#a strange darkening (stranger things au)

[obscurebelief]

Constantly horrifying myself that Aurelius can basically destroy Hawkins with his Obscurus power, like the wrong person sets him off on the lowest day and Vecna and the Mindflayer just gotta sit back and watch as the Obscurus levels Hawkins in an unfortunate fit of rage.

Note: Aurie is not as strong as the Mindflayer but maybe can kick the Meatflayer's ass (or whatever that thing in S3 was called), and can probably fight Vecna but again, limited powers sooo xD;; he may be OP as hell in theory but overuses his power to much and he gets very ill or can die if goes over the top D: sooo wooo limits.

[fan-goddess]

A Rose by Any Other Name…

Original Request: Is tagged here if ya wanna read :)

Authors Note: I'm so mixed with this i love some parts yet hate others it's 50/50. Other than that though I adore this au request and hope i did it justice. Just a headsup they're ngl both toxic stupid younglings.

Word count: 9k words (wow...)

Taglist: @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Pain, chronic pain, pain flare ups due to chronic pain, soulmates, fluff, angst, actually loving parents, not really a mention of her features only eyes, called a woman and referred to as she/her pronouns, self ableism, a more darker!aemond, implied abuse of royal power, Aemond ngl being lowkey toxic so they both stupid af (if I miss any let me know)

When first learning about soulmates and the fates which follow them, you had prayed to all the seven gods that you would never be misfortune enough to have one. That you should never feel the pain your soulmate felt with flowers marking your skin.

Your mother did not have one, nor did your father or any of your relatives before them, as according to them the whole thing was actually quite rare among the whole of the seven kingdoms.

Though you suppose you never had been very lucky. It was probably what praying to the stranger did to you.

Your first encounter with those damn deep blue flowers that stung while they branded you was on your legs and your abdomen. According to your septas and the lone maester who was permitted to treat your marks, they looked like marks given to a boy beginning his training in combat.

To them, this was seen as an honor, as it meant if you ever got the opportunity to meet him he could protect you. But to you, this merely meant that you were going to need to get used to that incessant stinging. They never knew what it felt like to feel those damn flowers plaguing your body, but not even you knew how to fully describe what it was like. The only way you could even dare think about it if you were truly forced too, was that it was a death sentence.

You never thought through the few years that passed after making the discovery of possessing a soulmate that the pain could get quite worse. But it appears like always, the idea of luck was not on your side.

It was a strange feeling to wake to a flower blooming on the skin of your left eye. The pain was what you focused on most however, as to be awoken to what you could only describe as being fire scorching your skin was something you could never truly describe but know for the rest of your life. Compared to your earlier marks and the pains that came with them, those were merely like when the septas would swiftly hit the ruler over your knuckles.

While you screamed and writhed in pain in your childhood bed, the maester took quick work in forcing milk of the poppy down your aching throat while the small group of septas held back your worrying mother and father who stood scared in the doorway. The medicines effects soon took its place though to yours and everyone's relief, and you were taken in some sort of daze like sleep.

When you awoke a few hours later with your head still fuzzy and a cooling salve slathered patch over your eye, your father was sitting on a chair propped to the edge of the bed tightly holding your hand while your mother slept beside you above the covers.

"Oh my darling, we were so worried!" Your father said, pulling you into a close embrace that woke your mother up from her sleep. By the way the skin underneath her eyes was darkened and how she yawned as soon as she sat up, you could tell she had been trying to stay up all night for you, and the very idea of it made you smile with gratitude you knew other children did not possess. "You gave us such a fright when we heard you screaming so late at night! What happened?"

"I... I do not know father," You said truthfully, your hand unconsciously going to remove the patch from your eye, but stopping when your father grabs your hand and gives you a stern glare that reminds you of your youth, specifically whenever you would steal an extra lemon bar after dinner. "All I remember is falling asleep and then waking to this horrendous pain in my eye and all around it..."

You have a faraway look in your eye as you find yourself unable to look at your mother and fathers lingering questioning gaze. They may not have ever said it, but you can tell that they pity you greatly for the path the gods have pushed you on. You thought this soulmate of yours was some training knight-to-be. But what knight-to-be experienced battle as harsh as having damage to his eye as horrific as you felt it to be? It did possibly occur to you that your soulmate may actually be a hardened knight with years of experience on the battlefield. But after bringing up the concern with your maester, he assured you that the marks you bore would be a lot worse if he was truly some older knight, a kingsguard or even a goldcloak.

Later that day after being ordered to eat lots to restore your energy, your maester came by that evening to visit and check on your mark. His words were kind as he assured you it would've most likely gone down in its intensity since you barely felt anything now except some throbbing from your socket. According to him, while you lay screaming from the pain, a deep blue flower had taken over your entire socket where the pain had bloomed from, in a strange fascinating way making your eye its center.

His touch was gentle as he slowly peeled back the fabric. Yet his face which once held a supportive smile turns to shock and pure horror once you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Maester, what is the matter?” You ask, biting your lip in pure anxiety as he says nothing but stares at your eye. He does not even look away as he grabs a mirror by your bedside table and hands it too you.

When you look into it though, you do not realize what is so wrong except for some small petal edges that leak from around your eye. But then you look more closely and realize with a loud gasp how your once green eye is now a deep blue, and when you close it you gasp again as you comprehend how now a flower has bloomed on your eyelid.

“What… what has happened, maester?!” You yell, unable to look away from your newly changed face.

“I do not know exactly my lady,” The maester begins, forcibly snatching the mirror from your hands so you’re forced to look at him and listen. “The whole written topic of soulmates to my knowledge is so little given at how rare they are, so there is truly not much advice to give you. The basic idea though as I told you when your condition first developed, is that when he is in pain, you are to have a flower bloom on your skin where the pain originates. There is no record I’m afraid of this condition affecting the physical body except from the blooming flowers and the pain that comes with it.”

You stay quiet as you listen to the maester, tears build up as you realize your life shall not be the same. While the idea of having two different coloured eyes is a condition seen around the seven kingdoms, it is still a noticeable thing that would draw attention of the people.

And honestly, you were not sure if you wanted to meet your soulmate. This latest development in your condition is so new and so frightening. Though you must say you cannot help but feel sorry for the soul the gods have promised you too. While what you felt was agony, you have no idea how much it must’ve hurt for your soulmate at that moment.

Over the next few days, you were closely monitored by the maester, the septa’s and your parents who all were anxious to see if the flower on your eye would slowly go down like the other flowers did when the pain disappeared or if it would remain. And much to yours and everyone around you's annoyance, it very much stayed bright and clear on your skin no matter what ointment or potion was used to clear it.

On the fourth day after the incident, as your father called it, a maid who was one of the few with knowledge of your condition came into your chambers with your morning meal, and some important news.

“My lady,” she began, practically sweating as she placed the tray in front of you. “There has been a recent development in regard to your soulmate's identity.”

Since the pain you felt was the most extreme you had ever felt, your father had felt the need to hire some men to investigate to see if this new information would reveal your soulmate's identity, even though the chance of finding an answer was slim to none. Though you suppose there was never a zero percent chance, as proven by the fact there was according to the maid, a recent development.

“What is it?” You ask, biting into the lemon cake first and savoring the sweet yet sour taste on your tongue. “What has my father discovered that he does not feel the need to come tell me himself?”

“Well…” She stumbles, even stepping back a small step as she instinctively looks to the ground. “It turns out that the same day you had that incident my lady, the prince Aemond Targaryen had his eye taken by his young nephew Lucerys, and it was reported to your father that the damage was so bad the eye had to be removed and the socket sewn up.”

The cake that once laid in your hand falls back onto the plate. Your mouth like the cake falls open in the same undignified manner as you cannot believe the words you are hearing.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You find yourself asking in a breathless tone, silent as the maid nods her head.

“May I be dismissed now, my lady?” She asks, knocking you out of a daze you hadn’t even realized you had fallen into. You nod in answer and watch as she leaves, leaving you in silence and your own thoughts that begin to run rampant.

You were soulmates with the Prince! A Targaryen Prince! You heard that out of his three siblings he was the only one with no dragon, but you honestly did not care if he did or did not as either way he was still a man of honor. When thinking of the injuries you received over the years, you cannot help but think of how it made sense.

You knew princes received special training similarly to that of young knights, so when the maester said that the injuries matched up with them made sense. Yet to hear of the Prince's injury that perfectly synced with your own, that was what finally made it all make sense.

You lay backwards in your bed, and allowed the anxiety to wash over your body. The food lay to waste against the covers as you thought only of what your future could hold as a wife of royalty. Of how you would never be a true lady of the court and in the end would no doubt bring about disgrace to your husband's name. Of how in the end compared to your soulmate, the Targaryen warrior, you are just a woman from a lower house who could not bring anything into the marriage but your empty womb.

The next few years after the realization of your soulmate, you spent your time attempting to convince your father not to pursue a marriage between yourself and the Prince. But to your surprise and happiness, your father agreed to not pursue anything marriage related to you without so much of a fuss, even when you, your father and even your mother knew how much a marriage between you and the Prince would help your house bloom in both social standing and resources.

You felt selfish in your insistence of your future, but your father was adamant in telling you that he was not angry in your decision and if anything he was proud to see you so passionate about your decisions.

Your mother much to your delight seemed to agree with you, which probably the main if not the only reason was why your father acted so calmly. According to her you were too young for marriage, which to most people seeing as your mother and father were married quite young it may be seen as hypocritical. But those people were not there to witness all the times your mother gripped her stomach and dreamed of the brothers and sisters you lost on the birthing bed and before.

You were sure not to injure yourself too greatly in fear of that, like how you found out Prince Aemond, he would discover your true identity and come to your doors to claim you in the same way his elder brother Prince Aegon supposedly claimed the ladies of the red keep. 

Yet like all those years ago the night when you realized your eye hard turned blue. The gods were not on your side.

You scream as the pain quickly makes itself known in your arm forcing you to forget anything you’ve ever known other than that overwhelming seering sensation. The tears mask your ability to see the blood pooling up from your skin, and you can hear muffled running in the distance as well as the sound of panicked shouting from the familiar voices of the septas you made such close acquaintances with all those years ago.

You can feel their hands grabbing you, but nothing beats the pain that you cannot even begin to put into words. The maester is by your side as soon as you’re brought to the healing room, and his old wrinkled touch is distinct on your skin as he tries to find the blue flowers he has become so familiar with. Only he does not find blue. Only red. Which is the color of your blood that dyes his fingernails and the tips of his cloak crimson.

Like all those years ago, milk of the poppy is brought to your lips and you are forced to swallow hard and quick. The familiar daze returns as you quickly become numb to the feeling of the sharp needle piercing your skin as the maester attempts to fix you.

You stayed in that bed for at least a day or two before you came too again, but at this point you are used to being there within those familiar walls.

According to the maester, at the height at which you fell from the tree you were climbing in, the tree you were in fact always forbidden to climb but ignored thinking you were safe, you broke your arm clean in two. Apparently the bone had managed to pierce your skin, which is why there had been so much blood. So in order to allow it to heal properly he formed a special layer of hardened protection to stop the arm from any unnecessary movements that could cause further damage to the arm.

As he tells you this, you cannot help but think of how the Prince is thinking right now. Did he get that same piercing pain in his arm too? Did the flowers bloom the same way yours did whenever he managed to harm himself? Were his flowers even the same color as your own? You felt so deep in thought you barely even heard your mother come in to visit.

“My love?” She says, taking your hand in hers and drawing you out from your thoughts. “How are you faring?”

“I am alright mother. The pain is gone, all thanks to the maester.” You say, simply reassuring her as she looks at you carefully to assess whether you lie or not. Yet as she does this you cannot help but notice a distinct figure missing right now. “Where is father?” You cannot help but ask, curious in his whereabouts.

“He went to Kingslanding my love. Do you not remember?” She asks, lips pursed in a sad smile. “You were all set to go with him this morning but since your fall, he was forced to go alone. He sends his best though and wishes that you find a fast recovery, which is seems you have managed to accomplish my strong girl.”

“Oh yes…” You say, remembering she was in fact right. “I suppose I forgot. I did hit my head when I fell.” As soon as you say the words you instantly wince with regret. As before you can even try and defend yourself your mother calls the maester back in and demands a series of further assessments to be done. You sigh as you fall back and your head hits the pillow. This is going to be a long day.

Your father, as he traveled along the road into kingslanding, felt guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving you behind whilst you laid in that healing bed. When he left, you had been in a deep sleep so he had been unable to say goodbye. So he kissed your forehead and squeezed the hand on your unbroken arm and left you to sleep. The guilt remains, but he knows that whilst you lay in that bed you are surrounded and are safer in the presence of your mother and the maester and septas, who overtime have managed to gain much more insight than the majority of people into the topic of soulmates.

As they are so rare, they are viewed as freaks, even though he personally believes that they should be celebrated for being looked upon so greatly by the gods that they have been given a person cut from the same cloth.

When he looks at his own wife, who has given him such light from the darkness of his own life, he likes to think she is his soulmate with or without the flowers blooming on her skin. To him, she is just as beautiful as a fresh bloomed flower after all.

When he exits his carriage down the steps, the queen awaits him with only two of her children standing beside her, and he notices immediately that it is Aemond who is currently absent.

“Will the Prince Aemond not be joining us?” He finds himself asking, eyes widening slightly as he remembers that he is in the presence of royalty. Not some fellow lord whose son is out sleeping away his hangover after fucking a dozen whores.

“No, I'm afraid not Lord Fletcher. My son awoke this morn with a dreadful headache as the maester and he has told me, so he will be staying in his chambers for the duration of the meeting. Probably even for long after you’ve left I’m afraid.” The queen Alicent says, a smile on her face that he immediately knows is forced and strained. After all, he has had to make similar lies when people at the gatherings expect to see you and don’t.

“Ahh, I understand my queen. My own daughter has the same issue with her own health. Some days she wakes as healthy as can be then the next she’s laying in her bed writhing from the worst of pains.” He says, not entirely lying as he remembers those exact moments happening to you as you grew up.

“Ah yes well still we thank you for your understanding.” She smiles again, motioning for him to come and follow her into the castle. “Shall we get down to business?”

The next few hours are spent with him, the queen, and a few other notable house lords debating in the council room. At times the table becomes heated as words are thrown without proper caution, but the Queen always lets a small yet loud cough to remind the men of their place. So to his amusement whenever this happens, the men immediately even when their voices before could shake a mountain, quieten down like freshly stuck dogs denied a newly cut piece of prime steak.

Just as though another annoyingly arrogant man from House Lannister demands to know why his house is in need of paying more of its gold to a lord from House Tarly, the doors burst open, and the second born son of the king walks through as though he was born to strut. As the prince he sits down in the end chair of the council table with all eyes on him, Lord Fletcher cannot help but think about how as soon as he gets home he cannot wait to tell you of how this was the first time he met your soulmate.

“Are you feeling alright my Prince?” He finds himself asking, raising a brow as he turns to the Queen, whose own face holds embarrassment and shock to see her son sitting there before her. “The Queen had told me when I arrived that you were not going to attend today's meeting due to a headache?”

The Prince looks at his mother with what could only be called disdain, and it appears to make her slouch back into her seat while she takes her hand in her own and begins to pick at the nail. It honestly reminds him of how you bite your lips half bloody in your own strange anxiety relieving way.

“I am afraid my mother is mistaken my Lord Fletcher,” The prince simply says. “I merely overdid myself when training with the sword yesterday. I was waiting for the maester to visit so he could give me something to relieve the pain. I do apologize for my tardiness.”

“Oh there is no issue at all my prince.” Lord Fletcher says, an attempt of a smile on his lips. Though he soon becomes distracted when he sees Aemonds eye wander around all those in the room, as if to take some sort of strange attendance record.

“Is your daughter not with you today?” Aemond finally speaks, meeting his eye with Lord Fletcher's own two while he stares him down. “I went to visit my sister before this meeting thinking she would be there so I could greet her and welcome her to kingslanding. But my sister tells me she has never met your daughter. Why is that?”

The Queen Alicent perks from her seat as she remembers now finally remembers the information that had been picking at her all day. “Oh yes my lord pray tell, where is she? I had been so looking forward to introducing her to my only daughter. I had thought the two would get along quite well.”

Lord Fletcher attempts to laugh to ease the sudden tension in the room, but it appears to if anything makes it worse as no faces change from their stoney exterior.

“I’m afraid the day before our departure, my dear daughter had an accident that quite badly injured her arm, the same arm in fact you say to have harmed during your training my prince!” Again he laughs, but that does not stop him from seeing the look the prince and queen share with each other.

It appears the prince is more aware than he thought with the motion of soulmates, though it does make sense when thinking of all the things he’d heard of the one-eyed prince. He is a scholarly boy, so it’d make sense for him to research and look in depth into all the possible books about soulmates the royal library or even the citadel have to offer. He even has the Grand Maester at his beck and call, who no doubt has more information on the topic than anyone else.

“Tell me my lord, how did your daughter have such an accident?” The prince asks as he leans forward so far in anticipation he looks to be at the edge of his seat. “It must’ve been from quite a great height for her to have received such injuries. I do hope she has a quick recovery.”

“Thank you my prince, it means a lot to hear from you. As for how she fell, I believe she was climbing in a tree somewhere on our land when she fell and broke a bone in her arm, the end of which pierced her skin just between her elbow and arm socket, or so our maester told me before I left. I worry about her recovery yes, but I know she is in the hands of a capable maester so I do not doubt she will be feeling much better soon.”

The Prince appears to squint slightly at Lord Fletcher before looking back to his mother. It almost looks like there is a silent conversation between the two, and it’s only interrupted by small tilts of heads by the both of them. It was strange yet interesting to watch.

The Prince hums his final response to the once silent conversation before looking back at Lord Fletcher. “Well as she was unable to make the journey with you to Kingslanding, I suppose I shall have to make the journey to your own home and in a way being Kingslanding to her.”

The silence rings throughout the council room again, with even the queen looking at her son in shock. The councilmen who’d been long forgotten don’t dare attempt to speak a single word since the prince's declaration, which only further proves Lord Fletcher's idea that they’re all idiots in their own rights.

“Are you sure my Prince?” He asks, “Tis I’m sure a tedious journey for you and your dragon-“

“Tis no issue!” Aemond interrupts sharply, his tone firm and assertive. “You are set to travel back home the next morn by carriage I hear. So I shall travel by Vhagar tonight so I may spend the night and meet your daughter in the morn. Is that sufficient enough for you my lord?”

The Prince does not leave room for an answer, as before Lord Fletcher can even open his mouth the Prince already has left the room leaving all councilman members and his mother in shock at the turn of events. And while he feels that same shock, he also cannot help but feel fearful as he knows it’s with his words alone what drove the Prince to commit such quick actions.

He can only dread to think about how the introduction between you and the prince will turn out.

When you awoke the morning after your father had left for Kingslanding, the thing that struck most odd with you were the maids. They looked more fearful than you had ever seen them, and they even avoided eye contact with you, which was odd as by now they had all gotten used to your eye.

“What is the matter with all of you?” You spit, glaring at all the ladies who even after you confronting them refuse to look you in the eyes.

They stay silent as they continue to stare at the stone floor, until finally one of the more recent of the lot breaks the silence.

“The Prince is here, my lady.”

Any anger you felt before this moment disappears soon as it brews and instead is replaced by only stone cold fear.

“He cannot see me…” You murmur, seeing the ladies agree and nod out the corner of your eye. “The Prince cannot see me!”

“He specifically spoke of you when he arrived, my lady,” The maid continues, slowly looking up to stare pitifully at your practically trembling form. You can feel yourself begin to chew at the skin of your inner lip, and yet if anything it encourages you to continue when you start to taste the familiar tang of copper smear on your tongue. “Claims that whenever you wake he wishes for you to join him to break fast together as soon as possible.”

The more this lady speaks the more your gut turns and twists within your body. By now the taste of copper gushes down your throat yet you welcome it gladly, even refusing the goblet one of the other more meeker maids offered you to wash the taste away when they saw red begin to stain your outer lip.

“I have to hide it.” You find yourself firmly saying as you look at one of the older ladies. “Tell me, do we keep any veils that are out of use?”

When the prince awoke within the unfamiliar comfort of the bed with a tired groan building within the back of his throat, it is the memory of the council meeting from the day before that floods his mind, forcing the once tired and sore body into being now quick and alert with excitement and anxiety.

When Aemond was but a young boy, he remembers during one of his lessons on the reign of Maegor feeling a sharp stinging in his knuckles. When he looked down, much to his shock and horror, he saw that light blue flowers were blooming across the pale skin. As much as the initial sight had shocked him dreadfully at first, Aemond could not help but think of that day during later years fondly. As that was the day he realized that maybe after the gods had given him, he was not truly alone.

The Grand Maester had told him everything he himself knew about the topic, and even sent a raven to the citadel to request books speaking of the tales written in the texts. According to him, Aemond was the first in a long time to come forward about possessing one.

Aemond prayed to the gods to meet them soon, but no matter how much he got on his knees no matter how many times he held his hands together in the grand sept with his mother next to him, no girl ever came forward to claim him.

And by the next year, Aemond felt more alone than ever before.

His flowers were never to be allowed to be seen in the eyes of anyone other than his family, a select few maids and the grand maester of course. This was because according to his grandsire, fathers from all across the realm would put their daughters forward claiming to be his soulmate. Also, if it was discovered he had a soulmate, those same fathers may not deem him suitable for marriage if he will abandon his wife for another woman. It was better to hide, so a marriage could be insured and an heir to his name.

Though any thought of a good tempered wife or even a marriage that could soon turn to affection was gone the moment Lucerys stole his eye. He does not remember much other than the pain, but what comes to mind is the thought in the back of his head hoping his soulmate would be alright. Praying that she would not hate him and would still love him even after now being turned into a cripple.

