#demons n detectives au

[impcarcass]

Long time no see, fellas. All I got is a sketch. As you can see, moon is very upset about his bald ass head.

[aureatchi]

ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about. 

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up. 

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you. 

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!” 

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence. 

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.” 

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.” 

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud. 

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.” 

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement. 

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.” 

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right. 

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed. 

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile. 

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps. 

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.” 

“Pardon me, Fyodor?” 

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position. 

It was just meant to be, you guessed. 

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence. 

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested. 

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now. 

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint. 

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both. 

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too. 

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works. 

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?” 

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.” 

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation. 

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied. 

“Even worse! You better not fall off!” 

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening. 

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made. 

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness. 

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.” 

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror. 

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular. 

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room. 

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design. 

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said. 

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.” 

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others. 

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods. 

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics. 

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you. 

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said. 

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile. 

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!” 

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks. 

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.” 

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…” 

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters. 

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after. 

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed. 

“…Yes, my lady.” 

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing. 

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again. 

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.” 

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man. 

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake. 

Oh shit! 

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank. 

Am I really going to do this? 

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began. 

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in. 

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. 

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature. 

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you. 

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return. 

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue. 

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly. 

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared. 

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.” 

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.” 

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?” 

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry. 

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up. 

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!” 

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside. 

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting. 

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?” 

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself. 

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs. 

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.) 

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves. 

There is no way. 

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room. 

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask. 

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd. 

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!” 

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else. 

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.” 

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading. 

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away. 

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white. 

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him. 

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed. 

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him? 

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions. 

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters. 

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them. 

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear. 

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all. 

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face. 

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you. 

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach. 

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago? 

He was the artist you admired all along? 

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words. 

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked. 

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not. 

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.” 

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.” 

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.” 

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you. 

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words. 

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough? 

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?” 

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face. 

“Excuse me?” 

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you. 

“I’m flattered.” 

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own. 

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat. 

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project. 

“What about you, my lord?” 

There was a pause; he was thinking. 

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?” 

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you. 

What a juxtaposition. 

“What did you say?” 

“Did you not hear me?” 

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.” 

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?” 

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you. 

“Lord Dazai?” 

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where. 

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.” 

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.” 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.” 

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine. 

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended. 

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!” 

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared. 

“Keyword: nearly!” 

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them. 

“Ow!” 

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn. 

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin. 

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot. 

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin. 

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot. 

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted. 

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.” 

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor. 

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere. 

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly. 

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.” 

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what. 

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore. 

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit. 

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge. 

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided. 

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned. 

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.” 

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.” 

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed. 

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer. 

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist. 

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?” 

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy. 

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration. 

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you. 

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you. 

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night. 

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.” 

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal. 

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.” 

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!” 

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.” 

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake. 

“Exactly! You remember!” 

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?” 

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself. 

“You’re too beautiful to not.” 

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.” 

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room. 

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.” 

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors. 

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.” 

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas. 

It was unheard of. 

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again. 

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you. 

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked. 

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay. 

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.” 

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?” 

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was. 

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope. 

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.” 

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed. 

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it. 

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out. 

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm. 

“There you are! Let’s go!” 

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away. 

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?” 

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away. 

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?” 

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.” 

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.” 

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.” 

“Intentions? For what?” 

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…” 

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside. 

“...I carve marble, not paint.” 

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.” 

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice. 

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care. 

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-” 

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you. 

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.” 

The three of you waited. 

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.” 

He thought for another moment. 

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.” 

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night. 

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door. 

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?” 

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.” 

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys. 

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!” 

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.” 

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys. 

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.” 

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside. 

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face. 

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased. 

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.” 

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!” 

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day. 

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.” 

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.” 

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.” 

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.” 

Dance. 

Deceit.

Dreams. 

Only a few you had discovered so far. 

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land. 

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise. 

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours. 

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again. 

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked. 

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you? 

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!” 

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative. 

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…” 

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?” 

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.” 

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!” 

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?” 

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.” 

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?” 

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin. 

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.” 

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?” 

“Rome.” 

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.” 

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state. 

As if you did not already. 

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again. 

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?” 

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway. 

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face. 

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night. 

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again. 

“I pinkie promise,” he said. 

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing. 

“Your name?” he asked. 

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter. 

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—” 

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless. 

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.” 

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.” 

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated line divider by cafekitsune. header + series dividers mine; DO NOT SAVE.

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Dead Boy Detectives: Fic Recs

My latest hyperfixation is Dead Boy Detectives, so oc I've been reading and commenting on a ton of fic. And it's been really nice because the response of the authors has been so warm. I don't think I've ever gotten so many replies so quickly! Also, the fandom has inspired me to actually start writing again for the first time in two years and I've got a great idea for a fanvid. (Any tips on how to make one would be appreciated! 😅)

So in tribute to the lovely fandom, here's a fic rec post (nearly all payneland):

in this city there's a thousand things I want to say to you by laiqualaurelote

Edwin has a sexual awakening and it blows Charles' mind. And other things. Very funny and well written. Also features minor Edwin/Cat King and Edwardian flirting.

I also highly recommend the saviour of the broken, the beaten, and the damned by the same author, which is a kind of multiverse!Edwin fic? Featuring Edwin dying? And Niko time travelling? Trying to save time? Anyway, interesting to see Edwin alive, ageing and in different periods of time/his life.

For the First Time Twice by LikeMmmCookies

Amnesia fic! Charles loses his memories and thinks he and Edwin are married. Very cute (tandem bike date!) and well written, though Edwin's point of view still manages to be angsty. Also, the yearning is off the charts and the most recent chapter turned up the heat.

I guess you're stuck with me by Punny_Puck

AU in which Edwin and Charles actually got married pre-show. Funny, cute with a sweet marriage proposal prequel. Instant comfort fic.

Dance the Night by Gruoch

The gang are hunting an energy-sucking vampire that targets beautiful people, so naturally Edwin MUST disguise himself as the hottest girl in London. This one starts out fun and campy then takes a hard left turn into Serious Business. Prepare yourself for emotional moments, worldbuilding and some really excellent horror.

Long Past Time by sanctuary_for_all

Charles proposes to Edwin post canon. It's a short and sweet established relationship fic with some cool worldbuilding about ghosts and their ability to shape their clothing/appearances.

lay my hands on heaven by Opossum_Subatomic

I had to include a PWP and this is a great one. Extremely well written, in character and romantic. And explicit, obviously.

Data Points by Asidian

Edwin learns to cuddle. It's a production and completely adorable. I love a fic that explores the difference between the boys' physicality and this one's really on point. The writing and characterisation are great and it's nice to see Edwin taking care of Charles.

I also recommend Lanterns In the Dark, which sets the scene for Charles and Edwin's first meeting with some gut-wrenching details about Charles' homelife and Edwin's escape from Hell.

When I Was a Young Boy by flowerbritts

A Good Omens crossover and AU in which Aziraphale is Edwin's adopted father. Family reunions and revelations abound. Also, Edwin gets to be a teenager and slam doors while shouting, as he deserves.

The author has also written Wait, I'm Coming Too, which is a very sweet post canon 'Charles Worries About Edwin and Realises His Feelings' fic inspired by that 'Edwin reading Heartstopper' fanart. Both fics deserve more love!

A Slight Miscalculation by kantigone

Idiots in Love and Didn't Know They Were Dating. Crystal and Niko are the real MVPs, for real. A treat.

