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justbelievinginmagic · 2 days ago

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im(mortal) - part 1: blood moon.

pairing(s): vampire!enhypen ot7 x fem!reader, series summary: Seven souls struggle with the bitter dregs of eternal life. As they hide amongst human society, they try to discover a cure for their curse, decade after decade, century into century. In their investigations, they find more than they could imagine brewing including a strange magnetic pull towards a human woman. Will they be able to find their humanity once more or will their world crumble beneath the weight of immortality? glimpse: A century-old mansion stood in the middle of nowhere engulfed by an inferno of fire. Seven figures stand in front of it; each with sharpened bittersweet smiles on their mouths as they remember how it all started so so long ago. warnings/tags: Inspired by Enhypen's MVs lore & Enhypen's Dark Moon album (but not really its lore), Vampire AU, sort of Soulmate AU, College AU, heavy science fiction inspiration, ot7 x reader but not poly ot7 (but some are really close tbh), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mature topics, angst, human experimentation, medicine (pills/shots), death, injuries, biting, medical imagery, implied abuse, canonical violence & trauma, vampire lore, blood, Ni-ki as Riki, vomiting, illnesses, fire, arson, no mention of YN this chapter as a heads up! let me know if more tags need to be added! word count: 7.3k -> next chapter series masterlist

Seven different wooden chairs were the only furniture that remained in the large solarium. The wall paper had peeled over the years, revealing different variations of ugly, always baby-blue print. The most recent, which was faded beyond belief, was a lattice print; the one under it was a honeycomb pattern; beneath that was a plain baby blue wallpaper. Chipping. Fading.

There were more echoes of the past. Dark mold clung around ghostly shapes of posters, strangely shaped equipment, and long-gone furniture - the shape of a piano was in one corner and the outline of a fine-china cabinet was in another. The linoleum floor was cracked and warped revealing wooden panels beneath. The room smelt of mildew, and there was the faint sound of dripping water from somewhere.

Sunghoon sat down on his chair, the aged wood creaking under his weight. It was strange. Looking down the row of chairs, he could see ghosts of themselves. Jungwon with his wide dark brown eyes. Sunoo clinging to his stuffed bear that he loved so much. Riki’s feet dangling off his chair, too short for his feet to touch the floor yet. He could smell the disinfectant in the air. It always smelt like bleach and chemicals in the solarium despite the large windows lining the walls. They never were opened, white curtains drawn shut. Even now they remained, yellowed with age and soggy with mold.

He had spent so much time here. They all had but he could walk this room with his eyes shut and he wouldn’t have bumped into one piece of furniture or step on one creaking piece of plank of wood in the flooring.

He let out a sigh; his eyes shutting as he tried to calm his racing heart. This was the exact reason they had to return to the mansion. They needed to. Too many memories, too many connections, too many emotions. Sunghoon hoped Jay was alright.

“I found him,” a voice called out, the tone gentle and melodic as usual.

Sunghoon’s lips upturned as he turned away from the past to look at Sunoo. With his bleach blonde hair peeking out from beneath a beanie, his leathered jacket, and tattered jeans, it was easy to be reminded of reality. Sunoo was not a little boy with dark black hair clinging to a stuffed animal anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time.

The linoleum squeaked beneath Sunoo’s shoes as he walked into the large room.

“Wow,” he breathed softly. “I thought seeing the rooms were weird.”

He sighed out, the sound mimicking the breath Sunghoon had heaved moments earlier.

“It’s weird for sure,” Sunghoon said, rising to his feet after a long stretch with his head tilting back as far as it could before straightening and standing.

There was a rustling like a wind brushing through the room. And with it, the world melted away, glowing faintly, just enough to paint the room in a nostalgic light. The wallpaper was honeycombed pale blue; the ceiling fan overhead spun slowly; the room was casted with natural and gas light. A table sat in the center, circular and covered in a white sheet. 7 dining spots were set, a plate, a fork, and a papered cup, each. Each of their chairs were in their spot – polished wood gleaming in the light.

The sound of piano playing a familiar melody that they all had once help create.

Sunoo smiled at Sunghoon. His hair looked darker now in the allusion, his face rounder. His teeth were duller.

“Sunoo,” Sunghoon pleaded, shutting his eyes. “Please don’t.”

With that, the allusion washed away like a chalk painting on a rainy day, turning grey and muddied until the aged room was all that remained. The younger frowned.

“I hate this place,” Sunghoon murmured.

“Same,” Jay’s voice chimed in.

Their heads swung around to see the other man enter the doorway. He grimaced at the sight of the blue room. Jay leaned on the door frame, his hands resting on either side of the door.

“Jungwon’s all done. You guys ready?”

Sunoo took a deep breath in, and Jay winced.

“Sunoo,” he sighed out, taking a step forward almost instinctively.

“I’m fine,” Sunoo insisted, immediately.

His smile was sweet as a spoonful of sugar, wide eyes gentle as he shifted on his feet. Twisting restlessly, his arms spun a bit as he did so, childlike. Jay raised a singular brow before turning towards Heeseung’s call from down the hall.

He didn’t believe Sunoo for a moment. But all Sunoo did was avoid the elder’s gaze, glancing aside, his gaze gravitating to the chairs this time. His chair looked so tiny now. Was it always that small?

“C’mon,” Jay gestured towards them with his head. “They’re waiting.”

With one final look, Sunghoon left the solarium, passing Jay with a steady look in his eye. Jay returned it, sympathy echoing on his face. Sunoo stood there, his hands moving to play with the straps of his backpack.

“You think I’ll feel better?” Sunoo questioned, quietly.

“We all will once we’re done,” Jay commented, leaning on the door frame. It creaked with his weight tauntingly. Jay glanced down the chairs lined up beside him. His chair was missing an arm now.

“I think it’ll help.” He admitted, not looking at the younger. “You’ve been holding onto it for so long, Sunoo.”

There was a tiny hum in the back of Sunoo’s throat. Jay could feel the emotions radiating off of him, the twisted emotions of nostalgia, hurt, pain, sorrow, and strangely euphoria. Jay didn’t understand how Sunoo could feel any happy memories here.

Sunoo shouldered his backpack off and unzipped it. Inside was a stuffed bear. Greying with age, covered in stitches and makeshift patches of fabric to keep his stuffing from tumbling out. He was damaged but well-loved. Old but cared for. Sunoo plucked the thing up. The fur wasn’t soft anymore despite its age. No amount of cuddling made it more gentle, it was always harsh against his skin. He swallowed, looking over at the bear.

Jay glanced aside.

Sunoo breathed out, a thumb brushing over a glass eye, over the worn silk of the ribbon around its neck. With another shuddering breath in, Sunoo placed the bear on his chair. He sat so nicely as if meant for it.

“It’s time,” Sunoo whispered.

“It is,” Jay agreed, watching as Sunoo picked up his now empty backpack.

With quick footsteps, Sunoo exited the solarium without another look. Jay glanced around it once last time before shutting the door behind them with a clank. The two men walked through the mansion, down a dusty hallway. Their feet remembered each creaky floorboard as they continued onwards.

The foyer was all wood and white peeling paint. A singular electric light hung by a chain above the group of men standing in a semi-circle. Waiting for them.

Jungwon’s face was stoney and serious, but at the sight of the others he offered a tight-lipped smile.

“All good?” he asked.

Jay nodded in reply for the group. “Yeah, just checking out the solarium.”

Sunghoon’s hands trembled he noticed then; he hid them in his jeans’ pockets.

“I’m so ready for this place to be nothing but a memory – for good,” Niki commented from his side, his voice sounding harsh as he glared at the high ceilings. The stairwell nearby casted a shadow over his face.

Heeseung said nothing but there was a tickle in the back of their heads – his agreement palpable. Sunoo was quiet as he went to Jungwon’s side. He didn’t grab his arm, but he huddled close. Jay rubbed his forehead as he nodded.

He wanted all of this to be over.

“Let’s do it then.” Jake said. His fingers began to glow, ember hot red.

Dark red eyes took in the mansion for the last time before they glanced at each other. A solemn nod from Jungwon was all they needed before they crept outside of the mansion. Jake’s hands trailed over the wall; it would be described as reverently if there wasn’t such a deep scowl on his pretty features. His lip was curled back into a grimace as flames licked from his fingertips and onto the century old wood of the mansion. A complicated look flickered over his face as he watched the fire catch, a surge of flames erupting up the white paint and traveling higher and higher until they caught onto the ceiling.

“That should do,” he heard Heeseung’s voice in his head, encouraging Jake to join the group outside the burning mansion. As he did so, Jungwon closed the front door with a heavy slam.

With a slam, the door thudded shut, piquing the interest of the two boys peering down from in between the stairwell’s posts. Two small faces pressed against the wooden balusters as they watched a man enter the mansion. White coat, spectacles, and carrying two leather bags that were heavy in his grasp. Behind him stood a trio of nurses in their pastel-mint, perfectly pressed dresses and ivory aprons and caps.