That day he may have lost an eye, but he gained a dragon. He gained the strength to protect his soulmate, and that to him was all that mattered, other than the protection of his mother. Somehow at that moment as she stood there before him, she looked more vulnerable than he did.

While Aemond lay in his bed healing, his mind turned to his soulmate as he remembered the reasoning behind the flowers. The flowers bloom where pain on the other person blooms, in an assurance that they are not alone in this world. Aemond could not help but think it all as a cruel sort of joke, especially as the pain in his eye begins to slowly throb. Yet a part of him is still thrilled to know that even though the Gods have cruelly broken him and built him back up again, there is a person given to him who will share his pain and see him for what he is.

He became even more desperate to discover you as soon as he was fully healed. He called the Grand Maester as soon as he spotted the familiar blue coloring on his skin, and together they looked over each inch of petal extensively until they day turned to night and the oil in the lamps burned out.

According to him, they were marks like that of a piece of wood struck on the knuckles. Which makes sense as Aemond remembers all the times Aegon would fall asleep soon as lessons started, and halfway through a particularly menacing Maester would strike him with a sort of smooth wooden object directly on the knuckles to wake him. It would be a sight that made Aemond smugly smile while he completed all the necessary work and chuckle at later, but thinking of that same treatment happening to his lady made his heart clench in his chest.

Nowadays, whenever he found himself getting injured, whether that is simply a bruise from training with Ser Cole or a sudden onslaught of inner pain in his eye socket, in his mind he always found himself apologizing at the back of his mind for causing pain for his lady. He finds himself wishing he was better in lessons so he could have avoided the swords, wishing he had fought better in the caves against his nephews and cousins so he wasn’t missing his eye. Whatever the situation, Aemond always craved that he was better. And found at the center of it all it was all for her.

He remembers his three and ten name day much too clearly. It lingers in the back of his mind like a plague. The salty stench of the air. The taste of the cheap alcohol Aegon had forced him to consume as according to him, the act was better when a person is left in a daze. The feeling of that woman’s too warm skin. The sound of her supposedly seductive voice that instead of arousing him only managed to make him further horrified. All of it stayed with him for years sticking to his skin.

Though the part which struck out most for him were the thoughts he could not help but think as that woman sunk down on him and robbed him of any free will. The realization that he would not be able to stay chaste for his soulmate. The idea that maybe she would not want to be with him once she found that her soulmate had laid with filthy whores paid by the go to fuck all sorts of men.

He ran out of that place as soon as the weight on his limp body was lifted, and as soon as he reached the comforts of his own bed with the covers lifted well over him like a cocoon, he cried. He cried for the loss of his body. He cried for the loss of his ability to think without remembering what that woman was doing to him while dribbles of tears streaked down his cheek. He cried for not being faithful to you.

He cried for his future with a soulmate who hated him for actions beyond his own control.

Though as Aemond dressed in appropriate clothes he brought with him for the special moment, his mind cannot help but think back to his earlier worries. Yet now, he is a man.

Aemond possesses the largest dragon in the world. Which to him even now was worthy of the trade of his eye. He is a scholar of history and philosophy whose work has even been submitted to the citadel to be placed in books that’ll be read by many accomplished people. He is even a greatly talented swordsman as said so by all those who have watched him train in the yard. He has become a man worthy of your love and your future.

Yet his hands still fumble about with the other whilst he follows a plain looking maid to the dining hall. He requested a meeting with you in private specifically in a place you were familiar with so you could be comfortable when meeting him. He may be a dragon, but he likes to imagine that he is no monster.

He sits there for what feels like hours. Picking at the skin above his nail until he can feel the blood pooling. He’s about to do it again to his final nail on his left hand, but then you walk in and everything stops. Only not for the reason he would’ve hoped it to have.

As he does not meet the eyes of his soulmate. Instead he meets nothing. He merely stares blankly at the veil that covers your whole face.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, glaring at the damned piece of fabric in his way.

“Clothes, my Prince.” You simply say, the sarcasm not annoying him like how Aegons does. Though Aegon was always just a twat. You appear to make it interesting and actually entertaining to take part in.

“Trust me, my lady, I can see just fine with one eye.” He smirks, silently seething at the prospect of being unable to see your face. He already knows you to be beautiful, it just irks him that he is unable to confirm it. “Why do you hide yourself?”

“What do you mean my Prince?”

“Why do you hide your face? Is there a chance you are afraid of me? Or of what you think I will see?” As soon as the words leave his lips he sees the way your body freezes up. “Do you wish to sit down my dear lady? I am sure it was never a part of your etiquette lessons to break fast while standing.”

You do not say anything as you move to sit in a seat near the middle of the table, and Aemond already in his mind is thinking that’s much too far away from him as he continues to sit at the end seat.

The two of you though stay silent as you both begin to eat the spread of food in front. From the corner of his eye he watches you, and it’s strange how he finds himself suddenly so jealous of the fruit you begin to eat. Jealous of the way those grapes get to go under your ridiculous veil and be touched by your lips, which Aemond already knows to be soft and oh so kissable. He has never seen them, but he just knows.

“Would you not be more comfortable without the veil my lady?” Aemond asks, watching carefully as you stop eating and turn your head to look at him.

“No, I am fine with my current predicament. Is it not more comfortable for you to not wear the eyepatch?” You quip back, with no doubt a smile on your face.

“I suppose you are right my lady,” Aemond drawls, watching the way your head tilts and the fabric concealing you from him lightly pressed against the curves of your face. “How about I propose this. I take off my patch, and you take off your veil?”

“I do not accept it!” You practically yell, your hands clenching so hard that Aemond could see even from where he sat the knuckles turning white.

“Besides…” You continue in a much softer tone like that of a burdened lady, which Aemond knows for sure is not true at all from what he has heard of your life story. “I am hideous to look at. This veil more protects you than it protects me my Prince I am sure of it.”

Aemond hums a response, but his eye says all as it trails over your covered body.

“So those who have told me in person how you are easily one of the prettiest maidens they have seen are lying then, are they my lady?” He reveals, watching you carefully so he can attempt to decipher your movements.

“They must be my Prince. As far as I have been told, I am the ugliest lady they have ever seen and how I shall die a spinster locked away in a tower!”

It’s strange, how when Aemond thinks of that actually happening his fists clenched tightly by his sides, and how he gets the overwhelming urge to maim those people claiming you to be so hideous. To make them so ugly and deformed and force them to sit all day everyday in front of a mirror so they can see the true meaning of being grotesque.

“You lie.” Aemond simply growls, his brow harshly furrowed from the mixture of anger from the idea of those insulting you and frustration from you still hiding your true identity from him.

He closes his eye and takes a minute to simply breathe past his anger. His body slowly tingly as he swears he feels your eyes piercing his soul.

“What if I strike a bargain with you, my sweet maiden?” Aemond says, the nickname oozing off his tongue with arrogance and self assurance.

“And why should I even think about striking a deal with you, my Prince?”

“Because I believe it shall benefit the both of us my lady. Now, do you wish to hear what I have in mind?”

“If you insist on telling me then I suppose I shall be obliged to hear words from the Prince of the realm.” You sigh, leaning your body to one side so your head is laying on the palm of your hand and Aemond gets another glimpse at how you look without truly seeing you.

“I suppose you are…” He says, leaning forward so his arms are fully lying on the table and his spine is slightly curved. “Still, the bargain I wish for you to partake in is this. I shall take off my eye patch so you can see what true grotesque is, and you my sweet maiden shall take off your good for nothing veil. Then I suppose we can see out of the two of us who is the most ugly, as you so bluntly put it.”

Aemond barely has a chance to blink before you're yelling a distinctive and firm “No” that manages to echo somehow in the room.

“Now now my sweet don’t be so resistant…” Aemond grins, tilting his head to one side as he finds himself delighted with how riled he’s made you. “You did not even consider it for a second.”

“Because I did not need to!” You bite back, slamming your hands against the wooden table so hard it manages to shake your plate still possessing some food and even your goblet too. “If I do not wish to show you you have no right to force me!”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I do my sweet maiden…” He says, getting up from his chair so he can oh so slowly make his way over to where you appear to sit frozen in your own chair. “As a prince, I have power where you do not. Now, I do not wish to abuse such power for situations like this one. I do not like to abuse my power in general in any situation. But I may find myself very willing to show you what it is I am capable of. Do you understand me maiden?”

Aemond pauses for a moment as he watches the way the veil moves with every shallow breath you take before he does something that leaves his own heart beating frantically in his chest from every emotion possible to feel.

Aemond slowly peels off his eyepatch to reveal to you a shining blue sapphire surrounded by deep scarred flesh before chucking the piece of dark brown leather onto the table in front of you.

“I have completed my end of our bargain my sweet lady. Now complete yours, before I get impatient.”

You sigh deeply and Aemond cannot help but feel his heartbeat thrice as hard in his chest from anticipation alone. He yearns to see your eyes, your lips, your nose, your everything If only you should allow him too.

So when your hands slowly move to entangle themselves in where the veil begins from within your hair, his heart feels as though he fully stops when the veil is slowly pulled away and the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life stares back at him.

“Gevie” He cannot help but murmur as his eye moves over your whole face and his body is forced to sit down in the chair next to you so he can focus on looking solely at you.

“What does it mean?” You ask, though Aemond barely registers it as he’s entranced with how your lips move with each syllable.

“Beautiful.”

There is a rare silence between the two as they each take time now looking at each other. You stare at the sapphire that glints when the sunlight beaming through the window hits it. While Aemond now looks properly at your eye, which he has discovered is a whole different color than the other. And when you blink and reveal the delicate flower imprinted on your eyelid, he cannot help but gape and gasp slightly.

“Did I do that?” He asks, pure horror in his tone and words.

“It was done a long time ago my Prince,” You simply say, smiling slightly in a strange way to comfort him. “And in a way, I suppose it was done by whoever took out your own eye. I do not expect you to suddenly reveal to me that you tore it out yourself. So therefore, you should have no more guilt than the person truly responsible.”

“I’ll kill the bastard!” Aemond growls, anger spilling from him in waves as he thinks of his nephew whose crime has gone on for too long.

“Careful my Prince. Those are dangerous words you are saying about children of the crown. You are lucky it is only me who is here.” You smile.

At first, you were so defensive and so sure the veil would hinder the Prince from prying about what was underneath it. You had thought of him like how you thought of all other men, and that when challenged with the prospect of an ugly woman he would not care and move on. Yet you suppose the gods do like to play tricks in the unlikeliest of places.

He had worn you down with the harshest of phrases and the most defensive body language, yet when you saw him at his most vulnerable with his sapphire shown bare to you you could not help but allow the overwhelming feeling of awe take over you while you stared at him.

As you unmasked yourself before him however and saw his own look of awe while he stared at all your features that had once been so carefully hidden from him, you could not deny the way your heart beat loud in your chest.

Even the way he murmured in his unique Valyrian tongue made you feel a strange feeling of specialness. As if no other woman had been seduced by those same words.

As you spoke to each other, your tongue slowly loosed as it felt for some reason so right to do so. You joking with the Prince felt so natural and yet so foreign at the same time.

“I suppose I am lucky my lady that it is you who sits there.” He says in response to your dangerous quip about his nephews, whose mother if she had heard yours or Prince Aemonds words would’ve surely sharply questioned you for them with no thought of mercy. “Though I suppose I am even more lucky that it is no ordinary woman who sits before me.”

He waits for a moment to see if you will guess his next words. But to be honest he almost forgets them himself as he gets distracted staring at your bottom lip which you bite between your teeth.

“I am lucky as it is my soulmate who sits before me as beautiful as the maiden herself.”

You feel like all the air in your lungs has left and you're gasping for air. Yet it's not as painful as you thought. In fact, it's rather remarkable to feel yourself burn in the presence of a dragon.

Still, even with this miraculous feeling within you, you cannot help but think of how your soulmate treated you but moments before. Arrogant. Selfish. Coercive. Your soulmate forced you to show yourself to him when you were uncomfortable. Did you really want to be fated to be with that person for the rest of your life?

"What's wrong my love?" Aemond asks, seeing the anxious expression on your face.

"How is it you can be so kind to me, when not even what I can guess to be less than half of an hour ago you were treating me as if I were some sort of shit on your shoe?" You ask, looking him dead in the eye as his body appears to freeze up before you.

If you weren't so focused on forcing the truth from a prince of the realm, you would think that it was actually very thrilling and sort of empowering to force a prince into silence.

"I did not mean to treat you like that." He begins, his head tilted to the floor so you cannot see his eyes and his neatly kept hair falls forward like a sort of curtain either side of his face. "I am sorry I was harsh on you. I suppose... I suppose I was scared."

Oh?

"All of my life, since I was a child, I was praying for you. For my soulmate to come into my life. And I suppose after all that time passing without you turned me bitter and angry that the gods did not hear my pleas. My feelings only became more sour when finally in front of you, instead of immediately accepting me and welcoming me you denounced me and spurned me with your words."

"You really thought I would jump into your arms like some sort of innocent lovesick maiden?" You say, staring at the man in front of you in disbelief. Aemond for the first time since his confession looks up at you from his curtain of silver locks, disbelief in his own stare as he listens to your honest words.

"Aemond, the idea of being tied to someone for the rest of my life was challenging for me as a child. Before the loss of your eye, all I had felt was mere stings. Yet feeling the pain I felt that day, it frightened me. I was a child-"

"I WAS A CHILD TOO!" Aemond yells, standing up so suddenly and leaning over you that you shriek a little in fear. “I was the one experiencing it first hand! The one who had to be held down by maesters and stared at by all as milk of the poppy was forced down my throat so maesters could tear out my eye with no true concern for me! YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT AS YOU LAID ABED WHINING LIKE SPOILT CHILD!”

“DO NOT YELL AT ME!” You find the courage to say, standing up and pushing him away so he stumbles a couple steps back in surprise. “I get that you are angry and believe the entire world hates you! But do not blame me because you cannot be angry at those truly deserving of it! Do not yell at me because you are forbidden from getting your revenge on your bastard nephew! Do you understand me?!”

Aemond, in the same manner as that of a kicked dog, nods a yes to your question. Though when you glare hard at him to tell him that answer is unacceptable he quickly fumbles for words that eventually make it out to be heard.

“Thank you.” You simply say, stepping forward to show him how he has earned that step. “I understand you were disappointed I was not there for you. But you need to understand I was scared about it all. Scared of my future, scared of what was to come. Do you even get how scared that must’ve been for me?”

“Yes I understand that.” Aemond says, stepping a single step closer and pausing to see if you allow it which you do. “I am sorry for not thinking of you when you yourself were obviously hurting yourself. I was selfish-“

“It is not selfish, Aemond, to act like how you did.” As you speak, you step that last final step towards your soulmate and place an admittedly cautious hand onto his cheek. Though you think what surprises you most is when he immediately closes his eye and pushes his cheek hard against your palm. “I forgive you Aemond, even when I don’t know if I ever should for how you treated me.”

“I do not truly expect you to.” Aemond murmurs, his eye still closed as he savors your warmth against his cheek. “Though I vow here before you as not just your soulmate but as a man, that I’ll make it my life’s mission to form myself as a man worthy for you. To form myself into what you deserve.”

“Though I suppose that’s the strangest thing about our whole meeting.” You whisper, placing your other hand on the part of Aemonds face where the dark brutal mark that is his scar takes most of its space. It forces a somehow now calm and content Aemond to all of a sudden open his eye and even gasp so silently you almost barely hear it when your thumb slowly traces the raised yet soft skin of the scar that has defined him for so long.

“I don’t find myself wishing you to change to be better. I find myself wishing for you to stay how you are, even if you may hurt me.”

And with that, without either of you knowing whose fault it truly is, your limbs find comfort with each other, and all feels right.

[writemekpop]

Live A Little | Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (Ten)

Summary: You knew that a holiday with your best friend Ten would be wild… you just didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Genre: Friends to lovers AU

Word count: 1k @tyongie

“Ten, what are you doing? You’ll get soaked!”

You watched in horror as your best friend Ten ran out from under the bridge, right into the thunderstorm.

Ten stood in the middle of the empty road, arms flung out, face tilted up to the sky.

Thick, warm drops of monsoon rain soaked him in an instant. The rain slid down his body, darkening his clothes and making his T shirt cling to his slim, muscled frame.

Ten turned to look at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

He cocked two fingers at you.

“Come here,” he said, smirking. 

“No way! I don’t want to catch a cold!”

Ten just smiled, and turned his head to the sky once more. His handsome face was smooth, blissful. The rain soaked his plump lips.

Your eyes traced the droplets that curved down his Adam’s apple and pooled in his collar bones. The sight of him sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Ten had never looked less like your loveable best friend. He looked like a beautiful stranger.   

Not one drop of rain had touched crisp white shirt and business skirt. You could feel your bra digging into your skin, and your tight bun made your head throb.

You wanted to be carefree like Ten. You wanted him to lick your wounds and kiss your worries away. A strange feeling was swelling inside you. You realised that Ten was the answer to every question that had filled your head since you got here.

The realisation that you were in love with your best friend hit you like a truck.

You pulled out your bun, letting your hair fall past your shoulders.

Then, you took a deep breath and stepped out from under the bridge.

The rain drenched your body. It was warm, soothing your tightly wound muscles, coaxing a moan from your lips. 

Ten’s head turned towards the sound.

He walked towards you. His sly smirk transformed into a full-on grin by the time he reached you.

“Look who finally let her hair down,” Ten teased, twirling a soaked curl of your hair between his fingers.

You grasped Ten’s hand and pressed it against your chest, hoping he could feel your thundering heartbeat under his palm.

Ten’s brows quirked up.

Your words died on your lips. What did you want?

“I want – I want to be free like you,” you said, gulping. “I want… to be passionate like you. I want…”

Ten hummed, pretending to think.

Ten watched you with cold interest. “Is that all?”

“I want you,” you finally said.  

“You just have to do one thing,” he said, trying not to smile.

“Anything,” you gasped.

“Close your eyes.”

You let your eyelids fall shut. Your whole body felt alive, every cell was pulsing.  

At first, nothing happened. All you could feel was the rain splashing against your face. You stayed still, hoping, praying…

Then, suddenly, you felt warm, plump lips pressing against yours.

You gasped. You had never kissed your friend before. You didn’t even think you were his type. But the more you kissed, the more right it felt. It was like something had been missing in your relationship all these years, and this was it. Ten’s body against yours – that was what you had been craving.  

You moaned against Ten’s lips, reaching your hands to tug through his soft, dyed hair.

Ten’s head tilted back, and a slow, sexy grin spread over his lips.

“Took you long enough,” Ten said, dark eyes raking down your body.

You let out a laugh. You pulled Ten towards you, feeling his arms curl around your waist.

“Shut up and kiss me again.” 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[giannan04]

straykidsnerd255 said

Hello there! I was wondering if I could possibly get a fluff and angst one-shot with S.Coups x female reader mafia au? The reader is just a regular girl who happens to find an injured S.Coups and she manages to get him back to her house so she can help with the wounds from a fight he had been in? Thank you in advance if you are able to do this!!!

Thank you so much @straykidsnerd255 for sending in my first request 🥹🫶🏻💕I hope you like it!

Pairing: Mafia Boss! S.Coups X Afab! Reader

Genre:Mafia au, Angst, Fluff

Warnings:None, just some angst and fluff!

-

-

-

It was a chilly night, and the moon hung low, casting an eerie glow over the deserted streets. You shivered slightly, tugging your jacket tighter around your body as you made your way back home from the corner store. The bag of snacks and drinks in your hand was a comfort on nights like these when insomnia hit and you needed something to distract yourself.

You were only a block away from your apartment when something caught your eye—a figure slumped against the brick wall of an alleyway. The faint glint of metal, maybe a knife or gun, reflected briefly in the dim light. You almost kept walking, but something about the figure made you stop in your tracks. Against your better judgment, you slowly approached.

The man looked like he’d been through hell—bruised knuckles, blood smeared across his cheek, and a nasty gash across his side that darkened the fabric of his shirt. Despite his tough, intimidating appearance, you could see the exhaustion and pain in his eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, voice trembling just slightly.

His eyes snapped to yours, sharp and alert, like a cornered animal ready to fight. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could tell he was trying to assess whether you were a threat.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said, holding up your hands in surrender. “You need help.”

The man scoffed, clearly not used to strangers offering him kindness. “I’ll be fine. You should leave.”

But you couldn’t just walk away. “You’re not fine. You’re bleeding out. My place is just around the corner—I can help you.”

There was a long pause before he nodded ever so slightly, as if admitting defeat. “Fine. Just... don’t ask questions.”

You nodded, understanding there was more to this man than met the eye, but now wasn’t the time to pry. Carefully, you helped him to his feet, slinging one of his arms over your shoulder as you led him back to your apartment. He winced with every step, but he stubbornly kept moving.

When you finally got him inside, you laid him down on the couch, your heart racing. You grabbed a first-aid kit from the bathroom, feeling a little out of your depth. Cleaning up scraped knees was one thing; stitching up a guy who’d clearly been in a gang fight was another.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence as you started cleaning his wound.

You paused, looking at him. “I couldn’t just leave you there. Everyone deserves a little help, right?”

He looked at you like he couldn’t quite figure you out. “You’re a strange one,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. What’s your name?”

He hesitated for a moment. “S.Coups,” he finally said, though you figured that was probably just an alias.

“Well, S.Coups, you’re lucky I found you. You could’ve bled out.”

“Yeah, lucky,” he repeated, though there was something bitter in his tone.

You worked quietly after that, focusing on tending to his injuries. He watched you with a guarded expression, as if he couldn’t decide whether to trust you. The tension in the air was thick, but it slowly started to fade as you patched him up.

Once you finished, you sat back, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “There. You’re all set. You should rest.”