Terrible at Keeping Secrets (5+1) by ASingularSadSoggyPringle

Interesting demon!Edwin AU. Charles is a precious cupcake in this fic and Edwin is mostly the same with some Darker moments. I loved the concept and the author adds in some great, creepy details.

somaesthesia by perexcri

Edwin's journey from being touch-averse to touch-starved... at least when it comes to Charles. Palmistry is involved. I loved Edwin's characterisation and the unresolved sexual/romantic tension was on point.

And possibly I like the thrill (of under me you quite so new) by Leandra

Edwin explores his sexuality and re-negotiates his relationship with Charles. Meanwhile, the gang take on the case of a ghost who wants them to matchmake his still-living lover. Crosses over with The Sandman. And Edwin gets to be confident and flirty as a treat.

Always by How You Doing (FancyMeetingYouHere)

Hurt/Comfort fic in which Edwin has a traumatic flashback to the doll-head demon spider and Charles looks after him. Charles reading Good Omens to Edwin is a nice, meta touch.

Made You Look by Baby_Spinach

The agency are hunting an incubus that decides to take on Edwin's appearance. A repression explosion ensues. Fun fic.

Shape Me by dearheartdont

This one's actually a character study of Charles and his mixed race Indian heritage (so no Edwin) and it's so well done. It's also part of a series in progress about Charles growing up in the 80s with all the racism and homophobia that that entails. I look forward to seeing where it goes.

The Most Tender Place In My Heart by coloursflyaway

Edwin shares memories of how he fell in love with Charles, who figures out his own feelings in the process. It's super sweet and involves fun pre-show flashbacks and defintely deserves more attention!

I also loved Won't Fear Love by the same author, in which Charles takes Edwin out on dates and breaks the cuteness scales. And shout out to Good Enough which is the first fic I bookmarked for this fandom! 🥳

Anyway, thank you to all these amazing writers for making this fandom so special! 🥰

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: In the spirit of Christmas hehe

Masterlist, Prologue

He didn’t believe that you were gone no matter what anyone said.

Everyone was saying the same thing. You were gone and there was nothing anyone could do to bring you back. However, Min Yoongi didn’t like their answer and anyone who said that you had already passed on from this earth was met with his wrath that was communicated through his fists and weapons. No one could even tell him that he now couldn’t physically follow where you were. In his twisted mind, he thought that he could follow you because you never left this earth. Of course, he could follow. You did promise, after all, that you would never go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking follow. His angel would never lie to him, he thought. But your absence was saying otherwise. Your absence was too loud.

The days following the moment he opened his eyes and learned of your demise were bloody and dark. Everyone was on edge, and the traitors went to hell here on earth. They did wish they had died instead, but death was never quick when it came to them, nor was it painless. Min Yoongi made sure that they felt every ounce of pain he felt when you were taken away from him. His brothers could not even reason with the man. They didn’t know how to handle this Min Yoongi. It was as though he died there with you, and what was left of him was only his darkness. Agustd was already ruthless, but now he was just outright cruel, burning everything and everyone that crossed his path.

No one could even say their piece to him-well, all except Kim Seokjin. Despite Jin choosing the less violent life and despite him spending his days treating people in the hospital, no one could deny the power he naturally excluded. It was the power that was inherent to him when he was unfortunate enough to be born to a father that was the previous mafia king. Kim Seokjin may possessed the face of an angel, but he was the most dangerous of them all. It was just that he had a patience of a saint, and everyone fret the day someone snapped his patience. He was a dangerous, eccentric man. And he was a ticking time bomb in comparison to Taehyung who just kept on exploding without an end in sight. Min Yoongi, though, was known to be a reasonable man, his calm nature was never broken. It took losing you to break the calmness in him. The days after he woke up, he was seen back where he was the happiest. Day after day, Yoongi could be found there, leaning against the tree with cigarette in between his lips as he looked at the ruins of your house. The fire took everything from him. It was angry as it smoldered what once was his latibule to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Yoongi thought that the world was simply too cruel to him to strip away the only place he had of you. He couldn’t even smell you anymore, couldn’t even go to the place that was full of your presence.

How cruel was it to have you once and never again? How cruel was it for him to finally have found the warmth, to finally have basked in it for a moment too short, only for him to live in a winter forever after you? He would never admit to anyone that each time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was the moment you fell as the bullet pierced your skin. So, he had not been sleeping well. If you were here, he thought, you would chase away all the demons in his head. If you were here, you would put your arms around him, rub your hands on his shoulder in a soothing way only you knew how, and you would silently tell him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. Yoongi couldn’t do anything. All he did was to go to the place where he found and lost you.

He was always there, Jimin noted. He made this place your temple, mural and shrine. However, never once did he visit where you were finally laid to rest. Never once did he even acknowledge your death. It was like not seeing it would make your death untrue. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the man could be found there as though he was waiting on a miracle, as though if he waited long enough then you would return, as though if he stayed long enough, you would walk back and smile at him, all while calling him a fool for looking too sad.

But you never did.  

And after a whole year, Min Yoongi never uttered your name again.

---

“Y-you’re supposed to be the good one! W-what is the Chief of Police doing here?!”

Yoongi watched in boredom as Jungkook pushed a man to kneel in front of him. The warehouse was quiet, well, save for the screaming of the traitors. The other brothers were busy with torturing the remaining traitors they kept alive. And today, he was faced with the last remaining traitor they had yet to kill. See, this asshole was so below the rank that he didn’t know that the Chief of Police was also the same Agustd, the leader of the mafia.

He was nothing, Yoongi thought. And yet, he was the one who blew up your house. He could almost laugh if he still knew how.  “T-the public will know! I’ll tell them that you’re the d-devil!”

Yoongi blew the smoke on his face emotionlessly, a strand of his dark hair falling on his face. “You’re not an intelligent man, are you?” he asked evenly before pulling the cigarette in between his lips and onto the idiot’s eyelid. He heeded his screams no mind as he removed his jacket with his badge on it. Someone from his right stepped in to carefully fold his jacket. Yoongi folded his sleeves to his elbows and without any warning, punched the man on his face.

The man proved to be an even greater fool as he laughed in false bravado, blood a stark contrast against his crooked teeth, “Is that all you can do? You don’t have it in you to kill. You’re a civil servant!”

“Is that so?” he asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a knife, putting it up over the light to inspect it before turning to the buffoon. “Which hand burned the house?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook and the latter manhandled the man near the table, flatting both his hand on it. “Which hand should I cut?” He walked nearer to them as though he had all the time in the world. “This one,” he stabbed the table, missing the man’s hand by a centimeter. “Or this one?” he repeated the action for the right hand, except that this time he intentionally stabbed the knife through his thumb, severely cutting it. “Oh no,” he said in a deadpanned voice before looking directly at him. “Guess my aim got bad.”

“W-who are y-you?!”

He smiled at him; his eyes remained emotionless. “Hi, I’m Agustd. Nice to meet you. So which hand?”

“N-No! No, please! I’ll give you what you want-“

Yoongi sighed, already losing his patience. “You do have to choose. We won’t stop until you only have one hand. Or do you want me to choose?”

“L-lef-“

Before the traitor could even finish sputtering what Yoongi deemed was bullshit, he buried the hilt of the knife into his hand. He didn’t even blink when he felt resistance from his bones, Yoongi merely kept on pushing, uncaring of the wailing man. He never stopped until he the knife finally touched the surface of the table.

And after that, he stabbed his hand again. He never ceased, not until the hand was completely mutilated. He never stopped, not even when the blood kept sputtering on his face from the man’s open wound, a stark contrast on his pale white complexion. He never stopped even when the man lost consciousness.

“He’s going to die, Yoongi,” Seokjin noted lightly from his seat. From outside looking in, he looked like a perfect image of peace, yet the hold he had on his phone was a telltale sign that he was far from pleased. He was not even phased by the violence around him, his focus merely on the whereabouts of his runaway sunshine. “I do not have the patience required to revive a dying man tonight.”