“It’s a doctor,” the elder whispered to his friend. Their eyes widened as they focused back far below them.

The doctor glanced upwards, hearing their small voice. He smiled. His footsteps echoed on the floorboards as he went towards the manager’s office.

“Is someone sick?” the other boy hugging his toy bear whispered back.

“No,” the other shook his head. “I don’t think so. . . “

“Maybe they want to adopt one of us?” the younger offered, fiddling with the bow on the bear’s neck.

“Maybe.”

There was a loud thud as the doctor and his entourage entered the manager’s office. The door’s lock sliding into place was even louder. The youngest flinched, fiddling with the silk on the bow even more, soothingly.

“Let’s go tell the others.” The elder said encouragingly, standing from his spot to rush down the upstairs hall to the bedrooms.

Not long later, the orphans stood in a line by height, much to the despair of the eldest who was still shorter than the youngers. Each one was examined. An illuminator shined into their brown eyes, into their tiny mouth. A nurse took down notes that the doctor murmured behind his medical mask.

Tapetum lucidum, negative. Tapetum lucidum, negative. Tapetum lucidum, negative.

Number 6 and 11, primary. Number 6 and 11, permanent. Loose number 11, primary.

Their blood was drawn in multiple small vials later by the nurses. Some of the youngest struggled with the blood draw, afraid of needles and blood. A nurse said with a cool smile, “You’ll get used to it.”

This wouldn’t be the first time they’d line up like this. Sometimes, it was weekly; other times, it was daily. Medical notes needed to be updated frequently was all the doctor said.

Then came the pills. They took at least one with every meal; some of them took more than others. When Jay had asked a nurse why were they taking them (they hadn’t taken any ever before!), she had reassured him it was for his well-being. Good boys take their medicine. She chirped out.

The old white-haired manager welcomed the doctor to set up an office in an unused music room, pushing the piano out into the hallway where it sat, taller than most of the boys.

Rules around the mansion began to change soon after. There would be no more adoption visits, no more potential guardians for the time being. No more new additions to the household either. The orphanage’s manager, the old woman with ashy white hair, had smiled at them around the table at dinner time. Each in their chair donated by the nearby town, mismatched like themselves.

She said this was for the best. That this was a way for them to be good boys of society.

They took their pills that waited for them in a small paper cup.

There was another change. No more outside time. No visits into town. No visitors at all. Their solarium that they had once used for potential adoptive parents to meet them turned into a sort of common room, a living room and dining hall all in one. A table for meals had been set up with a white sheet covering its surface. A collection of their toys sat in a corner with a rocking chair that was nearly falling apart. The piano had been pushed inside by the older boys; two raggedy repatched sofas were there as well to lounge about on. As they grew, a bookshelf was shoved against the wall next to the manager’s fine china cabinet (that they were to never touch or else they’d be punished.) It was where they would live, play, assemble for meals, and assemble for treatment. That was their outside now. A tiny blue wall-papered solarium with humidity fogged windows, covered in white lacy curtains.

They complained at first. These changes were horrible. They loved playing outside on the apple tree’s swing and the nearby flower fields. They wouldn’t go into town but let them play outside, please. But, when any of them tried to sneak outside, their punishments grew.

First, it had been the addition of heavy-padlocked entrances and exits that only the doctor, manager, and head nurse held the keys for. When the youngest stole the head nurse’s key when she wasn’t looking (to go play on the swing on the yard’s apple tree), they were quickly limited to only the manager. When the most-sensitive of the group crept outside a window to go pet a stray cat on the back porch, the isolation room was introduced.

It was a bare dusty thing– an old dance room that was used when there were girl orphans. Once it had become an all-boy’s orphanage, it was left abandoned, cold, and grimy. It was dark; there was only candle-based lighting in that room. Gas lighting was slowly being introduced to the cities and towns of new, and, while some of the house had the trailing, twisting wires leading to easily burnt-out light bulbs, the isolation room didn’t. Two floor-to-ceiling walls of cracking mirrors decorated opposite walls of the room with a barre screwed into one of them. Another wall was old brick, harsh and unwelcoming. It felt like an endless room if you stared long enough into the mirrors. A room where you’d be locked away until you were more well-behaved. To think about your actions. (Which were what? Leaving the house they were trapped in? They didn’t understand why things had to change.) The youngest hated the room.

He became very familiar with the room throughout the following years.

It was a slow life. They grew taller; they lost baby teeth; they celebrated birthdays. Their medicine increased and decreased; their rooms grew more familiar. The isolation room became common-place especially as some of the boys edged into teenagerhood. Soon, the doctor moved into the office. Soon, there were even more tests. More pills, even injections. Their halls reeked of antiseptic and the metallic tang of medical equipment. The manager passed away on Jay’s twelfth birthday, but nothing much changed except for the fine-china cabinet being raided and left empty – by who the boys never knew for sure.

The pills continued. The examinations continued.

Jungwon was the first to be considered a success by the doctor.

He was no older than ten when he discovered his new talent – speed. Indoor races back and forth in the solarium became easy; in fact, he kept teasing the others that he was faster, faster, faster than them all. But it wasn’t just speed he discovered: it was hunger. A hunger that crawled in the pit of his stomach. A hunger that was a maw to all food.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

Nothing satiated it. Nothing until he snapped at a nurse. Bit into her arm with the feral nature of a dog captured. A fit of anger, a tantrum, the doctor had noted at first until… until… there was a growl, inhuman. Deep in the young boy’s chest. The boy, the sweet friendly boy who hated the pills ever so much, glared up at the doctor. Red eyes, red mouth, white fangs.

Instead of being scolded that evening and tossed into isolation, he was given the sweetest treat he had ever tasted. A red jelly that jiggled like a belly while laughing. But smelt of iron-blood.

He was a success. He deserved to be celebrated.

The others followed swiftly.

Heeseung hated the pills they were forced to ingest. Wake up; pills. Lunch; pills. Dinner; pills. Pills, pills, pills. He hated them. He hadn’t been there the longest – that title went to Jungwon, but he was the eldest of the boys. So, since day one of the doctor’s arrival, he had a higher dose of everything until it was proven unhealthy for the boy. What was unhealthy was difficult to determine apparently. He’d vomit; his stomach cramped. He’d be trembling with chills and hot with a fever within hours. He was bedridden; he was exhausted; he was jittery.

He had seven pills in his cup. Why? Why? Jay had two pills!

He asked why; they didn’t tell him. When his symptoms grew, Heeseung tried to figure out how to feel better. Take more pills, take less. Nothing worked. His body weening from the medicine was just as bad as taking the medicine he realized. His skin crawled. His head felt like it was going to explode. Sometimes he couldn’t bear the sunlight touching his skin. It burned his eyes, forcing him to stay in his room. Once he tried to hide his pills. He tucked them into his pillow, threw them out the window. When it was discovered by one of the trio of nurses, he wasn’t punished. He simply was force-fed the pills rather than allowing himself to drop each tablet on his tongue. That happened for a month. After that he didn’t challenge them again. Grimacing, he’d swallow down the pills pressed against his mouth. Always at the supervision of a too-calm nurse with a sick smile on her perfectly lipsticked lips.

He tried to talk to Jungwon, but Jungwon didn’t talk much anymore. He simply stared. Stared and stared as he sat at the head of the dinner table, plate empty. Eyes empty. When was the last time he saw his friend smile… eat… It scared him. Sometimes Heeseung swore he could hear his voice in his head.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

Control. Control. Control.

Heeseung would itch and writhe and change until he too couldn’t stand the taste of food. Couldn’t swallow another bite of rice. Until he tried to attack his nurse as she fed him his pills. With aching teeth and a gnawing stomach, he bit his nurse’s hand as she forced the pills down his throat. Heeseung thought her blood tasted sweeter than any treat he’s ever tasted.

That night at the dinner table, there were now only five plates full of food and two bare. It was also the first time Jungwon heard another voice in his head, one that sounded like the eldest without him opening his mouth. Their dark rubied eyes locked.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Heeseung chanted in Jungwon’s head.

The youngest Riki, often called by the nickname ‘Niki’ after he stumbled over his own name in introductions at the orphanage, was exceptionally difficult. He spat out his pills; he’d get placed in isolation. He fought with the others; he’d get placed in isolation. He stole Sunoo’s bear; isolation. Far too often, he was in the locked room. Solidarity confinement to encourage him to play nice. It just made him feel invisible and hurt – especially when none of the boys visited him.

Except for Sunoo who loved to act as older brother to the younger (despite holding his stuffed animal close to his chest everywhere he went in the mansion). He’d sit outside the isolation room’s door, whispering ‘hello’s underneath the door’s gap or peering through the keyhole to see each other and wave his bear’s paw at him. Riki would tease him about his stupid bear, but then he’d cling to his own pillow as the nurses began to inject whatever was in the pills into his arm. It was then proven that he was no troublemaker, just a lost little boy clinging to a pillow as another shot was pressed into his arm. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Riki hadn’t taken the pills in a while, not like his hyungs. He told his doctor that he liked the pills. Can’t he take the pills again? He wouldn’t spit them out, promise! The injections hurt. His arm would ache. Then, his stomach would ache. Then, his head would ache. He’d toss and turn on the examination table in agony.