“Resting isn’t an option for me,” he replied, pushing himself up despite the pain. “But… thanks.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said quickly. “Just… stay out of trouble, okay?”

S.Coups gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trouble finds me whether I like it or not.” He paused by the door, turning back to look at you. His expression softened as if he was struggling with something.

“There’s something you should know,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. “I’m involved in… illegal things. Gangs, fighting, debts. But… I don’t want this life anymore. I want out. But leaving isn’t easy. Once you’re in, it’s nearly impossible to get out.”

You could hear the pain and exhaustion in his words—the kind of hopelessness that comes from being trapped in a life you never wanted. Your heart clenched, but instead of judging him or pulling away, you moved closer, wrapping your arms around him in a comforting hug.

“Stay with me,” you whispered against his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone. I won’t judge you for your past.”

For a moment, he stiffened, unused to such gentle kindness, but slowly, he relaxed into your embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, the tension melting from his body as he let out a shaky breath.

“You’re really something else,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Everyone deserves a fresh start,” you said softly, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out together.”

He gazed at you for a long moment before nodding, his walls crumbling just a bit more. “Okay… I’ll stay.”

You led him to your bedroom, offering him a spot next to you. It felt a little crazy, inviting someone you’d just met into your bed, but something about him made you trust that he wasn’t a danger to you. As he lay down beside you, he hesitated for a moment before slipping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

The warmth of his embrace felt unexpectedly right, as if you’d known each other longer than just a few hours. His breath was soft against your neck as he nestled closer, finally allowing himself to rest.

Despite the whirlwind of events that had brought you together, everything felt strangely peaceful as you lay in his arms. His presence was comforting, like you were the safe haven he’d been searching for without even knowing it.

“Thank you,” he whispered one last time before sleep began to claim him.

You smiled, snuggling closer as you closed your eyes. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

And as you drifted off, his arms still securely around you, you knew that despite the odds, maybe this was the beginning of something good—something you both desperately needed.

[novasintheroom]

Prince Vash arranged marriage AU headcanons - Part 1

Prince!Vash who grew up a free spirit and can hardly imagine getting married, let alone to a stranger like his brother, King Nai, is telling him to.

Prince!Vash who fights and fights and fights having to be in an arranged marriage.

Prince!Vash who finally gives in when war threatens between your two kingdoms, and the only thing either side is willing to do is have an arranged marriage – so both royalties have an eye on and a finger in each other’s pie. Vash loves his people more than his freedom, and he refuses to be the reason any of them perish in war.

He knows it’s a doomed marriage from the start.

Prince!Vash who is not stunned by his new wife’s beauty, or enraptured, or anything he expected if he ever got married. He’s heard about you. The eldest daughter of the kingdom – born to wield power, now forced to bend a knee and give up that right. You’re boring, that’s what everyone says, and he dreads that description more than anything else. But he does see the wheels turning in your head as you walk down the aisle, dress train dragging behind like a corpse. Like you’re still trying to find a way out of this. All grim-faced and tears in your eyes, he at least takes comfort in the fact that you’re just as miserable about this as he is.

No kisses are exchanged, only rings and sighs of finality. The newly bound kingdoms celebrate, and Prince!Vash is swept away in the festivities, getting drunker and drunker and not caring for the glares his brother sends his way. It’s his fault for this; the least Nai can do is let Vash get his woes out through alcohol and partying. Vash doesn’t care where you are – not now. Not until he stumbles to his rooms and is immediately sobered by the thought that it is his wedding night, and what that implies.

Prince!Vash who stands outside his rooms nervously for fifteen minutes. He curses Nai, bites at his nails, paces the length of the hallway while receiving strange looks from the staff. Then, comes to the conclusion that he’ll have to just grin and bear it through this, too, and opens the door.

You aren’t there.

You aren’t in the adjoining suite either, where your new rooms have been made. Perhaps you’re still out partying; doing the same thing Vash was to forget the awful situation you both found yourselves in. Fine by him. He heaves a sigh of relief and plummets into bed. He can’t sleep, though. Every set of footsteps he hears outside sets him on edge. Is it you? Finally come to claim your rites? He jumps awake at every noise for the next three hours, until, finally, the alcohol settles in him and he nods off at the break of dawn.

Prince!Vash who, despite his own feelings, tries his best to get to know you that first week after the wedding. But you’re slippery. Almost more slippery than himself. He tries talking to you, walking with you, even cornering you at one point, but you always manage to slip away with an excuse he can’t refute. There’s no nighttime visits between your rooms, no talking. You’re a stranger in his castle, just like you’re a stranger bound to him by rings and vows.

Until, one night, his sweet tooth hits, and he hops on down to the kitchen to grab a pastry. He opens the doors without preamble – the staff know him and his cravings – and is surprised to hear a quiet sound of surprise from the corner of the darkened room.

It’s you. With a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched to your chest. You’re dressed in your nightgown, hair askew and eyes watering and certainly not looking like the put-together princess he had married. He doesn’t look much better, and for some reason, it startles a laugh out of him. He’s surprised to hear you laugh back, a weird tension falling off both of your shoulders as you eat your treat and he finds his own. He stays with you long after you’ve both eaten, talking and getting to know each other without the prying eyes of the court or staff to hear.

It starts a nighttime ritual for you two – a way to get to know each other on your own terms. He’ll take a jaunt down to the kitchens, find you there with some sort of new treat, and get his own. Sometimes you'll even share the other half of your PB&J with him. He's split more than a few pastries with you. You’re surprisingly easy to talk with, and certainly not boring like everyone warned him. He learns a lot about you –that peaches are your favorite fruit compared to his strawberries, what books are your favorite, how much you hate the play The Archipelago. Vash shares his own interests in technology, how his solar-powered arm works, his taste in music, some stories of him sneaking out to the farmlands to be a farmhand for a day or two before Nai marched his ass back to the castle. He likes telling those stories the most. You have a great laugh.

One night, you confide in him how much you miss your family – your brother and sisters, how you were always the voice of reason to their antics, and how much you worry what the court is doing to them now that you aren’t there to thwart their schemes. Tears come to your eyes as you describe the grassy fields and tall forests you’d ride through in the fall time. Vash’s gut curls, and he makes a promise right then to do his best to make his kingdom a new home for you, rather than the prison you view it as.

Prince!Vash who takes you out to the city to try his nation’s foods as they should be – on the streets and in his people’s hard-earned businesses. Vash is popular with the people (far more so than his brother, you note), and most greet him with warm, welcoming smiles while he traipses through town with his new wife. He’s eager every time you try something new – bowls of blackberry yogurt with orange slices and granola, strawberry shortcakes, and his personal favorite, the apple cider donuts from Riri’s, sprinkled with sugar. Every time your eyes light up at a new treat, he’s delighted. Food is a great way to bond between you two, it seems.

Prince!Vash who learns how to share secret looks with you across the room in meetings. He’s always bored in them, despite how he tries to pay attention for his people’s sake. It starts with your quick, wide-eyed looks at him whenever one of the dukes or other nobles makes a particularly scathing remark about someone else. You twitch your left eye to ask him a question about the discussion going on, and he tugs his lips to one side and shakes his head. He blinks twice and rolls a shoulder to tell you the answer to another inquiry. Somehow, you get it. It’s the funnest time he’s had in these meetings in a while. Sometimes you’ll throw in a cross-eyed look to tell him ‘I hate this, this is boring, I can’t believe this, etc.’ Nai’s given him and you more than one look for the snorts Vash lets out.

It's hard to get used to this new situation. It’s hard to get used to the ring around his finger, how some days it fits fine, and others it feels too tight and restricting. But you’ve made it easier. You’re kind, and willing to be adventurous alongside him, and have a great sense of humor.

Prince!Vash who finally accepts…maybe…you two can be friends.

[candycandy00]

Finding Love in a Zombie Apocalypse - A JJK Interactive Romance Fanfic Round 4

Read the details about this event here!

Round 1 | Round 2 | Round 3

During a zombie apocalypse, you meet a group of seven handsome men. Which one will you choose to be your survival/romantic partner?

Vote for the man you want to be eliminated! The man with the most votes will not be killed off in the story, but he will be removed from all future polls and his branching story will be closed off!

Reminder: Vote for the man you DO NOT want to survive with! You are voting someone OUT!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Note: From here on out, the story branches into different paths, so each man’s part exists in its own little AU. Also, all men who have been voted out will no longer have their parts posted. Choose wisely! 

Sukuna:

You wobble on your feet as the truck picks up speed, stumbling right into the huge, firm body of Sukuna. You catch yourself from falling by grabbing hold of his muscular arm, wondering how he’s remaining so steady despite the sway and movement of the trailer you’re both standing in. 

He makes no move to help you, but he also doesn’t seem to mind you holding onto him. Once it feels like the truck is on the road and has reached a stable speed, you separate from him and make you way to the closest wall. Surprisingly, he moves to the wall himself, just a few feet away from you. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, you decide to try talking to the most intimidating man in the truck. 

“So what are your plans after this?” you ask him. “Gonna help them set up a base?”

He looks over at you, his eyes moving up and down your figure as if judging whether or not you’re worth speaking to. Apparently, you pass whatever standard he has. 

“I’m not planning on staying with the group, but I’ll see how things play out. I’ll go wherever seems most fun.”

Most fun? This is a zombie fucking apocalypse! You suspected it before, but this guy really is something else. He’s treating this whole thing like it’s amusing to him. 

“What kind of fun are you looking for?” you ask, genuinely curious, hoping your tone doesn’t come out too sharp. 

He grins. “A challenge. Something worth my time and energy. Maybe I’ll find a big group and take it over. Maybe I’ll just fucking kill every zombie on earth. Or maybe,” he says, eyes darkening as they slide down your form again, “I’ll find a woman worth fucking.”

You suddenly feel undressed, naked before his hungry gaze even though you’re fully clothed. It’s a strange feeling, even stranger for the fact that you don’t find it wholly unpleasant. 

The truck slams on the breaks out of nowhere, causing you to lurch forward. Sukuna catches you this time, holding you upright in his strong arms. You look up at him. He could do it, you think. He could kill every zombie. He could take over any group, no matter how big or well organized. He could have you under him whenever he wants. The realization makes you feel heated. 

But more importantly, why did the truck stop? There’s no way to communicate with the cab, so you have no idea what’s going on up front. The others are all looking at each other curiously. Eventually the decision is made to wait a few minutes to see if Gojo or Geto comes back to the trailer to tell you all what the holdup is. But soon enough, you begin hearing the sounds of groaning and hands slapping against the sides and door of the trailer. 

It sounds like a large herd has surrounded the truck! Everyone readies their weapons, tense looks on their faces. Except for Sukuna, who simply looks excited. 

A quick discussion takes place. Should you open the door and try to escape? There’s enough food and water in the trailer to last several days, and maybe the zombies will give up and leave if they don’t see or hear any people for a while. But what about Geto and Gojo? They could be trapped in the cab with significantly fewer supplies, and how much oxygen is in the trailer anyway? How long will it last? 

The decision is made to open the door and try to fight your way to the cab to check their safety, then perhaps run away to try to find some other vehicle or shelter. You’re uneasy about this plan, but you realize there’s no choice. You decide to try to stick close to Sukuna, confident that he can take out any threat. 

You hold your breath without realizing it as the door rises like a shutter, revealing dozens of zombies reaching up, trying to crawl in. How in the world are you going to survive this?! But before fear can grip you any tighter, you’re distracted by the sight of Sukuna leaping out of the trailer and right down into the middle of the herd, crushing several with his feet as he lands.

Geto Suguru:

You’re not sure how you ended up sitting alone in the front cab of the truck with Geto, but here you are. Gojo went to ride in the back, saying he wanted to see what supplies Nanami found in the truck, and so it was just you and Geto as he drove down the highway. 

Somehow, Geto is the most intimidating of the men, even more so than Sukuna. You’re not sure if it’s his aura of control, or if it’s just the fact that he’s so fucking beautiful that it’s hard to think straight when he’s near. How the hell is his hair so shiny and soft in a zombie apocalypse anyway? 

Sure, he’s friendly and he smiles often, but you get the strong impression that these are surface level. There’s a darkness to him that seems to be sitting just below the surface, and it makes you nervous. 

“Everyone got away okay, so I guess your plan was a success,” you say, remembering that he seemed to be worried that his decisions would get you all killed. 

“Except Fushiguro,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the road. 

“I think he made it,” you tell him. “He was really sure of himself when he left, and anyway, it was his choice to break off from the group. You can’t be responsible for that.”

His eyes slide over to you briefly, and the dark edge to them softens just a little. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

You find yourself flushing slightly. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Is it working at all?”

He smiles then, and it looks real to you. “A little. I appreciate your concern. Sorry if I made you worry about me.”

You can’t suppress a light laugh. “I guess we’re both worriers, huh?”

“Maybe we can help each other with that,” he says, and you start to relax around him for the first time. 

It doesn’t last long.

He suddenly slams the breaks, causing you to lurch forward. You don’t miss the way his arm juts out in front of you to keep you from being thrown out of your seat. You look up through the windshield at the road in front of you and gasp. 

Up ahead, absolutely filling the highway, is the biggest herd of zombies you’ve ever seen. There have to be hundreds of them! They’re far enough away that they’re not a threat right now, but the thought of trying to drive through them, of perhaps getting stuck in the middle of them, sends a chill down your spine. 

“What do we do?” you ask. “Is there a way around?” You know you can’t go back the way you came. That leads back to the city, where the roads are blocked by abandoned vehicles and other obstructions, and by now there are probably even more zombies. 

Geto pulls a map out of his bag beside him and looks it over. “I don’t see any roads that’ll take us where we need to go. We’ll have to try going through them.”

You gape at him. “Are you serious? What if you try to bulldoze your way through and the bodies get caught up in the tires?”

“I’m not bulldozing my way through,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ve noticed that they tend to shamble out of the way of large objects. If I drive very slowly, most of them should clear the road. I’ll go tell the others the plan.”

You watch him climb down out of the driver’s seat, worried now more than ever.

Gojo Satoru:

You’re not sure how to act around Gojo now. Seeing him go berserk fighting zombies has given you an entirely different opinion of the man you thought was just an easy going goofball. It’s not that you’re afraid of him, but rather that you realized how little you know about any of these men. 

And now you find yourself sitting in the front cab of the truck, wedged between Gojo and Geto. How did you end up stuck between the two hottest guys you’ve ever seen in your life? Gojo insisted you ride up front with them. 

“You don’t need to be back there in that stuffy old trailer,” he’d told you as he practically dragged you to the front. “You ride up here with us. There’s an old CD player! We can listen to music.”

You didn’t have the heart or the will to refuse him, not when he looks at you with those lovely eyes. 

Gojo has a big zippered case full of CD’s in his lap, looking through them as if he’s on a fun road trip and not fleeing a zombie horde. He chooses one and slides it into the stereo system of the truck. 

Geto blanches beside you when the music starts. “What kind of trucker listens to 90’s pop?”

Gojo grins. “One with excellent taste!”

Geto rolls his eyes, but has nothing more to say about the matter, instead focusing on the road in front of him. 

As the music plays, you realize how exhausted you are after the adrenaline rush of escaping the store. You haven’t slept well in weeks, naturally, and within half an hour, you nod off. 

You awaken to the sound of Gojo’s voice, closer than you expect, and you keep your eyes closed as you listen. 

“Hey, Suguru, look. She fell asleep on my shoulder.” 

You almost jerk up to get off him when you hear that, just now realizing that the soft fabric beneath your face is his shirt. But you decide to stay still and pretend to be asleep. This might be a good chance to learn more about these guys. 

“I guess all the excitement wore her out,” Geto says, and you almost laugh at how much it sounds like he’s talking about a child after a birthday party. 

“She’s cute like this though,” Gojo’s voice says. “I wonder how long she’ll stick around.”

“Satoru, don’t get attached. She could leave at any moment, or be bitten, or just killed.”

There’s a pause where both men are quiet, then Gojo says, “I won’t get attached. But there’s no harm in having fun with her while she’s around, right?”

Huh? What does he mean by that? The only thing that pops into your head upon hearing that is, well, sex. But maybe he doesn’t mean it that way. It’s entirely possible that he’s talking about fun in a more general sense. 

And to be perfectly honest, you’re not sure you’d turn down some apocalypse sex with a guy as gorgeous as him anyway. 

But the next words you hear halt all sexy thoughts in your brain and make your blood run cold. 

Geto says, “The harm is when you have to kill her yourself. Even if you just played around with her, that will leave a mark on you, mentally.”

Wait, what? Your heart races, and you will yourself to calm down. He probably means if you turn into a zombie, or get bitten.

Right? 

But Gojo responds, “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Even if she doesn’t agree with what we’ve got planned, I doubt she’d get in our way.”

Get in their way? What the hell do they have planned?! There’s a lull in the conversation, so you use the opportunity to pretend you’re waking up. You rub your eyes and sit up. 

“Where are we?” you ask, trying to sound sleepy and confused. 

Gojo smiles at you. Damnit, why is his smile so dazzling? “We’re about fifty miles from the city now. Did you have a good nap?”

“Yeah, sorry for borrowing your shoulder,” you say, your embarrassment genuine. 

He laughs. “You can borrow it anytime!”

“So… where exactly are you guys headed?” you ask, trying not to sound suspicious. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

The two of them glance at each other, then Gojo says, “There’s a group occupying a military bunker about a hundred miles from here. It’s a pretty small group, and rumor has it they’re running out of supplies fast. We’re heading there.”

“Oh, are we going to join up with them?” you ask. 

Gojo’s friendly smile fades, and the look in his eyes reminds you uncomfortably of the feral beast you saw fighting zombies. “No,” he says, “We’re going to take the bunker from them.”

Nanami Kento:

After taking Nanami’s hand, he firmly but gently pulls you into the back of the trailer attached to the truck. Now that you think of it, that perfectly describes the man himself. Firm but gentle. 

As the truck begins to move, Nanami helps you over to the wall to steady yourself, and once the swaying stops, he walks over to one of the bags of supplies he found and pulls out a bottle of some kind. He walks over and holds it out to you. 

“Do you like lemon tea?” he asks. 

You smile as you take the bottle. “I love lemon tea,” you tell him. “Thanks.”

Cracking the seal on the bottle, you take a sip, not wanting to waste any. You could only bring so many things from the store, and who knows when you’ll find more supplies? 

You hold the bottle back toward him. “Want a drink?”

He looks at it, then at your face. “Oh, you don’t have to share,” he says. “There’s another bottle.”

Is it your imagination, or is his face slightly pink? Is he seriously shy about drinking after you? Back in high school, a friend of yours called it an “indirect kiss”. Surely this grown man wasn’t thinking about that. It almost makes you giggle. 

God, you haven’t actually giggled in so long. 

“Nanami, this is literally the apocalypse. Sharing a bottle of tea is nothing,” you say with a laugh. 

He gives you an embarrassed smile, then takes the bottle from you and takes a small drink before handing it back. “Thank you,” he says. 

The two of you sit down on the floor, leaning your backs against the wall. You glance over at him. “So how did you end up with this group?”

“I went to high school with Gojo and Geto. As ridiculous as they can be sometimes, they’re both very reliable when it counts. So when they asked if I wanted to join them, I accepted. Higuruma is a friend I know from work. The others we met at a shelter.”

You remember Gojo telling you about the shelter where things fell apart. You wonder how Nanami felt about it, but you don’t want to be rude by asking. 

“It’s nice to be with people you’ve known for a long time,” you say. “The familiarity must be comforting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It must have been hard for you, being alone.”

The two of you spend the next hour or so talking, about your lives and careers before everything went wrong, about your differing experiences with shelters and groups so far, and about your plans going forward. 

“Do you really think you can set up a permanent shelter?” you ask him. 

He leans his head back against the wall. “I hope so. Being on the run all the time just isn’t sustainable. At some point we have to consider future generations, and how to safeguard them.”

You nod, thinking he really is a kind person. 

Another hour later, and you feel the truck slowing down, then turning. When it finally comes to a stop, everyone waits for a few moments before the door opens. Geto is outside. 

“We’re getting low on fuel,” he says. “We found a gas station so we’ll check to see if there’s anything left.”

Everyone in the trailer strands up, many of them stretching after two hours on the road, and all of you climb down to go check the convenience store. 

Nanami holds out his hand to you after climbing down, helping you drop to the pavement below. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, but you notice that he’s still holding your hand. 

“You should stick close to us,” he says. “There might be a few-“

A groan cuts him off.  He turns to look for the source of the noise, his body going tense and his grip on your hand tightening. There, coming around the corner of the truck, is a small group of zombies, all of them looking starved.

Tag List:

@tadabzzzbee @babysoo-meu @atomicweaselpaperapricot

[obscurebelief]

And with the terror was all over the other's face. He saw the veins and was terrified of them. Aurelius lowers his gaze, not mentioning it nor denying what Billy saw or thought he saw. He himself was still recovering, and exhausted was an understatement. But he guessed he wanted to be here a little longer. "They were real." He finally admits. "They come and go." It was frighteningly casual how he talked about it now. His mind wasn't exactly on the Flayer. "It's not contagious if that's what you're worried about."

"We all made some, er, shitty choices. I think if she doesn't want to see you, the other girl might." Aurelius didn't exactly want to say his said shitty choices given measuring who was the worst didn't matter right now. "All that matters is what you plan to do with your second chance at life. Be the same? Or be different? Doesn't matter to me, it matters that in the end you chose to save a bunch of people over letting them die to save yourself, if that doesn't show you aren't an... err assfuck than I don't know what does." The lingo and cusses were sometimes lost on him.

He was unsure why he was here, hell he barely knew the guy outside of seeing him in that gods awful loud sounding car that he was sure tried to run him over (okay in his defense, wearing black and coming randomly out of the woods at night and into a road was not smart.)