Yoongi paused, leering at the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness, before heeding his hyung’s statement. He did not want to test Jin’s patience tonight when it was apparent that he was barely holding on to his control.

He didn’t want to kill this man tonight. No. He planned on keeping him alive for years and years to come. He planned to give him hope, only for him to squash it away like he did his. As long as Yoongi shall live, then he shall suffer with him. As long as he was living in this fucked-up nightmare where you weren’t by his side, then so should he lived his very own crafted nightmare.

If he wasn’t happy, then why should anyone be?

---

“That phone looks like it wants to rest,” Jimin observed lightly as he and his hyung visited another crime scene that was definitely not because of them. It was three hours away from Seoul, the travel time giving him headache, similar to what Jimin was giving him. He watched as Yoongi ended the call before glaring at him.

“What about my phone, Jimin?”

“It looks like it wants to retire. Please, for the love of all that’s good, let me buy you a phone.”

“No.” It was the only thing he had of you.

“Whyyyyy do you love that phone so much, hyung? Our enemies would think our business is not doing good that you cannot even buy yourself a phone!”

Yoongi just shrugged his broad shoulders before walking out of the police line and through the busy market. He nodded at the policemen as they acknowledged him. His watchful eyes observed the chipper attitude of the marketgoers, chatting among themselves. He wondered how people could wake up this early and yet looked so alive. He hadn’t felt alive since that night. However, he thought that had you been here, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He would wake up at an ungodly hour for you.

He could hear Jimin chatter beside him as they navigated their way out of the busy street when it happened. Until it all turned into a white noise when it happened.

When he saw you.

He halted his brisk walk, his eyes following as you walked away yet again from him.

 For a brief moment, he believed your eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt his heart beat again. Yet, your eyes seemed to hold no recognition for him as it only passed through him. You didn’t even stop. It was as though he was merely a stranger.

On the other hand, he thought that you looked different, but he knew in his dead heart that it was you.

Or was it his mind finally crumbling on him, reveling on his insanity?

He blinked once and you were gone.

Jimin, suffice to say, was shocked as his hyung ran back. He never saw him moved that fast, uncaring of the people who he would runover from his haste. His dark coat trailed behind him as he moved, a touch of desperation evident, compelling Jimin to reluctantly trail after him. Yoongi forcefully cleared a path, parting the crowd with determined strides. His singular focus was on reaching you, leaving his mind devoid of any other thoughts.

It was you, he was sure. It was his angel.

He was almost sure.

But when he reached where he saw you last, you weren’t there.

Jimin was breathless when he finally reached his hyung who was looking around the crowd like a lost child. His hands were on his waist as his desperate eyes searched for…who, exactly?

“What happened, hyu-“

“It was her, Jimin-ah. I saw her.”

He blinked, following his hyung’s shifting gaze. “Who?”

“My angel. She’s alive."

Latibule 2.II

[juniperdugong]

How NOT to Summon a Demon

Pairing: demon!Sukuna x GN!reader (reader is in college) Genre: Fluff CW: Swearing WC: 872

Day 8 of To Halloween with Love Event

A/N: Hey at least my other two today were drabbles... ANYWAYS! Anyone up for domestic demon tutor Sukua AU tonight!! Hell yeah!

"I don't know how this happened..." You sat kneeling as you furiously scrambled to skim over pages and pages of text. Texts that you were sure you memorized to a tee but obviously... something went wrong somewhere along the way - Because instead of a silly little imp meant to help you with homework, you had a hulking man triple your size staring down at you.

"Yeah, well I'm here now and you've disturbed my peace." The man gruffs, grabbing at the book in your hand and examining it, "You screwed up."

"I know. Obviously, I know." You're scratching your head trying to think of something - anything - that would make this better. "What do I do? Send you back? How?"

"Nope. Can't be sent back till whatever you made a deal for is done..." Tossing the book aside the monster of a man took residence on your bed, making himself comfortable as you grew more and more uncomfortable with the situation; The bed squeaked and groaned with the sudden unknown weight.

"Oh- I wanted or- The deal I was trying to make was for help with my homework..." You sheepishly fold, now embarrassed as you hear the ridiculous words come out of your mouth - Who the hell tries to summon a demon to take care of something as simple as homework? And why the heck would a spell meant to do that summon this beast of a demon who obviously has more practice in killing than mathematics?

"Homework? Ha!" He picks himself up and grunts like an old man as he sits at the edge of the bed, "That's so stupid. You couldn't have made a deal to- I don't know. Become top of your class or graduate early of something?"

"I didn't have the foresight to make those types of deals..."

"Woah a dumbass like you can use big words like 'foresight'"

"Hey! That's mean." You snap back at him.

"I'm a literal demon... I don't know what you expected, babe." The use of a nickname throws you for a loop and your face gets warmer with the sudden casual talk between you two. You hear a deep chuckle come from the demon seeing your reaction.

He rubs his hands together and black dust begins to accumulate, with a simple snap a pair of glasses fit for himself apparates from nothing. "What are you doing then? Sit in your chair." He gestures towards your desk.

"What?" You do as he says out of fear but with confusion written all over your face.

"What do you mean 'what?', brat." He lurches forward and sits on the floor next to you, large enough that he sits at nearly the same height as you in your desk chair. "What are we doing first? Science, math, or English?"

---

The next few days become oddly comfortable with the presence of a demon. Thankfully, no one was able to see him other than you unless he wanted them to. Did this lead to many instances of him practically stalking you or appearing out of nowhere? Yes... but even these became common occurrences - Ones that you didn't really mind as long as you were getting your grades up.

It's only when the semester comes to a close and you and (who you learned to call) Sukuna are much more friendly than a person oughta be with a demon that you begin to wonder...

"Sukuna?"

"What, brat?" Sukuna mumbles, words slightly muffled as he nuzzles closer to your neck. You're both cuddled snuggly into each other. A light blanket draped over you because Sukuna's warmth was more than enough to keep the winter cold at bay.

"Why aren't you gone?" There's a pregnant pause as he takes in what you just said and you giggle as he suddenly manhandles you to face towards him - A furious look on his face (even more so than usual) that screws up into confusion.

"What? You want me gone?" He's stern and you can detect just a hint of sadness and distress coming from him as his thoughts race.

"No. I mean-" And you do your best to wrap your arms around him and bring him in close... Only able to pull yourself closer to his unmoving form in the process, "You said you'd be sent back once the deal is up. My grades are up and my school work is done, so I'm just wondering-"

Looking up you see the rarest of sights - a slight blush on Sukuna's face as you remember his words from so long ago. "Kuna?"

"What?-" He comes back to his senses, bringing you into a tight hug and smothering you with his chest so you wouldn't see the face of the demon go red from embarrassment. "You're so stupid that you probably wouldn't be able to live without me... so I decided to stay."

"Yof cam do dat?" (You can do that?) Your voice is completely muffled as he overpowers you.

"I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm a fucking demon, babe."

And you're not sure if you're comforted by his words but you're kinda glad that you got this guy instead of some whimpy imp.

A/N: And just like that I'm caught up lol. I'm obsessed with soft Sukuna, sorry not sorry. My JJk "drabbles" always end up being ficlets and I have no qualms about that.

Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

JJK Taglist (OPEN): @iluvmattyb

[bwabys-scenarios]

Along the way

Pt. 1

Fantasy!HXH AU

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: wanted to have some fun with a fantasy version of Hunter x Hunter involving the main four and the reader :3 this is purely for fun and idk how often I’ll update it, depends on my mood. Also this will have some inspiration from Yona of the Dawn and Frieren!

If you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment saying you want to be added, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

(Name) couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been hungry. Every day she woke up to breakfast in bed, and was quickly guided to the dining hall for lunch. Dinner was never late, considering she ate with her father, the King.

