family is far away, and I… I don't know what to do."

Kokushibo regarded you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "Why should I spare you, mortal?" he asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation crashing down on you. "I wish to be reunited with my family," you admitted, your voice trembling. "If you have any mercy, just let me go, demon."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Mercy is not something I am known for," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But there is something intriguing about your spirit. A determination, even in the face of fear."

You couldn't fathom why he would care about such a thing, but you clung to his words like a lifeline. "Please," you whispered.

Kokushibo's eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion as he continued to study you. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity, until finally, he spoke again. "Speak, then. Tell me of these struggles that weigh upon your spirit. Don't try to fool me, I can sense all of your despair."

The unexpected invitation made you gasp, but the sheer intensity of his gaze compelled you to respond. "I’ve been separated from my family," you began, your voice trembling but gaining strength as you continued. "I was forced to leave them behind, and I don’t know how long I’ll be alone. It's… it's been overwhelming, trying to survive each day, not knowing if I’ll ever see them again."

There was a subtle shift in his stance, a slight softening of the harsh lines of his face.

You took a deep breath, the words flowing more freely now. "I feel like I’m constantly fighting against despair. The loneliness, the fear — it’s like a heavy weight that never goes away. I wander these woods, hoping for a miracle, for some idea that would fall on me and help me to find my family again. But every day, it feels like that hope slips further away."

You glanced up at him, expecting indifference or even mockery, but his expression remained inscrutable, his eyes fixed on you. "I don’t know why I’m telling you this, demon," you admitted, almost to yourself. "Maybe because you're the first being I've encountered in so long who hasn’t tried to kill me immediately."

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Kokushibo's lips. "A low bar, but one I have surpassed nonetheless," he murmured, his tone holding a hint of dry amusement.

You found yourself returning his almost-smile, a spark of something like relief flickering within you. "I guess so," you said softly.

Kokushibo shifted his gaze to the moonlit forest around you, his voice thoughtful when he spoke again. "Humans often cling to hope, even when it seems futile. It is both their greatest strength and their greatest weakness."

You nodded, understanding his words. "Hope is all I have left," you said quietly. "Even if it feels like it’s slipping away every single day."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence of the forest wrapping around you like a shroud.

Then Kokushibo turned his gaze back to you, his eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. "Your spirit, your determination, is intriguing," he repeated. "It reminds me of… what I once was, before I became this."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a revelation from a demon as powerful and feared as Kokushibo. "What do you mean?"

His expression darkened slightly, shadows crossing his face. "There was a time when I was human, like you. I had dreams, struggles, hopes. But those days are long past, buried under centuries of darkness and blood."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you couldn’t help but feel a strange connection forming between you. "Is that why you’ve spared me? Because I remind you of who you once were?"

Kokushibo's gaze grew distant, as if he were looking through you into a past only he could see. "Perhaps," he said finally, his voice a mere whisper. "Or perhaps it is simply because your spirit intrigues me in a way I have not felt in a very long time."

You took a step closer, the fear that had initially gripped you slowly giving way to a cautious curiosity. "Thank you," you uttered, sincerity lacing your words. "For sparing me. For listening."

Kokushibo nodded slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. "Do not mistake my actions for kindness, mortal. I am a demon, bound by my nature. But I will allow you to continue your journey, for now. Leave now, if you value your life. And never come back here again."

As you turned to leave, a sudden impulse made you stop and look back at him. "Demon," you began hesitantly, "do you ever wish for something more than this existence? Beyond the darkness and the hunger?"

His many eyes widened slightly, as if taken aback by your question. For a moment, he seemed almost human, a flicker of something unspoken passing across his features. "Wishes are for the living," he said finally, his voice tinged with an emotion you couldn't quite identify. "For those who have hope. The night is long, but it will pass, mortal. And when it does, you will be one step closer to finding your way."

With that, he turned away, his form blending into the shadows. You watched him go, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Fear, relief perhaps.

The journey back home passed quickly as your heart beat faster within your chest. You still felt the adrenaline rush, but simultaneously, for no particular reason, you felt a sense of hope. You would find your family again. You would survive this separation, no matter how long it took. And you would remember that even in the darkest of places, there could be moments of unexpected light.

#emergency request #kokushibo #kokushibou #kokushibo x reader #kokushibou x reader #upper moon one #upper moon one x reader #upper moons x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kokushibo x you #anime fluff

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anonymousewrites · 3 months ago

Text

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 6) Chapter Fifteen

Father Figure! Lucifer Morningstar x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Fifteen: Do Something Worthwhile

Summary: Lucifer and (Y/N) fight Michael to begin a new era.

Mouse Note: Only one more chapter to go. I can't believe how far we've come.

�� Wham!

Michael stumbled back. He clutched the Flaming Sword and stared at Lucifer. He had expected him to back off upon seeing the blade that could kill him utterly and completely.

But Lucifer wasn’t afraid. Or, he was, but anger was stronger than fear. No. Love was stronger. And Lucifer loved (Y/N). Michael couldn’t threaten (Y/N) without Lucifer interfering. He had to protect them, no matter the risk or cost.

“Dad!” cried (Y/N), trying to move forward. Amenadiel grabbed them and pulled them back since the sword was dangerous.

Lucifer advanced on Michael, and Michael swung at Lucifer. He ducked and rolled to dodge. He jumped to his feet, and Michael stabbed. Lucifer dodged, but the flames cut through his suit.

(Y/N) lunged forward again, but Amenadiel held them back.

“(Y/N), he has to do this on his own,” said Amenadiel.

“To Hell with that, it’s my dad!” said (Y/N) indignantly.

Michael chuckled and swung at Lucifer. He leaned back to dodge, but the hilt of the blade hit him, sending him flying. He hit the ground. Michael kicked his stomach, and he rolled over. Lucifer groaned in pain.

(Y/N) pushed out of Amenadiel’s arms and looked at Zadkiel. “Your staff. Give it to me.”

Zadkiel didn’t hesitate to hand it over. (Y/N) looked at Lucifer.

“Dad!” they shouted.

He looked at them, and (Y/N) tossed it to him. Lucifer caught the staff and blocked another stab from Michael.

“Oh, ho-ho-ho-ho!” Michael grinned. “My brother has a stick, whatever shall I do?”

Lucifer headbutted Michael. Michael groaned and stepped back. Lucifer swung the staff and hit him in the side. Michael jumped back and leapt into the air, black wings spread out. Lucifer’s white wings burst from his back, and he jumped after Michael. The battle took to the air.

“That staff is all that’s left of the tree of life,” said Zadkiel, watching Lucifer with it.

“Then it should be happy to be fighting for life instead of for death,” said (Y/N).

“I can’t believe this is what God meant by figuring things out,” said Em. “I don’t think He wanted His children to fight.”

“Or He was giving them free will,” said Marcel. “And He knew the consequences.”

“That can’t just be it,” said Olive. “He wouldn’t have left His children to be hurt as His final act.”

“What if He meant something more in His words?” said Leon, furrowing their brow.

“Like what?” asked Noa.

“I don’t know,” said Leon.

(Y/N) watched Lucifer and Michael anxiously. Each time the sword and staff clashed, sparks flew. (Y/N) couldn’t stand the danger their dad was in. They needed to help him. They knew honor was a whole thing, but if Michael tried to really kill Lucifer, (Y/N) couldn’t just stand there!

Lucifer flew back as Michael advanced on him. He blocked each stab and swing, but the heat of the blade was immense. He kicked Michael and shoved him back with the staff. The sun shone behind them, and the people below shielded their eyes to watch the figures battle in the air.

They rose higher and higher into the air above the coliseum as the battle grew more and more dangerous. Each one was fierce in their fighting, vying for victory. Michael wanted his power, and Lucifer wanted his family safe. Neither was willing to give up.

Around and around, they flew the length of the coliseum. They hit one another, neither gaining much of an advantage as they spun and dodged and slashed. Michael shouted in aggravation and struck over and over. Lucifer grunted as he blocked the attack over and over. He lowered with the hits.

Michael slashed down, and the staff cracked. He grinned and swung down again. Lucifer blocked, and the staff broke. The force sent Lucifer flying. He struck the ground hard, and the group gasped. Michael landed and stood over him.

“Goodbye, brother!” Michael raised the Flaming Sword.

“No!”

(Y/N)’s wings erupted from their back, and they leapt into the air. They slammed into Michael, and they went flying back together. Michael pushed (Y/N) back and swung. Their powerful wings flapped in the air, and (Y/N) soared up and away from him.

“Birdie!” shouted Em worriedly.

“(Y/N)!” cried Lucifer. His wings erupted, and he meant to fly once more, but shadows whipped up and restrained him.

Other shadows grabbed the rest of the angels and (Y/N)’s friends and family. (Y/N) refused to let anyone they loved get hurt. This was their fight now. They eyed Michael warily, but determination was equally as present in their gaze.

“You can’t be serious,” sneered Michael, circling them. “I’m got the Flaming Sword. I have the support of Heaven behind me.”

“You have the fear of Heaven, and your track record against me isn’t that great,” said (Y/N). “So, why don’t we make it 5-0?”

Michael narrowed his eyes and dove at them. (Y/N) dodged, using the shadows of the coliseum to grab for him. They snagged Michael’s wings, but he swung with the sword. The light cut through the shadows, letting him fly free once more. (Y/N) remained in the shadows, reaching for him as he flew.

“You can’t defeat me with shadows this time!” jeered Michael. He lifted the flaming sword, and the darkness retreated from him. (Y/N) gritted their teeth. “So unless you want to tear the world apart again, Antichrist, you’re just going to be the first darkness this God destroys!”

“I’ll never let you be God,” said (Y/N). “Not when your father left me to take care of things, and I said I’d keep things from going to Hell, and that includes stopping you!”

“As if you have the power,” said Michael, twirling the sword. “Lucifer will never be God.”

“That doesn’t mean you will be,” said (Y/N), flying straight towards him.

All the shadows around them dove out with them. They smashed into Michael. Even as he swung and burned the darkness away, (Y/N) slammed into him. Michael went flying, and the cloud of darkness condensed around him. With a roar, Michael exploded out of it, flames flying around the sword. Seeing (Y/N) dart out of the shadows, he dove at them.

(Y/N) evaded, but as he slashed, the flames burnt at their back. (Y/N) cried out, and their wings faltered. (Y/N) hit the ground, brought back their wings, and rolled. They hit a stop, and the shadows holding their friends and family left.

“(Y/N)!” cried a worried chorus of voices.

The moment before anyone could get to them, Michael grabbed them, and (Y/N) was pulled up into the sky. The sun was blinding as he shot upwards.

“I’m going to teach them all a lesson,” hissed Michael. “You most of all, you presumptuous interloper! You’re still an abomination, and soon you’ll be a goddamned one!”

(Y/N) grabbed his hands as he forced the blade towards them, and the heat seared at their neck. They cried out as their necklaces burned.

“Let my child go!”

Lucifer slammed into Michael, and Michael let go of (Y/N). They plummeted downwards. They let out a scream, startled.

"(Y/N)!”

Lucifer dove for them, and they reached up towards him as they tried to get their wings out and to work despite the burns. Their back ached, and the rush of air against the burns made them grit their teeth. Their fingers brushed against Lucifer’s.

“Dad!” they cried helplessly.

A dark shadow loomed up over them. Michael was a figure of black, a blot against the sun. He raised the Flaming Sword, and the fire seemed to melt with the sun as (Y/N) watched its power glow. And he brought it down towards Lucifer.

Crack!

Red jasper shards exploded around (Y/N)’s neck. Golden light enveloped their vision and the sky.

Everyone on the ground shielded their eyes in shock. Michael and Lucifer were thrown to the sides and landed awkwardly on the ground. The Flaming Sword went flying through the air, the metal and fire disappearing in the explosion of light.

When the light died, everyone lifted their gaze apprehensively. Lucifer looked up with pure panic, trying to find (Y/N). Michael groaned and tried to spot the Flaming Sword.

Everyone found what they were looking for at the same moment.

Floating in the light of the sunset was an angel. It was (Y/N). A faint golden shimmer still emanated from them as their wings supported them. Their red wings were spread wide, and the sunlight glinted off the golden iridescence of their feathers. The red and gold were like flames behind them as they descended. Real fire flew around their hand as they held the Flaming Sword. The fire seemed stronger and brighter than ever in (Y/N)’s hands. The brightness spread to their black markings that had turned a white-gold color, alight with magic. In fact, power itself radiated from them as they flew gracefully down to the ground.