Aurelius had been discharged hours ago when, again, the doctors could figure out why the young man had been so sick earlier and quickly recovered. He hated the non-magic trying to help him (appreciated but hated) since it led more questions and more memory wiping to hide what he was.

His own veins losing their blackness, the poison flushing out.

Maybe he was here for that at first, to see if Billy was like him. But no, of course he wasn't. No one was, were they?

It was just some monster that had similar symptoms to the Obscurus. Minus the possession. The hey is what startled him out of his thoughts and his black veins rose to the surface as if ready to defend, and quickly his skin was pale again. As if somehow it expected to fight... but no, there was no fight here. And Aurelius was to sick and weak to fight anyway. "Miss Max is going to be so happy to hear you're awake." He smiles softly. Feeling awkward suddenly.

[minnie--verse]

Pen Pals -- A Park Sunghoon Fic

!!PART 5!!

(link to pt. 1). (link to pt. 2). (link to pt. 3). (link to pt. 4).

Summary: You, Ren, are a college student, taking what you thought would be a normal composition class- until you're assigned a pen pal with your professor's second class. What happens when you fall for someone you know... but dont?

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader(ren)

genre: strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include possible angst//comfort, slow burn.

general warnings: college students!me, slow burn, love square, swearing, possible adult content in future chapters.

word count: ~6.7k

this is not proof read!

thank u for reading< 3

— — — 

Sunny,

I’ve read over your letter more times than I care to admit to you, and each time the weight of your words felt heavier. I understand the need to know, to bridge that gap between us and finally put an end to the mystery and guessing. I want you to see me as badly as I want to see you. It’s kept me up at night, thinking about how nervous I am for you to finally see me for who I was physically rather than who I was through words. I want to match your expectation to the person you’ve come to know in your words. 

I’ll be honest—I’m nervous. Nervous that when you meet me, you’ll find I don’t live up to my words .It’s a strange thing, to feel so connected to someone and yet fear that the reality might be different than expectation. I think part of me has been hiding behind anonymity because it’s been safer that way. I didn’t have to risk letting you down or fumbling my speech when I saw your beautiful face. 

Despite my fears, I want to meet you. I want you to know me more than my words, and I want to share myself with you even if it’s scary. I find that the artist on the other side of my letters has brought color and depth into my life in a way that I have never expected. 

The park. Outside Miller Hall. 4pm. 

Yours, Snow.

— — — 

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you make your way to the park bench neat Miller. The air is sharp with the cold, but you barely feel it—your nerve so on edge you didn’t notice it. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the campus in a soft, fading light, the kind of light that seems to make everything stand still. It’s one of those short winter days that disappears into the evening before you’ve even been able to catch your breath.

The snow falls family around you, each flake landing on your coat and melting almost immediately, while others settle on the bench in soft layers. You’ve chosen this spot specifically—it was the same spot you had mentioned in your first letter to Snow. It feels fitting to meet here, at the same park that you shared with him. The bench, now covered in snow, looks almost untouched, like it’s been waiting for you specifically.

You sit down, glancing around nervously. The world is eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes with heavy snow. No one else is out, at least not here. Just you. And somewhere, maybe close, maybe still on his way, Snow. 

What are you going to say? What will you do? What will he look like? Will you know it’s him? What if you can’t recognize him? What if he’s waiting somewhere else for you? A lump forms in your throat at the thought, shaking your head to dismiss the thought of it. No—Snow said he would be here. He will be here. 

You tuck your hands deeper into your pockets, feeling the letter there—his last one, the one that agreed to meet you. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about his words, about how much it felt like he’d been there all along. It was like he knew you—no, he does. Snow knows you, deeper than anyone… besides Sunghoon. But maybe Snow will prove to be the right choice, he has to be the right choice.

The sky darkens further, the snow keeps falling as the street lamps cast a warm light on the sidewalk and turn the white snow slightly orange. You check the time. 4:07. He should be here soon, but every minute felt like an eternity. Your heart rate is higher than it had ever been before. Snow is coming. He’ll be here. 

The minutes begin to tick by. You sit, eyes scanning every figure that emerges from the falling snow, hoping it‘s him. The street lamps grow brighter as the sky turns into dusk, painting the snow in hues of blue and white in the darkness. But no one stops. No one looks your way.

Your breath catches in your throat as you open the letter and reread his meeting place and time, hoping to God you didn’t get it wrong—but you didn’t. It’s right. You’re in the right place. Your chest tightens, and despite the cold seeping through your layers, your face felt warm from the deep breaths against your scarf as you tried to calm yourself down. 

Maybe he’s late. Maybe he got held up somewhere. He wouldn’t leave you here in the cold like this. He couldn’t. Right?

You tell yourself that over and over, but the longer you sit the more that your hope starts to slip through your numb fingers. You glance down at your boots which had left an impression in the snow from where it had fallen around them. The park is silent, save for the occasional wind whistle between the branches of the trees and the crunch of distant footsteps that aren’t Snow’s. 

You pull your coat tighter around yourself but the cold is relentless. Your fingers, despite your gloves are starting to go numb, a dull ache spreading from your knees to your inner body. Your toes are frozen and tingling uncomfortably, and you try to wiggle them inside your boots but it doesn’t help. The cold finally settled in.

A knot forms in your throat as reality begins to settle in. He’s not coming. 

The excitement and nervousness that had built up all day feels cruel, turning into something more hollow and aching. You were just someone used for attention. You stare at the snowy path ahead, your vision was blurry as tears started to fill in your eyes, your breath hitching with each attempt to hold them back. But you can‘t anymore. Not when the park, the snow, the bench—both settings from each of your first letters coming to a combination—was empty. So silent.

A hot tear slips down your cheek, quickly followed by more. You swipe at them with your gloved hand, but they keep falling, hot against the cold air. You duck your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, but it does little to help. The cold has seeped into your bones through every layer you wore, making your body ache and stiff from sitting too long. 

Your fingers felt like hard blocks of ice, completely numb and now damp in the gloves, and you curl them into fists inside your gloves but the motion only sends a sharp ache into your arms. The snow keeps falling, heavier now, and you can feel it gathering on your shoulders as you think back to Snow’s first letter to you. 

Why didn’t he come?

Maybe he got lost? No, he came to miller hall every day just like you did. Maybe something came up? If he truly felt the way he did, he would have come no matter what. Maybe he realized he didn’t want to meet you after all. Maybe… maybe you were never meant to meet.

That thought stings you the most. The person you’d poured your heart out to, the person who nestled in between every thought you had, the person you had rejected your best friend for, the person who listened to your most inner thoughts through words alone—what if it was never supposed to leave the pages of those letters. 

The tears come faster now, spilling freely as you sit alone on the bench, the old biting deeper into your muscles. Your legs, your arms, your face—everything felt frozen. You can barely feel your fingers anymore, and your nose was cold as you sniffled. It felt deserving—for being so foolish and stupidly naive. You should have fucking known better than to get your hopes up. That something this perfect could fall into your hands and work out. 

You take a deep breath, the air stinging as it fills your lungs, but it doesn’t help. You sit there, feeling small and alone on campus.

Finally after what feels like an eternity, you stand. Your legs felt stiff, almost painful from sitting so long in the snow, and your heart feels heavier than when you first sat down. You look around one last time, hoping—begging—for some sign that he’s coming. But the world sat still, the only sound was a quiet hum of lights and the occasional car passing in the distance. 

With a sniffle you stand up from the metal bench and pull out your phone, your fingers moving achingly slow as you slide your thumb across your screen as small wet spots from snowflakes fall on it. You wipe your tears with your sleeve, but it only makes the stinging worse from the brash material of your coat.

You swallow thickly, scrolling through your contacts, your hands shaking. The only name you can think of—the only person you want right now—is Sunghoon.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as your thumb hovers over his name, your breath hitching as you try to hold back another hiccup. You were anxious to call him—having run out of his apartment after blatantly rejecting him the last time you saw him. You finally press the button as you start walking to his apartment. 

The dial tone rings and rings in your ear, each second he doesn't answer makes you feel more and more alone, making your hands shake more violently. It rings again, and you’re about to hang up, already regretting the decision. But just as you go to end the call, you hear his voice.

”Ren?” Sunghoon answers, his voice was slightly breathless. You find yourself locked up, not sure if you can do this, but the words come out before you can stop them.

”Ah—uhm… Can I come over?’ Your voice wavers as you sob through them. It was a miracle he could even understand you.

There’s a brief pause on the other end, “Yeah—Yeah, God of course,” He says quickly, his voice softening. No confusion in his tone, no shock. He sounds flustered, “Are you alright?” 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out before you wince and look down at the pavement before a strangled sob escapes your throat, and you quickly cover your mouth with your free hand, trying to hold yourself together. 

”I—“ You sigh, wiping your eyes again, your skin irritated and swollen from the cold and the tears, “I’ll be there soon,” you manage to choke out, hanging up before he can question you further.

You drop your phone to your side as you shove your balled fists into your pocket, pushing through the snow as the salt on the pavement crunches under you. You were in a whirlwind of confusion and heartbreak. Snow—he—was supposed to be here. He promised. He said he’d meet you. But nothing. Were you not important enough?

The snow fell heavier as you trudge through the streets, but your mind was elsewhere. Every step felt weighed down by the disappointment and confusion. By guilt.

By the time you reached Sunghoon’s apartment you whole body aches. You feel like you had been walking so long that your feet feel like they’re no longer attached to you, just frozen blocks of ice at the ends of your legs. Your hands were numb, trembling violently as you knock weakly at his door. 

It opens almost instantly, Sunghoon standing there with wide eyes and furrowed brows as his dark eyes look across your whole body. “Ren…” His voice is soft, slightly worried, but not surprised. The concern was etched into his face with a soft wince at the sight of you, “come in.”

You shuffle past him into the warmth of his apartment, barely registering the shift in temperature. The heat hits your skin, but it doesn’t seep in—not right away. You’re still numb, inside out.

”Are you okay?” He asks again hesitantly, closing the door behind you. He stepped closer to you, his eyes scanning your face, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. You shake your head You shake your head, your lip trembling as you pull your frozen hands into your sleeves, trying to thaw them out.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaking. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore. Your mind is a blur, filled with too many conflicting thoughts. Snow. Sunghoon. Snow. The one who didn’t show up and the one who did.

Before you can say anything else, Sunghoon steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His embrace is warm—so warm compared to the cold you’ve been drowning in all night—and the moment you feel his chest against your cheek, the dam breaks.

A sob rips through you, and you cling to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world. Your fingers, still half-numb, grip the fabric of his shirt, and you bury your face into his chest, your whole body trembling.

He holds you tightly, his arms wrapped securely around you as his chin rests on top of your head. He doesn’t say anything at first—just lets you cry, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. His breath is still slightly uneven, but his presence is steady, grounding.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and calming. “I’m here.”

You nod against him, but you don’t feel okay. You feel torn, confused, like you’re caught between two worlds that are slowly starting to collapse. The person you thought you loved through words didn’t show up. And now, the person you’ve grown to love in reality is the only one here, holding you together.

But how can you explain that to him? How can you tell him about Snow when you’re still trying to make sense of it yourself? How could you tell the person who has loved you openly this whole time that you’re crying over someone else?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, your voice muffled against his chest. Your breath hitches as you try to pull yourself together, but the warmth of his body against yours makes it hard. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to face the cold again—literal or metaphorical.

“Don’t apologize,” Sunghoon says softly, his hand still gently stroking your back. “You don’t have to explain right now. Just… stay here. With me.”

The words are so simple, but they hit you hard, and you close your eyes, trying to calm the storm inside you. His warmth is comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into it. You let yourself feel the safety of being in his arms.

But even as he holds you, the guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. You’ve shared things with Snow—things you’ve never told anyone else. You’ve fallen for his words, his soul, without ever knowing who he truly was. And yet, here you are, in Sunghoon’s arms, feeling something real and tangible.

How can you choose between them?

Sunghoon pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. His gaze is soft, but there’s something else there, something deeper that makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “Whatever’s going on… I’m here for you, okay? Always.”

His words make your chest tighten, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—about Snow, about the letters, about the disappointment. All you can see is Sunghoon, his warm eyes searching for yours, his touch gentle and steady.

But it only makes things more complicated.

You already confessed everything to Snow. You told him how you felt, and he told you the same. And even though he didn’t show up tonight, those feelings are still there. But now, standing here in Sunghoon’s arms, you feel torn—between the words on paper and the person standing in front of you.

You finally stand back up, pulling away from his chest just enough to meet his eyes, your heart still heavy as you struggle to find words. His warmth lingers on his skin, but the skill  from outside makes your fingers and feet feel like pins and needles as the feeling returns to them. You swallow hard, sniffling as Sunghoon gently pushes your jacket off of your shoulders and hangs it up by the door. 

“I--” You look down as you peel off your wet gloves, “I was supposed to meet someone,” you start, “At the park by Miller, but… they didn’t show.” 

Sunghoon freezes, his grip on your momentarily tightening. His expression doesn't change much, but you notice a flicker of something in his eyes as his brows twitch tighter together--something like guilt, or maybe recognition. It’s so brief that you almost miss it. He recovers quickly, shaking his head and looking down at you with concern etched on his features. 

“Someone?” He repeats quietly, his tone gentle, though you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice steady. 

You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. We’ve been… talking for a while. Through letters… pen pals from our mutual composition class-- We were finally going to meet in person, but…”

Your voice trails off, and you glance up at him, unsure of how much you want to share. Sunghoon’s expression remains calm, but you can feel the tension radiating from him. His eyes search yours, like he’s trying to piece together everything you’re saying without giving away too much of his own thoughts.

He stays silent for a moment, then gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light and careful. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

You blink up at him, surprised by how genuine he sounds. There’s no teasing, no jokes—just quiet understanding. It catches you off guard, especially considering how Sunghoon usually acts so aloof and sarcastic. Right now, though, his gaze is earnest, and it makes your heart ache even more.

You nod again, swallowing back another wave of tears. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… I waited for a long time… an hour maybe? I don’t know why he didn’t come, but… I thought…”

You trail off, feeling stupid for even saying it. You don’t even know why you’re telling Sunghoon all of this. He loves you too and you know he does. And it was unfair for you to cry to him that someone else broke your heart. On top of that, he couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through. And yet, the way he’s looking at you now, the way his arms are still wrapped around you, makes it feel like maybe he does.

Sunghoon’s thumb gently brushes the back of your hand, and his voice is soft when he speaks again. “They should’ve shown up,” he says, his tone sincere. “Whoever they are… they made a mistake not coming.”

Your chest tightens at his words, and you glance up at him, biting your lip. He’s looking at you with such intensity, his eyes filled with something deeper than just sympathy. You can feel it radiating from him--there’s unspoken emotions he’s holding back. Something that makes your heart race even faster.

“You think so?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon nods, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know so.”

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the silence between you growing heavier. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about the way Sunghoon is looking at you feels… different. Like he’s trying to say more than just words. Like he knows something you don’t.

You’re about to say something—anything to break the tension—but Sunghoon speaks first, his voice quiet and almost hesitant. “Ren, whoever that person is… they don’t deserve you if they didn’t show up. You shouldn’t have to wait for someone like that.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, and you swallow, feeling another tear slip down your cheek. He clenches his jaw as he reaches up and gently wipes it away, his touch lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I just…” You hesitate, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “I thought they felt the same way I did. We’d been writing to each other for so long, and… I guess I just thought it meant something.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightens, and for the briefest moment, his gaze flickers with something like pain. “I’m sure it did,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe they were scared. Maybe they didn’t know how to face you.”

You blink, taken aback by his words. “Scared?” you echo, confused.

He nods, his eyes softening as they meet yours again. “Yeah. Sometimes, people build things up in their heads, and when it comes time to face the reality of it… they panic. It doesn’t mean they didn’t care.”

His words sink into you, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. There’s something about the way Sunghoon is speaking—like he’s trying to explain something without really saying it—that makes your heart race. You wonder, briefly, if he’s speaking from experience. 

You can’t help but think of Snow—of the person who promised to meet you tonight but didn’t. Was he scared? Was that why he didn’t come? The thought gnaws at you, making your stomach twist uncomfortably.

But then there’s Sunghoon, standing here with you now, offering you comfort when you need it most. His presence is steady, solid, and you can’t help but feel safe with him, even though your heart is still aching.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “For being here when he couldnt.”

Sunghoon’s lips press into a flat smile, and he nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “You shouldn’t thank me, Ren.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten again, and for a brief moment, you forget about everything else—about Snow, about the disappointment, about the confusion. All you can focus on is Sunghoon, his warmth, his steadiness.

Sunghoon’s thumb lingers on your cheek, his touch warm against your cold skin, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. The weight of everything that had happened—everything unsaid between you—sits thick in the air, almost stifling. But then, like he always does, Sunghoon breaks the silence with a soft smile.

“How about we put on a movie?” he offers, his voice light but gentle. “Something terrible, you know, so we can laugh at it instead of… all this heavy stuff.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “Something terrible, huh?”

He nods, his smile widening a little, and the tension eases, if only a bit. “Yeah. Like… one of those bad dinosaur movies? You know, the ones where they didn’t have the budget for CGI, so everything looks like a cardboard cutout.”

You can’t help but smile at how ridiculous he’s being. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds awful.”

“Perfect, then.” He gives you a little wink. “Exactly what we need. Laugh it off a bit.”

His lightheartedness pulls at something inside you—a warmth, a comfort. He’s always been able to make you feel like this, like things aren’t so heavy, like the world doesn’t have to be all complicated. Even now, after everything, he’s here, trying to make you laugh, to make you feel better. And you’re grateful for it.

But before he turns to grab the remote, his smile fades just a little, his eyes flicking back to you with something more serious. He hesitates, and you can see the shift in his posture, the way he suddenly looks a little more awkward, as if he’s weighing his words before he speaks.

“Hey, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, his voice softer now, more uncertain. “About last time—when I almost, you know…”

You feel your chest tighten, the memory of that almost kiss flashing through your mind—the way he had leaned in, the warmth of his breath, the tension crackling between you.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Sunghoon says, his tone sincere. “I crossed a line. I’m sorry if it made things weird.”

You look at him, unsure of what to say. Because the truth is, you don’t really know how you feel about that moment. Part of you had wanted him to kiss you, and part of you… well, part of you had been thinking about Snow, about the confession you had shared with your pen pal.

“It didn’t make things weird,” you say, even though you know it’s not entirely true. Things have been weird since then, but not because of Sunghoon. It’s everything else—Snow, the letters, the way your heart seems to be pulled in two different directions.

Sunghoon’s lips pressed together, and he gives you a small nod, though you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. And I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you into anything. I mean, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I just… I don’t want to make it harder.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. Instead, you find yourself moving closer to him, your body acting on instinct rather than thought. You lean into him, your head resting gently against his chest as you close your eyes and let out a soft sigh. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held, grateful that he’s here, that he’s willing to show up for you when someone else didn’t.

Sunghoon’s arms wrap around you, almost hesitant at first, but then he relaxes, pulling you in a little tighter. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, and it’s grounding—soothing in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

“I’ve missed you these last few days,” he says quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I didn’t realize how much until you were here again.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur, and it’s the truth. Despite everything, you’ve missed him—the way he makes you feel safe, the way he’s always there when you need him. But more than that, you missed this—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure, just being together.

You stay like that for a while, neither of you speaking, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. But eventually, you shift in his arms, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

“Can I borrow a hoodie?” you ask, your voice quiet. “My jacket’s wet from the snow, and I’m freezing.”

Sunghoon blinks, surprised for a second, but then he smiles, nodding. “Yeah, of course. Grab whatever you want from my room.”

You sit up, pulling away from him, and he gestures toward his bedroom door. “Top drawer,” he says with a grin. “That’s where all the comfiest ones are.”

You give him a small smile in return before getting up and heading to his room, your footsteps soft on the floor. The warmth of his apartment feels even more welcoming now as you enter his room, and you quickly find one of his hoodies, the familiar scent of him clinging to the fabric as you pull it over your head.

You moved quietly across Sunghoon’s room, your fingers grazing over the soft fabric of the hoodie you just pulled on. The familiar scent of his cologne clung to it, wrapping you in an odd sense of comfort as you let out a slow breath, feeling just a little bit more at ease.

But as you made your way back toward the door, something on his desk caught your eye—a stack of papers, some crumpled, others neat, and at the top, the unmistakable loop of purple cursive. Your heart skipped a beat as you squinted at the writing, your footsteps slowing.

Curiosity gnawed at you, pulling you closer to the desk. you leaned over, your hand reaching out before you could even think to stop yourself, lifting the top sheet of paper. As soon as your eyes scanned the words, your blood ran cold.

It was your letter.

Not just any letter—it was Sunny’s letter. The one you had written only a few weeks ago, tucked into your purple notebook, sent anonymously to someone you had never met face to face. You stared at it, your mind reeling, unable to process how on earth it was sitting there, on Sunghoon’s desk.

You flipped through the papers, your hands shaking slightly. One after another, your letters stared back at you, each in your unmistakable purple ink, each one addressed to Snow.

Your stomach twisted in confusion. Why did Sunghoon have them? Why were they here? How did he get them? Your mind raced with a hundred questions as you stood there, frozen in shock.

“Ren?” Sunghoon’s voice echoed from behind you.

You jerked around, the papers slipping from your hands and fluttering back onto the desk. Your throat tightened as Sunghoon stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, his eyes scanning your face. “I found a movi--”

“Why do you have these?” you finally whispered, your voice trembling.

You stay silent, your eyes locked on the letters in your hand. Sunghoon’s footsteps stop, and you know—he knows. The air shifts, and it feels like time is slowing, the weight of the truth crushing down on both of them.