But right now, her stomach growled painfully as she was led by the hand by the only person that she had left from her life as a princess.

“Kurapika… I’m hungry.”

The blonde’s elf ears twitched, telling her that he definitely heard her. His grip tightening on her hand was enough for her to understand that he was upset he couldn’t do anything about it. “I know, princess.”

“I’m tired, too.”

He sighed softly, but didn’t slow down. “I’m well aware. We have to keep going, you’ll get a break when the sun rises. By then we should be far enough from the castle to avoid detection.”

She huffed, her eyelids dropping slightly as they continued to walk. “I just hope Papa will meet us soon… he’s always taking his time.”

Kurapika stayed silent at that, simply continuing to guide her through the dense forest. Instead of replying to her, his thumb rubbed the back of her hand gently, as if he was attempting some form of comfort.

He hadn’t been lying, the elf did not let her rest until the sun came out. Even then, she was upset to know they would be sleeping in a dark and smelly cave. “The scent will help mask ours, princess,” Kurapika said after she pouted at him.

“I’d rather be eaten by demons than smell like moldy cheese,” she mumbled as he prepared a spot for her to sleep on.

“Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming of a princess. You should rest while you can, we’ll be leaving at nightfall.”

He sat in the corner, a hand on his sword as she settled down on the makeshift bed of his tabard and moss. Kurapika covered her in his cloak once she was settled, his brown eyes soft with concern.

“You’re not going to sleep?”

(Name) looked up at him, her eyes half lidded as she fought her sleep. He managed a small smile, reaching out to gently pet her head. “Elves don’t need as much sleep as humans do. I’ll be fine, just go to bed.”

She didn’t argue, simply laying her head back down and drifting off to sleep. As she did, Kurapika’s smile faded, and a look of absolute fury crossed his face at the sight of his exhausted princess.

Just a few hours ago, she had been getting ready for bed, and he had been guarding her room. Everything was peaceful, as it always was.

“Kurapika, can you come sit with me until I fall asleep?” she asked, peeking her head out of the door. He smiled, sheathing his sword before slipping through the crack in her door.

“Yes, of course princess. You always have trouble sleeping on your own…” Kurapika said, sitting in a chair next to her bed after tucking her in. “Do you require anything else?”

She looked away shyly, offering her hand. “Can you hold my hand too?”

Without a word he took her hand in his, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. (Name) smiled, her eyelids drooping. “Thank you…”

With that, she was fast asleep. Times like this almost made Kurapika forget about his troubled past. Getting to see his princess live a good and happy life was all he could want.

He had achieved his goals in avenging his clan, she was all he had now. And that’s why what happened just an hour later angered him so.

His kind, sensitive princess was woken with a start as the sounds of explosives shook the castle. Kurapika was quick to comfort her, holding the princess in his arms and lifting her up.

“W-what was that?”

Another explosion rocked the building, causing him to tighten his grip on her. “I’m not sure, but we need to go.”

He held onto her with one arm as he left her room, drawing his sword with the other. The feeling of her trembling hands gripping his shirt grounded the elf, and his ears twitched. There was the faint sound of someone screaming, and thundering footsteps.

“Shit…”

Kurapika never swore in front of (Name), trying his best to stay levelheaded in her presence, but the aura he was picking up was making him boil with rage.

“Demons.” he spat out, darting down a corridor and hiding in an empty room. He covered her mouth as the sound of skittering and footsteps echoed down the halls. The smell of sulfur and fire wafted through the crack in the door, making his sensitive princess gag.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but demons are supposed to be forbidden from entering the palace walls. And for this many to be here…”

Before she could even register it, Kurapika was carrying her out of the room and sprinting down the halls. She was still only half awake, glancing around to try and get her bearings.

That was a mistake.

As they passed by the throne room, (Name) watched as her father was cornered by a pack of demons. They were tall and intimidating, wearing black cloaks to hide their appearances.

“Where is the girl? The one you have passed your knowledge to?”

Kurapika flattened against the wall, shielding her with his body. He felt like if he moved in that moment, the monsters inside would sense their presence.

“I didn’t… pass it on yet. She hasn’t yet reached her 20th birthday..!”

‘He’s talking about the princess!’ Kurapika thought, his grip tightening on her. He held her close to him, urging her with his scarlet eyes to keep quiet as a mouse.

“Could be all lies. Tell the lower rank soldiers to search for her. She’ll most likely be alone or guarded by a human knight, which is no match for even the lowest ranked demon.”

The sound of flesh being sliced made Kurapika wince, and he covered (Name)’s ears just in time. Kurapika used the noises of her father’s final cries to hurry her out of the castle and into the surrounding woods.

“W-what about papa?” she asked, frantically looking around. “H-he was in the thrown room, w-“

Kurapika covered her mouth and raised his hand, castings a quick spell to hide their presence before a pack of demons came bounding down the forest path. He did his best to comfort her, shielding her eyes so she couldn’t see that the awful things sniffing around for them.

The lower ranked soldiers were barely sentient, more like mindless hellhounds than actually people. Their gray, decaying flesh rotted off of their bodies as they sniffed the ground. Thankfully, the spell Kurapika cast hid both their appearance and scent.

One of the beasts stopped near the two, its ears pricked up as it listened closely. Kurapika held his breath, ready to draw his weapon at any moment…

But a bush a few yards away shook, causing the beats to start growling and barking, immediately running off to see what was there. Kurapika used this chance to get pick up (Name) and run.

That’s how they ended up in the cave. The smell of the musty air would mask their scents long enough for them both to get some rest.

Kurapika watched the sleeping princess, sighing softly as he caressed her cheek. She was such a sweet, innocent girl. She didn’t deserve to be hunted down like a dog.

Despite Kurapika’s hatred for humankind for their slaughter of his kin, he held (Name) in high regards. The only reason he drew breath was because of her kindness, so he had dedicated the rest of his long life to protecting that kindness.

So the fact someone had taken her throne when she was so close to becoming queen angered him beyond belief. Kurapika had seen the way she cared for her subjects, and the demons taking over would only mean the suffering of all the humans living in her kingdom. It would break her heart, being helpless to do anything.

But Kurapika would let endless men and women die if it meant keeping her safe. He already had plans to take her somewhere remote where she could live out her life in peace and safety.

Though, it seemed she had a different idea.

When (Name) woke up, she ate the pheasant he hunted while looking at the cave wall in though. “Those demons… they took over the palace.”

Kurapika nodded, washing her nightgown as she sat, covered by his cloak. “Yes, princess. It is much too dangerous for us to try and go b-“

“Just the two of us? Yes, it would be too dangerous. But…”

She picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt. “You said the nearest town is only a few miles away by foot, right? Well, maybe we can find a guild and hire a party to slay the demons!”

“With what money, princess? And the demons will be searching for you in every town near the castle. It will be dangerous to-“

“That’s why I’m gonna wear a disguise!”

She stood, walking over to some moss. “I’ll make a beard and-“

“My princess…” Kurapika interrupted. “I could just use a spell to change your appearance.”

“Oh.”

She blushed, sitting back down. “We’ll do that then.”

“…”

Kurapika didn’t exactly love the idea, so he spoke up again. “But we still don’t have the money for such a thing. Hiring a party is already costs a hefty sum, and the type of people we’ll need to drive out demons, especially the kind that have invaded the palace would be hard to find, let alone pay.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. Kurapika loved her dearly, but his princess was extremely sheltered. She didn’t understand the concept of how much things cost. “Listen my princess, I can take you somewhere safe, where you can live a comfortable life. It might not be the luxurious life you’re used to, but you’ll still be happy.”