They landed and looked at everyone. Their friends, their family, and all the angels stared at them, unsure whether to be relieved, apprehensive, or both.

(Y/N) took a deep, exhausted breath and looked at everyone. “No. More. Fighting.” They looked at all the angels. “God didn’t want this. He didn’t want you hurting each other, killing each other! He wanted you free to live your lives without His constant supervision and rule. So stop squandering that freedom on fighting.” They glared at everyone. “Do something worthwhile! Find who you are! God left you with freedom, which is way better than power. You can actually use freedom. Stop trying to figure out who His successor is because who really gives a damn who it is—”

“It’s you.” Lucifer interrupted the rant with two simple words.

(Y/N) faltered. “What?”

“It’s you, (Y/N).” Lucifer smiled. “You’re His successor.”

“I—” (Y/N) looked at their hands and saw the faint golden glow just beneath the surface. “Oh, god. No, no—”

“(Y/N), He chose you,” said Lucifer. He took their hand and squeezed it. “He chose you.”

“Take good care of things. Who better than you?” God’s strange final words echoed in their mind. All the odd statements, all the odd looks, all the odd compliments, it all coalesced into one fact—one plan. God’s plan.

“I’m God’s successor?” breathed (Y/N).

“Yes,” said Amenadiel. He smiled. “You are.” Amenadiel took a knee.

“He knew you would take care of things better than we ever could.” Proudly, Lucifer took a knee.

“We told you to campaign.” Noa took a knee.

“We get the responsible God in the end.” Olive smiled and bowed.

“He made a good choice.” Leon.

“We knew you were the boss.” Marcel.

“Who knew you’d fly so high, Birdie?” Em smiled lovingly and knelt.

“I thought there was something significant about you,” said Zadkiel.

One-by-one, the other people present bowed and took a knee before (Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N) the Deity of Creation.

“No!” Michael glared at them. “You can’t be! It’s—It’s supposed to be me! I was with Father. It…” The anger melted from his face as grief began to appear. “It was supposed to be me.”

(Y/N) looked at Michael and walked towards him. Hesitantly, everyone else rose and watched the approach. Even Michael paled a bit.

“Michael,” said (Y/N). “You have been a total, total asshole.”

“Oh, no,” said Em, wincing.

“You have hurt a lot of people,” said (Y/N).

“What do we do if (Y/N) starts smiting people?” whispered Amenadiel.

“Cheer because it’s Michael?” suggested Lucifer.

“Lucifer!” said Chloe.

“You need to learn a lesson,” said (Y/N).

Michael closed his eyes, and everyone braced for some Heavenly Wrath.

(Y/N) instead undid the necklace holding the Flaming Sword together. The fire went out. (Y/N) put their hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You need to learn humility and humanity.”

“Wha—Ah!” Michael grimaced as his wings furled back into his back. He moved his shoulders. Nothing happened. “What did you do?!”

“I just cut off a part of your angelic nature,” said (Y/N) calmly. They looked at everyone. “I think…there’s been enough suffering. Enough death. We don’t need more.” They looked at Michael. “And as much as I don’t like you, I’m giving you a second chance. My dad made a life here. Amenadiel made a life. If you can learn to appreciate others and respect them as individuals, you’ll be a true angel. You’ll earn your wings back.” They looked intently at Michael. “Once you act like an angel, you can have all the abilities of one.”

(Y/N) turned and walked away back to their friends. “Are you all alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Em, looking at (Y/N). “You’re asking us that?”

“Yeah. You guys are my family,” said (Y/N) as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“And you’re alright?” said Lucifer worriedly. What did holding God’s power mean for someone? What if it hurt them?

“I am,” said (Y/N).

Lucifer relaxed. “Good.”

“(Y/N),” said Amenadiel.

“Yeah?” said (Y/N).

“I think you need to…say something,” said Amenadiel.

“Huh?”

“To the angels.” Amenadiel gestured to the crowd watching (Y/N). “You’re…God.”

“I’d prefer Deity since I’ve met God,” said (Y/N).

“This is so weird,” said Chloe.

“You’re telling me?” said (Y/N).

“(Y/N), please?” said Amenadiel.

“I already yelled at them for fighting,” said (Y/N).

“Just appease them,” said Lucifer. He nudged them. “You can even yell a little more.”

“…Fine.” (Y/N) turned around to face the group of angels. “Uh, hi. I’m your new Deity.” They waved awkwardly. They looked at Lucifer. He nodded encouragingly. “I know you must all be confused. I am, too. Frankly, I didn’t ask for this. But it’s happened.” They cleared their throat. “So we all have to live with it. I plan to continue living how I want. I think you should, too. Your father and mother left with the wish that you would all move on and find new lives. You’re angels of the Silver City, yes. But you’re also individuals. You have free will. I think…I think that if Amenadiel, Lucifer, and Michael are any indication, you all need a chance to figure out who you are, to find the good and the bad parts of you and learn to live with them. I’m not here to rule you. I’m here to nudge the world in a better direction.” They smiled. “I’m here to be a Deity who loves people. And that includes you all, every part.” (Y/N) waved. “So go on, shoo, go on an adventure, try something new, meet some people who aren’t your family. God—I—know you need it.”

(Y/N) turned back to their friends and family. “So?”

“It was amazing, Birdie,” said Em.

“I’m going to like this Deity,” said Olive. The rest of their friends nodded excitedly.

“You were perfect, (Y/N),” said Lucifer, hugging (Y/N). He smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

(Y/N) smiled tiredly and leaned on Lucifer. “Can we go home, Dad?”

“Of course.” Lucifer kissed their forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

@theurbannoodle

@lookitseddie

@amberforest08

@snowy-violet

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perpetualexistence · 5 days ago

Text

How to Borrow a Bot

I'm not late to Noahvember. You're late to Noahvember. /j

Here's my one contribution for Day 7: Free Day

A Giant/Tiny AU! If you know me this should not come as a surprise to you. If you don't, welcome to my madness.

It's got Assistant Noah if you really squint at it, Alejandro in a robot suit, and Noah just being a little guy trying his best to live in a production lot.

Enjoy my 4.3K rambles I put under a read more so as to not flood your dash!

Noah is a Borrower. He's about the size of a mouse, which is pretty common for his kind. As are the pointed ears and the tail.

His kind tend to stay in small groups inside human-made structures. They don't let the larger folk know about them since. Well. They've seen how humans treat each other. Doesn't put much confidence in how they'd be treated.

To help with this, they would do maintenance on the houses they lived it. It was their house too, after all. Plus, when things went wrong, then maintenance people were called. They could open walls to find the source of the problem and instead find the evidence of Borrowers. If not Borrowers themselves.

It would be safer to hide themselves in the woods. However, that would open themselves up to attacks from the wildlife. A few groups try, and manage to make it work. But they are few and far in between.

Not Noah, though. He's trekking out on his own.

Not completely by choice, mind you. One of his older siblings had gotten sloppy with their 'borrowing'. (Noah had always thought borrowing was a stupid name for it. It was stealing. No amount of dressing it up would change it. It's not like any humans would even notice enough to care what they called themselves.)

Fortunately for them, the humans had thought it was just a rat problem. Unfortunately for them, when they were too smart for the rat traps the humans had called an exterminator. In the panic he'd gotten separated from the rest of his family.

So now, he was here. Living in the walls of a tv studio. You wouldn't think it'd be the best place to set up his home, but you'd be surprised.

The production lot he lived on was one that was used mainly for pilots thinking they were going to be the next big thing. With the rapid turnover of staff, actors, and producers, no one stayed long enough to notice when little things went missing.

There were plenty of rafters to run across with no one the wiser. The techies were usually more concerned with their screaming bosses than noticing movement out of the corner of their eyes.

Where he actually lived, the prop room, wasn't so bad either. He mainly stayed in the area where they dumped all the crap they were never actually going to use again, but still kept around 'just in case'. It left him perfect materials to steal from and craft with.

His favorite piece to take from was something they called the Drama Bot. It was something they'd used for some mindless talk show piece? It had been in another set, so he had. no clue. He just knew the thing was shut down and had enough wires and metal to make scrap from.

Though the part that made the set one of the objectively best places to be was one exclusive to sets alone: craft services.

Craft services were a godsend. Finger sandwiches, bite-sized brownies, etc. Most of the food was already in small portions for actors and set workers to eat on the go. It was all too easy to grab and take away. They even labelled ingredients for allergies.

You would think that the universe already hated him enough with making him small enough to be swatted at by a broom but no, it also had to give him life threatening allergies limiting his already small selection of food choices.

He just had to make sure he stole while they were filming. Which also meant a free show.

If only 'free' meant 'good'.

Most of the time he could tell when a show was going to be dead in the water. Whether it was from the way the actors and producers bickered when they thought no one was watching (the REAL show if anyone asked him), or if the script was just awful.

Noah wanted better entertainment, but books were his normal go to. The only books he could really find here were prop books, or scripts.

Particularly the scripts that found their way into the producer's room. There were always stacks from wannabe writers and so many of them were garbage. Those ones usually found their way into the garbage. They were good for when Noah wanted to laugh and tear something to shreds.

Though there was always the one script in there that really shouldn't be. Usually because of a producer's personal biases or it not being 'marketable' enough. And he'd also find scripts that made it to the table for further consideration that were utter garbage, but the kind of utter garbage that sold.

...If those two types of scripts had ever 'found themselves' switched, then no one else was really complaining about it. And they better not. They were hard they were to drag.

So all in all, life was pretty good. Things were chaotic, but in a routine way. One he could prepare and plan for. Important aspects for survival.

Then life decided to kick him in the shins with a pilot that actually took off.

This newest production was 'Total Drama Dirtbags'. It was reality TV, so far from the most intelligent thing. But it did involve assholes giving each other what they deserved by their sheer presence, so there was cathartic amusement to be had there. The formula must have worked for enough people because the concept was greenlit, and due to a shortage of production sets they decided to film it in this lot.

Most of the people living in 'the mansion' were vapid. They thought they were manipulative and outsmarting each other, when really it was just the clear script some writer had made working towards making sure certain storylines went through.

With one exception. One Alejandro Burromuerto.

He would come up with improv, except unlike the others attempts his were actually good. The host and producers would let him keep it in, despite him being a new face for as far as Noah could tell. He still kept up his act offset. Charming assistants just as much as his fellow contestants.

It was only when Alejandro was completely by himself that Noah saw the mask fully drop.

He'd expect Alejandro to just be a complete asshole like the others were when the cameras weren't rolling, but...no. He seemed more tired than anything else. He'd just scroll on his phone and put earphones in.

Noah dared to get close enough to see what Alejandro was doing. He wasn't sure why. It was incredibly stupid, as he could see how perceptive Alejandro could be. But...he was just curious. Even if he couldn't pinpoint why.

The reason why Alejandro read on his phone became clear with each time Noah checked. The Cask of Amontillado the first time, then a reality baking show, Tony Hawks, hell one time he saw the man watching an episode of Dinosaur Train.

It left Noah with so many questions. Given how Alejandro danced around others' questions, he doubted he would get any straight answer.

Not that he could even ask in the first place. Curiosity didn't make him suddenly stupid. He wasn't about to expose himself just because a mystery of a man showed up as one of the more interesting things in his short life.

It wasn't meant to be, anyways. Filming on set wrapped up quicker than Noah had realized it would.

They bothered to rent an actual mansion for the finale. No final day party or anything. No proper send off.

It was fine. Life goes on. Noah should have known better than to let himself get spoiled with an interesting enigma.

…He would have been as fine as he could be with it. If he wasn’t embroiled within a different enigma.

Someone came to take the drama bot away. Nearly caught Noah too, as he hadn't expected anyone to come that deep into the prop room. It wasn't completely unheard of for someone to need an old prop to repurpose into something else. But that hadn't quite explained the panic on the interns face as he came to remove it.

So there went another of Noah's sources of comfort. Sure, it was an unmoving hunk of metal, but it was still the closest thing to companionship that he was going to get.

A few days later, they brought the drama machine back. It looked different. Modified. Extra screws, polished metal. Small details others might have ignored. Glaringly obvious at Noah's size.

When the coast was clear, he approached the bucket of bolts. There might be something new to salvage if he could find a new way to dig in there.

Yellow and blue masks blinked to life as he got close. The thing started beeping loudly. Rolled away from him.

Reflected Noah's panic at this machine that was still powered on this time around. He was lucky his size meant his screams and scrambling backwards couldn't be picked up by anything other than this lumbering death machine.