Finally, slowly, you turn around to face him, your expression a mix of quiet shock and growing hurt.

“Hoon, why do you have these?” your voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s a tremor in it, a note of betrayal you can’t suppress.

Sunghoon’s eyes flick to the letter in your hand, and in an instant, you see the recognition in his face—the guilt, the way he winces ever so slightly, the way he suddenly can’t meet your gaze. His throat bobs as he swallows, struggling to find the words.

"Ren, I—"

“These are mine,” you cut him off, your voice trembling more now as your grip on the paper tightens. “This is my handwriting. This is my--” Your voice broke, dropping the paper and reaching up to cover your face for a moment before meeting his eyes again, “I wrote these to Snow.” your breaths come in shorter, sharper. “Why the hell do you have them?”

Sunghoon takes a step closer, his hands half-raised as if to calm you, but he stops short when he sees the hurt in your eyes. He opens his mouth, then closes it, struggling for an explanation that could possibly make sense of this.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he says quietly, his voice strained. “I— I was going to tell you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest now, a mix of emotions swirling inside you—hurt, confusion, anger, and something else you can’t quite name. “You knew,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “You knew you were writing to me this whole fucking time,” your eyes search for him, pleading for answers. “How long?”

He hesitates, and that hesitation is all the answer you need.

“How long, Sunghoon?” your voice cracks, and you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, your fingers clutching the letter like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“A while,” he finally admits, his voice small. “Since you dropped off my jacket.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. “That was fucking weeks ago. You’ve known, and you—” you cut yourself off, taking a step back as the realization fully sinks in. “You stood me up.”

He flinches at your words, his face tight with regret. “Ren, I—”

“That’s why you tried to kiss me,” your voice is hollow, the weight of the truth settling like a stone in your chest. “You knew I was Sunny, and that’s why you—” your voice cracks, and you shake your head, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “You tried to kiss me because you knew it was me. You fucking knew everything.”

Sunghoon’s expression crumbles, and he takes a step toward you, his hand half-extended as if to reach for you. “Ren, no, it wasn’t like that—”

“But it was like that, Sunghoon! It was exactly like that!” You snap, your voice louder now, thick with the betrayal coursing through you. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me. You let me sit there, waiting for you in the snow, in the fucking cold, alone!”

His expression crumbles, and he takes a step toward you. “I didn’t know what to do, Ren. I was going to go, I just—”

“No,” you snap, your voice louder now, thick with emotion. “You stood me up, Hoon. You let me sit there in the snow, waiting for you, thinking that I was fucking stupid and naive for thinking I could have something this good. You knew I was waiting for you.” your voice falters, breaking. “And then you… comforted me. Like—like you were some goddamn hero, like you hadn’t just broken my heart.”

“Why didn’t you show up?” You pushed out, your voice breaking again as the tears finally spill over, hot and blurring your vision. “Why didn’t you just come to the park? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared,” Sunghoon says, his voice raw with emotion. “I was scared you’d be disappointed, that you’d see me and… it wouldn’t be enough. That I wouldn’t be the person you fell for in the letters.”

Your chest tightens painfully at his words, the mixture of hurt and confusion overwhelming you. “You didn’t care to even give me the chance to decide that for myself?” You whisper. 

“You didn’t even give me the chance to know it was you. To tell you I loved you--as Sunghoon. My Sunghoon. You knew I loved you as Snow. I have been so torn up about who to choose and you knew it and didn’t even… God--Hoon,” you sigh out with a wince and pull off his hoodie and throw it aside to his bed.

Sunghoon’s face crumples as he takes another step toward you, his hands reaching out, desperate to close the distance between them. “Ren, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted this to happen.”

You shake your head, your tears flowing freely now, and you step back again, creating more space between them. “But you did, Sunghoon. You hurt me. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, and now… I don’t even know what to think.”

Sunghoon’s expression is filled with regret, his eyes glistening as he watches you, helpless to fix the damage that’s been done. "Just let me explain, please," he repeats softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stand there for a moment, your heart aching as you look at him—this person you thought you knew, this person you thought you trusted. And now, everything feels broken, shattered by the weight of the truth he had kept from you.

"I... I have to go," you turn and walk out of the room, leaving Sunghoon standing there in silence, his heart breaking as he watches you leave him in his bedroom. Alone. 

-- -- --

author's note: I really hate to be that guy who says angst is their favorite, but it is?? Something about writing it makes me bleary eyes and sad but!! THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING IN STORE PLEASE WAIT FOR ME!! I love you and thank you for reading my little corner of tumblr<3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Glitch in the Matrix

This is a Shroud brothers age swap AU that I’ve been wanting to write for a long time!!

Idia basically has the same backstory (except Ortho is the dead older brother and Idia is just a bratty like… 10 year old) 😂 This model of Ortho is significantly older (think late teen) because I’m operating under the assumption that kid!Idia built a version of his brother “grown up” so he can have the experience of growing up with him. Slightly different coping method than the OG, but I thought this would be something cute and silly to explore.

Young children are notoriously known for being brutally honest and lacking a filter, so kid!Idia is even sassier than OG!Idia. As for adult!Ortho, I kept him being sneaky, but I also made him super big brotherly!

This is meant to take place during episode 1 of the main story (more specifically, the scene when Trey is explaining the different dorms to Yuu and co)! ^^ Yes, the joke is that Diasomnia’s introduction is forgotten about because they get caught up on Ignihyde—

Imagine this…

“Hey, who are those guys?” Grim pointed at the far end of the cafeteria. “They feel kinda different from everyone else.”

Your eyes followed his paw, landing on a lone table that had been maneuvered to the farthest corner of the room.

A few students—pale as death and donning blue vests—hunched over it, their frames made so small that they barely registered as people. A veil of gloom seemed to cling to them like spiderwebs, hollowing their faces and darkening their eyes. It was like they had been unearthed from their graves and unceremoniously dropped into the school.

“Oh, them?” Trey chuckled faintly. “They must be from Ignihyde. Students from that dorm have a strong grasp on magical tech, but they aren’t exactly the most sociable guys. A lot of them can’t handle talking face-to-fa—”

“Hello!!”

“Whoa…!”

Everyone at the table startled as a blur of blue and silver bounded into view. Forks and spoons clattered, food leapt up from its trays, some of it catching onto clothes and flecking onto skin.

“Sheesh, don’t scare us like that!” Cater groaned, wiping a dot of applesauce from his cheek. “Riddle-kun will have our heads if even one hair’s out of place!”

“Ehehe, sorry! I was just so excited when my visual receptors picked up on unfamiliar faces!”

"M-Myah?! Wh-What the heck, this guy came straight outta nowhere!!" Grim cried.

“Who’s…?” Your voice trailed off as you took a closer look at the stranger.

Sapphire flames in the place of hair danced upon his scalp, a stark contrast to his pallid face. His amber eyes were so striking, so bright, it was like electricity coursed through them. Everything about him was sharp, as though he had been cut out of something tougher than diamonds. But his body—

It was decidedly not that of a human.

Perhaps the most “human” thing about him was the pair of headphones casually slung around his neck—an accessory to pass as a teenager. The rest of his tall, lithe frame was carved out in a silvery white metal, glowing blue lines running down his torso. The joints at the young man's fingers, knees, and elbows were visible, and where his heart should have been was another haunting blue flame.

His feet were particularly strange; too chunky to be made of flesh and bone, but formed like platform boots. And then you realized why his initial appearance had been so odd: he had not walked, but rocketed over. He hadn’t even touched the ground.

You assumed that he smiled at you—you couldn’t tell for certain, as his mouth was concealed behind a black guard of some sort, a skull-like pattern printed on it.

“You are…?”

“Ortho. Ortho Shroud.” He pulled down his mouth visor, showcasing cobalt lips arranged in (as you had suspected) a grin. It was both innocent and mischievous, as though he had a secret yet to be unleashed. “It’s always nice to get to know the new blood~"

“You’re a student too?” Deuce asked excitedly. "Oh...! That would make you our upperclassman, wouldn't it?!"

“Duh, of course he is,” Ace said with a roll of his eyes. "What else would he be, a janitor? The local handyman?"

You shot him a sideways glare for the jab.

“Better a janitor or a handyman than a kid that got put in time out,” you shot back, gesturing to the enchanted collar chaffing Ace’s neck.

He frowned.

“I am present at Night Raven College to monitor and to support my younger brother during his studies,” Ortho replied. "He is a first year in Ignihyde."

His response, you noticed, didn’t fully answer the question.

"What, so there's another big guy lumberin' around campus with his hair on fire?" Grim snickered at the thought. "Must be real easy to spot him in a crowd then!"

"Heheh. Wouldn't you like to know?"

There was an ominous undertone to his words, sending the ghost of a chill crawled down your spine.

"Alright, alright, that's enough of that. You didn't come all this way just to tease the freshmen, right?" Trey adjusted his glasses knowingly. "If I know you, Ortho... you're looking for something."

"Foiled me already, huh? You're no fun." He stuck out his lower lip in a playful pout. "But yes, that is correct. I wanted to ask a little favor of our new friends!"

"You’re already charming your way into getting free labor from your juniors? So mean~ What kind of heartless monster would do such a thing?"

Trey raised an eyebrow at Cater. "I seem to recall someone shirking his unbirthday party duties and dumping the workload onto the underclassmen."

"Ehhh, are you seriously putting me on the spot?"

"Better watch out, Loosey Deucey," Ace smirked to his classmate. "If you're not careful, Cater-senpai's gonna work you ragged!"

"I wouldn't fall for something like that!" Deuce stopped, reconsidering "... Unless they really, REALLY needed me! It's the duty of an honors student to lend a helping hand when asked to!"

"Dude, you're making it too easy to dupe you.”

“I-I’m not easy to dupe!! I could turn down any request if I wanted to!”

“Grim? Prefect? Back me up here.”

You tensed at the suggestion of being tricked. You'd been fooled once by cruelty disguised as kindness—Ace's taunts masked as friendliness—and you wouldn't be fooled again.

"Sorry, senpai. I'm not sure if there's anything I can do for you. I'm just trying to focus on learning the campus and my schedule, so..."

"There's no need to worry! I am at least 20.8% less deceptive than the general student populace of Night Raven College."

"Where did you pull that statistic from?" you wondered, suspiciously eyeing Ortho.

He accepted it in stride. "I am an advanced artificial intelligence. I'm able to run a number of advanced calculations in seconds. There are several other functions only I am capable of—so please believe me when I say that if there were a method for me to resolve this issue alone, I would have."

You hesitated.

The argument Ortho provided was compelling. Maybe too compelling.

"... What do you want?"

Ortho stared directly at Grim.

"H-Hey, what're you lookin' at me for?"

You felt Ortho’s smile under the visor widening. "I'd like to play a game of cat and mouse."

“You can’t find your little brother?”

You briskly walked by Ortho's side, the two of you traversing a hallway which opened into a sunny courtyard. A squirming Grim was tucked under your arm.

The furry gremlin had been taken against his will, whisked out of the cafeteria and away from his plate of mashed tuna, abandoning the Heartslabyul boys to the remainders of their own meals.

"I'll help you, Prefect!" Deuce had promised, only to be shut down by Ace's teasing. ("Oi, what happened to 'I can turn down any request if I wanted to'?")

Not that they would have been of any use, you thought. A statue set on fire, Ace trapped under a cauldron, and a shattered chandelier dancing in your mind.

By now, Grim's loud whining had (thankfully) eased into unhappy grumbling.

Ortho nodded. "I would regularly be able to locate Idia-san by running a campus-wide scan for all living organisms, then isolating by biometrics. However, I can't seem to find him no matter how many times I run the program. He must be using a device to jam my detective capabilities from afar."

"Really? You look... complicated," you commented carefully. "Your brother sounds like some kind of a genius if he's able to pull that off."

"He is," Ortho said sunnily.

"... Well, that's putting you in a bind right now, so I don't think we should be happy about his big brain cells."

“It shouldn’t be an obstacle. Idia-san may be highly intelligent, but I have a trump card now thanks to you!” Ortho snuck a peek at Grim and graced him with a firm head pat. “A cute kitty cat!”

“I’m NOT a cat!!” Grim protested, swiping at Ortho’s metal hand.

“Because you said your little brother likes cats?”

“Yes. I’m sure that we’ll be able to lure him out with this!” Ortho waved a hand into the courtyard. “This would be an optimal spot. It’s a relatively wide open space, so it would appear more innocuous to set our trap here.”

You slowed your pace and scanned the outside, seeking out a blue fire that matched the android's. It was notably empty, with most students away for their lunch break.

“Oi, can ya stop talkin’ about me like I’m your bait?!”

“Quiet, Grim,” you shushed, setting him down in the grass. “You are our bait. Now get your tail out there and try to act natural!”

With that, you rushed to hide yourself behind a column. Ortho chuckled to himself, joining you behind an adjacent one.

“Grrr…”

Grim begrudgingly got on all fours and padded onto the lawn. He glanced around the courtyard and cleared his throat. “Uh… ‘meow’?”

There was silence.

"Meow, meow, me-ooooow!"

The silence grew staler.

"... Okay, that's enough of a stain on the great Grim-sama's reputation for one day!" He stood on his hind legs and stretched his arms to the sky. "I'm headin' back to get my fill of fish!"

"Not yet!! Try doing something cute like licking yourself or playing with a ball of yarn!"

“Not if you’re gonna watch, minion!!”

"I can look away if you're embarrassed."

"That's not the problem here!!"

"What is the problem then?"

"Shh! Wait—” Ortho gasped. "I'm detecting movement from the opposite side of the courtyard. There, in the bushes!"

You looked where he indicated.

Indeed, one of the shrubs seemed to be quivering, causing a few of its leaves to dislodge and fall to the ground. Seconds later, there was a flicker of light, and a small boy clutching a handheld console emerged, followed what appeared to be a floating skull.

He was dressed in a frumpy, oversized black and blue striped sweater. The rest of his outfit was just as comedic and childish, with a pair of pants sporting many pockets and a pair of sneakers splattered with the colors of the night sky. Colorful characters and shapes adorned his footwear: three eyed green aliens, stars, spaceships, and astronauts.

But most importantly, he was just like Ortho. Eyes the same color, fiery blue hair that fanned out behind him, mouth a shade of cyanide poisoning, and skin that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in years.

"That's your brother? Your first year brother? He doesn't look any older than an average elementary schooler," you hissed to Ortho.

"Genius, remember?" He shrugged. "Night Raven College made a special exception for a child prodigy to enroll in its ranks."

So Idia is a child prodigy... and Ortho's a supercomputer that's supposed to babysit him? Wait, how can a robot and a human even be related? Can a human even have fire for hair? Just what kind of a family dynamic is this?!

Your brain hurt from trying to fit the details together. They were like puzzle pieces that didn't quite connect.

A strangled scream resounded in the courtyard.

You snapped to attention, leaping out from your hiding place. Horror clenched your throat, your stomach—

Idia had Grim trapped in a death grip, smushing the poor creature against his face. The little boy wore a silly, toothy grin, revealing that his teeth were pointed like an imp's. His console was shoved into one of many pockets, long forgotten in favor of the cat.

"Hihihihihi, it must be my lucky day," Idia mumbled to himself. "I thought some annoying normie finished stuffing their face with food early and started stomping and shouting, but no! It turned out to be a talented talking widdle kitty witty interrupting my private gaming session... It's okay, I'll forgive you cuz you're seriously sooo fluffy and cute!!"

"Be careful, you're hurting him!!" you called out, charging at the child. You were but a few feet away when Idia noticed you, and his excitement waned.

"E-Eep!! Are you the kitty's owner?"

"I'm NOT a cat!!" Grim moaned desperately.

"Er, no... yes... maybe..." You paused. "It's hard to define, but we live together, so that means I have a say in how he's treated!!"

Idia's expression immediately twisted into a look of total disgust. "Ew. Gross. Go away. No one asked to see your dumb face. I found the kitty, so he's mine now. You should've kept a better eye on him if you cared so much."

"Wh-What..."

What's with this sassy lost child?!

"Now you listen here, mister—“

"Idia-san!!”

Ortho flew right by you, stopping your tirade before it could even start. He practically tackled Idia, smothering him in a hug that was warm and hummed like a generator.

(Grim let out another scream as his body was compressed between the two brothers.)

"O-Ortho nii-san...!?"

"Thank goodness I found you! I was so worried when you disappeared on me!!" Ortho released Idia, but kept his hands firmly on the young boy's shoulders. "It was bad of you to run off and go into hiding like that. My circuits almost fried from the shock!!”

Grim fell to the ground in a furry heap and scrambled into your arms. “G-Get me away from that crazy kid…!!”

You held him to your chest and stroked his back comfortingly, warily eyeing Idia and anticipating another smarmy remark.

He bashfully stared down at his shoes. “………………….. S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Huh?! Since when was he all shy and innocent?! His personality did a complete 180!

“It’s alright! What matters is that you’re safe and sound.” Ortho happily ruffled the flames on Idia’s head. “But promise me that you won’t do that again. I know you’re anxious since it’s your first week of school, but that’s no excuse for holing up for the day.”

“… I-I don’t wanna go to class or eat in the cafeteria,” Idia whined stubbornly, clinging to Ortho’s arm. “I saw. Th-There’s too many people.

He vigorously shook his head. "But I don't want to. I only wanna hang out with you, Nii-san... and the kitty.”

“You know that’s not healthy,” Ortho tutted. “There’s a big, bright, beautiful world out there, full of lovely people waiting to meet you. You won’t be able to experience that if you keep to yourself all year.”

"S-Sounds scary..."

"It's not scary at all! Look, your big bro met these nice people today." Ortho indicated you and Grim. "They helped me out when I was in a pinch. It's because of them that I was able to find you."

"Uh, hi?" You awkwardly waved.

Idia shuffled behind his brother's leg, glaring at you from behind it.

"Don't be like that." Ortho's eyes glimmered with cheer. "Hey, I know! Why don't you introduce yourself to them?"

"D-Do I really have to?"

"Would it help if they introduced themselves to you first?"

Idia said nothing, but his stare turned expectant. Ortho looked at you hopefully.

You sighed and relented. "... I'm the Ramshackle Prefect, and this is Grim."

"That's the GREAT Grim-sama to you, minion!"

"......................... I-Idia. Idia Shroud... I'm a first year in Ignihyde... a-and its dorm leader..."

... Huh?

"I'm sorry, what did you just say? I swear I must have misheard you." You laughed, cupping an ear.

"I'm dorm leader."

... HAH?

"Y-You're... You're a kid though?! And didn't you literally just start school at NRC? How's it possible that you became dorm leader so fast?!"

"Feh!!" Idia smirked, tapping his temples. "Unlike you simple-minded noobs, I've got the brain of a genius inventor up in here! There's nothing I can't achieve, hihihihi!"

He sealed the deal by blowing a raspberry.

Am I seriously being talked down to by a grade schooler?! You took a breath to calm yourself. No, I'm better than this. Don't get mad. Be the bigger person.

"Now, Idia-san... Bragging isn't very kind," Ortho gently chided. "Still, I'm proud of you for managing to get through giving your introduction!"

The android clapped, his face lighting up with excitement. "Since everyone's acquainted...! That makes us all brand-new friends!"

"I don't know if I'd go THAT far," you muttered. "It depends on how loosely you define 'friend'... though it sounds like your definition of it is very loose."

"Friends are friends!!" Ortho insisted. "And do you guys know what friends do?"

Oh no.

There was that odd smile of his again, clearly visible in spite of the visor hiding it. Half innocence, half mischief.

Your stomach sank. You had a bad feeling about this.

"Friends hang out together on their lunch breaks!"

... You should have listened to the warning signs Trey had pointed out.

“Alright, who wants snacks?"

Ortho placed several large bowls before you, each offering up something sweet or salty. There were chips in various flavors, candies in all colors, popcorn, and plain pretzels with a variety of dips. It was a rainbow of treats, definitely an upgrade from all the canned tuna and tap water you had been living off of for the past few days.

"Take your pick of drinks too! Plenty to go around." He pointed to a pyramid of canned beverages as he settled in comfortably next to you. This close, you could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see your reflection in his shiny coat.

"Myah?! You sure are livin' the high life!! You have so much stuff!" Grim crawled around on a fuzzy carpet, his eyes darting around, taking in all the shelves of games and merchandise, the consoles arranged in front of a large television.

"I-I have a kitty... I have an actual kitty in my room...!!" Idia looked like he was going to pass out from happiness. A first for his seemingly bloodless self. "N-Ne... d-do you want to play a game? C-Can you play games...?"

"Can I? Don't underestimate the great Grim-sama!!" He stood up and put his paws on his hips. "I won't go easy on ya just cuz you're a lil' brat! Name your game, buster!!"

“Ahhhh, I get to play with a kitty…! Th-This is pure bliss!!”

“For the last time, I’m NOT a… Oh, whatever!! Show me to your games already, I’ll fish out the best one!”

The duo dug into a cabinet, tossing out several discs and cartridges. Grim’s pitchfork-shaped tail sailed in the air as he rifled through titles. The tips of Idia’s hair were tinged pink.

You bit into a chip as you watched the scene unfold.

Grim’s acting like a little kid himself. All Ortho had to do was dangle toys and food in front of him and he instantly caved…

A cold wetness came upon your cheek.

You startled, relaxing only when you realized it was the sensation of a cold bottle being pressed against your bare skin.

“Living organisms such as yourself need to maintain adequate hydration levels for proper functioning,” Ortho advised. “Please do take care.”

“Thanks.” You cautiously accepted the drink, keeping your eyes trained on him.

He’s more cunning than he seems. Ortho talks himself down, but orchestrating all of this takes some serious computing and forethought.

Dangerous, you concluded. He’s dangerous.

“… Oh? You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I can tell,” Ortho chirped. “Your iris and retinal activity indicates that—”

“You definitely tricked us.”