It went on for so long. Sometimes the others would hear his cries at night, whimpering for a mother or father that wasn’t there. Eventually, Jungwon would sneak out at night, too fast to catch, and rest on the floor outside of the isolated room to whisper comfort to the youngest.

It’ll be okay. You’re okay.

I’m here, Riki. I’m here.

With the sadness, the loneliness, the pain, there was a violence brewing in Riki after each check-up. He was angry, no, beyond that, he was rageful. He wished the nurses, the doctor, the manager of the orphanage, could feel what he felt – like time had stopped. He found out one day that his birthday had passed with no celebration.

“It was a lesson,” a nurse warned as she drew his blood. “Good boys get to celebrate fun things.”

He watched as his blood filled the vial with disdain. It looked sludge-thick, dark red.

He craved something he didn’t understand right then. His stomach curdled and ached. But food tasted of ash, of dirt, of everything bad. Bad, bad, bad. He refused to eat, gnashing teeth at anything they offered. He wouldn’t even drink a sip of blood when it was finally presented to him. In an unassuming white Dixie Cup. He threw it at the doctor, growling.

“Ungrateful boy,” the doctor hissed out.

Hungry, he thought.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

He needed food, not blood!

They had to restrain him, a shackle on his ankle to the nearby brick wall of the isolation room… until he tore it away from the wall it was mounted in. Until his hunger blinded him in blood-red. Until he was somehow out of his room, on the other side of the locked door. Until he was tearing his fangs into the first person he saw – into the neck of his friend who often came to sit outside his bolted-room door to talk. Sunoo.

Sunoo had been born by the bite rather than the pill. Riki had drained him near dry before the nurses had found them in a daze. He was half-dead, and the only way he was recovered was through Jungwon. His blood was siphoned into the dying veins of Sunoo. His venom; his blood; their venom; their blood.

Sunoo’s eyes flashed opened, and he saw only red for a moment. Vermillion haze. Until he saw his friends, his so-called brothers, peering over at him on the makeshift medical bed. His throat ached, but he simply smiled. Fangs and all.

He suffered the most after his transformation. Unlike the others whose symptoms came and went in waves, building gradually before they succumbed, he went through everything at the same time. He couldn’t go into daylight, couldn’t bear the touch of the sun or the glare of lights; he was hungry all the time and would attack for it. He’d try to bite his brothers; he’d eat scrapes he’d find from the night’s dinner; he’d vomit. Anger would overwhelm – he even tore the limbs off his beloved stuffed bear which left him crying inconsolably. He felt like he wasn’t even himself. Unsafe.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

His feet moved so fast one day; some thought he was levitating… until they realized he was. If he was scared or hungry or anything, he’d fly away, hide away in a closet. He’d hug his stitched-up bear close to him, whispering words with sharpened teeth. All the while he hoped this was all a nightmare he’d wake up from.

Sunoo learned, if he tried hard enough, he could live in his mind. Making up a world he loved. Where he felt safe. Sometimes if someone was close to him, they could see his fantasy world too. So bright, so beautiful. Only for it to eventually fade away into this. A mansion of horrors.

At this point, the boys had been divided up. Half remained in the solarium, the other half in their bedrooms. The solarium had been converted into a horrible makeshift medical office. White bedsheets were draped about, over the bookshelf, the table, their chairs, the sofa. Everything. Medical equipment – syringes, needles, pills, IV drips. A machine that beeped with their heart beats. They were poked and prodded. Doses were increased.

Jake. Jay. Sunghoon. Grew. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

Jake had a strange case of side effects. Hot and cold. He was cold. Icy to the touch. He felt half-dead for days before breaking out into a fever. So hot and restless. He’d sink down in icy baths for hours. He felt more like he was half-fish than human sometimes.

He’d rest his forehead against the cool bathtub’s porcelain and breath in and out only for that once icy cold water to become boiling hot. His hands glowed, heat pulsing from them as the water bubbled about him. He’d throw himself out of the tub, scalding hot water sloshing onto the tiles below.

Nurses would run in. Fearful only for him to look at them, eyes strangely bloody, and his hands sparking with fire.

He was locked up like Riki once was. With the addition of flame-retardant gloves and chains tight on his hands. He was quiet when they did so. He grew quieter and quieter as the days passed. With hot flashes, cold flashes, hunger flashes, he felt like a live wire.

Sometimes, when he was bored, he’d stare at the lights, blinding white lights until they’d burst. Until he flooded the electric grid and the entire house suffered power outages. He didn’t know how he did it. All he knew was that he could. Something was wrong.

One day, when he felt cold as ice with a stomach gasping with hunger, the smell of food disgusted him. The nurse sent to feed him his porridge made the wrong move. Unclasping his shackles, undoing his gloves. He pounced, more monster than man and bit her, drained her. There were no other nurses rushing in; there was no doctor to stop him. Jake didn’t stop drinking, drinking, drinking until it was just him and the corpse of a nurse he’d known for half of his life. He passed out in a fever soon after, still hungry he realized pathetically.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

He was found by the doctor hours later. His mouth was cleaned, his clothes cleaned; he was laying in his bed and not the isolation room. The nurse was gone. Where had she gone? The young teen stared up with blood-red eyes. The doctor smiled and said everything was okay now. He was forgiven.

A cup of blood was handed to him in a paper cup.

Jake took it, knowing he was freed from his cage, his restraints gone, but somehow still a prisoner to a new shackle he didn’t want to bear.

From day one, Jay had always listened to the nurses, had listened to their manager, had listened to the doctor. For years, he listened and obeyed. He was a good patient, a good boy. Trusting their words as they fed him pill after pill, shot after shot. No matter how much he cried when his arm ached or his stomach churned. They’d say he was a good boy for taking his medicine. “Why couldn’t you be good like Jay?” He had heard that said hundreds of times.

So, it was funny how miserable he felt. How bad like a rotten apple sitting in the sun. Jay just felt awful. His friends one by one turned into someone unlike themself. Biting, blood, red eyes. Everyone felt angry… he didn’t know how he knew it but he did. Sometimes, if he stared at them long enough, he could just tell.

The nurse was upset today. She was sad and guilty… they tasted like the smell of rain, like salty soup.

Another nurse hadn’t come into care for them. Maybe she was with the others? He couldn’t tell.

Sunghoon was lonely; it tasted like woodchips, like dust in the corners of a room. Jay tried to play a game with him, but soon their different symptoms distracted them. A headache, nausea, exhaustion.

The doctor was never angry. He wasn’t sad either. He was so joyful at their suffering. Jay could taste it like it was liquid sugar, melting on his tongue. Jay hated him. Sometimes he hoped the doctor could feel it when he glared at him. Sometimes Jay swore he did, when he’d flinch or take too sharp of breath in.

While Jay was one of the eldest, he was one of the last to change fully. He was stuck between food and blood for a long time. Unlike the others, his eyes didn’t turn red when he was given a cup of blood. He drank it down like a good boy, but it didn’t have the same effect as the others. So, they’d mix some blood into his soups, his porridge, his rice. Everything a pale pink. He’d throw it up. Food disagreeing with him; blood disagreeing with him. More tests had him hooked up to IVs, and his blood tested.

The nurses said it was his will not the treatment’s fault. The duo said they saw him hungry during their blood-draws; they said they saw how he’d lick his lips whenever the blood from his own veins dripped into the vial.

Blood called to him like a siren from a fairytale.

The first time he attacked the doctor for his blood was the last time he drank from a human who was awake. Their pain, their emotions flaring, he felt it then. Understood it then. It bittered everything. It hurt. He hated it. He hated it all.

He drank blood from an IV. From a cup. From the jelly the nurses made. Never from another being. Even if his stomach growled and the maw inside him whispered: Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

Jay refused to be a monster.

Sunghoon was last to change. The loneliest. He was kept away from the boys after they turned one by one. Locked away in the solarium, he slept there, ate, read. Every now and then, Jungwon would visit him by the window. One warm hand pressed against the glass, larger than Jungwon’s cold palm.

He felt weak. Not only was he somehow not changing to whatever his friends were – but he was exhausted daily. Laying in the solarium, he began to sleep during the day, staying awake all night. As time pass alone, his tests grew worse. His muscles were deteriorating. Like his body was eating away at him. Pain became Sunghoon.

They whispered; he heard them. Should they use the others’ blood? Their venom? But Sunoo was so feral; he apparently had just begun to adjust. Could they handle another boy acting so erratic?

He couldn’t understand that he was dying. He was in a blur; sometimes it felt like the world would just blend into a watercolored haze, and he’d be outside his body. He knew where the nurses were, the doctor, the other boys. Their hearts, their breaths, their muscles flexed as his deteriorated. It was strange, scary.