“B-but…”

Kurapika looked back to her, freezing when he saw tears trailing down her cheeks. “I don’t… want my people to suffer when I could be doing something… why do I get to be safe and happy while they’re under the reign of demons?”

She did have a point, and her kindness is what made Kurapika adore her in the first place. His elf ears twitched and he rubbed the back of his neck.

To be honest, Kurapika cared not for other humans… but he would to next to anything to make her happy.

“… alright.”

(Name) blinked, looking to him. “Really?”

“Yes… but promise me, if we can’t find a party that will take on our request within a month, you will give up on this.”

She squealed in delight, jumping into his arms. “I promise! Ahh, thank you Kurapika!”

The slightest shade of pink took over his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Princess, you still only have my cloak to keep you covered.”

She blinked, looking down at herself before jumping back and checking herself over to make sure she was still completely covered. “A-ah, sorry I forgot…”

‘She’s going to be the death of me…’ Kurapika thought, ringing out her night gown before setting it out to dry.

As he planned out what they would do, he could have sworn he heard something skittering from tree to tree outside… but when he looked, there was nothing…

But a pair of cat-like eyes were staring in at them, wondering when he should strike.

————————

Kurapika held her close to him as they walked towards town. Just an hour before, an entire pack of demon hounds passed by their hiding place.

Thankfully, he had placed a magical sensor about 100 feet away that alerted him just in time for him to pull (Name) into the depths of the cave. He covered her mouth, the potent smell of the cave hiding their scent.

The beasts passed by without any trouble, but Kurapika knew it was time to go. More competent soldiers would be there soon to check every nook and cranny of the forest for any signs of life, and Kurapika couldn’t hide her forever.

So they walked down the path, her hand in his. She was still tired, now wearing her freshly cleaned nightgown and his cloak. Her feet were still bare, so he would carry her until his arms ached. Kurapika couldn’t stand the way she winced when she stepped on a pointy rock or on poky leaves.

He wished he could do more, he more useful to her…

‘I’ll buy her a more suitable outfit once we get into town.’ he thought, patting his coin pouch with his free hand. ‘I doubt we’ll be able to find someone willing to take on the demons anyways, no need to save my coin when my princess is in need of new clothing.’

It wouldn’t be the soft silks and fancy patterns she was used to, but it would keep her warm and covered.

“My princess, we’re nearing town.”

She stopped, glancing back at him. Kurapika tied his cloak tighter around her, making sure her stained nightgown couldn’t be seen. “Try not to let your bare feet be noticed. Take small steps, and don’t take off your hood.”

“Anything else?” she asked sarcastically. Kurapika thought for a second, then looped her arm with his.

“Yes. Don’t leave my side, even for a second. I can’t guarantee that the town is safe. There could already be demons hiding amongst the citizens, wearing human disguises.”

She huffed, but listened. For the past 5 years, Kurapika had been her loyal knight, keeping her safe from all harm. (Name) trusted him more than she trusted herself, so of course she would do whatever he said.

“Come, we can only stay in town for so long. We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves.”

He guided her into the small town, which looked more like a village the more Kurapika thought of it.

There were only a handful of shops that he could see, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to find her clothes, much less a party that would be willing to take on demons.

He grimaced when a toddler ran by, wearing only wearing a cloth diaper as they were chased by what seemed to be an older sibling. Kurapika disliked humans, finding them to be filthy, nasty things.

“Aww… so cute!”

Kurapika glanced to see (Name) helping the little one up after they tripped, gently dabbing away at a little scrape in their knee with her handkerchief. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s only a little scrape.”

The older sibling blushed as (Name) smiled and helped their younger sibling stand. “Be careful, you’re a big brother, aren’t you? You need to keep better watch of your baby sister. And you…”

She gave the child a headpat. “You need to listen to your big brother. Don’t run away from him, what if a big scary monster snatched you up?”

The two thanked her before walking away hand in hand, waving. She waved back, and Kurapika was quick to grab her hand and pull her towards a quiet place. “Princess, didn’t I say we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves!? You-“

She pouted at him. “Kurapika, it was just a child. I-“

“Well now those children have seen your face. It not only puts you in danger, but them as well.”

(Name) paused, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked down at the ground. Kurapika sighed, cursing himself for upsetting her.

“Just… try not to talk to anyone or show your face, alright? Come on, we have to hurry.”

She was now quiet as they walked through the small village, her hand in his. Though Kurapika knew her silence was better in the long run, he also felt an ache in his heart when she was quiet.

——————

(Name) sat in a small wooden chair inside a dusty clothing shop. Kurapika was speaking to the owner quietly, occasionally glancing back at her.

While they talked, (Name) took the time to look out the window and really take in the village while it was busy.

The unevenly paved road caused the rickety old carriages drawn by horses to wobble a bit, but the riders seemed used to it. Children ran down the road, spooking the horses a bit and getting yelled at by said riders until they scurried away.

Across from them was a bakery, where she could see a woman rolling out a ball of dough. On the counter were various baked good that reminded (Name) of just how hungry she was.

But… something seemed out of place. Every once in a while as she watched the villagers go about their daily lives, she swore she could see a blur of someone in the trees that surrounded the village. Occasionally, a pair of blue, glowing eyes peered through the leafy canopy, staring right at her.

“U-Um… Kurapika?”

He held up a hand and continued to speak with the shopkeep. ‘Is he… haggling him?’ (Name) sighed softly, turning back to the window.

The thing she saw made her blood ran cold.

On the edge of the tree line was a small figure, looking right at her. She couldn’t make out much besides a head of white hair and piercing blue eyes. (Name) got ready to tell Kurapika, but by the time she blinked… it was gone.

Kurapika approached her, a few items of clothing slung over his shoulder. “What did you need, my p- I mean, miss?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, continuing to stare out of the window. When she did finally speak, he could tell something was wrong. “… nothing. Just thought I saw something.”

The elf was intelligent, he knew that anything out of the ordinary could mean their enemies may be near. So he nodded and escorted her to the dressing room. “Get dressed, we’re leaving now.”

She did as told, glancing through the crack in the door as he kept watch. When she was around, Kurapika kept up a calm and confident facade… but when he thought she couldn’t see him, his face fell slightly with worry.

The princess didn’t truly know what demons were or the history they had with humans or elves, not many humans did. The stories had simply been lost to time, something only an elf who had lived many human lifetimes could remember.

Kurapika was terrified, knowing that these demons would stop at nothing to kill the last person that may know how to truly defeat them.

Demons were incredibly hard to kill, it was easier to just wound them and banish them with a teleportation spell back to hell… but there was one method that could permanently end a demon’s life.

But no, the princess wasn’t aware of how to do that. Why would she be, she was sheltered and had never even held a wand, much less casted a spell.

Instead, the king had passed on this information to Kurapika, not wanting his beloved daughter to be in danger. Kurapika didn’t want her at risk either, so he took on the heavy burden.

The spell called for various magical items to be gathered from across the continent and brought together. It would take ages, and with just the two of them, it wasn’t just dangerous, it was impossible.

Even more troubling, to preform the spell that would banish demons, the caster would have to be a person whose heart was pure and without hate. Kurapika held onto so much hatred and anger, he would never be able to perform such a thing.

‘But…’

Kurapika glanced at the princess as she stepped out of the dressing room, her smile as warm as the afternoon sun. She reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’ll be okay, we’ll get through this together.”

‘Maybe she, the only human I have ever cared for could do it.’

———————

From the branches of a tree, a figure watched as the two walked through the forest. One was some kind of an elf, which the spying figure had been told went extinct years ago.

The other was a young woman, her face hidden by an olive green cloak. She held onto the elf’s hand, and the figure could tell that if she wasn’t with him, the elf would be moving at a much faster pace.

‘Huh, just a single guard? You’d think that at least twenty knights would have escorted her out of the palace.’