Although the Drama Bot had no eyes to move, Noah had the distinct feeling he was being watched by this thing. He knew human technology was coming along fast, but he hadn't been expecting this.

The machine began to roll forward. Noah had no idea what kind of programming it had in mind for something like Noah, but he wasn't about to take any chances. He ran to the nearest hole in the wall and stayed there as he struggled to figure out what to do with the thing.

He could try to turn it off. It'd mean sneaking up on the thing. Failure of which would mean getting caught or crushed. He'd get the prop room back for himself.

Safer thing to do was leave it be. Accept the prop room as a lost cause and find somewhere else on the lot to live. Find somewhere that had more of a risk of being caught by human, but less of being rolled over by a robot.

There was a third option. This thing wasn't remote operated like Noah had assumed when he'd first seen it. It turned itself on because it saw Noah. Whether that's because it saw Noah as a rat or a human, he couldn't tell. Not without experimenting, which brought its own risks.

...He really hoped it didn't have any memories of him stealing pieces of it away for parts.

Noah poked his head out of his hiding hole. The bot was back where it had been left behind. Powered down once more. Good. He climbed up and out of sight. Based on its design, the thing couldn't tilt its head up. He'd be using that to his advantage.

He climbed onto one of the highest shelves he could manage. The more distance between him and the robot, the better. Only then did he strike up his nerve.

"Hey!"

The 'eyes' lit up again. The thing spun towards him, but as he suspected, didn't look up. It was making his way closer to his shelf.

Then...it stopped. Began to roll away from him. It didn't even turn around. It stopped a distance away from him. Now it'd be harder for his voice to carry through. It was a stupid choice on the robot's end, but it seemed very deliberate. The only thing backing up accomplished would be giving it distance...

Oh.

The robot was clever.

Noah couldn't quite pretend to be human anymore now that the thing could see him. Even if it was a much smaller version of him from a much wider field of view. Still, this had to work, or else he'd just put himself in danger for nothing.

"Blink once if you can understand me!" His voice was going to kill him tomorrow. At least he was rewarded with the robots masks flashing once.

"Good! You're not going to kill me or snitch, and I'm not going to take any parts out of you. Deal? One blink for yes, two for no."

Noah wouldn't be able to steal from it anyways now what it was active. He wasn't about to risk electrocution. But the robot didn't need to know that.

It blinked once.

Good. Noah was content for each of them to stay out of each other's way. He still grabbed his stuff and settled in for one of the higher shelves that the robot couldn't reach on his own. He wasn't about to completely trust the thing.

He could at least get space from it when he went to other parts of the studio.

That was a nice thought that lasted about a day or two until they pulled the Drama Bot out of the closet again.

He found it carrying loads of scripts for directors and TV hosts. Making coffee runs. Holding cue cards when the teleprompters were on the fritz. Used as a table. Occasionally fed some kind of slurry for god knows what.

The only difference between it and an intern was that an intern got paid with 'experience'. This robot's reward was getting shoved inside of a closet when it wasn't needed.

It was hard not to feel bad for the thing.

So fine, maybe he spoke to it when they were both in the prop room. He'd done it before the thing was kept online 24/7. There wasn't any reason to stop.

He'd talk about the gossip he'd overheard, the horrible scripts he read, and the rumors he'd heard about the bosses when the robot had a rough day. It was more satisfying when he could get a response this time around. Usually a series of beeps that Noah was sure was laughter.

When the thing got banged up after a day of being manhandled, Noah did his best with the smaller repairs. Couldn't have someone to talk shit with if it was going to break down due to an issue no one else bothered to fix.

He didn't do it for free, of course. If others were able to boss him around, Noah wasn't going to let that opportunity go to waste. Though he was nice enough to make most of his requests as simple as 'open the door for me'.

The Drama Bot would notice Noah around. It was a startling way to find out he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was when the robot gave a small wave to crafts services when no one else was looking.

Being seen is a death sentence. Lesson number one is ingrained into a Borrower's head over and over again. It was the least desirable thing in the world.

So why did Noah feel more relaxed when he saw the Drama Bot acknowledge his existence outside of the prop room?

He hadn't realized how tense he always was until he had someone he could actually talk to. He'd been paranoid any time he had to pop out of walls. Now he was aware, but most of the fear left the second he saw the Drama Bot in the room with him, too. Maybe it was their mutual suffering from fate that put him at ease.

Noah was getting comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Comfortable enough to Borrow from craft services up until he heard the word 'cut', instead of in the middle of someone else's line.

Comfort that died as one of the actor's spotted his small form in the center of table and shrieked 'MOUSE!'

Everything became a flurry of movement. Noah running for the edge of the table. Humans running away from the table. Others towards. The fastest would be the one to determine his fate.

Squeaky wheels proved to be the victor as Noah was snatched up by a pair of pincers.

Noah had always taken great care not to get within grabbing distance of the Drama Bot, even when talking with it. The cold from its metal seeped into his clothes. He counteracted it with his instinctive thrashing around.

"KILL IT!" a human said, damning him.

"No, don't you dare-" he hissed to the robot. He knew it was futile. He'd seen this robot understand hierarchy of the set and Noah was nowhere on the map. He had to try.

The robot's grip tightened. Noah gasped for breath that was squeezed out of him, and began thrashing around. No care, no strategy. Just sheer panic at what he knew would come for him.

The robot's other arm pointed towards the door, and Noah could feel himself being moved. Great, he was going to be taken out back like a dog. He tried to reach for some kind of wiring, anything, but there was nothing except the rapidly approaching door. The robot barreled past others while holding Noah close to its icy plating.

Noah's squeaks of terror fell on deaf ears, or speakers, or whatever this thing had. There was just outside, and the back alley, and the dumpster, where-

Noah was set down on the lid. The robot was beeping rapidly, its eyes flickering quick enough to give someone a seizure. Noah clutched his ears and closed his eyes to this onslaught of stimulation after the harrowing experience of knowing his death was near. He just wanted this to be over quick.

Instead, he felt something carefully pat his head. He cracked an eye open to see one half of the bot's pincers. Moving up and down, oh so careful not to press down on Noah forcefully.

Was. Was this thing trying to comfort him?

The idea was enough to ground him into realizing that no, he had not been brought here to die. He'd been brought here for others to think he'd died.

"...Was there REALLY no way you could have warned me?!" he couldn't help but ask his savior.

The robot beeped in return.

From then on, any time he revealed he needed to go on a food run, the robot threw a fuss about making sure it went with him. It stationed itself right in front of craft services, blocking Noah from view while he took what he needed.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't grateful. There was no way in hell it didn't have some form of sentience if it choose keeping Noah alive rather than follow orders. So he went as far as to thank the robot. It felt like the least he could do.

He was proven wrong when, as usual, the Drama Bot got screwed over by a job.

Ever since the Drama Bot became the resident butt monkey intern, any time there were extra props they didn't want anymore for a scene, they'd make the Drama Bot return them into the prop room to store.

The Drama Bot lift its arms as high as it wanted to, but it couldn't reach the higher shelves. So a lot of the props were instead placed on the lower ones. This made the shelves more bottom heavy than they should be. Which wouldn't be a problem if anyone else came in to redistribute the weight. But why do that when you could have a robot keep doing the work?

Noah saw the shelf collapse happen a mile away. He would always make sure that he wasn't standing on any shelves that the bot was actively working on. This saved Noah from a crushing death when the inevitable happened.

It did not save the Drama Bot that had things break even its hard shell, exposing wiring and something else that was harder to make out.

It was lucky enough that Noah saw it happen. Unfortunately, Noah couldn't exactly move things off to free the hunk of metal. They'd need a human for that, and all the humans were busy with filming. They wouldn't notice until they stopped for the day, and this robot was fritzing out.

The little meter went back and forth rapidly. It gave three short beeps, then three long ones, then three short, before devolving into one very long, loud beep in the hopes of getting someone's attention.

The thing was panicking, and Noah would be damned if he waited for the mercy of humans to stop it on its own accord.

He at least let the robot know that he was here. And that he'd get help. How he'd get help without getting caught was a mystery, but he would try.

He made his way back to the set. He needed an excuse for someone to go back to the prop room. Only way to do that was if a prop stopped working or went missing. Except they were filming, so all the props would be on set. Being watched with cameras. With humans moving about caring more about their lines than watching who they might be stepping on.

Easy peasy.

When he got back to set, he saw they were filming an action scene. Even more dangerous as movement was increased tenfold for those.

The plus side was that as it was an action scene, guns were involved. so long as one of those went missing, someone would have to go to the prop room for another.

Except, as to be expected, all the prop guns were already either with someone or in the scene. From what Noah could remember of reading this script, the protagonist's gun runs out of bullets, so he looks around to grab another.

The protagonist hadn't lost his gun yet, so there was still a chance for Noah to mess with that second gun.

It took pressing against the walls, scampering at just the right times to stay off camera, and the most stressful dragging in his life, but he managed to hide the gun away right as the protagonist went looking for it.

The director cut the scene in frustration and sent an intern to go get another prop gun. Noah held his breathe where he was hiding. Only letting go when the intern came rushing back screaming about the shelf collapse.

Due to his position with the hidden gun, Noah was forced to stay in position until they cut and he knew for sure the cameras were no longer rolling. He rushed his way back to the prop room, but they'd already mostly cleaned up the mess.

The Drama Bot was nowhere to be found.

They had to have taken it in for repairs somewhere. It had been looking rough. He hoped the repairs were only physical. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he lost the closest thing he had to a friend.

With luck, it would be back in a few days.

...Weeks. It was weeks without the Drama Bot. Noah cooped himself in the prop room more than ever before in the hopes of seeing the Drama Bot making a return. Nothing.

The only thing he got were rumors. Apparently the crew had seen something when they lifted all the crap off the poor robot. They were spooked. There was even something about lawsuits?

Noah didn't give a rat's ass about the gossip. He wanted his friend back.

It was two whole months of moping before something happened.

Someone came into the prop room. Noah heard footsteps but no wheels, so he just buried himself deep into his hiding hole. He wanted them gone so they could mope in peace.

The footsteps got closer. Great, they were going to re-use an old prop. His heart really needed an anxiety spike with them being closer than normal.

The spike became a stab in the heart as the footsteps stopped right in front of his hiding place.

"Little mouse? Are you in there?" The voice was quiet and raspy.

Noah's heart froze. They. They couldn't be referring to him. His worst nightmare couldn't be coming true, not as everything else had come crashing down around him.

The nightmare crouched down to reveal an emerald eye looking directly at Noah. Noah froze. There was nowhere to run. Hiding had done nothing. His brain was rapidly trying to figure out-

The human sighed in relief. "Thank god. I was worried you had been caught."

That was enough to give Noah pause. Because a random human, being worried? He acted as if he knew-

"Please come out," the human begged, "I have to know that you are real. I couldn't have just been driven mad inside of that robot suit."

That's when things clicked for Noah. There was only one robot he knew, and that robot had only gotten smarter when it had made its first return.

Noah dared to poke his head out to see Alejandro Burromuerto looking down at him.

It turned out that the season finale of Total Drama Dirtbags had resulted in a fire due to negligence. The rest of the cast had stuck true to their names and abandoned the burning building in an instant. Leaving Alejandro by himself, barely clinging onto life.

To avoid a lawsuit, the production company agreed to cover Alejandro's medical expenses. They just neglected to mention their version of 'medical expenses' was shoving a burned and battered body into a robot suit to allow him time to heal while still getting free labor out of him.

There was debate among executives about whether to actually bother letting him out of the suit given that no one else cared to come looking for him. Ironically enough, that falling shelf had saved him as it exposed parts of his body to multiple witnesses.

They had to let Alejandro out after that. The only reason he wasn't suing them to hell and back? He settled on a deal for an important acting job once he had PROPERLY healed.

"Why the fuck would you ever want to come back to work here?"

"It was the only way I could know for sure that I could come back to see you again. You kept me sane during everything. You saved my life. I could not abandon you."

...Oh. That was. That definitely made Noah feel something.

Alejandro had already signed a contract so he would be here for a while. And Noah had no reason to leave his home. Although it went against every shred of common sense.

They would just have to navigate this new friendship. Relationship? Situationship. As equals.

And each were more than happy to do that.

#noahvember #noahvember2024 #noahvember 2024 #total drama #total drama au #td au #total drama noah #td noah #total drama alejandro #td alejandro #alenoah #td alenoah #could be seen as platonic or romantic #take your pick #giant/tiny #sfw giant/tiny #alejandro in the drama bot #perp writing

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theharrowing · 1 year ago

Text

Fledgling

Jungkook is tired of his dreary existence. So when a mysterious stranger offers him a way out of life as he knows it, he takes it without hesitation.