It wasn’t until one day there was a horrible cracking sound from his body, unearthly. Inhumanly monstrous but also frighteningly fragile that the doctor simply force-fed him blood. Just regular blood. No venom, no medicine, no Jungwon or Riki or Jay or Heeseung.

It was vile. Blood wasn’t meant for humans. . . was he a human? He didn’t know anymore. The blood was poured down his throat. Head tilted back; nose plugged. Iron-sick, ruby-slick, he’d cough and cough as he sat up from his ‘feeding.’ Blood dripped down his chin, staining his sweater.

“You look better,” said the doctor with a disgustingly joyful smile. A bright light shined in his eyes made him blearily blink.

“Tapetum lucidum, positive.” The doctor said pleasantly, to the nearby nurse before clicking the illuminator off.

Red eyes, red mouth, baby fangs. It took time, but they grew and elongated after two weeks of forced blood drinking 3 times a day. Despite his hunger, Sunghoon hated blood. He didn’t want it; he didn’t want the hunger.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

The next time, on day fifteen, he drank willingly. Not just one cup but seven.

The examinations didn’t stop. The medicine didn’t stop. Even after all of this, they were forced to drink this blood and their pills.

The only difference was that they finally weren’t separated. The day they were reunited was strange. Waves of emotions only led to the boys staring at one another like strangers. Some looked so different. Sunghoon hadn’t seen Jungwon in over a year. He almost didn’t recognize him. Riki was taller. Sunoo clung to Jungwon’s arm. Jake looked like a ghost.

“The family is back together,” the doctor cheered as they all sat in the solarium together for the first time in months.

Rubied eyes stared at the doctor, silent.

“Let’s take a photograph to commemorate this!” a nurse chimed out.

There was only one nurse left now – they didn’t know where the second one went. Sitting together on a white draped sofa, the seven didn’t smile. They simply stared as the large contraption was set up on spindly metal legs. With a crack of a light bulb, the photograph was taken.

Their eyes looked eerily pale in the monochrome photo, like a dog’s at night. The doctor was the only one grinning ear to ear. A flicker of a fang was visible in Riki’s grimace.

Photographs of their mouths and eyes were taken that day, too. Sometimes Heeseung wonders if it was all for that from the start.

“We should leave,” Jay whispered one night.

The boys - no, they weren’t boys; they hadn’t been boys in a long time – they were men, teenagers with the tempers of children and the hunger of a monster – they sat inside Jungwon’s bedroom, a common gathering place solely due to the bright moon outside of his window. None of them had windows – too much of a risk. But, Jungwon had been such a good boy. Such a success.

Jungwon just simply knew what the nurses and doctor wanted. A doll. A research subject. So he was that, a scientific silent thing. But here he’d stroke his Sunoo’s head as he curled into his lap, still clinging to his bear. Here, Jungwon’s rubied eyes that stared blankly at dinners and breakfasts were round and empathetic as he nodded along with Jay. Here he was himself – as much of himself as he could be with the constant growl of the Beast in his ear.

“We need to get out of here.” He agreed.

“But what if—what if we need them?” A tentative voice asked.

It was a strange thing to feel – a need towards those who had harmed them. A double-edged sword. The experiments hadn’t stopped. The medicine hadn’t stopped. They were still being tested on despite their changes. But… this was all they knew. They’ve never went past the town, never breached past the tree-line. What if it was worse… alone?

Despite their hunger. Sunoo’s voice was fragile.

“We don’t need them,” Riki bit out, arms crossed. As the youngest, he was still the most volatile; Heeseung summed it up to teenage hormones.

There was a beat as a wave of calm settled over them like a cool mist from a forest, like the minty way your mouth felt after brushing them with toothpaste.

“Jay,” Jake whispered, half-scolding.

He knew it was him; Jake never felt so at peace nowadays, only when Jay manipulated the emotions of the room to his will. Jay flashed a bashful smile, red cheeked.

“We don’t need them,” Jungwon redirected the conversation, firmly.

“What could be worse?” Sunghoon bit out, eyes staring up at the moon. His head leaned against the window pane.

“Dying,” it was not said but thought. Each of the vampires could hear the voice of Heeseung echoing in the back of their minds like it was their own thought.

Riki shivered. “I hate when you do that,” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” Heeseung muttered. He didn’t know how to quite control it yet. His thoughts were like a stream connected to a river and that river to a larger ocean. Sometimes they flowed into others.

“Okay,” Jungwon huffed. Sunoo nuzzled into his arm sleepily. “Dying isn’t an option. We can’t.”

“We’ve been through all of this just to die?” Riki added, crossing his arms as he shifted his weight against the wall. “No way.”

“What if we are hungry…?” Sunoo asked.

When weren’t they? Even Jungwon struggled with his hunger, he had bitten his fair share of the remaining nurses. It was silent. What would they do?

“We can stock up before we leave,” Jay said, hand going through his hair as he tried to block out the ranging emotions around him. Excitement, nervousness, fear, anxiousness. It was making him sick to his stomach.

“And after?” Another asked.

“We’ll figure it out.” Sunghoon said, quietly. Optimistically. He raised a brow as he looked over the others. As the fledgling among them, the youngest in terms of whatever this curse was, he was most prone to outbursts for blood. If he could try, they could.

Heeseung looked at the room, once over. “We figure it out,” he agreed.

“Together.”

Their break-out wasn’t a simple thing planned in one night under a full moon. It took a month of planning. Of preparing. Stealing IV bags of blood when the nurse was busied – some of them causing problems, so they could grab more. They were hiding them in the glass fine china cabinet in the solarium; it had rested empty and covered by a white sheet for years now. No one checked there. When the cabinet was full, they began tucking the blood bags into pillows and mattresses they had gutted with the strange claws they realized they were starting to have. If they focused, they’d grow, thicken into incredibly sharp nails.

One night, Jungwon even hid some of the pills they were forced to swallow down – just in case – in a place no one would ever look. He was quick, grabbing all he could. Inhumanly fast, he looked this way and that – just waiting for the nurses to return. In his hurry, he grabbed other bottles strewn about that had unknown names - ferrous sulfate, calciferol, allium sativum, melatonin.

It was a cold November night when they planned to leave – but they didn’t know it; after all, experiments didn’t need to know the date, or the time, or the year.

They went off the moon. Each day a sliver of the moon grew and grew larger. It was supposed to be a full moon that night. Yet when the moon peeked around the tall trees outside Jungwon’s window, it was strange. Reddish, bright, bloody.

“It’s fate,” Sunghoon had whispered as they waited in the shadows of Jungwon’s bedroom.

A blood moon for the vampires.

With the doctor drugged, forced to drink down the mixture of pill Jungwon had found (Riki had dropped in his nightly tea like they were forced to down blood), they crept down the stairs.

It was quiet. The snores of the doctor echoed down the hall. Their feet dodged the creaking parts of the wooden floor. The vampires clung to belongings – tied up into makeshift sacks made of bedding. Thick winter coats covered their layers of clothes. Sunoo held his bear.

Heeseung’s voice rang out in their head.

“Sunghoon’s going to get the key.” It was whispered in their minds, almost as if he was afraid that he’d be heard even there.

It was in the doctor’s office.

They froze in the entry-way, the foyer feeling colder by the second despite their inability to feel the chill (really, even their layered clothes were just out of habit – weren’t they supposed to feel cold in winter?) Their breaths were low, dark eyes flickering between each other as they waited. Sunghoon wasn’t the quickest like Jungwon. But he had a sense to him, that was unlike any of them. Like warning bells were built into his head.

It was almost too easy. Until it wasn’t.

“Hey – what are you--?” the doctor cried out, shaken awake.

Were the pills a fluke? Riki’s eyes went wide, frightened at the sound. Sunoo grabbed onto Jay. There was the sound of fighting, grunts. A thunk against a wall.

Jungwon leaned forward, wanting to run to help but Heeseung’s hand reached out to stop him.

“I got it,” Sunghoon yelled out, the sound like a scream in the quiet silence.

He rushed out of the room; the wooden door slamming against the wall. A clambering of footsteps followed him.

“Get back here, you brat,” the doctor yelled.

Sunghoon felt more alive than ever. He ran fast. Riki stared down the doctor, shaking against the doorway. He wanted him to just stop, stop, stop. They had to get out of here.

To his surprise, the doctor did. He froze. Mid step, floating in the air. His sleep-hat caught in the air. Glasses askew. Not only did the doctor stop but so did his friends… no, his family. He glanced around. Jungwon was to his left, hand on the door knob, ready to unlock the door. Heeseung had grabbed Jake’s hand. Sunoo was curling towards Jay. Riki’s breath burned in his throat as he held onto it with all his might. He took a small nervous step… nothing else shifted. He was the only one to be able to step forward.