The figure jumped silently to another tree once the two started to gain a bit too much distance from him for his liking.

‘She’s rather slow and weak, I can take her out easily. But the elf has been able to successfully evade our soldiers for nearly two days and nights now… oh well, I only need to kill the girl. No need to fight someone I’m not sure I could beat.’

The figure’s tail curled around the branch of the tree, keeping him upright as he leaned forward to get a better look at them.

But unfortunately, he misjudged the strength of the branch and was sent tumbling out of the tree, landing in a bush nearby.

‘SHIT!’

Kurapika pulled his sword out, stepping in front of (Name). “Who goes there? Come out and state your reasons for following us.”

‘Ah, so he knew I was following them.’

The white haired boy quickly hid his tail, retracted his claws, and ruffled his hair to hide his small horns. Once done, he carefully stepped out of the bushes, making sure to make himself look small and scared.

“Oh, it’s just a little boy.”

The boy waved timidly, trying to act like a lost child. “H-hello…”

(Name) peeked out from behind Kurapika, smiling. “Hello there, I-“

Kurapika stepped forward, his sword pointed at the boy’s throat. “I said state your reason for following us.”

(Name)’s eyes widen, and she reached out to gently move Kurapika’s arm so he was pointing his sword at the ground instead. “Kurapika, he’s just a little boy, there’s no need-“

“Just a little boy? My princess, if he was a normal little boy I would be able to hear his footsteps when he walked. This is no ordinary child, he’s trained in the ways of darkness and evil.”

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Huh, you’re good. Wasn’t expecting that. I’ve never had someone realize they couldn’t hear my footsteps before.”

In the blink of an eye, the boy’s claws were sharpened into points, his sharp teeth glistening in the low light. Kurapika’s eyes widened, and he started getting ready to create a barrier around the princess if need be.

“You seem like a smart man. Hand over the girl, and I’ll let you free. You’re an elf, I hear that race and humans have a pretty bad history. Let me guess, you were forced into serving her or execution. Well it’s your lucky day, I’m here to take her out. Then, you’ll be a free elf and-“

The boy’s eyes narrowed as Kurapika’s sword began to glow a deep scarlet, his eyes shining the same color. “You understand nothing, demon. My people hated your kind much more than we hated humans, and this girl means everything to me. I would die before I handed her over to the likes of you.”

‘That sword… I heard stories of elves that could banish demons but…’

“K-Kurapika, wait!”

But it was no use, the two had begun their battle. (Name) was pushed back unceremoniously, falling onto her but a few feet away from the two.

The boy brandished his claws, leaping from the ground and slashing at Kurapika’s throat. He was able to block the attack with his sword just before the boy’s nails sunk into his skin.

Kurapika took advantage of the boy being so close, and used a teleporting spell, sending them 30 yards away. “Hide yourself, (Name)! This boy is an assassin, he’ll take any opportunity to come your way and kill you!”

She gulped, crawling through the gaps of large tree roots and hiding herself under a tree. (Name) couldn’t see what was going on now, but she could hear the sounds of Kurapika swinging his blade and grunting.

It took her back to the days when she would watch him train between lessons. He always took time to send her a soft smile, even walking her to her next destination despite being exhausted and sweaty.

One day, another knight was sparring with him, and when Kurapika got hurt, she started to cry. She rushed over, clingy to him and sobbing as she rubbed her face against his chest.

“Y-you got hurt! You’re bleeding, someone call the-“

Kurapika gently ran his hand over her hair, smiling. “Shh, princess, I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“But…”

His eyes softened as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Any injury I get while protecting you is just proof of my unconditional devotion. You are my everything, princess. I will shield you with my very body if it means keeping you safe.”

And as she heard the fight get more and more intense, she felt an uneasy feeling settle in her belly.

‘I don’t want Kurapika to die.’

That’s the very thought she had that day, watching as he was bandaged up by a palace doctor. So behind his back, she had begun to learn basic magic, wanting to be somewhat to him in the future.

Although she had never been able to actually cast a spell due to how she was watched like a hawk, she still managed to sneak some of Kurapika’s books into her room to study while he was busy.

When she heard Kurapika gasp in pain, (Name)’s mind raced with what to do. He told her to hide, and Kurapika was usually right, but she would rather die than let him die for her.

So (Name) crawled out of her hiding space, sniffling softly as she began to run towards the two.

The boy had him pinned to the ground, his nails at Kurapika’s throat. The sight was enough to freeze her in her tracks, her heart thumping wildly against her chest.

“L-let him go!”

Despite her legs shaking, and her lip wobbling, she was still able to yell out to the boy. “It’s me you want, don’t hurt him!”

Kurapika turned his head, his nose bleeding. “Princess, what do you think you’re doing, he’s going to-“

The boy let Kurapika go, walking towards her slowly. “Sacrificing yourself to save a measly knight? You’re braver than I thought, princess. I’ll spare the elf, as long as you go down without a fight.”

“Yes… but please, before you kill me, let me know your name.”

Seeing no point in hiding his identity now that his prey was right in front of him, the boy relented. “If that’s your final wish… my name is Killua. Killua of the Zoldyck Royal Family, one of the seven princes of hell.”

“I see… Killua, then. I need you to get down.”

This made the boy pause. Although her body shook and her lip wobbled, her eyes were far from scared. They were determined, steady as they focused on him.

Before he could retreat, a ring formed around the boys wrists, causing him to be pinned to the ground. He yelped, struggling frantically against the glowing rings, but they stayed firm on his wrists.

“W-what the hell did you just do to me!?”

(Name) smiled, her knees giving way as she fell to the ground. She held held up her own wrist, a small ring of light was there, the same as the boy’s.

“I cast a spell to have complete control over your actions. It only works on… demons… and… if I have your name…”

Killua growled, baring his teeth and struggling against his bounds with no luck. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even lift his head. “You witch! Let me go right now, before I-“

(Name) laughs, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Before you what? Squirm some more? Kick up some dirt? Face it kid, you’re not doing anything until I give you an order.”

He continued to growl and snap his teeth at her, trying to attack, to do anything. As Killua struggled, Kurapika made his way back over, holding his injured arm.

‘That spell… it’s too high level, even for me. How was she able to-‘

He barely caught (Name) in time as she fell forward. Her mana was next to non existent at the moment, leaving her exhausted and barely conscious.

“My princess…”

He cursed himself for not being able to stop her from using such a spell. If he had been a bit stronger, the boy would be dead, and he would be carrying her to bed at this very moment.

But now, he had to deal with the demon growling and snarling at their feet.

“I hope you’ve prepared yourself for death, demon. I can’t have you going back to your horde and informing them of our location.”

Killua let out a laugh, looking up at him. “As if either of you could kill me. Sure, try it out. Injure me, teleport me away to the far ends of the earth, I’ll just keep coming back, and with reinforcements next time.”

“He has a point…”

Kurapika helped (Name) sit up, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as her head leaned on his chest. She was so weak, she was shaking.

“Princess, you should rest.”

She shook her head, raising her hand. “Stand, Killua.”

The boy immediately sprung up from the ground, standing stiffly in front of them. “(Name)… is the spell still intact?”

She nodded, leaving Kurapika in awe. A spell like that cast by an amateur like her should have fell apart within seconds!

“So we can’t just let him go and I don’t want to kill him…”

“We couldn’t kill him even if we tried, princess.”

She pouted slightly, staring at the boy whose cheek were red with humiliation. He was at the beck and call of a human, he’d be teased by his brothers for weeks!

“… I think I have a solution! Killua, stay still.”

The boy scolded himself for being so cocky. ‘I knew names held power, and yet I freely gave her mine…’

He clenched his fists, growling lowly. ‘As soon as I’m free, I’ll kill that princess, if it’s the last thing I do!’