🩸 Human (to Vampire) Jungkook x Vampire Namjoon

🩸 word count: 12.3k

🩸 dead dove, strangers to lovers, vampire au, horror, blood & gore, major character death (kind of; to become a vampire), smut, light angst, possessive fluff, 21+

🩸 warnings: dead dove 🕊 do not eat! top Namjoon bottom Jungkook; a vampiric game of cat and mouse; this is a bloody fucking mess; Jungkook has a death wish and makes unwise choices; talk of sex work and using men for a place to sleep; Calvin Klein babygirl Jungkook; lavender Namjoon; talk of robbing men jk sleeps with; talk of a car crash and the sight of the aftermath of a crash; use of the word whore; vampire compulsion/charming; lots of pet names and terms of threatening endearment; possessiveness; classist language jk says toward himself (which does not reflect my real opinions at all); fear kink; nj drinking JK’s blood; jk literally bleeds to death (hi hello this is a vampire fic lol); smut (temperature play kind of; does this count as blood play???; blow job; anal fingering; anal sex; dying while being fucked and having a lovely time; semi-public sex beside corpses); a lot of blood drinking; having a captive person whose blood is drained; jk loses his autonomy completely.

🩸 note: in this fic, we observe a world where Jungkook has heard of zombies but not vampires, okay. suspend your disbelief just once, my loves!!! this one is quite dark but not terribly graphic, all things considered. there is plenty of blood & gore tho!!! i did not get a chance to proofread as much as i usually do, so if you notice any errors, feel free to let me know!

🩸 happy halloween to my lovely @sweetestofchaos! 🧛🏻 👻 🎃 🍂 i hope you enjoy this!!! i only meant for this to be a short, sweet oneshot and it completely took on a life of its own.

🩸 written for the bts fantasy & fangs trick or treat event! check out more hauntingly good works!

🩸 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🩸 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

The moment the older man walks into the bar, Jeongguk takes in a deep, fortifying breath and instinctively holds it. Something about the way this man carries himself – tall, broad, and strong, with an aura of danger surrounding him – makes Jeongguk weak in the knees, and he grips onto the poles of the tiny caged-in stage and swishes his hip as he gets low into a squatting position.

Being a go-go dancer at a bar this seedy tends to attract the attention of the wrong type of men – men with families waiting for them; men with enough power and influence to make them greedy and mean; men who know damn well that a pretty little thing like Jeongguk disappearing from a shithole like this would not raise many alarms.

Jeongguk gets a thrill from being spoiled by rich married men; he dares one of them to swoop in and make him disappear – even if it means death. Anything would be better than this life, he thinks.

Unfortunately for him, the wealthy men who gravitate toward him are all talk – anything for an easy fuck. They promise Jeongguk the world, telling him how badly they want to get him out of his current rundown apartment and wax poetic about a better life – modeling contracts or sugar baby arrangements.

Oh, how they moan and groan and lament over how stunning Jeongguk is – talented, and thoughtful, and pretty. And then they fuck him and leave him, never calling back, moving along to the next sad little poor thing to utter empty platitudes to while balls deep inside them.

Jeongguk can already tell that this man is different. This man is dangerous beyond just money and an appetite for young meat. This man could make Jeongguk disappear in the blink of an eye.

The man who approaches the bar is gorgeous, dressed head to toe in black – a fitted jacket over a button-up, tucked into fitted slacks. His slightly grown-out hair is lightened to a soft lavender-blond and pushed off his forehead, his eyes are razor-sharp, and his pillow-plush lips are pulled into a smirk. As he walks, men straighten out and step to the side, quick to get out of his way.

Jeongguk watches as the man approaches the bar and leans with one elbow against the wood, ordering a drink and letting his gaze drift around the smoke-filled space. And when the man's eyes land on Jeongguk, he feels his pulse quicken.

Something dark and indiscernible flashes in the man's gaze and Jeongguk feels a pull, leaning forward, bare chest touching the cold metal bars that his hands loosely hold onto. His blood shimmers and soars through his veins, and he swoons to the cold touch of steel.

All sound around him – music and voices – seem to slow and morph, as if he is sinking deep underwater. The man's smirk grows to a salacious grin, and then he turns his gaze away from Jeongguk, who crashes back to reality as he heavy-blinks his surroundings into place.

Slowly, Jeongguk swishes his hips up to a standing position, finding he has to grip a little harder onto the poles, which are slick from sweat that has pooled beneath his palms. The man does not look back at Jeongguk, talking instead to another patron with his back facing this way, leaving him feeling empty and disappointed.

In an attempt to save face, Jeongguk dances for two more songs, eyes never straying from the back of the man, and then picks his black denim jacket up off the floor and exits the cage, hours too soon.

"Need a bathroom break," he mutters to his manager Sunmi, who stands with her arms folded over her chest, scowling at him.

"Make it quick," she snaps, to which he simply grunts, in return.

Jeongguk has half a mind to walk out the back door and go home. He cannot explain why, but he experiences such a pull to the lavender-haired man that having him turn away and not regard him leaves him feeling so disappointed and frustrated that he would rather call it a night than continue to work.

Of the dancers, Jeongguk is easily the most attractive, and he garners the most attention, meaning the managers are on his ass the most, and would definitely berate him for leaving. Luckily, he has no working cell phone at the moment, which could make leaving a lot less annoying.

The bathroom is a dimly lit shithole with yellowed walls and chipped tiles that may have once been white, years and years ago. It reeks of piss and urinal detergent blocks, and every surface is inexplicably wet. Jeongguk scrunches his nose uncomfortably, never able to get used to the stench, as he approaches the sink and stands before it, not quite sure what to do with himself.

Staring at his reflection, Jeongguk begins to give himself a silent pep talk. The way he looks now – bangs hanging in his eyes, which are smudged black like coal – he is far too fucking hot to let some asshole ruin his night.

Tonight, his hair is down – falling nearly to his shoulders in pretty dark brown waves. He wears a thin black tie under his black denim jacket, and black loose-fitting denim pants – no shirt. Dressed like this, men never turn their attention away from him once he has it, so what was that guy's fucking problem?

Jeongguk runs the sink and splashes some cold water on his face, letting it drip down his chest. He uses a paper towel to blot at his forehead and cheeks but allows the droplets on his pecs and abs to linger and glisten.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe he can score the hot lavender-haired man. At the very least, he anticipates someone will take him home tonight. Someone always does.

As he exits the bathroom, the first thing Jeongguk notices is that the man is no longer at the bar. Briefly, he scans the space, looking for him, then he clears his throat, lifts his head high, and walks back to the cage. The moment he steps in, some older man in a suit walks up and grips onto the bars in front of him, like clockwork.

"Hey, pretty thing," the man snarls, reeking of cigars and gin. What he lacks in looks, he makes up for in confidence, and hopefully money.

"Hey there, handsome," Jeongguk responds sweetly, squatting low enough to be just under eye-level with the man, which only seems to excite him more.

"What time you off work?"

It's always the same with these men, and Jeongguk heavy-blinks once, schooling his plastered smile so as to not grimace.

"I finish when the bar shuts down."

The man is antsy, shifting left to right, gripping onto the bars. Jeongguk can tell that he is considering all the ways in which his money has allowed him to skirt past rules and authority; he can tell the man is going to try to insist that Jeongguk, too, is above his own responsibilities if the man can flash enough notes.

"What do you say we get out of here now, instead?" the man tries, causing Jeongguk's right eye to twitch. "I'm sure your boss can be bought, eh? There's two more dancers here; what's the harm in letting one go?"

With a sweet smile and a shrug, Jeongguk looks over his shoulder demurely. "Boss is back there. The woman standing by the wall – the one who's frowning. If you can convince her to let me go, I'm all yours, big boy."

Fat chance in hell Sunmi noona would allow Jeongguk to leave even a minute before close, but he likes letting these men try their best shot. If anything, being told no only makes them more desperate to have him and they wind up spending a pretty penny on getting him drunk enough to fuck them later.

The man hobbles away, and a curious tingle travels up Jeongguk's neck, filling him with the sudden urge to glance around, certain that someone must be watching him. But as he makes a little spin in his cage, eyes tracing over every patron at the bar, peering over every shadow, he doesn't notice anyone paying him special attention. In fact, the only person he makes eye contact with is Sunmi noona, who is glaring at him while the man before her attempts to barter for his freedom.

Things go just as Jeongguk anticipates, to such an exact formula that he would find it amusing if it were not so fucking tedious. The man is ultimately turned down, then he proceeds to sulk at the bar, only ever leaving his post to bring Jeongguk a new drink or go take a piss. This goes on for an hour and a half, and then the man announces that he is going to use the restroom once more, and for Jeongguk to stay put and don't go too far.

Jeongguk leaves the cage and approaches the bar, feeling tipsy and tired as he leans against the far end and waits for the man to return from the restroom. He oscillates between feeling impatient and wishing the man would not return, saving him from having to suck his drunk, flaccid cock in a desperate attempt to get him hard. He just knows this man is going to have to contend with all the alcohol he has been drinking, and that Jeongguk will be the one paying the price.

Although the man is not Jeongguk's type at all – nothing like the Adonis of a man who walked in hours earlier – Jeongguk supposes he is just happy to have somewhere warm to stay for the night. Never mind how undoubtedly bad the sex is going to be. If he is lucky, Jeongguk may even find an opportunity to rob him. Nothing too wild, just a few notes from the man's wallet and some cufflinks or a watch that he likely wouldn't even miss.

Once more, a tingle works its way from Jeongguk's spine to the nape of his neck, and he shivers, glancing over his right shoulder and then his left, puzzled by the strange sensation.

"Ready to go?" the man asks from Jeongguk's right, taking him by surprise and making him flinch.

Jeongguk sighs out an embarrassed exhale and scoffs to himself. "Sure. Let's go."

"I have a room nearby," the man says. "Five star."

Of course, he has a room nearby, Jeongguk thinks. Men like him always have wives; they never take Jeongguk home with them.

Jeongguk still only wears a black denim jacket, a black tie, and no shirt underneath, and the moment he gets outside, he shivers, tensing his shoulders up to his ears and exhaling visible puffs of air in the cool autumn breeze. Being that it is bar time, the sidewalks are crowded with drunk people stumbling to and fro, and Jeongguk digs his hands deep into his jacket pockets as his shoulders and elbows are slammed into.

The man leads Jeongguk to the end of the block and to the left, around the corner, where the street is somewhat quieter. Just up ahead, a black sports car beeps, flashing its lights. With a crooked smile, the man gestures, keys in hand, to the car and says, "This is me."

Jeongguk halts, kicking the cement with the toe of his boot in an attempt to assess the situation. Ordinarily, men who bring him back to hotels do so in a taxi or with a personal driver.

"Yeah, I'm not getting into that car with you," Jeongguk says slowly, taking a tentative step back. "You've had a lot to drink."

Despite having a bit of a death wish, being smashed in a head-on collision is not his ideal way to go.

The man laughs, or maybe he hiccups – it's hard to say. "Come on, don't be a prude," he slurs. "Get in the car."

With a sigh, Jeongguk takes another step back, pulling his hands from his pockets. He hates it when drunk men get pushy, and he begins to crack his knuckles with his thumbs – a nervous tic.

"Sorry, man," Jeongguk insists, continuing to slowly back away. "I'm not getting into your car."

The man looks incensed, and he turns around in a quick swaying stumble, barreling five or so steps to reach Jeongguk, who holds his hands out in front of him, palms up, as if in surrender.

"Hey, man," Jeongguk begins, "Look, I'm not trying t—"

The man lunges, grabbing one of Jeongguk's wrists, yanking hard enough to make Jeongguk stumble. "I'm not trying to fucking argue. You and I both know I can pay you more money to keep me company than you're worth at that shithole. So why don't you be a good little whore and get in the fucking car!"

Jeongguk attempts to rip his arm away, but the man is surprisingly strong, and he yanks him enough to make Jeongguk stumble once more, causing anger and fear to spike in him. And then the tingle works its way through Jeongguk once more, much stronger than before, and he sways forward and back, blinking heavily as if trapped in a mental fog.

Slow footsteps click-clack against concrete behind Jeongguk, and without looking he knows the handsome man from the bar is standing behind him – he has no idea how or why, but he can sense him.

"Gentlemen," the man says, voice deep and rich, raising Jeongguk's goosebumps even higher. "I trust that this is not a physical altercation that I am walking in on."