And he did. He walked over to Sunghoon. His hair was flopping mid-air, teeth bared, fangs sharp. His hand held the key tightly. With ease, Riki slipped it out of his blood-brother’s hand. Bounding over to the door, he turned the lock. There was a chill climbing up his spine, his breath electric in his lungs. Opening the door, he let out his held breath in a single gasp. With it, the world to come rushing to action. But there was no contest, no obstacle now. A door was open with the darkness outside pouring into the mansion.

The boys simple ran out the door, bewildered to how it was opened and unlocked. Sunghoon glanced at his hand for only a moment before ignoring the impossibility of the world and sprinting harder. He’d take the miracle. Maybe it was really fate. Fate for them to escape.

They broke past the tree-line, hooting and hollering as they continued to run and run and run. Away from the mansion and into their new lives.

The doctor huffed and puffed glaring out into the darkness, only made darker under the blood moon. Today’s experiment yielded a result – vampires were faster than a middle-aged man. He would find them one day. He would. The door of the mansion was shut behind a livid doctor with a heavy thud.

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justbelievinginmagic · 3 days ago

Text

the dragon-blood chronicles ⎯ part 1: the spark.

pairing: namjoon x reader series summary: There are tales about dragon-blood men ruling over the kingdom of Bangtan for centuries; old myths that Crown-Prince Seokjin and second-born Prince Namjoon heard while growing up. Stories about bullet-proof, fire-breathing serpetine creatures with the ability to shift into human form and dominate the land with an iron fist. It was a fable of power, but just that - a fable. Dragon-blood folk have been gone for centuries. But when Prince Namjoon get sent away from the Palace at a young age for unruly behavior, things being to change in the kingdom as a war beings to brew, causing eight magical fates to intertwine. glimpse: Namjoon was the second born. The useless prince. The back-up. Forgotten and locked in a tower of a far-off castle, he brewed in his uncontrollable frustration at his fate... until a spark ignites that changes the path of the kingdom. warnings/tags: This is a repost of an older oneshot inspired by the song, we are bulletproof pt. 2 i wrote! i've updated it a bit to loop into the larger story and just to follow the way i write now! ive added about 2.5k new content so if you liked the og give this one a look! PG-13, Romance, Fantasy/Royalty AU, bad family dynamics, possessive & protective Namjoon, dragons, unspoken love, illness. word count: 7.1 k -> next chapter series masterlist

Heavy was the crown on the head of a king.

Namjoon wouldn’t know about that though – even if he wanted to know what the hefty load of a kingdom on his shoulders felt like, he would never have it. He was, after all, the second born. A spare prince. A back-up king. Second to the throne, third in life of the royal family.

The king, naturally, was first. First to enter a room, first to eat their meals (after a servant tested it for poison, of course.) But after him, it was Seokjin.

From birth, Seokjin was first for everything. First to be taught, first to eat, first to be tended to, first to be trained at swordsmanship. Namjoon was quick to learn that as he hobbled around the halls of the palace as a youngster. He was ignored among the royal family – seemingly weaker, smaller than his older brother when born. He made the queen quite sick during her pregnancy. When born, Namjoon was prone to illness as a child. An annoyance, a drain on the kingdom’s resources.

He still tried to follow after his older brother. Seokjin, eldest by three years, tried when he could to be a good bother. He loved the idea of a younger brother, wanting to be the best of friends. He wanted to play Knights and Fiends with him; he wanted to teach him how to read and write; he wanted them to go on fishing trips like he read about in his fairytale books. The older brother played with his little brother only to have the sounds of his nanny calling to him distract him.

“Come along, Prince Seokjin. You have your classes. Leave him alone.”

He hated it, but complied with a frown towards Namjoon and a sad wave.

Namjoon, at the mere age of seven, couldn’t help but begin to try to gain attention. He wanted attention. He wanted to have all the attention that his brother had. He began to do what a child does when upset. Tantruming. Pleading for attention through misaction or disobedience. He’d throw his food to the ground at dinners, arms crossing over his little chest. He’d interrupt classes with cries of ‘this isn’t fair’. He’d fight as his nanny dragged him away from Seokjin, screaming. It grew to such a state – even with Seokjin’s quiet scold of pleadings - “Namjoonie, you’re going to get into trouble; please stop” – that the royal family acted.

That was when he learned he wasn’t loved.

Not like Seokjin. Never like Seokjin.

Namjoon was cast aside. Thrown into a tower at another castle. He was stole in the night – taken in a carriage and awoke in this new place. Alone.

His family didn’t love him. No, they didn’t. The little boy cried and cried.

Namjoon was utterly alone now; all in the name that he couldn’t “distract the crown prince from his duties.” He was cared for enough to know that he was still a prince. Given the finest of things – silver, gold, and silken treasures to keep him content. A collection of maids and servants were there to feed and care for him and a table of knights were there to protect him. He was carefully watched over from a distance. Sadness ate a child and few cared. Few knew what to do when the little boy slammed his door and hid in the tower. The prince fell into a lonely state.

The knights protecting him looked at him as a stranger – an isolated boy, a spare – even if he strived to learn to study weaponry. He tried to join them on their practice range once; he was turned away.

“Your Highness!” there was a cry from a nanny. “You have no need to learn such a skill.”

No, he didn’t he sulked. He didn’t need to learn anything apparently. After all, the second prince had no need to learn of knightly duties, nor fighting, nor war, nor kingly duties. His brother had learned though; at the old castle, Seokjin beamed and preened about his lessons with swordmastery. But Namjoon didn’t need to know it. Because, in the end, Namjoon wasn’t the prince headed to the crown.

The Second.

He was the second.

What did that even mean? If he wasn’t a King, if he wasn’t a Knight, if he wasn’t seen as a worthy Prince either… what was he?

Namjoon learned – like most things in his life – he would have to adapt. He would watch things from afar, learning from high up in his windowed tower. Mimicking the motions the knights made, the strikes of the blade against his bedpost (instead of a training dummy) left deep grooves into the fine wood.

The servants gossiped about his anger issues and how he destroyed things. A monster of a prince.

Namjoon’s focus grew on things he could do without the roadblocks put up by the servants and the royal family. He couldn’t study metalsmith with the knights. But he could study wordsmiths.

Besides his tall tower room, he was granted access to the library. He threw himself into his studies – he learned charts for sailing, war strategy, language, public speaking, trade, and folklore. He’d learn to be king – even if he wouldn’t be one.

When a nanny asked what he was reading, he’d learn to lie a white lie. Just a fantasy book.

After all, wasn’t all of this a fantasy? What was a Prince to do when he wasn’t a Prince?

At first, he envied his brother. He used to think he hated him. Hated him for everything Namjoon couldn’t be. Namjoon fueled himself on that hate in the early years of his isolation – studying with spite on his tongue. Writing curses towards his brother in the sidelines of books. He knew his brother had all the highest advisors and scholars telling him this… and he knew Seokjin didn’t listen. Seokjin wasn’t a good student, in a traditional sense. He liked stories, and most of the history and war tactics the youngest Prince read about was not a good story.

Until he received a letter from his brother.

I don’t know where to turn. I’ve missed you, brother. I feel so lost. I don’t think I’m meant for this. I don’t think I’m meant to be King.

The words were scratched out over and over, as if even writing what was beneath was forbidden.

Father expects so much – expects me to talk with a booming voice. He wants me to be like our ancestors.

Namjoon knew what Seokjin was referring to – even if it had been years since he’d been by his older brother’s side or heard the tales of their family line. Everyone knew the stories of the dragon bloods. How they were creatures that could shapeshift into reptilian beasts that flew. Powerful myths. How they took the throne with ease and led with wisdom beyond this realm. How their royal bloodline supposedly came from them.

It was a story, a folklore. But it was still used to rally the people. The kingdom was strong, strong like a dragon.

Seokjin wrote to Namjoon for advice. And though he thought he despised the crown prince, he replied. At first because Namjoon’s nanny urged him to – “it’d be rude to not reply to the future King, my prince” – but soon he wrote to ease his brother’s worries. He was an aid in running the kingdom even at his young age.

He liked that.

He’d write advice for his brother, sending flocks of pigeons with letters. Books were his escape. And soon, so were you.

He was sixteen when he found you when he was looking for a novel in the library. It was early in the morning; the dew had barely settled on the grasslands. Namjoon stumbled down the stone steps into the grand library, sleepy eyed and still in his fine-tailored pajamas. It took him far too long to notice you. It was only when you let out the smallest giggle. His head snapped to the sound, and he saw you for the first time. A servant’s daughter dressed in worn dark browns and creams; an apron sat dirtied around your waist; it was clear you weren’t where you were supposed to be. Engrossed in a book, your eyes taking in gulps of words even if you stumbled over the larger ones – a finger resting over the word that seemed too complicated to pronounce let alone understand.

And instead of anger, instead of a tantrum, perhaps due to his isolation, he felt… kinship.

You liked to read like he did. You were like him. Alone in the place. He hadn’t seen someone his age before this, he was so used to the older figures rushing around. But you… you were like him. Even if you were dressed poorly.