Without missing a beat, he nodded. “Yes. Are you upset that I did?”

“How much of it was planned?” you demanded, pointing the water bottle at him accusingly. “Was there really a jamming device preventing you from finding Idia on your own? When you stopped and said the courtyard was the perfect place to search… did you already know he was there?”

“Hehe. When I saw you and Grim-san in the cafeteria for the first time, I saw an opportunity to make use of our meeting, so I took it!

“My brother would have such an easier time opening up to a creature of the feline variety. I formulated a believable excuse to acquire the target.” Ortho chuckled, coy with his words. “I’d say it was a successful mission. Wouldn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you be honest with us? We would have helped if you had just…”

“I wanted it to be as close to a naturalistic simulation as possible.”

You blinked, taken aback by the immediate and blunt response.

“In a simulation,” Ortho continued calmly, “we imitate a situation in a controlled environment. Multiple factors are considered in the process. By running multiple simulations, we can collect more data and come closer to accounting for a simulation which is most closely related to the randomness that is a real-world system.

“In this situation, it was the inverse. I wanted a scenario in which less information would yield a more natural outcome.”

“You… wanted it to feel ‘real’ for Idia,” you said slowly. “It wouldn’t have worked like that if we knew what was going on and pretended like we were there by chance. You needed us to be in the dark.”

“Correct.”

Ortho had confessed to his guilt, but try as you might, you couldn’t detect any malicious intent.

“Idia-san is special—but he’s socially anxious and has a hard time getting along with his classmates. They don’t like that a young child has been enrolled at this school, or that he has taken on such an important role at it.

“As the one that has been assigned to oversee his school life, I worry. I would like Idia to enjoy his time here to its fullest, yet… the year has barely begun, and I’ve already been instructed by the headmaster that firing a laser is ‘not an appropriate defense protocol’ for dealing with bullies and other instigators…”

“… Crowley’s right about that part,” you interjected.

Ortho laughed, and the fondness and the fluidity of it stunned you. For a second, you forgot that he was not human at all, believing that he was a real boy.

“This will be the first step of many for Idia-san. I hope to be there for the rest of that journey.”

“Ortho-senpai…”

“I’m glad that our paths crossed, Prefect-san.” He flashed a winsome smile. “Thank you and Grim-san for helping me—and for indulging him.”

“… It’s no problem, but next time you’d better not pull another dirty trick like you did today.”

“Next time?” The smile turned slightly cocky, and you vaguely regretted your reply.

“I assume we’ll be seeing you around campus, not necessarily hanging out.”

“Aww, it’s not nice of you to snub your new friends like that~” There was a nip of wickedness to his teasing tone. “… I’m not a formal student, but you might still see me hanging around my little bro. Come by and say hi again sometime, will you?”

You blinked. “You’re not a student?”

Ortho gave no response. His eyes trailed over to Grim and Idia, who had seated themselves before the TV, controllers in hand.

The screen sparked to life with color and light and sound. A night sky speckled with stars blinked into view, along with bombastic blue font.

Star Rogue ~The Road to Being a Hero~

Traced by the glow of the game, the uncanniness in Ortho’s appearance became apparent. The lack of pores in his rubbery skin, the sharp metal sheen of his body, the abnormal lines running in his irises. Even his fire was just a swaying projection, a trick of the light.

Beneath his mask, fake lips moved, producing a close approximation of a human voice.

“… I can be at Night Raven College because of Idia-san.” He cupped the flame that burned in the place of his heart. “That alone… brings me happiness.”

If Ortho was a flame burning brightly, then he had dimmed to mere embers, his voice but a contemplative whisper. Cold, hard logic had been dispelled, leaving only the ashes where a feeling had once been.

Pressure welled in your chest.

I… shouldn’t pry further than this.

“N-Never mind that!” You cracked open your bottle and took a big swig out of it. Slamming it down, you wiped a stray dribble of water from your chin. “Let’s watch the game!! How does it even work, anyway?”

“Star Rogue? Oh, it’s a classic.” Ortho crossed his legs and leaned back against Idia’s bed. “You go…” He pointed a finger at you and pantomimed a firing, then a kickback. “Pew, pew!! And everything in your way explodes! You shoot down the boss and save the galaxy!

“Er… You have way more of a casual attitude on violence than you initially let on.”

Ortho shrugged. “Like I said, the headmaster forbade me from firing lasers on campus. This is the next best thing.”

“Well, as long as you’re not obliterating any real people... I guess that’s fine.”

“It’s better experienced than explained. We should go for a round after those two!” Ortho inclined his head towards Grim and Idia, eyes glued to the television and caught up in an intense round of button mashing.

You chortled. “Okay, you’re on.”

“Great. Prepare to get crushed and left in my space dust!” His eyes twinkled like the stars on the screen, the traces of sadness that had once been there gone.

So human, so real.

The feeling behind them.

Almost like his entire being was lighting up from the inside out.

Huh, so he can smile like that too.

“Hey,” you said slowly, “Ortho-senpai?”

His eyes cut to you, the alien features in his profile still illuminated. “Yes, Prefect-san?”

“I may not entirely understand your circumstances, but for what it’s worth… you have a big heart.”

He looked at you fully, pupils dilated. The fire of his hair and in his chest flared up, as if expressing surprise.

“Really,” you stressed, your brows upturned sympathetically. “Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you in their lives.”

Ortho's gaze sharpened, carefully analyzing you. Your features, your feelings. Contemplating the sincerity behind them.

After what seemed like an eternity--but was surely just a few seconds in real time--he spoke. It was a single, simple word as sweet as the taste of victory.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." You gave him a playful light tap on the shoulder.

With a soft laugh, he returned the favor. When his fist made contact with you, you could feel the warmth emanating from him.

The wires and electricity running through him. His heart pulsing.

“… But don't think this means I’ll take it easy on you,” Ortho warned. “I can get super competitive when it comes to games, you know!"

“Wouldn’t dream of it, senpai.”

[coldshrugs]

tiebreaker

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau setting: modern AU rating: explicit - there are a few mature scenes near the end word count: 6.1k

It's strange to be home.

Stranger still to try to define where exactly home is now that Io has two. Two beds, two sets of friends, two time zones to keep up with… Home is supposed to be a place, or, if she allows the geography to have a softer edge, a series of places and the routines formed around them. The familiar haunts one returns to again and again, seeking the comfort of nostalgia.

Three months didn't feel that long while she lived them; the new place is nice, the people are great, and she loves her work. She calls it home when she is there.

But is it? Home used to hold her mother's voice, her siblings' laughter, her father's snoring. She can't go back to any of those things. 'Home' died six years ago, and Io has been trying to claw back some essence of it ever since.

There was only one thing she was sure she missed from this place, one person. But then she stood in the kitchen with the sunset light painting half the cabinets in late summer's orange, and one thing turned into everything. Puzzle pieces of scent and sight that make her long for more of them tomorrow and every day after—the pack of cigarettes on the already open window to their fire escape; the knowledge that she can hide away in the safety of her room, surrounded by all her favorite things, if the inevitable tide of her anxiety rises high enough to drown her; and especially the smell of Estinien—of both of them—burrowed bone-deep into every room.

But the apartment is not exactly as it was when she left. It's cleaner. The blankets on the couch are neatly folded. There are no dishes in the sink. Not a shred of old mail on the table by the door. The only object even slightly out of place is one of the red plastic chairs at the small table between the kitchen and living room, stolen from their former support group when they aged out.

It's almost uncanny, before she remembers he cleans when he's stressed…

Hm.

They haven't talked about the kiss.

They haven't talked about much of anything so far.

Not when Estinien picked her up from the airport. Not back in their apartment as they readied for Y'shotla’s birthday party. Not even when they stepped out of their rooms, facing each other in the mirrored doorways, and his eyes blew wide at the sight of her dressed in the simple sundress and sneakers.

"You, uh, look really nice," he'd said. Straight forward tone and broad shoulders drawn up to his full height. But he didn't say anything else, so maybe they're leaving it where it lies.

Io has learned to live with this contactless friction. An ever-present static at the boundary of what they mean to each other. Sometimes, the hum is so quiet that she swears she is over him. Then there are times like now, in the back of their Uber, when the unspoken question churns in the space between them, fuzzy and electric, and Io reminds herself that even a hum is noise.

She has to break the ice.

"How's work going? How are the kids this year?"

"It's alright. A ton of rebellious little shits in my classes this semester, especially this set of twins."

"Are you allowed to call them that?"

It takes them a moment to find their footing, but then they can't seem to stop—

"Only when I like them. How's it going with your roommates—what are their names again?"

"Hien and Yugiri. They're sweet. Fun to hang out with. They're tidiness sticklers though, so that's kind of killing me."

"Did you watch that show I said you'd like?"

"Did you remember to water my plants?"

—And on and on until she whispers:

"I miss you. You thought I wouldn't."

Silence again, besides the pop song quietly spilling from the speakers. The driver's eyes flash in the rearview mirror before they turn the volume up, like some sound-based privacy curtain, but that is where it ends. Estinien turns his gaze to the darkening skyline around them, lips drawn up at the corner facing her.

It's hard to be disappointed when simply sitting beside him again is a comfort.

Sure, they text daily, but there is no replacement for his deadpan cadence or playfully disgruntled tone. No emoji could substitute the curves of his smiles, from the small and shy ones he tries to hide (the kind he wears now, squeezing at her heart) to the wide ones that come with an open-mouth laugh—

Her thoughts spin to the kiss. Nervous and unfinished, broken too soon because their drunk friends apparently cannot resist throwing glass bottles at the call of "beer me!" That's why she didn't get to kiss him longer, not that it would matter in the long run.

Estinien doesn't do long distance.

He told Vic as much. He cared about Vic. They dated long enough for it to matter, but in the end, Vic moved hours away, and Estinien decided they should break things off. And despite what anyone says about how he might feel about her, she's stationed on the other side of the country for the next nine months.

But he kissed her back. Oh, the way he kissed her back…

She shoots him the occasional furtive glance while his attention is elsewhere, and god, he looks good. Loose, perfectly messy hair hangs past his shoulders and softens the more severe angles of his face. His t-shirt wrinkles against the line of his well-worn jeans. Hems she has long dreamed of running her hands under…

Io's thick swallow is loud in her ears (she hopes he didn't hear it, too), and her fingers twitch on the leather seat between them. That does make a sound. A little scratch.

Estinien slides his hand across the seat, and—the static sizzles and snaps—his fingers curl into hers. He doesn't look away from the window, but he squeezes.

Her heartbeat almost hurts. She squeezes back.

Another 10 minutes and they pull up to the usual watering hole, one of those extensions of home, Redbills.

He lets go as they climb out of the car on his side, deciding to shove both his hands into his pockets. Cool.

(He's still wearing that little smile as they walk inside.)

Now, this is a place that's frozen in time. Dim light punched through with neon, an out-of-place song being played too loud, ratty stools lining the bar, and well-kept pool tables dotting the back wall. And that's to say nothing of the people.

Her friends (the first set, the ones as close as family) are scattered around the bar. Lucia and Thancred are already locked in a game of pool, and there's real money on the corner of the table. G'raha carries two colorful cocktails to a standing table, where he and Urianger are chatting with Krile, on her tall barstool, of course. Aymeric is at the bar, laughing loudly with Leofard, and Leo's pouring a massive round of shots.

Estinien sways awkwardly on the spot before turning to Io. He jerks his head in Aymeric’s direction, letting her know where he'll be, before walking backward toward him. He's gone for now, then.

Yep, very cool.

Tataru (already flushed a deep shade of pink) gestures chaotically as she rambles to the birthday girl sitting at the end of the bar. Shtola is nodding along without looking, one arm thrown over the back of her metal stool tied with black and purple balloons speckled with glitter. Her other hand holds an e-reader and, holy shit, she is deeply engrossed in a book at her own party.

In fact, she only looks up when her glasses begin to slide down her nose, and that's when her pale eyes fall on Io. She is up in a flash. "You came!"

Shtola isn't one for lengthy displays. The hug is brief, but she wraps her arms tightly around Io and allows her to return it fully before pulling away.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it," Io says. They walk arm in arm towards her decorated seat, where Tataru's tipsy little squeak alerts everyone else to her arrival, and then the party begins.

The night happens in a rush. A round of shots as they sing happy birthday, followed by a round of beers on the house because Io is back in town. She isn't allowed to be a wallflower tonight, tugged from huddle to huddle to share stories of her new orchestra gig or listen to someone else's big news that happened to slip through the cracks of the group chat.

Despite the company and constant meandering around the room, his static prickles on the back of her neck. Estinien hovers in the margins. Much like his blind reach for her hand in the car, she doesn't need to see him to know he's around. It is a phantom sensation, some missing part of her that she swears she can move if only she tries hard enough.

A quick glance to the side and she finds him effortlessly. He leans against the wall, speaking with Ayms in hushed voices. Estinien's eyes cut a sharp path to her, too; Aymeric's gaze follows, and a deviously knowing smile spreads across his face. Io purses her lips politely and smiles back, lifting her hand to wave. Aymeric waves back as he leans to whisper something to Estinien, who shakes his head and takes a long swallow from his beer. His posture tenses.

He pushes off the wall and walks outside, placing his empty bottle on the bar as he goes.

"Hold that thought," Io says as she breaks away from Thancred. "Just grabbing some air."

He's even easier to find on the sidewalk. A lone figure with his shoulder pressed into the brick, head tilted skyward. He's facing the door, as if he's waiting for someone.

"What's wrong?" Io takes a cautious step toward him, fighting the pull to go to him immediately

He shrugs but doesn't look at her. His brows knot, and she can't name the look he wears. It's frustrating not knowing what he's feeling. Disappointment? Defeat? Finally, he asks, "We're just not going to talk about it?"

Oh.

"Estinien, you've been distant most of the day, except for a compliment and holding my hand in the car… I didn't think you wanted to talk about it."

And that makes him look. His head rolls in her direction, hair bunched against the wall and his stare burning through her. "Be serious. Of course I want to. I just… don't know how to start."

"Neither do I." Io inhales and lets the warm night air soothe her nerves. Here she fucking goes. "We kissed. Barely—"

"'Barely.'" The word leaves him in a little huff of incensed laughter. He shakes his head.

"—And it was wrong to leave that up in the air for so long, but I guess it's easier not to know? Maybe it's, I don't know, kinder to slip back into how we were before that. If that's what you want."

"Kinder? Fuck off." Compared to his previous interruption, his tone has cooled, and his expression softened. He's not actually mad. If anything, he seems confused that he's being asked what he wants, as if it's obvious. "Did you mean what you said that night I called you?"

She moves to his side, still careful, still slow. But it's for her own benefit now. What on earth is he talking about?

He asked to call her a couple of weeks ago, the first time that's happened since she's been away. They talked through the night, and there was something close about it, closer than usual. The end of the conversation is fuzzy. She only remembers waking up with her phone pressed to her cheek.

Her shoulder meets the wall, mirroring his lean from a foot away. "...What did I say?"

"You love me." He spits it out quickly and gives no further explanation.

But it doesn't need any, does it? It's a simple yes or no. And it's now that she realizes Alberic—and everyone else—was right: he needs her to go first. He can't move until she does.

"Yeah…" Io shifts her weight against the brick, dragging her gaze from the grime-covered sidewalk to his gray eyes shining softly in the night. He deserves that, because she loves him. "I meant it. But listen, I'm not expecting anything. My job alone makes me a walking deal-breaker so—"

A few people stumble out of the bar, cackling loudly, and they both look to make sure it's no one they know. Just a group of strangers, so their attention refocuses. Io takes another breath, but Estinien speaks first.

"Since you left, I only sit in your chair." The streetlight overhead harshes the shadows falling across his face, but it does not obscure the reddening tips of his ears. "It felt stupid at first. For a while, I pretended it wasn't a conscious thing. Just a convenient one; it's closer to the door or whatever. But it's a choice, I realize that now… I think I've been keeping myself from it since you wrote on them. At some point, I couldn't tell the difference. But that became a choice, too."

It trails off a bit as he loses his own thread, but Io isn't lost. No, it makes perfect sense. This is him explaining every moment passed between them in the half-decade they've shared.

"You're rambling." She tries not to laugh. It's not funny. It's just what he does; he doesn't know what to say, so he says more than he should, and the familiar habit fills her chest with a fluttering warmth. His gaze moves to her smile. "I mean, you don't have to stop. I like when you get going."

She marvels at the way his eyes roll, annoyed and amused all at once. How he tries to be just one plain thing but can't help being more than that.

"The point is, I only sit in your chair."

Estinien's hands leave his pockets. She thinks he might be reaching for his cigarettes. She could use one, too. But they shoot towards her instead, his fingers wrapping into the embroidered edges of her jacket. He holds her like that, thumbs tracing the fabric while his eyes dart across her face, softening by the second. They dilate to a ring of dark silver.

Io reminds herself to breathe.

He pulls her closer.

Closer than that.

"I love you. I don't know how long it's been, just that I do." And he waits, all quickened breath and pleading eyes silently asking her to say it again.

"I love you too."

His hands wind around her, shifting her across the final gap between them, chest to warm chest. When Io lifts her hands to his face, his heartbeat gives him away. Pressed close like this, she feels the echo of every agonizing thump. His darkened eyes flash to her lips.

He moves.

They are careful at first, almost precious about it. But careful gives way to something else, just like it started to three months ago on the fire escape. His softness grows urgent, the kind of thing that begs to become another, deeper kiss. Io waits for the shoe to drop, the glass to shatter, but it doesn't come. Estinien's hands travel to the small of her back, one moves under her jacket, fingers skimming between the straps tying the back of her dress, and there is no interruption this time.

Every thought, every dream she's had about this does not compare to the way his lips seem to drag hers with him as he pulls back. His breathless whisper falls into the space between them.

"Should we get out of here, just go home? I just want to be with you tonight."

Io nods against his forehead, maybe too eagerly, but his smile is worth it. "Yeah, um, just let me say bye to everyone first. I hate to bail, but the party isn't the only reason I'm here."

He releases her as a smug grin pulls new shadows across his face. When they re-enter together, Aymeric approaches from the bar.

"You two were gone for a while." His words are ripe with accusation. Io shifts her weight and pulls her jacket closed, hoping he doesn't notice how rumpled it is.

Estinien leans against the wall by the entrance, looking as casual as ever. "And we're leaving again. Are you meeting everyone for breakfast tomorrow?"

Aymeric balks, "First of all, it's brunch, not breakfast; we're drinking again. Second, yes, I'll be there."

"Then we'll see you there."

"Wait, why are you leaving?"

Io takes the opportunity to slip away and find Y'shtola, who is once again seated at the bar, talking to Leo over the largest fishbowl of sangria she's ever seen. It's half-empty.

She slides into the seat next to her. "Hey… please don't kill me."

Shtola squints in Io's direction with surprisingly clear eyes. There is a silent question in them.

"Can I be here for this?" Leo props an elbow on the bar as if that might bolster his chances.

"No," they say in unison, refusing to glance his way.

"Fine," he says, no worse for wear. "I'm taking five, I need to piss anyway."

Shtola takes a deep sip of her drink until he's in the back. "Let me guess: you've decided to leave your best friend's birthday in the loud, crowded bar when we've been here less than two hours? Io, don't think I didn't expect that."

Io might be offended if there were any malice in the words, but Y'shtola brought her fucking kindle. She's probably planning her own escape soon.

"I'm awful, I'm sorry—" She throws her gaze over her shoulder and Shtola's head turns too. Estinien is still waiting by the door with Aymeric, but he's focused intently on her. "—but there's been a development…"

Bubbles sputter in her drink and she comes away coughing. "Are you serious? Finally? Not the half-assed, 'this is a goodbye forever, I'm giving up on you' kiss?"

"Finally." Her grin is embarrassing, but if anyone knows how long she's held out for this moment, it's Shtola. "Like, no bullshit, for real. Feelings talk and all, so I… really need to go."

Shtola shakes her head, one hand waving Io off the barstool and towards the exit. "No, no, breaking the pattern of platonic codependency and making a new, probably worse pattern is the perfect birthday gift. For the love of god, text me and let me know what happens."

"See you tomorrow." Io squeezes in one more hug and snags a sip of her drink before all but running for the door.

She gives Aymeric a little wave and a smile before passing through the door with Estinien's hand on her back again. A car is already waiting, and after they clamber inside, he doesn't cease his contact. An arm as far around her as he can manage, his fingers grazing her neck, and he can't take his eyes off her.

It doesn't matter that this is all the drive will allow. Desire sparks along her skin, originating from his touch and simmering between them, silent but shameless. The ride feels like an eternity.

When they're finally outside their building, the car is barely out of view before Estinien kisses her again. He walks them backward to the alcove housing the locked glass doors and the keypad. She laughs against his lips as she struggles to reach the buttons. He moves them closer. The first attempt lights the unit in red.

They'll get locked out at this rate.

Io pulls free of his lips with a hummed whine so she can see what she's doing. He moves to her cheek instead, then her jaw… Another red try.

"Estinien," she breathes.

His throaty laugh vibrates against her skin. "You've got it."

Fuck it. If this doesn't work, they can break their necks on the fire escape. 7-9-1-3-5. It blinks green, and the locked doors click open.

They only waste a little time in the stairwell, a quick kiss every other landing or so, when one can't resist grabbing the other, softly passing laughter between mouths before running up the next flight. It doesn't feel real. It lasts all the way to their door.

They go inside, hand in hand, and this is when it sets in.

Sure, it's a bit too clean, but the only new thing here is them. They kick off their shoes and navigate the path to Estinien's room in the dark, carefully dodging jutting furniture corners and stepping over the edges of rugs as their eyes adjust to the lack of light. A strange muscle memory when the context of the journey is so different.