Killua stiffened up even more if possible as Kurapika and (Name) stepped a few feet away to talk.

The elf grimaced as (Name) seemed to be proposing an idea, disagreeing with her immediately. She then put her hands on her hips… which caused Kurapika to relent.

“Alright, I’ll let you handle this then, princess.”

(Name) smiled, stepping forward. “Alright! Killua, once this order is given, you’ll be able to move freely.”

Killua perked up a little. ‘This is my chance!’

“I’ll be giving you the orders,” she said, holding up two fingers. Kurapika glanced her way, nervous. He didn’t like allowing his princess to handle things in the slightest… but it was their only option. “One, you will not share any information on me, Kurapika, or anyone connected to us.”

He frowned deeply, that would get in the way of his plans… but…

‘Once she’s dead, the spell should dissipate. I’ll just-‘

“The second order is you are no longer allowed to harm, kill, or maim any innocent beings, or any of my loved ones.”

Killua’s jaw dropped. While he didn’t necessarily make a habit out of killing when he didn’t have to, it was still his job. “You can’t be serious, I-“

That’s when he realized… (Name) was but an innocent human… he wouldn’t be kill her. And Kurapika was definitely someone she cared for…

“Those are your orders. You can now move freely.”

Killua’s body relaxed, and he moved forward, launching himself at (Name). Although Kurapika was quick to pull her behind himself, it wasn’t necessary.

Killua froze midair, ancient symbols appearing all over his body. When he dropped to the ground, he seized.

(Name) was quick to kneel down next to him, despite Kurapika’s complaints. “Hey, you’re going to be okay. The effects shouldn’t last that long…”

She lifted his head into her lap, wiping away the drool from the boy’s mouth with her sleeve. “This is what happens when you disobey an order… I’m sorry, from what I read I heard it’s incredibly painful.”

Incredibly painful? It was the worst thing Killua had ever experienced, and he had undergone the harsh training and torture of the Zoldyck family.

But the demon was confused… why was this princess gently wiping his face with a handkerchief, and why was she getting her knight to prop him up against a tree. He couldn’t comprehend why she left a canteen full of water and an apple for him before she left… it didn’t make sense.

“You’re free to do whatever you want, as long as you follow those two orders,” she said, yawning as Kurapika helped her walk. “Goodbye, Killua.”

As they walked away, Killua felt… strange. He had tried to kill her more than once. It would be easy enough to make him take his own life… yet she was letting him go.

Killua sat there under the moonlight, thinking of what his next step should be. He couldn’t return home, that would be a humiliation he would never live down. Him, the heir of the throne, defeated by a mere mortal? That was unheard of.

So Killua hatched a new plan, one that would take advantage of the princess’ kindness…

———————

Dark fog fell over the palace, toxic vapor that would kill any human unfortunate enough to still be hiding within its walls.

“Has Killua returned with the princess yet?”

Illumi looked up from his work, tilting his head. His tail swayed silently as he set those dark, cold eyes on his mother. “No, mother. And from what I’m able to sense… he’s not coming back home for a while yet.”

She frowned, Kalluto standing quietly at her side. “Kalluto, go check with your older brother and see if he’s finished that resurrection spell yet.”

“Yes, mother.”

Once Kalluto left, the woman’s eyes narrowed. “We must hurry and get these matters dealt with before the other demon lords are able to make it to the surface. Those other princes… they’ll spell nothing but trouble for our-“

“Yes, mother. I understand.”

Illumi looked into his crystal ball, one that one worked on Killua. With it, he could see through the boy’s eyes… and even give him orders.

“Killua is currently following the princess, mother.”

She smiled, clapping her hands together. “Oh, that is wonderful news! Give him the command, and then I’ll have my little prince back!”

Illumi nodded, the focused on the crystal ball, peering into it.

‘Killua.’

Usually, simply saying his name was enough to have the boy tensing up… but he did nothing. Could he not… hear him?

Illumi shook his head. ‘No matter, I’ll just take control of him.’

When Illumi attempted to reach into the crystal ball, his hand was repelled by white magic, burning his fingers and palm.

“Illumi!”

His mother rushed over to see what had happened. Illumi stared blankly at his hand, sighing.

“It seems someone is interfering with my connection… until we figure out what this is…”

His mother paled, raising a hand to her mouth.

“Killua… is lost to us.”

Illumi looked through the crystal ball, his frown deepening. ‘At least I can still see through his eyes. That will be of some benefit to us… as long as Killua keeps following them, we should be able to find them eventually.’

Kalluto walked back into the room, Boeing politely. “Mother, big brother has found a resurrection spell that will work on more than ten people at once without killing the caster. Now all we have to do is find their remains.”

His mother grinned, fanning herself. “Inform your father of this discovery, and make sure he knows…”

She looked outside, smiling as the fog slowly spread down the mountain. “We have some spiders to find.”

[amethystarachnid]

THE SERAPHIM

⤷ KURT WAGNER

ᯓ★ Pairing: Kurt Wagner x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: thriller, tiny bit of romance, mostly action

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: In the dim-lit alleys of a city that doesn’t sleep, Detective Kurt Wagner and a private investigator find themselves unwilling partners in a case that goes deeper than either of them expect. But once the case is solved y/n understands that he wants to see Kurt again.

ᯓ★ TW(s): kidnapping, mentions of human trafficking and experimenting on humans, violence and emotional distress

ᯓ★ AU: noir detective

ᯓ★ Request: Noir detective au with Nightcrawler perchance? I never get enough of that sorta au :333 especially with a male or ftm reader I think it would be so cute and silly to see Kurt as a detective solving your case X3 (@scrimpswrites )

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

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ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The smell of rain-soaked asphalt greets you as you walk down the narrow alley, your coat pulled tight against the chill of the night. The city’s constant drizzle clings to you like the fog in your head, clouding your thoughts as you scan the dimly lit street. Another job, another night on your feet with only the city’s twisted arteries for company. But then, that’s what you signed up for the day you decided to call yourself a private investigator.

Tonight, you’re tailing a lead on a case that’s twisted its way into the darkest corners of the city—a string of disappearances, all connected to one seemingly harmless nightclub, The Seraphim. Rumor has it that people enter with money in their pockets and hope in their eyes, only to vanish as if the city’s belly swallowed them whole.

Just as you turn the corner, you see him. You’ve been hearing rumors about Detective Kurt Wagner for months now—blue-skinned, yellow-eyed, and sharper than a snake’s tooth. You’re not sure if you believed all the talk about his “demonic” look until this very moment, when he steps into the glow of the streetlight. He’s impossible to miss, standing there in a trench coat with the collar popped up.

Kurt’s face is cast in shadow, but there’s no missing the flicker of his amber eyes as he catches sight of you. His eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s not thrilled to see you. The feeling is mutual.

“You,” he says, his voice thick with a German accent. It’s soft, but there’s an edge to it that tells you he’s not interested in small talk.

“Wagner,” you reply, letting his name roll off your tongue in a way that makes it clear you’re not impressed. You’ve had too many brushes with cops like him—the kind who think they’re the only ones who get to solve the city’s mysteries.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, crossing his arms. The movement makes his trench coat pull tighter around him, emphasizing his lean, wiry frame. His skin catches the glow of the streetlight in a way that’s almost surreal, like he’s cut from the night itself.

“Same thing as you, I imagine,” you reply, giving him a pointed look. “Following a lead on those disappearances. I’d say it’s none of your business, but we both know you’re gonna make it your business.”

Kurt’s lips twitch, not quite a smirk. “Is that so? And you think you’re equipped for something like this?” He takes a step forward, the heel of his boots clacking softly against the pavement.