The drunk man stands tall, yanking on Jeongguk's wrist again. Feeling intoxicated by the man's presence behind him has Jeongguk's arm relaxed, and he stumbles into the drunk man, causing him to huff angrily and continue to yank Jeongguk toward the car.

"He told you he isn't interested in going with you," the man behind him says, and Jeongguk gasps, curious how much of the conversation he could have overheard.

The drunk man squeezes Jeongguk's wrist before throwing it down and pointing at the man, shouting, "And just who the fuck do you think you are?"

In a blink, the new man is standing right beside Jeongguk, cloying his senses with a rich, heady scent of wildflowers and musk. The drunk man gasps and stumbles a step backward, mouth moving frantically as he quakes with fear, and the man by Jeongguk's side slowly lifts his hand, gripping the drunk man's throat.

"I," the man says slowly, "am your worst…fucking…nightmare."

Silence hangs and then the drunk man begins to laugh, snot and drool flying from his lips. He grips onto the hand around his throat and shoves it down, then he shakes his head, face turning a gruesome shade of red under the golden streetlights.

"You almost had me," the drunk man says, slapping his hand against his thigh. "That was a good one."

Jeongguk finally turns his head to face the lavender-haired man. The man only stands slightly taller than him, but his presence feels enormous. The man smiles, which creates a pretty little dimple in his cheek, and he dryly chuckles along.

"That was pretty funny, wasn't it?" the man beside Jeongguk asks.

The drunk man nods and continues to laugh, looking between Jeongguk and the lavender-haired man.

"Get in your car," the man beside Jeongguk commands firmly.

Suddenly, the man stops laughing, and his eyes lose their shine. As if being piloted by some invisible force, he turns and begins walking toward his car.

"Wait," Jeongguk mutters, looking between the men as the drunk man rounds the hood of his car and opens the driver's side door. "What is he—"

"Drive out to the countryside at top speed and crash into the first semi truck you see," the man beside Jeongguk commands, and Jeongguk watches with confused horror as the drunk man utters something to himself and closes his door.

Instinctively, Jeongguk jolts forward, eager to stop the drunk man from driving in the state he is in. But the man beside him very quietly, almost seductively says, "Oh, baby, you aren't going anywhere," and Jeongguk's entire body freezes.

It is almost as if Jeongguk's skin, down to the marrow in his bones, shimmers and heats up, heavy and dreamy as if every nerve – every blood vessel – is listening to the man beside him and wants to do exactly as he says.

"What are you doing, leaving with a man like him, anyway, hmm?" the man asks.

Jeongguk, finding he is incapable of speaking anything but the absolute truth mutters, "I need the money, and you weren't there."

"You were hoping for me?" The man asks, lifting a dark eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"You're handsome…and you appear dangerous. I wanted to know what it was like to get lost in a man like you."

"Awe," the man groans as he leans close, right beside Jeongguk's ear, voice deep and dangerous, "little ol' me?"

"Yes," Jeongguk mutters, feeling any miniscule sense of control quickly leaving him as the man says, "Then come with me."

The man turns and begins to walk the way he came, and Jeongguk feels his limbs twist and buckle as if led by invisible strings. He stumbles as he attempts to keep up, unable to move his lips to speak or to pull his gaze away from the back of the man.

Lavender hair, broad shoulders, and an expensive suit – nothing else in the world exists. That is, until the man turns onto the still crowded street, and Jeongguk follows along so obediently that he causes pedestrians to trip over him.

Drunk people stumble and swear, telling him to watch his step, muttering under their breath about what a fucking degenerate he is. Jeongguk pays no mind – hardly hears them. All he can focus on is the strong man with the floral and musk scent, leading him along.

For the second time tonight, Jeongguk and a strange man approach an expensive car. Only this time, when the man motions for Jeongguk to get into the passenger seat, he doesn't think twice – couldn't think twice if he wanted to.

A voice in the back of his head wonders where they are going, what the man could want from him, how he is leading Jeongguk to act against his will. But he cannot form these thoughts into words; he cannot speak.

The car this man drives is nice – nicer than the generic sports car the other man drove. Far too nice to be flashing it around in a neighborhood like this. If the wrong person catches someone driving around this side of town in something this expensive, it is likely the owner will end up floating face down in the river by dawn.

Not that a man like this one has any reason to fear others.

"Close the door" the man commands as soon as Jeongguk slides into the passenger seat, and he does as he is told. Jeongguk can sense the man turning toward him as he asks, "Wanna see where our friend ended up?"

"Yes," Jeongguk mutters against any better judgment he could have. Ordinarily, he would never admit it, but he is curious.

The man chuckles, presses the ignition button, and speeds off down the road. Jeongguk sits stiff as a board, eyes wide and staring at the cars and buildings passing at speeds that he is terrified to comprehend in the middle of the city. And without a seatbelt, because the mysterious stranger never instructed him to put one on.

"What is your name, pretty?" the man asks, voice magnanimous but still containing an edge to it.

"Jeongguk," he mutters in response. "Jeon Jeongguk."

"Jeongguk," the man repeats nice and slow. His name sounds like honey dripping from the man's tongue, and Jeongguk wishes he could turn and properly see him. "My name is Namjoon. But you can call me sir."

"Yes, sir," Jeongguk responds without thinking.

Namjoon chuckles deeply, leaving the slums for the wealthy outskirts before veering off into the countryside. At the speed which Namjoon is driving, the outside may as well be a black abyss, shrouded in shadow. Headlights and taillights streak by as Namjoon weaves through lanes. And then, up ahead, Jeongguk sees it.

The bright glow of a large headlight shines up ahead, and as they approach, Jeongguk realizes the other headlight is obstructed by what hardly looks like a black car. The front of it is smashed almost like an accordion, surrounded in exploded glass.

“It’s safe to say he won’t be bothering you anymore,” Namjoon announces with a smile in his voice.

“Why did you do this?” Jeongguk mutters, unable to tear his eyes away from the crash.

“Look at me,” Namjoon commands, and Jeongguk’s head snaps to the left before he is able to think.

Namjoon is devilishly handsome – eyes sharp, dark almonds and heavy-lidded, with pillow lips pulled into a smirk. "I didn't like the way he touched you," he explains, lifting a hand to delicately caress Jeongguk's cheek. The touch is ice cold and electric, making Jeongguk suck in air quickly through his teeth.

Sirens and lights blare from in front of them and behind, and Namjoon lifts his eyebrow, then says, "Well, this is our cue to go!" while flashing a smile so bright, it gives Jeongguk chills.

Namjoon reverses and then whips around, tires screeching as the car does a 180 and speeds off back toward town. Jeongguk continues to watch Namjoon, eyes stuck on his side profile, in part because he is so beautiful, but also because he has not been given instruction to look elsewhere.

How Namjoon is able to weave through cop cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance without anyone turning their attention to him is beyond Jeongguk, but he is unable to think too deeply about it, mind too full of fog. Jeongguk expected Namjoon to continue driving deeper into the countryside and take him somewhere terrifyingly secluded, and he is surprised when the city lights return.

"What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like that, anyway?" Namjoon asks, breaking a tense silence.

Jeongguk continues to stare at the side of Namjoon's face, feeling his pulse quicken when the man turns his gaze to him briefly with a hint of a smile.

"Places like that are where all pretty things like me end up," Jeongguk mutters somewhat methodically. He has more thoughts on the matter, but he finds that all his brain and mouth will offer are exact responses.

"And why is that?" Namjoon asks as he pulls to a red light and turns his full attention to Jeongguk.

Tears build in the edges of Jeongguk's eyes. He cannot tell whether it is because he has not blinked since he was told to look at Namjoon, or if the man has struck a nerve. He thinks perhaps it is somewhere in the middle.

"I'm a dropout with no direction," Jeongguk responds quietly, voice cracking around his words. "No rich parents…I don't have anything to offer but my body."

Ordinarily, when Jeongguk bothers to open up to men, they put on a pitying act. They promise Jeongguk this and that while assuring him that he does have purpose – he does have something to offer to the world. Namjoon, on the other hand, perks up. He practically snarls. And when the light turns green, he continues watching Jeongguk for a few more tense seconds.

"Ah, yes," the man finally says as he returns his gaze to the street and continues driving. "Another pretty face who could disappear and nobody would miss them."

Although Jeongguk feels like Namjoon is mocking him, there is no mockery in his tone. He is so perfectly matter of fact, that Jeongguk is unable to feel angry if he wanted to, because he is a classic case of a nobody, as far as anyone is concerned; Namjoon could murder him tonight and the only person who would notice him missing would be his boss, and even she wouldn't go looking for him.

"Do you like that job?" Namjoon asks as they begin to wind through darker streets that Jeongguk assumes is a more residential area.

Jeongguk quietly mutters, "No."

"Are there aspects about it you like at all?"

"I like dancing," Jeongguk responds as tears break and streak down his cheeks. His eyes feel dry and heavy, and he forces himself to partially blink, finding that his eyes will not close entirely. "And I like the attention. Getting spoiled by rich men is fun, but I wish most of them weren't so gross."

Namjoon laughs, turning his attention briefly to Jeongguk. His eyes appear to be dark black pools of nothing, and Jeongguk does not have a mind to question it.

"Do you think I'm gross?" he asks in a playful tone.

"No," Jeongguk responds instantly. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

"And if I want to spoil you?" Namjoon continues as he seems to pull to the side of the road but keeps his ignition on. He turns to fully face Jeongguk, cocking his head to the side.

"Please," Jeongguk all but whispers, then he clears his throat. "It will hurt like hell when you abandon me, but I'm used to it."

If Jeongguk were not spellbound, he would surely feel embarrassed over his admission. Being this honest with strange men is not his wheelhouse; he has never fully admitted to his feelings with anyone in the past.

"And if I choose not to abandon you?" Namjoon asks as he scrapes his pearly teeth over his plush bottom lip. Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement; he desperately wants to know how that lip feels between his own teeth.

"Don't tease me," Jeongguk responds, voice slow and distracted as he continues to stare at Namjoon's mouth.

Namjoon smiles wide and Jeongguk could swear his incisors were sharper than before. As he runs his tongue along the bottom edge of one pointed tooth, Jeongguk's heart gallops behind his ribs.

"Not a tease," Namjoon says with a snarl, sharp smile remaining on display. "But it would come with a price."

Jeongguk swallows thickly, gaze stuck on Namjoon's devilishly inviting mouth. "And wh-what is the price?"

Rather than respond, Namjoon shuts off the ignition. "Follow me," he commands as he gets out of the car, and for a split moment, Jeongguk's body pulls toward the driver's seat before correcting and opening the passenger side door.

Namjoon rounds the hood of the car and approaches a large, angular house set back in tall, spiky trees that appear massive in the pitch dark. Although there are other houses around, there is a feeling of seclusion as Jeongguk follows Namjoon down a short path and up a set of cement steps that lead to the side of the home rather than the front of it.

"Are you scared?" Namjoon asks over his shoulder.

Shadow closes in the further they walk. Jeongguk wants to say no, and he is disappointed when his mouth utters, "A little."

Namjoon punches a long passcode into a keypad, then pulls the massive wooden door open, holding out his hand as if to invite Jeongguk to enter. Only Jeongguk cannot enter, because his instruction was to follow.

"If I break the spell will you run?" Namjoon asks with a playful lift of an eyebrow.

"No," Jeongguk answers plainly. Where would he even go?

With a snap of Namjoon's fingers, Jeongguk's shoulders quickly droop and his body adjusts to the natural force of gravity that holds him. He takes in a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill painfully as his dry eyes blink away the last of the tears that had formed. Jeongguk is able to weigh whether or not he wants to enter this man's home, and even though he is certain that Namjoon is not entirely human, he finds he does not care.

So, with another deep breath, Jeongguk steps forward, into the dark space. He can hardly see what is in front of him, but he takes a few more steps and begins to toe out of his loosely laced boots, shaking his ankles until they hit the floor with a hollow thunk, one after the other, then bending to remove his socks, as well, worried they might stink.

Namjoon's home seems to come alive as the man walks deeper through the foyer and into a large living room. Sconces light on their own – faint golden glows that illuminate just enough but keep the space somewhat dark. The walls have deep red wallpaper with dark wood wainscoting, and there are large portraits hung throughout the space, all of which look like Namjoon painted during various artistic periods throughout history.

"This is…" Jeongguk mutters, eyes trailing from a faded image of Namjoon painted somewhat crudely over yellowed parchment to a clearer painting of Namjoon dressed as a nobleman in a style that would be centuries more recent than the last, but centuries older than the one they live in, now.