In his room, Io pulls the chain on his bedside lamp, flooding the space with soft, warm light. She knows his room; the scattered sports and music posters, his baseball trophies and metals, and the long unused skateboard. His bed sits in the center of the far wall, flanked by a table on each side; one holds the lamp she just turned on, and the other is where his keys, wallet, and phone usually go. She's had to grab them more than once as they rushed out of this place.

"Is that okay?" she asks.

He nods, pulling her in again, prying her jacket off. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap as his hands trail back up her arms. One settles lightly against the back of her neck. She runs a shaking hand over his stomach until it rests on his chest.

He inhales, forehead falling to hers for the second time tonight. "I'm kind of nervous."

"Me too." She swallows, trying to keep her voice even. "It feels silly, right?"

"Yeah." Estinien's rumbled laugh sounds in the quiet. "The reason I shouldn't be is the reason I am."

Io pulls her head away, asking why with furrowed brows.

"Because it's you."

What steals her breath seems to give his confidence a second wind. He tugs a strap off her shoulder and presses a kiss to the freckled skin beneath, lips moving slowly, reverently, until her head tips back and her arms snake around his waist. He catches the hem of the dress, looking to Io briefly for approval, lifting it over her head after she nods.

He pauses, drinking in the sight of her standing in his most private space, wearing only her underwear, and for a second Io wonders if his drinks have caught up with him.

He pulls his own shirt off, ruffling his hair in the process. His skin catches the lamplight on one side and moonlight on the other. His beauty is uncomplicated, as direct as he is, but right now it threatens to overwhelm her. Io reaches for him, runs her hands across soft muscle and the small, knotted scar on his left shoulder.

She leans forward, brushing her lips over his, almost content to feel him breathing against them and nothing more. Almost. Estinien's knuckles skim her waist, ghost over the side of her breast, across her back, where his hold solidifies before tipping them onto the bed.

Each touch speaks the assurance they've never needed to voice—I'll take care of you, I'm the one who always takes care of you. This is not so different, not when they get down to it. Estinien drags his lips across her throat and that is just as intimate as his texts reminding her to take her anxiety medication; Io's hands slipping beneath his waistband are the same hands that spread his favorite blanket over him when he falls asleep on their couch. "I made you coffee" shares DNA with "please kiss me again", and both are prerequisites to the soft grip of his hand under her chin, leading her mouth to his.

What's one more way to love each other?

Between needy touches and heated moans, they peel away the last of their layers. There is nothing else they can bare.

Estinien moves down her body, nose trailing against her skin, stopping along the way to place soft, searing kisses to places that certainly never existed before now. The tip of her collarbone, the underside of her breasts, the sensitive skin over her ribs, and she shivers as he brings each one to life in the soft heat of his mouth. His hands follow, creating a pattern of kiss and caress, and Io is never without some part of him in contact with her skin.

He settles between her legs, and she feels the hot rush of his breath, coming just that much faster as he anticipates the next action. Io can hardly bear to look at him—flushed cheek pressed against her thigh and his eyes growing darker when she bites her lip—but she cannot look away.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Estinien kisses her thigh, then whispers low in a voice Io doesn't recognize, "Do you want me to?"

His fingers trace a tantalizing pattern on her leg as he stares up at her, waiting for the answer.

How can she tell him what he's doing to her before he even begins? "Please" is the only word she can articulate as she runs a hand through his hair, gently urging him to go on. "Please."

He dips his head, and words don't matter. She couldn't form them if she tried. Her eyes squeeze shut as she falls against the pillow. There is only shapeless sound, her body tense and twisting, the combination of her slick heat and his mouth,

               his mouth,

                                 his mouth.

She's at the edge before she knows it, and the feel of his lips changes, lightens, as he pushes her over. He's smiling—pleased with himself, pleased at her reaction. It remains in place as he lifts himself and kisses his way back to her lips.

Estinien covers her, skin to skin, and Io pulls away from his lips just to look at him for a moment. His silver hair catching bits of the city lights through the window. The shine of her still worn on his lips. Io cups his cheek and sweeps her thumb across them, observing the way they yield for even this touch. His blush spreads to the tips of his ears, down his neck.

"I feel so stupid. You've been looking at me that way for years, and I…" The thought hangs between them: 'What if?' He shakes his head above her, his hair grazing her shoulders.

"Yeah," Io whispers. "But you've been looking at me too. I wasn't in a rush."

She smiles into the next kiss, feels his own spread against her lips. Of all the things they've done tonight, the things they will do, this is the one she wants to keep most. She lets it linger, lets him deepen it when he's ready, asking for more when his tongue slides over hers and he shifts between her thighs.

Io stifles a moan and presses her hands into his back. She needs him closer.

One more shift, and they gasp through a broken kiss. There is only a second of pause, a quick word to check in, then Estinien drives forward again. They find a rhythm. Io moves with him. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, his voice is a tight rasp as he curses or mutters her name into the crook of her neck.

He leans back, resting on his knees, lifting Io with him so she sits on his angled lap. "I wanna see you like this," he says in a shredded whisper. "I keep thinking about it."

It's easy to give him what he wants when he looks at her like this, when he asks for her like he needs her. Io works her hips against him while Estinien does his best to explore, to touch, but his focus shatters in a guttural rumble as he pulls free and guides their fall back to the bed.

There is breath to catch and mess to clean. They alternate trips to the bathroom, then settle into his bed in a yawning heap.

They stay close afterward, liking the way their limbs have tangled and the heaviness of his body relaxing against hers. Io runs her fingers through his hair, unwilling to stop touching him like this now that she has no reason to hold back, and relishes the soft breath washing over her chest. Estinien is still, besides the occasional lazy roll of his head, to kiss her where he can. From the opposite side of the bed, the lamp's glow brightens his edges, the sharp line of his jaw, his nose, and his lips gently pulled into the sweetest smile Io's ever seen him wear.

She could watch him like this forever.

The city doesn't slow around them. Flashes of sound and color leak into the dim room, painting the wall in shifting light that disappears between drowsy blinks. Io wonders how all those passersby in taxis and on the street can go on like before, unaware a faultline has moved under their feet. Don't they know? Didn't they feel it?

The quiet breaks abruptly.

"Io, I'm not,"—his rough voice wavers. He pauses. She can almost see him turning over the words in his mind—"very romantic, if I'm honest, but I could be good to you."

His head on her chest is the only thing keeping her in orbit.

"You've always been good to me. If you're asking me for something…"

"I'm asking."

"You just wanna hear me say it?" And she laughs at his sleepy little nod, heartsick at the way he looks up at her, pupils wide even with their desire temporarily quenched. He wants more than light. She gives it to him. She'd give him anything. "Then yeah, I want to be with you, if you're willing to deal with the distance."

"I don't mind the distance if it's with you." His eyes close, his breathing deepens. She holds him like that until sleep takes her, too.

Io wakes slowly. The room is still gray and dark, with the exception of a single line of early sunlight fighting its way through his blackout curtains. It falls across her side of the bed, a reminder that something exists beyond the bliss of being tucked into this specific set of sheets.

Estinien is already awake. His hand moves down her side, warm and soothing, and then makes the return journey upward, over and over, until she half-rolls to see his face.

"Hey," his voice is even more rough than usual, but it's sweeter, too. He lifts onto his arm, smiling down at her. His messy hair hangs in his eyes. Witnessing this side of him… it always felt so out of reach.

"Hi," she whispers back, adjusting the sheet so there's no barrier between them. "Why are you awake?"

His knuckles roll over her neck, up to her cheek. "Just wanted to look at you. You're all I can think about, and now you're here so… is that weird?"

Io shakes her head against his pillow. "I don't think it's weird. I think I'd do the same."

"Good." He leans in, but pauses before their lips meet. "Wouldn't stop me if it was."

He kisses her slowly, pulls her back flush to his chest so he can touch her. The urgency and nerves of last night are gone. His hands move, unhurried, over the twist of her body, more interested in coaxing little sounds of need from her while her voice still wears shades of sleep. When he fills her this time, his thrusts are soft, almost lazy. And when he's finished, Estinien tells her he loves her again.

She will never tire of hearing it.

They are late to brunch. It's a wonder they show up at all.

No comments when they stroll to the table hand in hand, or when Estinien throws his arm around Io's chair, and not even when she leans into him to rest her head against his cheek after the third mimosa. This is how it should've been all along. They were the only people blocking the way.

The day passes in patches of sunlight and bright laughter, that of their friends and, later on, just theirs. They walk their favorite paths and visit the places Io missed most. The park on the way to her former library job, the library itself, the bakery with specialty cupcakes, and the taco joint she's been craving. But he is a magnet for her hands and, in truth, the place she misses most is their apartment…

They make good use of the short time. No room is too sacred, no surface too precious, until they make it so. By the end of the weekend, they have a pretty good handle on what works. Estinien is a quick study; he remembers what makes her smile, what causes a gasp or a moan.

They learn other things too.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," Io requests on that final evening.

Estinien lies on his back, head angled toward the tv that drones quietly in front of them. He's not watching; his eyes are half closed and his hand tangles in her hair. It's the most focus he can spare right now.

"I thought it was called 'duck tape' for too long. Aymeric pulled me aside in freshman year. Embarrassing as fuck," he says. "Your turn."

Io commits to being a quiet observer, biting back the giggle in the back of her throat.

She lies across his waist with one arm folded under her chin. Her fingers skate over his torso, leaving little trails of puckered skin in their wake. She pockets every tiny reaction (the soft hitch in his breath at a touch near the lower rungs of his ribs, or barely audible sigh when she passes just below his navel), but these are the only interruptions to the otherwise steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm allergic to bee stings."

"What?"

"Yeah, I should've mentioned it before," she says. "You're my emergency contact, so you should know what might take me out."

He laughs, a full belly laugh that shakes both of them on the couch. The sound digs into the marrow of her bones. It can't replace the voices she misses, but she can make more space for him in the part of her heart that longs to hear them.

The quiet after his laughter is just as tender, both of them content with this simple closeness.

"I don't want you to go," he says after some time. "One more day."

"Estinien, my flight—"

"Fuck your flight." His drowsy smile is tempting. "Stay with me."

She says no by pressing her lips against the soft, fuzzy patch of skin beneath his navel, and his exhale barely restrains a shudder. Does she truly do this to him so easily?

"Stay," Estinien repeats.

"You know I can't." Io kisses him again, shifting her head, preparing to focus her attention a little lower…

A long exhale stutters out of him. "I know."

She tugs on the hem of his boxers and he lifts his hips to make it easier for her to move them down his thighs. Io bites her lip at the sight of him, his ready willingness to share himself with her, the way he wants her. She brushes her lips against his length.

"I can come back next month." She trades lips for tongue, adores the way his head rolls back against the sofa. "We'll talk every day, like we always do."

"Next month," he whispers as she takes him into her mouth. His voice strains. "Only nine more to go."

It's noon on Monday when they leave for the airport.

Estinien drives them. Io takes in the view from the passenger seat, branding the feel of his hand on her knee into her mind. And then the pressure of his arms around her when he pulls her back for another hug, the nervous blush when he kisses her openly at the gate. His straight-backed reassurance of "I love you. Come home soon."

Home can be a place, as simple as four walls, or the scent of minty body wash, the voices that soothe just by proximity, and it can be a shared bad habit. The picturesque scenes of a small and beautiful life. Home can be the boy you watch grow into a man, the friend you wait for until you don't care about the waiting, and the partner stoking butterflies or comfort with a look. Home isn't home the first time—it demands a return.

"I will. I'll be back before you know it. And I love you too."

Home requires memory.

[obscurebelief]

Mistaken Symptoms (ST Headcanon)

TLDR: Aurie could be mistaken for one of the Flayed due to a mistaken symptom.

Easily Aurelius could have been mistaken for a Flayed during the Starcourt Mall events. His Obscurus under his skin moved in a way that mimicked the Flayed. But he lacked connection besides that. Kind of a downside given the blackened veins are the most obvious next to anything else.

They tend to move around his arms at times, mostly he tries to keep the Obscurus and blackening veins hidden under long sleeves or coats. 

Billy’s arm for reference:

pics used from here because gif doesn’t want to work: credit to phantom-evil

While he likes the cold, he can withstand heat and cold weather like any other person. So basically turn up the heat and well, he’d probably freak out but the Obscurus wouldn’t leave like the Mind Flayer could. And if anything, would attack and kill anyone that harmed it’s host in the room even if Aurie was tied down.

The voice in his head is not to serve or promising power or something. Instead it shows it’s need to protect it’s host and tries everything to keep them alive and happy. It’s protection sometimes comes through with trying to harm or kill those that harm it’s host. So far, Aurelius can control it mostly so it won’t kill random bullies anymore.

When he either overuses his power or is getting sicker than his skin gets paler and the blackening veins are more pronounced and usually in a vast majority of areas on his body while before it is sometimes on his arms. Basically his own parasitic host is slowly killing him from the inside out while trying to protect him. It doesn’t seek out other hosts to infect.

But an easy mistake can be noticed if no other dots are connected. Aurie can accept he can be seen as a sort of Flayed that has no master and isn’t going after anyone. But could anyone believe him? 

Now, is a Mind Flayer or Flayed stronger than Aurie? It depends. If, say, Flayed Billy went after Aurelius who was unarmed and not prepared for a fight, he could easily overpower and probably even kill the guy before the Obscurus could come out. 

Now if Aurelius had been prepared, than maybe the Obscurus could take down a Flayed or even the Mind Flayer if  there was enough time and energy to burn with the host getting exhausted or nearly dying from overuse of power. 

It all depends on who gets the first shot. Take the Obscurus and wand away and Aurelius is a little frail and may not last in a physical fight. 

And given the Mind Flayer had more of a body, either in smoke form or flesh form. Aurelius’ Obscurus has no form, just a mass that is usually very deadly and destructive. It bursts out of the wizard and reforms back into him when done.

Basically if it helps others understand what he is, he usually goes with a Flayed since it seems easier than telling the truth. Or calls himself a Nightwalker or Shade as a D&D analogy. 

[setsailtomorrow]

Hi, I've really appreciated your fic recs and I wonder if you have any for Beyond Evil?

hello anon! this message made my day <3

i've read some good stuff in the beyond evil fandom. all recs here will be of the han juwon/lee dongsik kind.

chokehold by whir, 5k, M

Contrary to what’s known, their story didn’t start in Manyang. It started at the heart of Seoul, two years ago, with a one night stand.

just what the summary says. but some really good instant attraction and great use of the rating. this writer has the top kudos'd work of the fandom and is well worth a click.

The Reverie of Clouds by DachOsmin, 7k, T+

“What’s your name?” Han Juwon asks, not that he really cares what the answer is.

The man’s face does something complicated, spasms with a series of emotions Juwon can’t name. “Lee Dongsik,” he finally says.

---

Han Juwon wakes up in a hospital bed. The last thing he remembers is driving to Manyang for his first day of work.

this one hurt.

splinters by stickypearls, 9k, E

At night she dreams of dying. It is not just a memory: memories fade, the way she is already forgetting her father’s twitching shoulder or the odd twinkle in his eyes whenever she talked back at him. No, it is like she is back there for real, dirt darkening the world, buried alive in her own backyard.

AU where Kang Min-jeong lives.

listen. Kang Min-jeong deserves to be explored as a character.

i'd suffer hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight by ltyrell, 10k, E

A police fundraiser puts Han Juwon and Lee Dongsik in the same room at the same time, before everything.

[or: flirting with that handsome stranger at the bar gets a lot more high stakes once you realize he's the son of your boss, technically]

what it says on the tin. a really good too.

crashing in to something safe by little_roo, 11k, T+

Joo Won catches Min Jung’s elbow to the face and pain erupts in his nose. He is able to straighten the falling trio back up despite the pain but not before Min Jung yells out something intelligible and punches him in the lip. 

“Han Joo Won!” He feels Hyuk wrap an arm around him as more pain starts in his mouth, and he feels the coppery taste of blood. It makes his anxiety flare up and he has to take a deep breath to remind himself that it’s just blood and that it would be okay. He manages to take his handkerchief out from his pocket and presses it on his lip, wincing at the pain.

just a little bit of a misunderstanding, and ust...

Resonant Frequency by RC_McLachlan, 13k, E

Lee Dong-sik is an astonishingly good detective. Correction: was.

Ju-won wrestles with the reminder.

"What was your involvement when you were with the RIU?" Ju-won doesn't remember any of the detectives' names attached to the case notes, let alone if Dong-sik's was on the list, but then he hadn't been looking particularly hard. "I was part of the second team that took a crack at the investigation in 2010." "2009," Ju-won corrects. One side of Dong-sik's mouth pulls up. "Which means you were, what, eight?"

i do love competent Lee Dongsik

Emergency Contact by Magnolia822, 15k, E

After Han Joowon is injured in the line of duty, Lee Dongsik brings him back to Manyang for his convalescence.

He's going to get cared for whether he likes it or not.

oh the carefully pushed down emotions. this fic features having to help with baths. what a set up.

look at the fire and think of me by flumes, 25k, M

The wind must have announced his presence, must have alerted her most loyal guardian, for he hasn’t even lifted his hand to knock when the door swings open and there he stands. Hands in pockets, hip slightly cocked, the waves of jet black hair closer to a more familiar length. But it’s the twinkle in those curving eyes that feels the most surreal, a gut punch into a past that feels a lifetime ago from now, on the porch of Dong-sik’s old family home.

“It’s been a while, Inspector Han.”

Joo-won fights a grimace, looks up. “I need your help.”

my only bookmarked Beyond Evil fic, strange. but it's a very good one. intense.

no lost causes by princesskay, 60k, E 🔒

When a prominent Seoul defense attorney passes away unexpectedly, his fortune and his legacy fall to his only son, Han Joo-won, a recent bar graduate still finding his footing in his father’s firm. Included in the inheritance is a dying Japanese Cherry bonsai tree that once belonged to his mother and bears painful memories of her death years ago. Eager to be rid of the tree, Joo-won meets Lee Dong-sik, the owner of a bonsai nursery in the little village of Manyang, who reportedly takes on "lost cause trees." When Dong-sik insists upon keeping in contact about the survival of the tree, Joo-won warily agrees, not anticipating that the unexpected kindness of the strange but compelling man will change his worldview, his future, and his life.

this is a pretty recent one! a lot of the "big" BE fic were written in 2021, as the series was shown and gathered an audience. this fic is from mid 2023 and it was such a good read. as a plant enjoyer i loved the bonsai as something driving the story. in part.

skin the apple (and leave it to rot) by 64907, 67k, E

Mafia AU. In a bid to prove his worth, Han Joowon goes undercover in a rival clan to assassinate their leader.

no glorifying the mafia. this is dirty this it evil this is corrupt. so a lot of what the actual tv series is as well. the shifting dynamic, power and the tension here is excellent. do click on the author as well, they have some other really good ones as well.

and, i've written it in a few places, but click on the writer if you enjoy the fic. most of the fics i've rec'd here are by prolific writers in the fandom. there's lots to discover!

[obscurebelief]

He was limping in what seemed to be a random direction, constantly looking around but majority of the time looking behind him as if expecting to see something following him.

Closer and closer he came, hearing the other’s voice. And something strange was almost an understatement. Aurelius had blood running down the side of his face, coming from under his hair from the looks of it, only it looked far darker than it should. 

The veins spreading black  from his arms that were shown. Brown eyes looking straight at the other that came out from under the very beautiful Camaro and walked quicker towards the other, finding sudden safety drove him. His blackened veins being more visible the closer his got, and the more they seemed to move like there was something moving through his veins. “H-help me- I swear I won’t hurt you.” He whispered. 

Aurelius probably could have been mistaken for either gender, but his voice was deep, as it was afraid. “Am I back? Is this Hawkins? Please.. please tell me I’m back” He was practically begging on shaking legs that looked ready to give out from under him. It was unknown what other injuries he may have given his dark clothing. 

A stick gripped so tightly in his hand, a wand give or take, that looked like a black railroad nail. 

❛  help  me  —  oh  god  ,  help  me  ,  please  .  ❜

@obscurebelief

Billy heard the commotion from under his Camaro and slid out from underneath. His tank top and jeans had oil stains across them as he’d been changing the oil and fixing up some other small issues. There’s a person not far from him calling for help and they seem a bit.. strange.

“Hey, man, calm down a little. What do you need help with?”

[minisugakoobies]

Hungry (For Your Love) | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Vampire!Reader

Genre: supernatural, slight fluff, strangers to lovers, Vamp!AU

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: swearing, kissing, mentions of blood, mentions of feeding, allusions to slaughter, Namjoon is a big buff cutie pie and honestly almost as deadly as reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Disclaimers: None, other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: After a century of slumber, you wake ravenous for your next meal. The first human you stumble across, Namjoon, is a fine choice. You just weren't expecting him to be so cute.

A/N: This was written for the BTS Writing Cafe's Welcome to Horrorwood event! Happy Halloween, @lokidow-strange-army! Crimson, I had a lot of fun being your ghostly friend. I hope you like this little story I've written for you. 🧛‍♀️

Thanks to @herecomesjoon and @reliablemitten for taking a look at this one! 💜

Part 2 - Fledgling

The first thing you feel upon waking is pain. Decades of slumber have left you stiff as a corpse, which you are, in a manner of speaking. Every muscle, every bone, every joint aches. Slowly, you stir within your coffin, stretching your body awake. 

The second thing you feel is hunger. 

It’s been nearly a century since you gorged yourself on the blood of the innocent, preparing yourself for your torpor. To sleep for such a long time requires a feast, to provide you with enough energy to sustain you for decades. 

But the last of that fête has long since faded, leaving you beyond ravenous. You must feed, and soon. 

Once the feeling returns to your fingers and toes, you rise. The heavy wooden door to your crypt uses up the last vestiges of your ungodly strength as you carefully push it open, peeking to see if it is safe for you to leave. 