“Excuse me?” His voice was now a rumbling deep thing with the brink of teenagerhood, deeper even more when dusted with the throes of sleep.

It startled you, slamming the book shut with a puff of dust from the old thing. Your gaze settled on the fine clothes – finer than you had ever seen – and a fear clung to your bones.

The worst-case scenarios tumbled through your head. You would be sent away. You’d be beheaded. Your family would suffer. Your eyes would be plucked out. He was an angry boy – you had heard the rumors and here you were trespassing. In the royal library. His royal library.

“My prince,” you stumbled to your feet, bowing your head. “I’m sorry – please forgive me.”

No, no, no he didn’t want this. He didn’t want fear or babbling or… to lose a possible friend. He had never seen someone in the library. It was his private library, too grand for a single soul to occupy. It wouldn’t hurt… to share. It felt like nails down a chalkboard, like someone was taking his to from him. Why was that so hard to concede to that? Sharing.

Still, he bit down on his tongue.

“No, please. It’s okay,” he tried to soothe.

His hands outstretched to touch your shoulder as if to urge you out of your bow. You shuddered under his touch as if he’d strike you. “It’s okay. Really.”

His voice, deep and warm, lacked the fire of anger. It was more like a hearth, bumbling with embers.

“What… what are you reading?”

“What… what am I reading?” you repeated, incredulous. Baffled.

He offered a small smile, cheeks red as he nodded slowly. He was so unused to this. So used to the nannies who were frightened of him or the tired old maids who didn’t want to put in the effort to care for him truly.

He tried to make himself look smaller, that’d help right? You were so much smaller than him already he noticed. He nodded again.

“It’s… it’s a fairytale, you probably wouldn’t like it,” she insisted.

“I like reading,” he said simply. “Tell me about it? Please.”

You licked your lips, eying him up and down before nodding softly. It wasn’t a beheading. It wasn’t a violent tantrum. In fact, he looked kind of sweet, bashful, as his sleepy face broke into a grin and he settled down next to the spot you were previously sitting.

Day by day, you’d meet in the early morning light of the majestic library. In that time, he’d hear what you were reading; even insisting on you reading the words aloud. He’d correct you where he could. Never did his corrections make you feel ashamed or stupid. He was surprisingly gentle with his words you noticed.

Your mornings – when you were meant to be preparing his breakfast - were spent reading beside the young prince. Eventually, when you got scolded so much, it made you cry and you were trembling in your shoes to miss a shift – he changed your schedule. While in the early morn you’d share your books, by mid-morning, he shared with you the books he loved – philosophy, folklore, science - while you rushed to make his breakfast in the grand kitchen. He’d lean against the cutting counter and stare as you whisked eggs and kneaded dough.

It was sometimes difficult to be around him. The Prince was a handsome man. His hair was long for his age, curling up at the nape of his neck. You wondered if he cut it himself. Most servants were warned of his unruly temper and childish tantrums; they avoided him the best they could and it was easy with how much he stayed in his tower. He was violent… That was why he was sent away – at least, the rumors spoke of that.

The prince you grew to know wasn’t an angry person. No, he smiled with a softness, his cheeks squishing to reveal dimples. He listened as you spoke about things in your life– from the novels you had read and loved to the flowers you liked in the gardens to the work you loathed to do. (He had laughed when you mentioned you disliked when he requested bacon for the splatters of oil always burned your arms; he promised he’d request bacon less for your sake. He hadn’t requested it since.)

Namjoon enjoyed your company. You were his friend. His only friend.

He hadn’t had a friend before.

He cared for you, watched, and aided you when he could. He didn’t want you to suffer or feel alone. You were the only other teenager so far outside the kingdom’s town. It must’ve been lonely. He couldn’t imagine you hurting or else his heart felt like it’d burn up.

Even as he felt stirrings of things within him as the years went by, he focused on what you needed. A love that was selfless wasn’t second-nature to him. It was an effort. He didn’t want to be greedy and lose you. He grew fond of you beside him. His fingers intertwined with yours as you walked through the gardens, shyly at first, before it happened every time afterwards. Your hand in his was cool to the touch; he hoped you weren’t cold. He gifted you a pretty cloak a few weeks later, one that was the same shade as your favorite flower.

You leaned towards him when you read together. Sometimes your cheek was so close he could feel their warm. His lips would tingle and he couldn’t read the manuscript in his hands. All he could focus on was how pretty your skin was… how your cheeks were a reddish pink and your lips… oh your lips were so tantalizingly close for him to press a kiss to them. He swallowed down this love, keeping you close to him but guarded from himself.

Perhaps it was anxiety – the consequence of being friendless for so long. He was bashful, fearful. Him – fearful it made him want to shake his head at his foolishness. He ached to wrap you into his embrace, to shower you in kisses, to allow you to lay in his bed. But he settled for now, the softness of your friendship was a comfort. Your hand against his was still enough to get his heart racing. His love festered in his chest with the inability to grow further – if only he could speak of his fondness.

He claimed he’d try again tomorrow – and the next day – and the next.

However, as his love grew into a mess of tangled vines, an illness began to fester and choke him as well.

It had occurred when he turned twenty. At the stroke of midnight, you had knocked onto his bedroom door.

“Joonie!” Your voice chimed as he opened the door. Dressed in his pajamas, it should be improper but you had seen him in them many times before – you met him in them. His face lit up at the sight of the cake – his birthday cake. It was decorated with edible flowers from the garden and a gentle blue frosting.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Y/N,” he exclaimed. “This is beautiful – all for me?”

You giggled and he smiled wide enough his dimples peeked at you.

“Yes, your Highness,” you chuckled. “Don’t eat it all or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

“I won’t… aren’t you tired?” he asked watching you blink slow and steady like a cat.

“A bit; I wish I could stay awake longer but I wanted to be the first person to see you and wish you a happy birthday.” You claimed.

He wanted to press kisses all over your face; he wish you knew that you were sweeter than this cake. That you’d be the only one to wish him a true happy birthday. Instead, he simply place the cake aside on a desk and hugged you close.

“Thank you. I love it.” You.

You hummed happily. “I’m happy. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Not too early,” he promised. “I’ll take breakfast later, okay? Prince’s orders. Sleep in a bit.”

It was sweet. Even on his birthday he was treating you. You smiled up at him, squeezing his hand fondly.

“As you command it, oh mighty prince. But other than that, we will spend the whole day together.”

That sounded like a dream. With the door shutting behind you, he felt a giddy rush course through him. His skin warmed and his stomach filled with butterflies. Looking over at the cake, he took his finger and swiped at the frosting, tasting it. But the mere taste of the sugar felt like curdled milk in his stomach. Namjoon frowned. That didn’t make sense. Your treats were always so good. He loved this cake recipe in particular – you made it every birthday since you became friends.

Perhaps it was his excitement. His face already felt clammy. His hand shaky. Sleep claimed him quick, his cake left untouched.

He awoke in the morning to a fever, his skin burning hot.

“Stay away, Y/N,” he had called out when you insisted on helping him. A cool rag to his forehead, sweat trickled down his temple.

“You’re burning up, Joonie” you had murmured, swiping his hair aside. Once, you’d shake in your boots imagining touching the prince like this, but after your friendship grew through the years. You had stopped referring to him as your prince and simply as Namjoon, and later even Joonie – something he had smiled warmly at.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” he continued as you lifted a goblet of water to his lips.

“Shh.” You hushed as you let him sip the fresh water. It didn’t ease the fire in his veins. “You’re the one sick on your birthday.”

Namjoon’s fever didn’t break for days. It felt like his muscles were combusting, aching, and burning. No doctor had the answer. The royal family even came to visit – fearing the worse for the bedridden prince.

“Namjoonie, you better get well.” It was a light threat from Seokjin as he sat on the bedside of his younger brother. It wasn’t much of a threat when Seokjin sniffled and raised a handkerchief to his eyes. “What would I do without your aid if you left? I’d be waiting for your letters daily.”

You worked on with a watchful eye. Wringing cool rose-water from a rag to place on Namjoon’s forehead as the crown prince held onto his brother’s hand. You couldn’t decide if the first-born prince was being genuine. You noticed other things though. The way the plump lips of Seokjin were bitten raw. The trembling broad shoulders. There was a quiet to Seokjin, a timidness even if he was built and grown as a Prince; he wasn’t built to be a King. Even a servant girl could see that.

It was as interesting as it was fearful.

There was a night when he refused to let you into his bed chamber. The large clanking of a goblet hitting the tiled floors echoed, and you had rushed to the door with his name on your tongue.

“Don’t enter,” his voice was pained.

“Namjoon, what’s wrong?” you asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he sounded pained, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

Clanking and shattering objects came from within the room. You did not cease your calling. Servants whispered and gossiped about the prince having a temper tantrum in his weakened state. Some things never change.

The next morning, Namjoon’s fever broke finally. And you nearly cried of relief.