"Impressive?" Namjoon asks.

Jeongguk shakes his head, stopping in his tracks to look at his host fully. "Weird. This is fucking weird."

Namjoon smiles widely, standing tall before Jeongguk – as beautiful as he is terrifying. Jeongguk wants to lean close and run his hands over the man's chest and push away the lapels of his expensive jacket.

"I suppose it is quite weird," Namjoon responds, gaze becoming somewhat sad. "Seeing all and surpassing everyone I have ever come to know…hiding away as a monster…all of it is, indeed, quite weird."

Although Jeongguk is certain that he has full control of himself, the tingle persists, settling at the base of his spine and spreading a curious, eager warmth throughout. "Make me into a monster like you," he utters without really considering what he asks for.

Namjoon squints, gaze curious, almost mocking. “Do you know for what you ask, little one?”

And, sure, Jeongguk could wager a guess, but all he responds with in the moment is a petulant utterance of, “I’m basically the same height and build as you.”

With a hum, Namjoon takes a step forward, causing Jeongguk's entire body to react. He feels like cornered prey as his hips twist and he backs into the wall, heel hitting polished wood as a brass sconce scrapes the side of his head. Namjoon truly is only a bit taller but he looms over a cowering Jeongguk as he stands his full height, elongating his spine to look down at him.

"Yes, you are a sizable match in many ways," Namjoon says softly, raising a hand to gently detangle Jeongguk's hair from the elaborate sconce. "But I have lived lifetimes before finding you. Dynasties have risen, fallen, and faded into obscurity, and I have seen all. I could snuff your life out in the blink of an eye, like a tiny little rodent."

The absurdity in Namjoon's statement makes Jeongguk want to laugh, only he finds all he can do is snicker before something in Namjoon's presence makes his mouth rest. He has already experienced the man's magic…could he be telling the truth?

"Do it," Jeongguk urges, eager to reach out and touch Namjoon but incapable of lifting his arms.

"You don't know what you're asking for," Namjoon responds lowly, eyes appearing sad despite the edges of his lips rising.

"Aren't you lonely?" Jeongguk urges. He has no idea whether he and Namjoon would even get along, or whether they could be sexually compatible, but he is desperate for a life outside the one he has known for so long.

Namjoon smirks and drags his ice cold hands along the curve of Jeongguk's neck, making him shiver. His jacket hangs open, and Namjoon gently pushes the material back, running the backs of his hands down Jeongguk's chest, ribs, abdominals.

"You're so cold," Jeongguk mutters under his breath, watching as Namjoon's gaze follows his own hands. "Cold as death."

"That is correct, little one," Namjoon says, eyes flicking to his. "My own blood has not flowed through my veins for centuries."

Although Jeongguk struggles to wrap his mind around everything Namjoon says, it feels real…sort of. "Are you a zombie?" he mutters half to himself, not fully intending to say the words aloud.

Namjoon's eyes crinkle, his cheeks dimple, and he laughs. He laughs loud and boisterous, sounds echoing throughout dark space, and Jeongguk is certain that he has never seen or heard something more beautiful in his life. With a shake of his head, Namjoon continues to laugh, and Jeongguk stands and waits while the smallest smile creeps over his own lips.

"Not a zombie," Namjoon replies, still shaking his head. "But I am technically undead."

In a flash, Namjoon's expression darkens. His eyes go almost pitch black, and his incisors sharpen before Jeongguk's eyes, confirming that what he saw earlier was not a mistake. The familiar tingle works its way up Jeongguk's spine, only this time, it triggers his fight or flight response. All he can do is freeze.

"Namjoon," Jeongguk mutters as he presses further into the wall, hands shakily grazing over the ridges of wooden panels.

"You seem so eager to know what kind of monster I am," Namjoon responds, leaning close and wafting cold breath that reeks of decaying flowers over Jeongguk's face. "Shall I show you?"

"I—" Jeongguk croaks, voice becoming lost in his throat.

The tips of Namjoon's frigid fingers begin to dig into the skin of Jeongguk's tummy, just above his waistline, by his left hip. He doesn't remember Namjoon having long or sharp nails, but he swears he can feel his skin begin to puncture – he finds he is too afraid to look.

"You…what?" Namjoon prompts, dark eyes pooling with black abyss. "Too frightened to speak?"

Jeongguk's lips tremble, creaking broken sounds that find no resolve. He is absolutely horrified, and more curious than he has ever felt about anything before.

Namjoon lifts a hand, proving that what Jeongguk felt was real – the index and middle fingers have sharp claw-like nails that drip with blood. Jeongguk can feel wet warmth on his left hip, but he does not look; he can only stare as Namjoon lifts his hand to his lips and sucks the blood from his fingers.

The sounds Namjoon makes are borderline pornographic – hums and groans of pleasure. Jeongguk watches intently as Namjoon pulls his fingers from between his inviting lip – as Namjoon's pink tongue pokes out and laps up a drop of blood that has run between his fingers.

He knows he should glance down and assess what Namjoon has done to him, and he practically begs his brain to allow his gaze to move. He almost feels caught in the same trance as earlier, only Namjoon has not commanded anything; how is he trapped in place, unable to look away?

"God, I love that look of fear, confusion, intrigue," Namjoon purrs, voice somehow deeper than Jeongguk remembers. "We should really tend to that wound. Wouldn't want it to kill you."

"Would it?" Jeongguk murmurs, feeling somewhat dissociated from his skin. He does not feel pain, but he can feel the trickle of blood.

Namjoon begins to sink down to his knees, gaze never leaving Jeongguk's. Only when Namjoon settles and sits high, leaning toward where his nails dug deep enough to puncture skin, does Jeongguk see the wound. It does not bleed too badly, but it is leaving a wet black spot on his black pants.

Without a word, Namjoon opens Jeongguk's black denim jacket and pins the fabric to the wall with both palms. Then he leans in and licks a slow, firm path from the waistline of Jeongguk's jeans and over the wound.

Namjoon groans, eyelids fluttering as he licks and sucks. All Jeongguk can do is stare, watching Namjoon's tongue streak deep red before disappearing. Jeongguk cannot deny that it feels good. In fact, the visual of Namjoon on his knees before him, lapping at his skin with such hunger while his dark eyes stay on Jeongguk's face has arousal coursing through his veins just as quickly as oxygen does.

Jeongguk's cock begins to harden, and he decides it is best not to allow the myriad questions and concerns muddy the spell that Namjoon must have him under. One particularly firm flick of Namjoon's tongue makes Jeongguk shiver, and before he knows it, the pleasure he feels is enough to make him sigh out a hint of a moan. This catches Namjoon's attention and makes him grin, lips stained with blood and yet so inviting.

"Please," Jeongguk whispers, fingertips tingling to reach forward but planted to the wall.

"Please…what, little one?"

Without a clue as to what he is asking for, Jeongguk simply watches as Namjoon's hands lift from the wall and begin to rub over Jeongguk's skin, along the hem of his pants, to the fly, where he works the button open. Blood and saliva cover Namjoon's chin, and his ice cold fingers send another shiver down his spine.

Namjoon's eyes fall to Jeongguk's jeans – undoubtedly to the bulge that lifts the fabric – then he glances back up, grin widening with his sharp white teeth on display. He scrapes his tongue along his teeth before asking, "That turned you on?"

Jeongguk could swear Namjoon's pupils were brighter than before. No longer are they deep black pools, shining a rich umber that appear outlined in red – a trick of the light, Jeongguk surmises – and making him more alluring than ever.

All Jeongguk can do is nod, mouth too heavy and dry to make coherent sound. That did turn him on, and he is terrified of what it could mean for him.

In a blink, Namjoon is standing before him. Jeongguk startles, bumping his head into the sconce and wincing from the pain. Namjoon's chin is still smeared pinkish-red, and his breath smells like decaying flowers and iron.

"Do I scare you, little one?"

Jeongguk's exhale trembles from his lips, and his voice is barely audible as he says, "You know you scare me."

"Do you like it?"

Jeongguk doesn't give himself a chance to mull it over. "Sort of."

"I can scare you more if you would prefer."

Although he is certain that he should not be asking leading questions to someone who has proven himself to be a literal monster, Jeongguk swallows thickly then asks, "Why would you want to do that?"

Namjoon licks his lips and hums, putting on a show of thinking over his response. Then he leans in close to Jeongguk's ear, groaning through his words. "There is something about the way your blood courses through your veins when you are afraid that makes it taste…so…sweet."

Jeongguk's fight or flight impulse returns, and he tenses. Suddenly he wants to run far, far away from Namjoon. Worse, he thinks that he would like Namjoon to give chase.

"God, I can smell the fear on you, little one," Namjoon whines, rubbing his nose over Jeongguk's throat. "I'll give you a ten second head start if you want to run."

"Shit," Jeongguk mutters, suddenly unglued from the wall, limbs relaxing only to tense back up again. He was definitely just under Namjoon's spell, and he had no clear confirmation of it while it happened.

"Ten…" Namjoon says with a grin, taking a large step backward.

Jeongguk looks around the darkened space, unsure where he could even go.

Then Namjoon lifts a brow and cocks his head to the side as if silently asking Jeongguk what he is waiting for as he says, "Nine…"

Jeongguk runs to the right, deeper into the large house, blinking in the darkness while he attempts to get his bearings. There is no way he could hope to fight Namjoon off, so he does not attempt to go to the kitchen to search for anything sharp or heavy to use as a weapon. Not that he wants to fight Namjoon off, but a voice in the back of his head is telling him that he should.

Namjoon's voice echoes from behind him, calling, "Eight!"

Stairs come into view and Jeongguk storms upward, taking two at a time in the darkness, tripping over himself at the top landing and stumbling before pummeling shoulder first into a wall.

"Seven!"

There is a faint golden glow that comes from the far end of a long hall and Jeongguk runs toward it, bare feet sliding along hardwood and stomping onto carpeting. He can vaguely make out more portraits and photographs lining the walls, as well as closed and open doors.

"Six!"

Jeongguk slams his open palms into the door, which is cracked a few inches, and he stumbles into a bedroom. He is surprised by the furnishings, eyes finding velvet upholstery, intricately carved wood on a large four-poster bed, and matching wooden dressers and vanity.

"Five!"

Briefly, he considers hiding, but if Namjoon is truly able to smell his fear, he does not think he would be able to stay concealed for very long. He turns somewhat uselessly, noting a door that he assumes leads to a closet, lounge chairs deeper in the room, and a large glass door at the far end.

Running toward the door, he considers whether he may be able to jump off the balcony and chastises himself for not just running outside while he was still downstairs. This is how characters are caught in horror films, he reminds himself – by running upstairs instead of outside.

"Four!"

There is absolutely no way Namjoon wouldn't find him, if what he has said is true. But what if it is not? Jeongguk considers that some of what he has said could have been simply to scare him.

With a heavy sigh, Jeongguk pushes back thick, blood red curtains in search of which side of the glass panel is a door. On the far right, there is a black metal handle, with a small metal latch that Jeongguk works open.

"Three!"

Jeongguk feels a surge of excitement as he throws the door open, then instantly regrets his choice as he steps out into the cool night air. The balcony is large and rectangular, made of wrought iron and concrete, and it overlooks a steep hill that leads down to a large pond. Even if he could jump down safely, where the fuck would he go?

Without a proper shirt, he could catch any number of ailments from submerging himself in that water. But all thought of wanting to play Namjoon's game seeps away as Jeongguk's mind screams at him to get the fuck away from this house.

"Two!"

And there is no way in hell he would be able to outrun the man. Namjoon has already proven that he has the ability to move too fast for Jeongguk to even fathom. Fear spikes, and his teeth begin to rattle in the cold night air. All of this seems futile, and yet…he has to try.

Namjoon's voice calling, "One!" is all Jeongguk needs to close the glass door behind him and then run to the edge of the balcony. He hardly thinks of the repercussions as he throws his legs over the railing, one after the other. With a glance over his shoulder, he tells himself that if he can manage to land on his feet and roll down the hill, he has a pretty good chance at survival.

Jeongguk releases his hold on the railing, but rather than falling down, two strong, ice cold hands grip onto his wrists and yank him upward.

"Going somewhere, little one?" Namjoon teases as he effortlessly returns Jeongguk to the balcony.

Jeongguk cries out and trembles in the cold air, taking a step backward as soon as Namjoon lets go of his hands. His lower back hits the railing and he gasps, feeling like cornered prey once more.