The sky above you darkens as night begins to fall. Excellent. Without the sun to stop you, you are free to roam the town in search of food. 

The graveyard where your crypt resides has grown during your rest. To think that there are so many humans lying under your feet as you stagger between the headstones - so many bodies so close to you, and yet completely useless. You need fresh blood. So you push on, reaching the forest at the border of the burial grounds. Or what is left of it, anyway. For while you slept your dreamless sleep, your little town became a bustling metropolis. 

In a slight daze, you wander the paved streets, staring at the tall edifices towering over you like brick and mortar mountains. Automobiles zip past you, their alien forms a barely-recognizable offspring of the vehicles you recall. Despite the fact that your home has become a booming city, there are no humans to be found on the sidewalks. The intense thirst raging inside you makes you desperate. Another block away sits a small house on the corner of the road. Moving swiftly, you climb the steps to the front door, and knock.

This should be easy. No matter who answers the door, you’ll simply hypnotize them into letting you in, then take your fill. With your considerable charm and your incredible speed, you’ll be sinking your fangs into your meal in no time. 

And yet, when the door opens, you find yourself frozen, staring at the human who answers. He’s tall, with dark hair that brushes the edge of his broad shoulders. The fashion of the time is much less formal that you are used to - he appears to be wearing a simple undershirt made of cotton and what looks like denim pants, like those you’ve seen on railway workers or cowboys, and the clothing appears to be melted onto his frame, tight enough to reveal the bulging muscles beneath. Hooded dragon eyes sweep over you as you gaze at him, and plush lips open in surprise.

“Oh! Are you here for the party? Um, you’re a little early.” He lifts an arm, the thin material of his shirt straining to contain his biceps, to glance at a wristwatch. “Jin probably forgot to tell you we changed the time, didn’t he? He’s a great roommate, but he can be a little absentminded sometimes.” 

The wind stirs, and you catch his scent. He smells absolutely delicious. Inhaling deeply, your head spins, saliva flooding your mouth. You long to taste him, but until he invites you in, you can’t touch him.

He gives you another appraising look, taking in your appearance. The ankle-length black flapper-like gown you slept in hugs you tightly, cap sleeves and sweetheart bodice revealing smooth skin and ample curves that catch his eye. Your lips are stained crimson from centuries of feeding. There’s a golden tint to your iris that shimmers as you meet his gaze. 

You can hear the blood rushing to his face as he flushes.

“What are you supposed to be, a vampire?” 

His question shocks you, and you answer without thinking. “Yes, I am.” How can he tell? 

“Great costume. Love the contacts, they really make you look otherworldly.” He blushes harder, not noticing your confusion at his words, although you gather from ‘costume’ that he does not know your true nature. “I gotta put my costume on soon, but I’m just finishing up a few things first. Jin had to run to the store, but you’re welcome to hang out here with me until the party starts.” Raising his arm again, he gestures for you to come inside. 

The unseen barrier preventing you from entering his home dissipates and you step forward. His musk hits you again as you brush past him. Delectable. You’re going to enjoy every moment of this. 

Turning, you ready yourself to attack, only to be greeted with a blinding smile and two very deep dimples. The roaring beast inside you is instantly quelled by the sight. He’s absolutely beautiful. And rather big. When did humans get so… thick? 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. But I haven’t met a lot of Jin’s coworkers. What’s your name?” 

You murmur your name and he repeats it in his low timbre. “That’s lovely. Kinda old fashioned.” 

With a coy smile, you nod. 

“And I’m Namjoon. Um, but you probably knew that.” Namjoon runs his fingers through his shaggy locks, grinning at you shyly. You could eat that smile off his face. Maybe you will. “My friends call me Joon, though.” 

“Joon,” you whisper, the slightest touch of enchantment drifting into your tone, and you nearly laugh at the blissful expression that steals over him for a few seconds, before the mesmer wears off. Oh, you could have such fun with this one. “Thank you for inviting me in.” 

“O-of course.” He huffs a breath, trying to steady himself. Again, you hear his blood thrumming, and your fangs begin to slip forth as you imagine the first splash hitting your tongue. 

An incredibly jarring buzzing rattles through the room, and Namjoon startles. “Oh shit, the cookies!” And he runs from the room. Curious, you follow him into what appears to be a kitchen. Although there are many foreign objects in the room, modern wonders that you’ll have to learn at some point, you easily identify the oven, observing as he produces a tray of baked goods from its heated belly. 

“What do you think? Cute, huh?” He beams as he holds the tray out for your inspection. The cookies are in the shape of little gourds, covered in tiny orange nonpareils. Pumpkins, you remember. They’re called pumpkins. “I just need to let them cool and then I’ll add their faces. Like these!” 

He places the tray on the table behind him and grabs a plate full of more pumpkins, these with garish green eyes and mouths drawn on in thick frosting. As he tips the plate towards you, he loses his grip, eyes widening as the plate tumbles and the cookies begin to plummet one by one to the ground. 

With a burst of inhuman speed, you easily snatch the plate from midair, catching each of the falling cookies before setting it back on the table. All within a blink of Namjoon’s wide eyes.

“Whoa! How - how did you do that?” 

“Good reflexes,” you purr, one shoulder lightly lifting in a shrug. 

He shakes his head. “That was like some Twilight shit. You’re really committed to your costume, huh?” Again he laughs while you pretend to understand his meaning. You’ve got quite a lot to catch up on. 

But that’s not important right now. What is important is the sweet nectar rushing just below the surface of that supple skin. You swear it’s getting louder and louder.

“I’ve got one more tray to go in while I wait for these to cool - oh, shit, I’m sorry, do you want a drink? I’m such a bad host.” He gestures to a counter where dozens of bottles of various libations stand. “Jin had to go get some ice, but I think we have a little in the freezer if you want a mixed drink. Or we also have soju, beer, or wine?”

“I would love a drink,” you inform him, lips quirking in a secretive smile as you eye his neck. His pulse point seems to thump under your gaze. 

“What’s your poison?” 

Humans. Weak, stupid, vile little humans. That’s what you prefer to slake your thirst. It’s not that you always hated them. You were once one of them. But that was eons ago. Over the millennia, you’d grown tired of their foolish ways. That was why you’d chosen to slumber for so long, in the hopes of waking to find a new age filled with more enlightened beings instead of the senseless masses hellbent on driving the world to ruin with their greed and hatred.

Caught up in your thoughts, it takes you a minute to realize that Namjoon is waiting for your response. His warm smile is so endearing. And he seems so kind. Maybe you’ve awoken at the right time? “Wine, please.” 

“Red or white?” 

“Red. Such a beautiful color,” you sigh.

The vintage he pours you is sweet, if a bit cloying. Still, the scarlet liquid momentarily quenches you as you take a seat on the kitchen stool he pulls out for you. The sugar provides a much-needed surge of energy. 

You’re still planning on draining him dry, but… perhaps it wouldn’t be so awful to talk to him a little first. Maybe try to find out more about this new world before you attempt to traverse it. 

Also, he’s incredibly handsome, so why not enjoy the view a bit longer?

Once he determines that you’re settled, Namjoon turns his attention to the pile of dirty dishes in his sink. “Like I said, I haven’t met too many of Jin’s coworkers. Are you also in mergers and acquisitions?” 

“Yes, I am.” It’s always best to go along with whatever your victims believe. Makes for fewer questions. 

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Wait, you’re not the one they call ‘the Shark,’ are you? He told me that’s someone’s nickname, someone with a knack for using a company’s weaknesses against them. You know, like a shark sniffing out blood.” 

You nearly choke on your wine but manage to swallow it down smoothly. “Yes, that’s me. You could say I have an… instinct for that type of thing.” 

Namjoon raises an eyebrow as a faint smirk crosses his face. “Then I guess I’ll have to be on my guard around you.” 

If only he knew. “What about you, Joon? What do you do?”

Drying his hands, he returns to the cookies. “Perfect, they’re cool enough that the frosting won’t melt. Um, I’m an historian for a local art conservancy.”

“Oh really? That sounds fascinating.” 

He laughs, head bent over the pumpkin he’s decorating. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend. I know it doesn’t sound very interesting. Most peoples’ eyes tend to glaze over when I tell them what I do.” 

“I am not most people, Joon.” 

The regal tone in your voice makes him look up. He’s silent for a moment as he gazes at you before he returns to his work. “No, I would say you’re not,” he murmurs under his breath, an aside that your keen ears catch. 

Now that your wine glass is empty, you feel the stirrings of your hunger starting to grow again. It sharpens your tongue. “I have no patience for useless conversation, so believe me when I say that I’m interested. What drew you to your work?” 

Those dragon eyes observe you closely again. “Do you really want to know?”

“Did I not say to believe me?” 

Namjoon’s cheeks flame briefly. Oh, how his blood sings. “I’ve always had a love for art and history, and this combines the two. But to be completely honest… to me, these ancient artifacts are the voices of those who came before us. The least we can do is preserve them, so future generations can listen.” He keeps his head ducked, chuckling at himself. “That probably sounds incredibly lame, right?” 

“Not at all.” A human after your own unbeating heart. How marvelous. “I understand exactly what you mean. It’s important to listen to the past so we can learn from it. Or so I’ve always believed.” 

“Exactly.” Relief washes over his face. He finishes the last of his cookies, sliding the plate towards you. “I just realized I haven’t even offered you a cookie yet. Would you like one?” 

Human food is largely unappealing to you. And you can’t say you find the bright orange and green coloring very appetizing. The obnoxious timer buzzes again, alerting Namjoon that the last batch of cookies are done, and as he strolls past you to the oven, his scent shrouds you like a heavenly cloud, wrapping your mind in a complete haze. 

With his back to you, he can’t see the way your eyes glow, golden irises expanding until no white remains. He doesn’t note how your canines lengthen, slipping past your lips. No one bears witness to the way you quiver as that intoxicating smell hits your nostrils again. He’s going to taste so sweet, you just know it. 

“All right, just need to let these cool and I’m done! Thanks for keeping me company. I hope I haven’t been boring you.” 

You merely hum, lost in the rapture of his mouthwatering aroma. Finally, you can’t take it anymore, overwhelmed by the consuming need to plunge your fangs deep into his veins and suck out the lifeforce pulsing inside, and you creep up behind him, hands curling into talons, ready to grab and bite, when he suddenly yelps.

“Ah, hot! Shit!” 

Having grabbed the still hot tray without an oven mitt, he quickly retracts his burnt hand, whirling around, and his flailing limb smacks into you. Temporarily stunned, weakened after so long without feeding, you immediately drop towards the ground, only to find yourself hovering inches above the tiles, caught in Namjoon’s strong arms. 

Namjoon looks almost as surprised as you are to find himself in this position. To anyone else looking in, the two of you would appear to be locked in a lover’s embrace. 

Maybe it’s the pose. Maybe it’s the way he gazes at you, eyes filled with a desire that matches the hunger roiling within you. Maybe it’s the thirst driving you mad, but as you stare up at him, you think, what a divine creature he is, and resolve in that moment to let him live. 

And maybe keep him. 

“I’m sorry,” he rumbles. The hand on your back shifts, warmth spreading across your chilled skin as he slowly brings you back to your feet. His other hand cups the nape of your neck and stays there, even once you’re standing on your own. “I’m just a big clumsy oaf sometimes.” 

“I think you’re lovely,” you declare, choosing honesty over bewitchment, pleased when it has the same result. His mouth gapes slightly, eyebrows disappearing under his bangs, before a soft smile settles over his features. 

There’s no mistaking the way his eyes keep dropping to your lips, even before he begins to whisper, “Can I kiss you?” 

You give the briefest of nods before his mouth meets yours. At first, his lips move lightly, treating you as if you’re delicate. That won’t do at all, so you lean into him, threading your fingers through his silky hair to urge him closer. Flicking your tongue across the seam of his mouth, you grin as he groans, and slip into the opening his reaction provides. There’s an undercurrent of something in his kiss, something wild and untamed churning just under the surface, yearning to break free. It calls to you as forcefully as his blood does. 

You’re definitely keeping this one.

His face is red as he pulls away, a slight pant to his breathing. “That was nice. I, uh, don’t usually kiss someone I’ve just met like that.” 

That shaky sentence tells you that he feels the same strange connection you do. With cool fingers, you tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m pleased you made an exception for me.” 

With that kiss, you decide on a change of plans. Tonight, you’ll stay for the party. Pick a random guest, sneak them away and drink your fill, and then return to this curious little human’s side. There’s so much you’ve yet to learn about him. 

Thank the old gods you have an eternity to do it. 

Please don't be a silent reader! 🥺 I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 🎃 Find me on AO3 🎃 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist 1: @babycoffeefire; @parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; ​​@taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @astronaut-jin-moon; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse; @pleaseshutupsara; @guvgguk; @goodgollyitslolly; @laylasbunbunny; @goldensugarywaffles; @jadda98; @lovelye79; @moonacholy;

If your URL is italicized, tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

[journalofimprobablethings]

A snippet from a very self-indulgent Somewhere Else coffee shop AU that popped into my head this week (I'm hoping to have it finished in full soon..? if my writing brain cooperates):

--

The first time they come in, they're just another customer.

A very attractive customer, truth be told. They have long black hair threaded with silver, pulled back into a neat braid, and a thin face with a prominent nose that your mother would call "beaky" but you think is very elegant. Their scuffed dark denim jacket is covered in enamel pins, including several pride pins and one shaped like a Highland cow that you covet immediately. A small emerald stud glints in one ear to round out their look. You sternly tell yourself not to stare, and focus on the woman in front of you giving a complicated latte order.

And that's all they would have been—just an attractive customer—if it weren't for what happens when they reach the counter.

You smile at them as they step up. "Hi, what can I get started for you?" 

They look up at you with wide eyes, and at first you think you've just caught them off guard, but their expression when they look at you is—

"Deer in the headlights" is the cliche that jumps immediately to mind, if the deer's face could also convey a mix of horror and sadness and strange joy so strong that it seems the stranger stops breathing entirely. It's so unexpected that you in turn are caught in their gaze, and for a moment you are both just frozen there, staring at each other.

(Some rear part of your brain notes with surprise that their eyes are brown. You don't know why, but for some reason you expected them to be green.)

It's about at that point that you realize you've spent rather longer than is strictly polite staring into this stranger's eyes.

"Sorry, I—are you all right?"

The question seems to shake them out of their reverie, and they blink, their cheeks darkening with embarrassment.

 "I'm—yes—I-I-I'm sorry, I—um—just an earl grey tea, please."

You nod, grateful to have a script to fall back on, something to ground you in the strangeness of this encounter.

"Sure thing. Can I get a name for the order?"

They suck in a sharp breath, as though the question pains them. 

"Jon," they say. "It's—it's Jon."

"Nice to meet you, Jon," you almost say, as a joke to lighten the atmosphere—but something tells you you're better off biting your tongue, and you finish the transaction in silence. Jon seems grateful not to have to talk, giving only a nod of thanks before moving away.

You can't help but watch them go, wondering what it was they saw in your face that made them look like that—wondering why watching them walk away makes you feel so inexplicably sad.

They hover near the end of the counter as you take the next order, and it seems like their making a conscious effort to look anywhere but back at you.

There's a lull after you take the next few orders, so you go ahead and make their tea for them to take your mind off things. Four minutes' steep for the earl grey, and when it's done, you add a splash of cream and a spoonful of honey without thinking before putting on a lid to bring it over. 

It's not until you go to hand it over to them and see them staring at you that you realize what you've done.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry," you say. "We usually never put anything in unless you ask, I don't know why I—I can make you another if you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'm so sorry—"

But they've already taken the cup from you as you're babbling.

"No, it—it's no trouble." They take a sip, and for a moment it looks like there are tears in their eyes. But then they smile, a small smile that softens all the hard angles of their face in a lovely way that definitely doesn't set your heart fluttering in your chest. "It's perfect. Thank you, Martin."

"O-of course," you say, and you're about to ask how they know your name until you remember that name tags exist.

There's still something sad about their smile, and even as you watch it wobbles, replaced by an expression of such grief that it hurts to look at. You almost ask what's wrong, but then you are called back to the register, and by the time you are finished and turn back to look for them, Jon is gone.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't spend the rest of the shift thinking about them. Wondering what it was about a cup of earl grey that brought tears to their eyes. 

It's not until you go to the back to gather your things and go home that you notice your name tag sitting at the bottom of your locker, where it must have fallen off your apron. 

You haven't been wearing it all day.

-- Part 2 | Part 3

[akinmablog]

Thank you for tagging me @graygiantess

This looks so much fun. Also, I must know what was in the box.

Anyway!

┈┈·✦·┈┈

File names

The Fledgling ch 22 (Devil's Minion, IWTV)

Priest AU Continued (Devil's Minion, IWTV)

One Big Happy Murder Family AU (Hannigram, Hannibal)

His Name Was Edward (Jekyllstein, Penny Dreadful)

Stalker-Murderer AU (Devil's Minion, IWTV

┈┈·✦·┈┈

Snippet from Stalker-Murderer AU (Because I started writing that one today):

There is a man in his house.

He’s sitting on the couch with one arm thrown over the back and his foot resting on his opposite knee. His cold eyes flicker to Daniel as soon as he steps into view and a slow smile crosses his face as he stares into his wide, unbelieving gaze.

“Hello, Daniel,” The man says, far too familiar for strangers. His voice is light with an unexpected warmth, and an accent that Daniel cannot place in his surprise, or perhaps one that is too mixed to unravel.

“Who – What – How –,” Daniel makes for the door, but stops when the man raises the hand hidden behind the back of the couch, a light catching on the silver edge of his knife.

“Don’t,” The man commands simply, his once warm voice suddenly cold and bitter, like frost enveloped his vocal cords.

Daniel stills.

The man’s smile returns, but he keeps his weapon in view. Tilting his head to the side, the man’s eyes move over Daniel’s body slowly, taking in every inch of him with a strange burning hidden in his stare. He stands easily, his tall frame unexpected, before crossing the room and stopping merely inches from Daniel. The knife is still in his hand.

Daniel’s breath catches, the base of his throat growing tight, as the man leans forward. He stifles his urge to speak, to beg, as the man’s head goes to the side of his neck but jumps in surprise when soft lips brush against the sensitive skin below his ear. Daniel watches as the man steps away again, an all too pleased smile pulling at his lips like some kind of murderous Cheshire Cat.

“What the hell?” Daniel asks before he can stop himself.

“You are much more eloquent in your articles,” The man says over his shoulder as he walks across the room again and sits down on the couch, patting the spot next to him like he expects Daniel to join him.

“What the hell?” Daniel repeats, his voice growing louder and angrier as he continues to watch the unusual man sitting in his living room – breaking into his home – like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do on a Friday evening.

The man laughs, the sound like gentle windchimes, before tossing the knife onto the table in front of him and leaning back into the couch, his lean body slouching as he laid his head to the side, looking up at Daniel hopefully, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He traces the cushion next to him with his fingertips, his eyes darkening as whatever it is he’s thinking about seems to overwhelm his thoughts.

“Who the hell are you?” Daniel demands, keeping his back to the wall as his eyes flicker to where the knife lay, still in reach.

“You know who I am,” The man says with a smile that brightens his features and turns his face almost angelic. “You’ve written about me enough,” He says, shrugging.

“What are you –,” Daniel stops. He blinks. His shoulders fall.

Daniel was writing a serial about a string of murders that had occurred over the last eight months. Each victim was abducted and, two weeks later, was found dumped in a nearby pile of trash, signs of experimentation covering their lifeless bodies. Tabloids call him The Scientist, but Daniel just calls him a psycho.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Daniel mumbles, running his shaking hand over his face before letting his head drop back against the wall. His agents always told him his writing was going to get him killed one day. He was never very good at taking their advice.

“You have a dirty mouth, Daniel,”

┈┈·✦·┈┈

I'm just gonna cheat and do an open tag thing because I think everyone I know has already been tagged so if you see this, and want to take part, please feel free to.

WIP Wednesday Game

Thanks for the tag @showmey0urfangs!

Rules:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

┈┈·✦·┈┈

File names (All these are for IWTV):

One Hour 👮‍♂️😈🥵

WLIH ch14 💅🐕☕

Home for Christmas 🎄❤💏

Snack 🎄👪🎁

Nickistat 🍷💏🥵

┈┈·✦·┈┈

Snippet from Snack (WIP for the Eternal Yuletide Christmas bingo, prompt 'family time'):

Rue Royale, Christmas Eve 1918

“Claudia, come have a look.”

Daddy Lou is in the courtyard and he’s got a big box. He’s gesturing for her to come outside, looking around with a twinkle in his eye, like he’s got a secret to share.

It’s Christmas Eve and Claudia has already changed into her new dress. Uncle Les bought it for her and it’s perfect. It’s cream-colored with gold trim and matching gold slippers, and he said it makes her look like a little cherub of death, which made her feel real special.

Uncle Les understands her in ways Daddy Lou doesn’t.

Uncle Les also said not to get the dress dirty and it rained earlier so maybe she shouldn’t go outside. She doesn’t want to get him grumpy, not at Christmas.

But she really wants to see what’s in the box.

Daddy Lou gestures again and she runs outside, laughing, careful not to step on the soggy grass.

“What it it?” she asks before she even reaches him. The box looks like a present – shiny green paper with a fancy yellow bow on top.

“I’ll show you. C’mere.”

Daddy Lou rests the box against his hip so he has one hand free and takes off the lid.

Claudia peeks inside and squeals. "[REDACTED]?!"

┈┈·✦·┈┈

And that's where I'll leave it for now. 😈

┈┈·✦·┈┈

Tagging (no pressure!) @bandedbulbussnarfblat @akinmablog @allegra-writes @saintrayne @faerywhimsy