“You scared me so much,” you scolded the prince as you clung to his hand. His arms wrapped around you tight, pulling you closer and closer until you were in the bed with him. Surprised by not frightened, you remained in his arms. They trembled with a weakness, from the sickness you assumed, but they didn’t let you shift in his embrace. He held you close and breathed you in. You smelled of home. Of everything he cared for. The smell of food cooking on a hearth, of indigo flowers planted in the garden, of the vanilla hidden in old books. He trembled under your hug, but he pressed his lips to your hair, something you don’t miss. Fondness bloom in your chest like a flower.

“What happened yesterday?” you murmured, curiously.

You knew it wasn’t a temper tantrum. He didn’t do that. It wasn’t Namjoon.

He breathed out shakily. He felt… different. His skin felt tight to his bones; his muscles remained tense like a suit of armor forged into his own flesh – but he didn’t feel unwell. The fire that had burned through him had settled into a steady flow of embers through his veins. A comforting warmth, a harness-able power.

“I-I don’t know,” he lied as he held you closer.

After the illness, Namjoon held himself differently. He was taller, broader. He almost reminded you of Seokjin’s naturally wide shoulders – except Namjoon’s frame was different. More muscular, beefier.

He could lift you now, carrying you to your quarters ( which had moved to the castle, per his request ) when you fell asleep reading beside the prince. He was eating more – but maybe you simply forgot his appetite after suffering under the illness for so long. He’s moved into training again – now outside the tower he called his living quarters – something you knew he had liked to do after years of friendship.

He was different but the same. He almost seemed more at peace as he greeted you in the kitchens with a friendly kiss to your cheek.

He was bolder. Happier.

Different but good.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around you.

It was a welcome change; Namjoon had begun to hug you closer, wrap his arms around you more and more now. Your hand moved to rest against his intertwined arms.

“Good morning, Joon.” His chin rested on your shoulder, watching as you made his plate (and yours at his request – he loved eating breakfast with you.)

“You’re in a good mood,” you commented.

“I received a letter from my brother.” he didn’t speak of Seokjin with ill-will; he had spoken of the king with a tone of discontent – detested affection - before.

“He wants me to be his Advisor.” He revealed. He sounded excited, happy. “Officially.” He turned to rest his cheek fully on your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against your servant garb. “Father is preparing to shift things around, giving Seokjin more power in decision-making.”

Which Namjoon knew Seokjin hated.

“You have worked hard. You’ll finally be able to show off that big brain of yours in front of the court,” you added as you continued to slice the apple for your individual porridges.

“Finally,” he sighed against you. Things were looking up.

He dragged his cheek against your shoulder once more before hugging you close. As he pulled away, his fingers swiped an apple slice from the tray.

“Your Highness,” you scolded, making him chuckle out as he pressed another fond kiss to your cheek.

It left tingling warmth in its wake.

You couldn’t seem to rest despite yawns tumbling from your lips. Restlessness clung to your bones, making you stand from your bed. Your gaze peered out the high window to look into the night sky. The tower room that Namjoon insisted on you having as you tended to him while he was ill was grand. It was larger than your homestead, draped in finery that you had been fearful to use. There was even a balcony to look out into the night sky – which you used now. Namjoon hadn’t asked for anything in return, simply saying he adored your company. He wanted you here. He had been kind to you; sweeter than ever.

The very thought of the prince made your heart race. Letting out a girlish giggle, your eyes continued to stargaze. Arms draping over the baluster, you pressed your cheek to the cool stonework. There were many stars you could name; Namjoon particularly enjoyed astronomy. You were naming each one you could.

There was the Chamaeleon, Corona Borealis, Lepus, Lupus, and the Dragon. Your eyes drooped sleepily when something caught your gaze. There was flicker against the midnight skies like a shadow dancing across the stars. The shape made you shudder, your eyes widening like saucers.

It looked like a dragon flying high in the sky.

You blink, blink, blinked.

It was gone. No, you know what you saw. You saw the impossible.

“What are you reading, Y/N?” Namjoon asked after catching you in the halls of the palace, curled in an alcove he knew you favored.

“Folklore,” you commented.

He noted your sleepy eyes; lavender painted your under-eye area. His brows pursed – even if you continued reading with interest.

“What’s caught your attention, sweet one?” he chuckled softly before his fingers tucked stray hairs away from your face. Fingers grazed your skin fondly. You looked up at the gentility. He lips pursed into a frown. “You look like you’ve been up all night; were you reading by candlelight again?”

Your face didn’t lighten up like he loved. It made his stomach churn a bit. His brows pursed. He was far too easy to read like your favorite book.

You tried to comfort him, shaking your head. Your cheek pressed into his large, hot hand reassuringly.

“No, no; I just – Namjoon –, “ you started a sentence, pausing in your words.

Licking your lips, your tired mind caught up to your train of thought and you had to pause.

Everyone knew the tale of the dragon bloods. Creatures who could transform at will – fire breathed into their souls, powerful and greedy but wise. They took over the throne from an evil ruler; then they ruled with wisdom for decades. It was a tall-tale you were told since childhood. But… it was just a story. How could you have seen one? And why did it strike such fear in your heart for Namjoon and the royal family? Was it an omen? Was he in danger?

Your breathing shuddered.

You couldn’t tell him. He’d find you crazy.

Your gaze shifted from his kind umber eyes to the book beneath her fingertips.

“I’ve just been engrossed in this story,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t quite a lie.

He frowned, but brushed a thumb over your cheek soft. He didn’t like you keep things from him. But he’d let you for now.

“Seokjin-hyung truly doesn’t know how to rule; what did he do during all those lessons? He knows nothing!” Namjoon lamented, flopping down beside you in the grassy riverside. It was a heavy thud of his body against the vegetation.

“Be careful,” you commented at his violent action yet he didn’t even grunt from the action.

“I would’ve loved lessons on trade routes,” he sighed out, frustratedly. His hands trailed over the wild indigo tousling in the wind. He watched the petals pass through his fingers before huffing again.

“I know, Joonie, but you learned regardless. That’s resilience.”

He hummed out an agreement. His gaze shifted from the weeds beside his head to focus on you. You were reading again. A sight he loved. He loved when you were focused, immersed in something more. It was like he could see your brain working, see the imagination flickering behind your beautiful eyes.

The leather-covered book bore the same “History of Fae & Other Creatures” title. You’ve been reading it for more than a week now. It made his curiosity spike.

“What are you so intrigued about, sweetheart?” He leaned up on his forearms, gazing up at you with flower petals and leaves clinging to his long hair.

You let out a soft chuckle at the sight, reaching out to pluck the remnants away. Why were you nervous to tell him? Would he laugh at you? He hadn’t before. You knew your fears were foolish – a Dragon wasn’t coming to destroy his family line – and him. That was… not set in reality. Its been something you’ve ruminated on night after night as you laid in your cushy bed. You could’ve seen something totally real that night – a strange bird or a kite or a very solid looking cloud that moved really fast. Right?

Fiddling with the corner of the worn page, you hemmed and hawed. Namjoon waited patiently. Smiling up at you. He’s never been cruel or mean. Surely, he’d just tell you saw nothing. That it was the sleepiness. Reassure you. He fiddled with the fabric of your dress – a new one he had made for you of indigo blue.

“I just – I’ve been thinking of dragons recently,” you finally said, turning the page.

Namjoon paused, his smile freezing. His dimples weren’t showing as the smile faded into a confused frown.

“Dragons?” he asked again. Namjoon’s blood felt hot.

“I—you’ll think I’m silly,” you said, shaking your head – your gaze hadn’t left the page. “I thought I saw one the other night. I was tired though. Maybe I just was – I don’t know, day-dreaming.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon supplied.

He felt hot.

He’d tell them soon. He promised.

Namjoon’s face was grim as he sat in the rocky carriage. Stuck in the royal attire he often disregard around the palace, his limbs felt tight and itchy; his fine silver crown atop perfectly styled locks. His hair had been cut, by your hand at the insistence of the maids and caretakers. He was a Prince not some long-haired pirate! He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. He was stuck in a carriage far away from you and only taking him further and further away by the second. It left him worrying. A pit growing in his stomach as the carriage shuttered against the rocky path.

Even if he hadn’t spoken his love to you, you hadn’t rejected his affections. His soft kisses to your cheek, his embraces where his hands remained respectfully at your waist, or his affectionate nicknames. It was more than friendship, surely you knew that. You weren’t dumb. You were the smartest woman he’d met. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

He felt anxiety creep up at the thought of the castle unprotected by him. You were unprotected. It made the fire splutter and splatter like lava within his soul.

But he had a duty – not to his father, but Seokjin.

It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

The castle was a day’s journey, one that he handled as gracefully as one could. Soon enough, he was back in his childhood home – yet it felt unlike the true home he left behind. Bereft figures, dull colors of dark blacks decorated the halls. Sobs filled the streets.

After all, the King was dead.

Seokjin was going to be crowned – and soon.