"I thought you liked being afraid of me," Namjoon pouts, closing the space between them. "Were we not just playing a game?"

"I do…we are…I just—" Jeongguk cannot get his thoughts straight. Truth be told, as much as he considered flinging himself over the balcony, all he really wanted was for Namjoon to catch him. And catch him, he has. But what does this mean for Jeongguk?

"Are you afraid of death?" Namjoon asks, cocking his head to the side. His reddish-brown eyes seem to glow in the pale light of the moon.

Without hesitation, Jeongguk shakes his head, muttering, "No."

"But you are afraid of me?"

As Jeongguk licks his lips, he watches Namjoon's eyes follow the movement. He wants Namjoon's tongue back on his body, and maybe…just maybe…he wants to become whatever Namjoon is.

"Sort of," he admits.

Namjoon steps so close, Jeongguk can feel the cold radiate from him. But he likes the way Namjoon's thigh slots between his legs. He likes how Namjoon's lips feel as they graze his throat as he says, "Elaborate, my sweet."

"I want to know you," Jeongguk says, eyes fluttering closed. "I want to become like you. But I don't…I don't know what that means."

"Life as you know it will be over," Namjoon breathes against his neck, forcing each of Jeongguk's exhales to shake from his lungs.

Jeongguk is certain that there is nothing more inviting than leaving his life behind. "I know. That's what I want."

Namjoon takes a step back, just far enough that he can look Jeongguk in the eye. For the first time, he appears uncertain, and perhaps even a little sad. His hands gently cup Jeongguk's face, thumb leaving a chilled path over his cheek. "The first few months of this new existence will be full of pain and confusion."

With a scoff, Jeongguk mutters, "My entire life has been full of pain and confusion."

There is understanding in Namjoon's eyes, and Jeongguk questions everything he knows about the man. Could someone so delicate and handsome really be a monster?

But then Jeongguk remembers the wound on his hip, and the superhuman speed, and the way Namjoon can command Jeongguk to think and do exactly what he wants. And he thinks he wants to have that kind of power all to himself.

Without another word, Namjoon takes Jeongguk's hand and pulls him back inside the warmth of his bedroom. He releases Jeongguk's hand to close and lock the sliding glass door, and then he pulls the deep red curtains closed, leaving the two of them in the golden glow of a lamp that sits on the other side of the room, beside the massive bed.

Namjoon turns and begins to make his way toward the bed, arms lifted and moving in a way that suggests he may be unbuttoning his jacket. It takes Jeongguk a moment to follow him, stepping softly onto an intricate rug that covers most of the floor.

"I don't turn people often," Namjoon says as he looks over his shoulder and then begins to shrug out of his jacket. "In fact, I only planned to drain you tonight. If you were interested, I would have wanted to fuck you first, but ultimately, the plan was to leave you to die."

Something about Namjoon's candor is not only oddly comforting, but alluring. Perhaps Jeongguk should be most concerned with the bit about draining him and leaving him to die, but all he finds he can circle back to is the thought of Namjoon wanting to fuck him.

Of course, he saw the way Namjoon licked at his skin, and his jeans are still unbuttoned from Namjoon opening them before deciding he would rather play a sordid game of cat and mouse. So it should really come as no surprise.

"Guess that makes me special," Jeongguk responds somewhat cheekily, feeling there is still a bit of a heaviness that hangs in the air, making him nervous.

Namjoon spins on socked feet with his black button-up shirt halfway undone, nimble fingers working a button just below his pecs. The expanse of bare skin is inviting, and paired with the hungry look in Namjoon's eyes, it sends a thrill through Jeongguk.

"I have been wanting a companion for some time," Namjoon says, "and you do seem like a worthy man. You are very pretty, and I like your attitude."

"A companion?" Jeongguk responds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He is not exactly a relationship type of guy, and suddenly, he feels a bit apprehensive. "Don't you think that's moving a little fast?"

In a blink, Namjoon is standing before Jeongguk, pushing at the collar of his jacket. Jeongguk actually chuckles at the thought that Namjoon's response to his remark was to quite literally move too fast.

"Once I turn you," Namjoon mutters as Jeongguk's denim is pushed past his shoulders and begins to slide down his arms, "you will depend wholly on me for quite some time. Your hunger and other urges will be so strong that it will physically pain you to exist, and I will be the only tether you will have to any sense of sanity."

With a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk says, "You make it sound so dramatic," all the while his jacket crumples on the rug around his feet.

Namjoon grabs the black tie that hangs around Jeongguk's neck and gently yanks on it, forcing Jeongguk to stumble into Namjoon and place his palms against his cold, muscular chest.

"Not to mention," Namjoon adds with a lift of his brow, "after I fuck you, you won't want to leave my side."

At this, Jeongguk scoffs, rubbing his hands over Namjoon's clothed nipples, which harden to the touch. His shirt hangs open around the waistline, still tucked in and forgotten.

"I've been with a lot of men," Jeongguk challenges, tilting his head to the side. "A lot of men who have made a lot of empty promises. What makes you think you're so special?"

Namjoon's grip on the tie tightens, then releases, and he reaches for Jeongguk's left wrist, gently lifting it to his lips.

"Oh, my darling boy," he mutters, lips dragging over Jeongguk's skin. "I have experienced centuries of pleasure. Those so-called men could not possibly fathom what I have to offer. And, not to mention…" Namjoon lifts his mouth and smiles widely, showing off his sharp teeth in a way that is both too menacing and intriguing for Jeongguk to comprehend. "...I can show you pleasurable pain the likes of which so few living men have ever experienced."

Without warning, Namjoon sinks his teeth into Jeongguk's wrist. The pain is so white-hot intense that Jeongguk's entire body tenses and he attempts to yank himself free. Namjoon's eyes open widely before rolling back, and he moans with pleasure as he retracts the teeth that have left two puncture marks in Jeongguk's skin, and he begins to suck.

Blood play is something that Jeongguk has always done his best to steer clear of, and now this monstrous man has already made him bleed twice. What is more, Namjoon seems to really enjoy the taste of his blood – is this what he meant by draining Jeongguk and leaving him to die? Does Namjoon actually drink blood?

Jeongguk almost misses the tingle that works over his skin, leaving goosebumps and warmth in its wake. "You son of a bitch," he mumbles, knees turning loose like gelatin. "You're charming me again, aren't you?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon releases Jeongguk's wrist. Blood pools in two tooth-sized holes, and he is certain that he would be panicking over the blood loss if it were not for the mind control, or whatever the fuck Namjoon is done to him.

"I prefer the term compulsion, but charm works, too," Namjoon says. He drags his tongue over Jeongguk's wrist, streaking it with red.

"Will you be able to do this to me even after you have made me whatever you are?"

Namjoon smirks, responding, "Sadly, no. My charm only works on humans. Living humans." He drops Jeongguk's wrist, and even Jeongguk is surprised by how heavy his arm feels; he wonders if he is only standing because Namjoon has somehow commanded his limbs to do so.

"I like the charm," Jeongguk mutters, feeling somewhat dizzy and light. "I like how shimmery and floaty it makes me. But I want to experience the fear and the pain. Please."

Jeongguk knows, somewhere in his mind, that what he is asking for might be something he comes to regret. But if what Namjoon says is true – if he really is going to transform Jeongguk into something not human – then Jeongguk wants to feel those intense human emotions one last time.

With a wide grin, Namjoon reaches down and begins to unzip Jeongguk's jeans. "As you wish, my pretty little human," he says, dropping to his knees. "But don't be surprised if it becomes unbearable. Now…let us finish what we started downstairs, shall we?"

He is silent and still as his senses return, watching as Namjoon reaches with sharp nails into the waistband of Jeongguk's briefs and begins to yank his garments down. Slowly, Jeongguk lifts his arm, feeling somewhat distressed that his wrist continues to bleed enough that blood runs down his palm and drips from his fingers.

He even considers whether he should bandage the wound and apply pressure and all of that first aid stuff, but the feeling of Namjoon's ice cold palms gripping onto his half-hard cock has all thought leaving Jeongguk's mind.

"Whoa," Jeongguk mutters, feeling the forces of gravity momentarily disagree with his body as he shifts on his feet in an attempt not to fall. Even from just a single touch, Jeongguk is buzzing and needy for more.

"Ever do temperature play?" Namjoon asks as his hands stroke Jeongguk to fully erect.

Jeongguk is not sure he even knows what that is, and he shakes his head, saying, "No."

"Some find the chill of my mouth to be rather exquisite," Namjoon responds without missing a beat, sitting high on his knees.

The cold, wet drag of Namjoon's tongue along the length of Jeongguk's shaft makes him groan and shiver. It is striking how different it feels, and he struggles somewhat to get his bearings. And then Namjoon opens wide and engulfs Jeongguk's cock, causing him to sob out from how cold but simultaneously wet and inviting his mouth is.

"Fuck," Jeongguk groans, lifting his hands to grip onto Namjoon's lavender hair. "Holy fuck."

Namjoon sucks Jeongguk's dick with a fervor he has never experienced. With seemingly no gag reflex, Namjoon swallows deep and hard, groaning when Jeongguk's hips buck and tremble uncontrollably. Pleasure builds and crashes inside him, and he worries he may cum in an instant.

And then he feels the sharp drag of teeth against his cock, and fear spikes so intensely that he roughly tugs on Namjoon's hair, to no avail. Namjoon stares up at Jeongguk as he presses the tip of his cock far into his throat, causing tears to form in his pretty, dangerous eyes.

He is certain that Namjoon is fucking with him – making him feel the fear that he asked for only moment ago – and he does his best to relax. With his pants and briefs hugging around his ankles, it is not as if Jeongguk would be able to go anywhere, anyway; Namjoon more or less has him trapped, as always.

Namjoon hums deep as his eyes flutter closed and he slurps and sucks, picking up speed. He wraps his hands around Jeongguk's hips and manually rocks Jeongguk against him, forcing him to fuck his mouth. Jeongguk finds the rhythm with his hips, though the pleasure is so overwhelming, he is certain that he will bust very soon.

"Oh, god," Jeongguk moans, head lolling back while he continues to hold Namjoon by the hair. "I'm gonna cum."

As he chases his high, his hips rock faster, and Namjoon accommodates without any trouble, slurping and sucking and humming to the rhythm of Jeongguk's body. Even as flashes of Namjoon's terrible superhuman speed and affinity to lick his bleeding wounds play through his mind, Jeongguk only becomes more aroused rather than disgusted, pushing him over the edge.

Namjoon swallows deeply the moment Jeongguk opens his mouth to croak out a warning that only falls from his lips as a moan. He cums hard, whimpering and sobbing as his body bends at the hips and threatens to topple over. Somehow, Jeongguk remains on his feet, hands sliding down to Namjoon's shoulders to anchor himself up.

When Namjoon finally releases his cock, Jeongguk is relieved to find there is no blood. His relief is quickly dashed, however, when he notices red streaks in Namjoon's hair and realizes his wrist is still bleeding. Not only that, but he feels incredibly dizzy, and he is certain that it cannot be entirely from how talented Namjoon is at sucking dick.

As Jeongguk lightly lifts his left arm and watches blood trickle past his fingers, he sighs. He should really be more concerned about bleeding to death, and he wonders if Namjoon has compelled him not to care.

"On the bed," Namjoon instructs as he stands and finishes untucking and unbuttoning his black dress shirt. "I want to enjoy you while you're still warm."

Jeongguk grumbles something under his breath that even he is uncertain of, then stumbles forward, forgetting that his pants are still snug around his ankles. He reaches for Namjoon, who takes hold of his non-bleeding arm, and uses him as leverage to step out of his right pant leg and then his left.

Wearing only the black tie around his neck, Jeongguk shuffles over to the bed, placing his palms against cold black satin and hoisting himself up. He is definitely woozy, and he practically falls face-first onto the blanket before crawling to where he surmises is the center.

The mattress dips and Jeongguk is shoved down against the bed, gasping as he uselessly tries to find purchase against the sheet. Cold hands press his ass and spread him wide before an even colder tongue laps over his hole, making Jeongguk tremble and sob.

Namjoon is rough with the way he prods Jeongguk open, barely giving him time to adjust before stretching him further. Jeongguk would beg for him to slow down if he weren't so enthralled with the way Namjoon handles him, and he wonders once again if he is charmed by the monster, as well.

"So pliant and tight," Namjoon groans. "And so warm."

Jeongguk loses track of which ice cold appendage or muscle prises him open, occasionally feeling one wetter than the others. It isn't until Namjoon shoves him roughly onto his back that Jeongguk watches a beautifully nude monster in the form of a human man spread his thighs nice and wide and begin to spear him on his thick, frigid cock.

When barely a sound louder than a croak comes from between Jeongguk's lips, Namjoon pouts mockingly, whining, "Awe, don't die just yet, little one; give me one more orgasm first."

All Jeongguk can do is lay and take what Namjoon gives him, barely capable of moving his own limbs. The bed is soaked with blood that he knows has come from his wrist, and although Namjoon's cock feels incredible inside him, he is unsure whether his own cock is hard at all.

"Fuck," Namjoon groans as he leans forward with one hand anchored against the bed. He looks impatient as he lifts his other wrist to his mouth and pierces his teeth into the flesh.

Jeongguk gasps at the sight, certain that now they are both doomed; surely they cannot both survive puncture wounds to their arteries. Never mind everything Namjoon said earlier about surviving centuries, and all that.

Namjoon, on the other hand, only seems mildly inconvenienced as he holds his wrist above Jeongguk's face and allows his blood to drip down onto his mouth.

At first, Jeongguk flinches, disgusted by the ice cold, thick and brassy blood that drops onto his lips and chin. He closes his lips tight in the hope of keeping any of the liquid from seeping in. But then he gets a taste of the blood, and everything changes.

Instantly, Jeongguk feels a pull to Namjoon that seems to take him by storm. He needs the blood, and he needs it now – of that, he is certain.

Jeongguk reaches up with weak hands and grips onto Namjoon's hand and arm, tugging the bleeding wrist down to his lips. With an amused chuckle, Namjoon complies, giving Jeongguk what he needs while continuing to fuck into him.

The combination of drinking blood from Namjoon's wrist while getting fucked by him feels like there is glitter shimmering in his bloodstream, alighting every blood vessel. Arousal crashes more intensely than it had before, and Jeongguk not only feels healed from his earlier wound, but he feels strong.

The blood also tastes better than anything Jeongguk has ever sampled before, and he is desperate to get his fill, eyes rolling back as he moans and sucks and moans some more. He feels fucking drunk.

Namjoon is a mess of groans and whimpers, and he begins to yank his wrist away from Jeongguk, who grips tightly with both hands as if his life depends on it. He is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that without this blood, he may die.

"Enough, little one," Namjoon grits, clearly struggling as his hips continue their assault, smacking sounds echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Before, Jeongguk could swear he heard and felt the pounding of his own heart, but now there is nothing.

Jeongguk finally releases his hold, moaning and sobbing through the quick, dizzying build and crash of an orgasm. Without warning, he sprays cum on his tummy, only to feel the pleasure build and build once again.

"Yes, that's it," Namjoon moans, reaching to cradle Jeongguk's head, which lolls uselessly against the satin sheet, "I want you to cum again."

Namjoon grips onto Jeongguk's thighs, spreading him impossibly wider, and fucks him at a pace so punishing, he worries Namjoon's cock might burrow too deep inside him. Briefly, he considers begging for a break, but the feeling is so euphoric, he only teeters on the edge of overstimulation without fully plunging over.

But then he begins to black out. Little blips of time and space at first, before he wonders if he is imagining things, entirely. Jeongguk blinks his heavy eyelids open to find Namjoon appearing like some kind of beast from hell with long, sharp teeth and glowing red eyes, fucking him with a fervor that almost feels like hatred.

And then he imagines his chest being clawed open. The pain is dreadful, but he is also being fucked so good, he is incapable of reconciling the two feelings. He even thinks that perhaps all the blood in his body erupts from his chest cavity in one final, harrowing tug of strong cold hands ripping him at his ribs like an animal carcass.

And then he wakes up.

He feels no pain or fatigue as his eyes blink open. In fact, he feels more invigorated and alert than he has in all of his life. There is nobody in the bed beside him, and as he glances around, he realizes that it must be dark outside, which begs the question of whether it is the same night, or whether he has fucked and slept well into the following night.

The events of his night with Namjoon are so eerie, that as they seep in and he begins to remember what happened, he almost feels confused. Certainly none of that could have been real, but he clearly remembers the man existing, and he has woken up in a bed that must belong to Namjoon.

Jeongguk sits up and stretches his limbs, pleased with how incredible he feels. He thinks that he could run a marathon and hardly break a sweat with the energy that courses through him, and he surprises himself with how it takes hardly any exertion at all to toss the comforter aside.

Discarded on the floor are his jeans, briefs, and jacket, and folded on the nightstand appears to be his tie. However, Jeongguk decides that he is feeling brazen, and he stands from the bed and heads for the door in the nude. He feels so invigorated that he wants to find Namjoon and entice him into bending him over whichever surface they encounter first and fucking him until he is dizzy.

As Jeongguk makes his way out of the master suite and down along the second floor hallway, he becomes aware of two things simultaneously. The first is the smell, and the second is the sound.

Just before the top landing of the stairs, to the right, there is a door cracked open and a light on inside, and without giving it any thought whatsoever, Jeongguk knows that what he senses is coming from that room, so he picks up his pace and walks a little quicker, feet padding over a soft rug that lines the center of the hallway.

Nothing can prepare Jeongguk for what he walks in on when he opens the door, nor can it ready him for the way the scene makes him feel.

In the dead center of a rather small, dimly lit room, is a nude person restrained by the wrists and ankles to a large wooden X. Blood pours from the person's left wrist and arm, and Namjoon stands off to the side, to the right of the person, also nude with blood covering his chin.

Before Jeongguk can make his presence known, Namjoon's eyes are on him, and his grin is wide. "Hello, my little fledgling," Namjoon calls somewhat menacingly as he turns his body fully to Jeongguk and opens his arms wide and invitingly.

Jeongguk should be horrified, but instead he is filled with an overwhelming need to taste. He shuffles forward, almost robotically, and approaches Namjoon, slotting himself against his side, beneath one of his open arms. And then he begins to lick the blood from Namjoon's chin.

The person restrained to the X groans – the sound that Jeongguk is certain he heard earlier – and rather than filling him with the urge to save or protect the person, Jeongguk finds he almost wants to mock the person and make them produce even more desperate sounds. In fact, Jeongguk finds that more than anything, he wants to rip the person's skin open and drink all of their blood.

"I trust you slept well?" Namjoon asks sweetly as Jeongguk finishes lapping the blood from his chin and turns his attention to their captor.

"I did," Jeongguk mutters, surprised by the quality of his own voice. He sounds dreamy, almost as if he is put under yet another one of Namjoon's spells, only this time, all he can focus on is the blood that trickles down the stranger's arm.

Namjoon's fingertips on Jeongguk's chin and throat no longer feel cold, yet Jeongguk shivers to the touch as Namjoon asks, "And how do you feel?"

Moments ago, Jeongguk felt more alive than ever before, but now—

"Hungry."

To simply say he feels hungry is an understatement, but Jeongguk is so wholly enthralled by the wriggling person captive before him, it is all he can express.

Fingertips push back at the hair around Jeongguk's forehead and neck in a delicate motion that makes him swoon for blood even more. Is this his life now? To crave and to drink and be loved? Is Namjoon really the monster he says he is?

"Feed, my darling. Drink until you feel their pulse still."

A strange pain overtakes Jeongguk's mouth, and he quickly reaches to his gums to feel the impossible – his incisors are sharp, just as Namjoon's had been. With a gasp, he turns to Namjoon, startled. What strange ritual has taken place? Has he already begun to change? Is he already dead?

Namjoon cups the end of Jeongguk's chin and smiles softly, asking, "What are you waiting for?"

Jeongguk has so many questions that swirl and dizzy him, but the only thing he can bring himself to care about is that tangy, inviting scent of blood. He stands high on his tippy toes and reaches for the person's wrist, but Namjoon presses a hand over Jeongguk's chest, keeping him from reaching with his lips.

"The neck is so much better, my little darling." Namjoon reaches to tap his sharp fingers on the side of the throat. "Sink your teeth in right here, where you can see their heart beating."

Without hesitation, Jeongguk steps forward, grips the captor by the hair and roughly moves their head to the side. He can see the pulse beating against their skin – can hear the sound of their heart as if its squeeze and relax were being amplified straight into Jeongguk's mind. When he leans in close, dragging his lips over the skin, there is an alluring scent that seems so indescribably human that pulls him closer.

Jeongguk sinks his teeth into the skin of the person's neck just as he had watched Namjoon sink his teeth into his own wrist, feeling a spark of arousal as the person whimpers and sobs. It takes him by surprise how much he has to really dig his sharp teeth into the flesh, but once it breaks, the blood pours into his mouth. So much, in fact, that he gasps and feels it run down his chin.

It takes Jeongguk a moment to realize he needs to pull his teeth from the puncture wounds to properly drink from the skin, but once he does, he feels every inch of himself burst and bloom with life. How could Namjoon call himself undead when this is the most energized he has ever felt?

Jeongguk can feel the heartbeat against his lips – can feel as it slows. The captive continues to wiggle and cry out, but it is impossible for them to match Jeongguk's strength as he languidly sucks and licks at the pouring blood. He even decides he has had his fill before their heart has a chance to stop.

"All done, my darling?" Namjoon asks, taking Jeongguk by the chin and licking over his neck and his lips and anywhere the blood may have been spilt.

Jeongguk smiles and shrugs, saying, "You can finish them," and steps aside to watch Namjoon take his place at their neck. Blood pours from the wound down the dip of their clavicle and chest, and Namjoon licks a streak leading to their wounds, groaning as his lips close over the holes.

Something about this visual makes Jeongguk desperate to feel Namjoon on and inside him – makes him want Namjoon to rip him apart and piece him back together again. Despite feeling sated, he also yearns so desperately to be fucked and adored and touched and tasted.

Namjoon must sense it – or, perhaps, knows the way he must feel – and he steps away from the body that hangs lifelessly and smiles with blood-stained lips as he closes the space between their bodies to bring Jeongguk in for a kiss.

Every cell of Jeongguk's body yearns for Namjoon. In an act of desperation, Jeongguk spins out of Namjoon’s hold and places his palms against the wall near the open door leading to the hallway. He pushes his ass out and glances over his shoulder, batting his lashes and asking, "Please?"

Namjoon drops to his knees and wastes no time tongue-fucking Jeongguk until he is whimpering and begging for more. Jeongguk must still be stretched from before, because Namjoon presses his cock in nice and deep without much preparation and grips Jeongguk by the neck as he carves him open, bowing Jeongguk's back so their faces touch.

"All mine," Namjoon growls as he fucks Jeongguk so hard he fears his spine might just snap. "My pretty little fledgling, I will never let you go. All you need in this world is me. All you are in this world is mine."

"Yours," Jeongguk babbles between sobs and broken consonants, speeding toward orgasm as his body struggles to keep up with the myriad sensations that overwhelm.

In between moments of blissful pleasure come fierce, sharp moments of confusion, pain, and a thirst so unlike anything Jeongguk has ever experienced. It is as if he blacks out occasionally and returns a fiendish monster whose only drive is to kill, kill, kill!

Namjoon placates him at times, pushing his buttons to make him more devilish – more angry. He fills Jeongguk's mind with a distrust for humans and teaches him how to lurk in the shadows and hunt.

"When you learn to control your urges better," Namjoon assures, balls-deep in him beside two corpses in a dark alleyway with Jeongguk's leg slung over his hip, "I will teach you how to blend into society better."

Jeongguk has no idea how much time passes, but he lives only in darkness, only to feed on the blood of living humans, only to serve and please Namjoon. He feels frustrated, confused, and angry with Namjoon, who seems to lavish Jeongguk's unfettered need to be by his side.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure and insatiable appetite Namjoon has for fucking him, Jeongguk feels trapped both in his need, and in his desire, to stay by Namjoon's side.

"The urges will pass, my darling fledgling," Namjoon promises against his lips, hand tugging Jeongguk's cock until he screams out Namjoon's name. "Until then, I will take such good care of you. All you need in this world is me. All you are in this world is mine.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!! 🦇🩸🧛‍♂️🍂🎃👻😈💀 HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

i hope you had fun with this. please do not ask for a part two lmao my brain is mush and i refuse to perceive these two further. i have too many eggs in too many baskets!!!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MAKE ALL THE DIFFERENCE, AND LIKES ARE SUPER APPRECIATED, TOO!!! 💜💜💜

no tag list for dead dove contents! thanks for understanding!!!

#namkook #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #namjoon scenarios #jungkook scenarios #namjoon vampire #bts horror #bts smut #bts vampire #bts dead dove #fic: fledgling #bts fantasy & fangs

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