It was the night after the funeral. Seokjin had barged his way into Namjoon’s quarters – a forgotten childhood bedroom. Everything had been left where Namjoon had place it. His dragon stuffed animal sat on the window’s ledge, looking out.

At least it has been, before Seokjin had picked it up and fiddled with it. Squeezing it, tossing it between his large palms, hugging it.

“I can’t do this, Joonie,” Seokjin hyperventilated.

“What are you talking about, hyung?” Namjoon tried to understand.

“The crown,” he blurted out. “The ceremonies. The ruling. The laws. The court. I’m not—I can’t. I’m not – built for this.”

Seokjin was trembling; his fingers digging into the stuffed animal harshly. His lips were bitten red, bleeding.

“You’ve grown up learning for this,” Namjoon countered, disbelievingly. “Its your-“

“I don’t care!” Seokjin cried out. “I—I never wanted the crown. I never—I can’t handle the pressures; Father, before he passed, he knew – he knew. He said if the crown failed in my hands that I’d go to hell. That I’d be cursed to be outcasted. History rewritten. He called me weak – he called me-“ Seokjin was sobbing. Namjoon had never seen his brother cry before.

“I don’t know what to do. You do.”

You know how to rule.

“Help me, Joonie. Please. Please I revoke my crown. I revoke it. I revoke it to you.”

There was a jostling outside your balcony, waking you with a start. A grand wind pounded on the glass panels ferociously, rattling and creaking them violently. Your eyes flashed open and you looked about bewildered.

There had been no wind when you fell asleep. Especially not so violent.

“What is going on?” Your fear made you jump, holding the covers to your form as if that could protect you.

You saw no clouds nor tells of rain or wind last night. But now, it was almost like your window frame was trembling from the force outside.

Standing to look, what you saw nearly made you faint. There, outside your window – perched awkwardly on your stone balcony’s balusters – was a dragon. Larger than you by an incredible amount. Its form wasn’t even at its grandest; you could see its body was curling inwards; its large clawed paws were shifting underneath it as it balanced, almost similar to a cat. Its wings were outstretched wide, the width of them taking up the length of many men. It didn’t look threatening; there was no fire or brimstone. Instead, it almost looked clumsy. It was far too large for the foundation beneath itself. The stonework gave a horrible groan, loud and bellowing from the creature’s weight.

A scream was on your lips, aching to tear out of your throat – but before you could, you saw before your very eyes the dragon begin to tremble and shrink until… there was no dragon there anymore. No, it was just Namjoon.

Namjoon was on your balcony.

Rippling muscles shuddering as he stumbled off of the stone baluster and towards you a wild look in his eyes.

“Y/N,” you could hear him even with your balcony window shut – however, not for long, as you promptly fainted.

He was a dragon.

“Darling,” you could hear a soft croon. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

Your head ached, but you could still recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had read you countless novels in the field of flowers by the gardens.

“Joon?” you queried in your drowsiness.

Blinking your eyes, you look up to see him, clad in his royal attire – the very attire he had left in – sitting beside you in your quarters.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, rushing to press kisses to your knuckles. His crowned head bowing towards you in regret.

He hadn’t thought about how it could startle you – all he could think was he had to return home. Had to discuss things with you – his only friend, his love, his confidant.

“I—I, did—I had the strangest dream,” you murmur out. “You were a—” Your gaze traveled to the window, now open to where you had seen the creature perched in your dreams. Only to see the shattered stonework. The broken balusters laid messily in front of the gargoyles.

“A dragon,” Namjoon supplied, quietly. Almost bashfully like that morning you met.

Your eyes drifted back to him. His umber eyes were fiery, even if they were glancing away almost boyishly shy.

“What?” you asked quiet. “Namjoon, what?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit. His head tilted downwards. All the fire of a dragon he had – but its courage he still lacked, he scolded himself.

He lacked when it came to you; selfishly afraid and yearning to protect and shield you away from him.

“I’m a dragon blood. I-I learned about it a few months ago,” he said. “After my illness, I had these abilities. These powers…”

You stared at him; partial awe, partial fear, partial confusion, and partial betrayal painted your features.

Before you slapped at his shoulder, angrily.

“You—” You nearly curse at him, anger peaking.

His hands went to capture yours before you could slap at him again. Firm but not painful, his grasp was one of desperation as his brows crinkled in despair.

“I know; I know. I didn’t tell you. How would you have reacted?” he rambled on. “You would’ve thought me mad; you would’ve left me alone. You would’ve never spoken to me.”

His fear was laid out in a rush– you leaving him.

“I couldn’t bear that.” he whispered ardently.

“So, you lied!” you bitterly exclaimed. Your hands – now curled into childish fists – couldn’t shift in his grasp. He was strong.

“You never asked!” Namjoon countered smiling awkwardly. Your glare shut him up, his mouth opening and closing as his eyes shut. “That doesn’t matter I know. You can be angry later, please. I have news from the kingdom. I need you!”

A Dragon never needed anyone. But he needed her. He always would.

“Seokjin is going to revoke the crown – and I’ll be crowned king.” He said out in a flurry.

Once again, as if a bomb was dropped on you, your mouth dropped open.

“He’s revoking the crown?”

Namjoon nodded, almost excitedly. You could see flames dance in his eyes – had that always happened?

“This is horrible!” you murmured out, fear written in your face.

Nightmares of disasters flickered through your mind. Namjoon and Seokjin being killed in an uprising. Namjoon being prevented taking the throne. Seokjin lying to cause Namjoon’s death. So many worst-case scenarios flickered through your mind. Your mind was an expert at plotting the worse. Even if the dragon you saw was him – it could be a warning. He could be a warning of worse things to come.

“Darling?” Namjoon asked, his voice gentle as he saw your outburst – your fear and disapproval were the opposite of what he predicted.

“Seokjin doesn’t want the crown,” Namjoon reassured, hands leaving your wrists to cup your face. Tilting it his way to watch your mind rush faster and faster. He licked his lips as he saw your mouth shuddered.

“If you do this, Namjoon, the kingdom will be in uproar; they will fight against a shift in power – even if it’s as peaceful as your brother granting you the throne.” You countered. “It’s signing a war declaration.”

He let out a huff of a growl, smoke tumbling from his nose. His impatience bubbled up. He didn’t like being told that he couldn’t do something; he never had.

The smoke shocked you, but somehow not enough to scare you. It was just… new.

“I don’t want a war,” you said looking at him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Desperation and yearning. Longing. It was complex and somber and… soulful. He felt like he saw your soul for a moment. And it was scared for him. You didn’t want him harmed or put into harm’s way in any way. “And I don’t want you fighting in it.”

Want. Want. Want.

Namjoon wanted too. He wanted so much over the years. He had wanted his family’s love. He didn’t receive it. He wanted to learn. He was given road block after road block. He wanted you, all of you. And he forbade himself.

He wanted the throne. He wanted what he deserved. He wanted respect. Your breath left in a soft huff of a sigh. You pushed yourself up to sit higher on your bed, closer in his embrace, his hands sliding to your jaw to accommodate.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Joonie.”

His fiery gaze eased a bit at your words. You were precious. Kind-hearted, gentle. His only true friend. His. And as a dragon blood, he was greedy. You were a treasure he didn’t know he hoarded. Until now.

“I don’t fear anything anymore. At least nothing like that.” he commented softly. “Not after the change.” He shifted from the floor to your bed, his tall form towered over you, but you didn’t feel discomfort as he embraced you. His thumb caressed over the soft supple skin of your cheeks, lovingly. “Why should a monster fear anything he can devour?”

You think if someone else had said those words a shiver would go down your spine. But it was Kim Namjoon. The very Namjoon who you’ve known for so many years. Namjoon – the prince who didn’t tattle on you – a servant girl – when you were avoiding work. Namjoon – who learned botany because you said you loved the wild indigos you found on the path between the castle and your homestead. Namjoon – who would sit beside you and point at the words you couldn’t decipher from old folklore scripts and ramble on and on about the history of them. Namjoon – the man who would grab your hand and sneak down to the river’s shores to skip stones with you. Namjoon - who had pressed soft kisses to your forehead when you fell asleep beside him in the grand library. Namjoon – who gently took your hand in between his as he confessed how much you meant to him beside the hearth of the fireplace.

Namjoon – the son of the Dragon, the inheritor of the flame – the rightful heir of the kingdom as a dragon blood.

It felt like two separate people – but even now, when his hand slid to your jaw – you could see both sides of him. The powerful being and the gentle giant. He would fight to protect you. And you knew deep down you would fight to protect him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured lowly. “Of me, of a war.” He clarified. “What I am now – what awoke within me - is bulletproof, darling; I will not fail us. I will protect you and my kingdom.” And with that, he leant down, cupping your cheeks, and kissed your lips for the first time.

You swore you could taste fire-smoke and ash on his lips.

#namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts fantasy au #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x you #bts x you #bts fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon reaction #namjoon angst #bts dragon au #dragon namjoon #written by Haley

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