“I’ve managed just fine so far,” you say, standing your ground. You know his type—cocky, confident, and probably a little too sure of his own abilities. You can see why he might be suspicious of a PI like you nosing around his case. But if he thinks he’s going to scare you off, he’s got another thing coming.

“So far,” he repeats, his tone dripping with condescension. “But so far only gets you so close to the truth in this city, mein Freund.”

Your jaw clenches at the familiar, almost mocking endearment. “Look, Wagner, I’m not here to get in your way. Just doing my job.”

“That makes two of us.” He tips his hat, casting his face in shadow again, a knowing look in his eyes. He glances toward the end of the alleyway, where The Seraphim’s faint neon glow pulses like a heartbeat.

The Seraphim. You both know it’s your next stop, whether you like it or not.

“Seems we’re headed in the same direction,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s the worst thing that could happen to him.

“Seems so,” you reply. There’s a mutual pause as you size each other up, two predators circling the same prey. Kurt’s gaze doesn’t waver; his tail flicks behind him with restless, measured sways.

When he starts walking, you fall into step beside him. Silence stretches between you like a taut wire, each step a begrudging rhythm in the rain. The tension between you is palpable, a static hum that thrums beneath the night’s cold veneer.

“What’s your take on the club?” you ask, breaking the silence. “Think it’s more than just a front?”

His eyes dart toward you, a flicker of curiosity and skepticism mingling. “A man with your reputation should already know the answer to that.”

You bite back a retort, realizing he’s baiting you. “My ‘reputation,’ huh? Funny, I heard you’ve got one too. Rumors about a cop who doesn’t quite… fit the mold.”

You expect him to get defensive, maybe give you a piece of his mind, but he just shrugs. “Ah, so you’ve been doing your homework on me?”

A grudging respect begins to form, though you hate to admit it. Kurt Wagner is sharper than he lets on, and his reputation—earned or not—might not tell the whole story. But there’s still something about him that sets your teeth on edge.

When you reach the club’s entrance, Kurt pushes the door open without a word, casting a casual look over his shoulder as if to say, After you, if you dare. You follow, straightening your collar as you walk into the heavy bass and strobe lights that bathe the smoky room.

The Seraphim’s interior is all red velvet and shadow, a perfect hunting ground for whoever’s been making people disappear. You can feel Kurt’s eyes on you as you scan the room, looking for any faces that stand out.

“See anything?” he murmurs, leaning closer than he needs to. His voice is low, and you catch a hint of something under the sharpness of his tone—a sort of challenge, as if he’s daring you to prove yourself here.

You smirk, stepping forward and catching sight of a man near the bar with shifty eyes and a nervous tic. “That guy. Looks like he’s one bad poker hand away from giving something up.”

Kurt glances at the man, his lips curling in approval. “Not bad, Liebling,” he says, the word slipping out smooth and teasing.

You tense, hating the way the endearment sounds almost affectionate in his mouth. You shoot him a glare. “Keep your pet names to yourself, Wagner.”

Kurt raises his hands in mock surrender, a devilish grin playing at his lips. “Apologies. You seemed like you could use a little levity.”

He sidles up to the bar, his manner shifting seamlessly from abrasive detective to casual patron. You stay close enough to hear his conversation with the bartender, noting the way he plays his part with smooth ease.

“Whiskey, neat,” he says, sliding a bill across the counter. He nods toward the nervous man you pointed out. “My friend here—looks like he needs a drink on me.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it, pouring two drinks and sliding them over. Kurt waits until the man takes a sip before leaning in, voice barely audible over the music. “Rough night?”

The man’s gaze shifts, landing on Kurt with a wary look. “That obvious, huh?”

Kurt shrugs, taking a casual sip of his whiskey. “Could say I’ve been there a few times myself. This city… it wears on you.”

You stay close, letting Kurt work his angle. The man’s shoulders relax just a fraction, and he nods, sipping his drink as his eyes scan the room nervously.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This place—thought I’d make a little money, but all I got was nightmares.”

“What kind of nightmares?” Kurt asks, his tone shifting slightly, a subtle edge creeping in.

The man blinks, suddenly aware of the interest in Kurt’s tone, but he’s too far gone to stop himself. He leans closer, voice dropping even lower. “People… they go back there, to the back rooms. They don’t come back out.”

Kurt shoots you a glance, his eyes sharp with the thrill of discovery, even as he keeps his expression cool and detached. “That so?”

The man nods, hands shaking around his glass. “I don’t know what goes on back there, but they don’t come out right, if they come out at all.”

Kurt’s attention is rapt, the intensity of his gaze pinning the man in place. You can see why people talk about his reputation—not just for his looks, but for the way he can bore straight to the truth.

But as he continues to question the man, you can’t help but feel a flicker of something else, something you don’t want to acknowledge. Admiration. Despite the chip on your shoulder and his infuriating smugness, he’s good at this—better than you expected.

As the man trails off, muttering about his regrets, Kurt leans back, his expression unreadable. He catches your gaze, his eyes gleaming with something that’s not quite arrogance, but close enough to make you grit your teeth.

“Well, looks like we have a little investigating to do, mein Freund,” he says, his tone full of challenge. “Think you can keep up?”

It’s a question, but not one you intend to dignify with a response. Instead, you move ahead of him, cutting through the club’s patrons toward the back rooms the man mentioned. You don’t need him to tell you what to do, and you’re going to make damn sure he knows it.

But as you stalk down the narrow hallway, you’re acutely aware of him at your side—close enough that the scent of leather and some faint cologne lingers between you, filling the tight space with a tension that’s both frustrating and electric. You don’t like the way it makes your pulse jump, and you like it even less that he’s probably noticed.

He keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to read your thoughts, figure out what makes you tick. And maybe that’s the worst part of all—that for all your bravado, part of you wants him to look at you, to see you for more than just another rival on his case.

The back room is ahead, the door marked by a single, faded sticker in the shape of a devil’s tail. Kurt reaches for the handle, pausing to glance at you with a smirk that’s as infuriating as it is enticing.

“After you,” he says, with just a hint of mockery.

You bite back a retort, stepping through the doorway and into the darkness beyond, your senses on high alert. But as you enter, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe this partnership of yours is about to get a whole lot more complicated than you bargained for.

The room is dimly lit, a small, bare bulb dangling from the ceiling casting a sickly yellow light over cracked tiles and crumbling plaster. It smells damp, like mildew and something metallic. You scan the space quickly, eyes adjusting to the shadows, and feel Kurt’s presence beside you, close enough that you can almost hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

There’s nothing here at first glance, just another dingy storage room that probably sees more rats than people. But there’s something off about it, a kind of stillness that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“You feel that?” you murmur, almost forgetting yourself. You’re used to working alone, not bouncing thoughts off a partner. Still, Kurt’s intuition seems to have led him to the same conclusion as you—there’s something here worth finding.

He nods, his gaze flicking to the floor and back to you. “It’s too clean in here,” he whispers, his yellow eyes gleaming. He glances at a portion of the wall, fingers brushing over it as he looks for something specific.

“You’d be surprised what I can see,” he adds, almost to himself.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. You’re tempted to ask what he means, but before you can, his gaze sharpens, and he points to the corner, just where the wall meets the floor. A thin trail of something dark winds along the cracked tile—a faded stain, the color of dried blood.

Kurt gives you a meaningful look. “Think someone just cut themselves and forgot to wipe it up?”

“Not a chance,” you mutter, feeling your stomach tighten. Whoever owns this place clearly has something to hide. “This… doesn’t look fresh. It’s dried, but they didn’t try to clean it. Like they didn’t think anyone would come snooping around back here.”

Kurt nods, his gaze intense. “People come and go, but someone’s making sure they don’t leave traces.” He hesitates, frowning as he examines the walls more closely, his fingertips tracing a barely visible seam along the wall’s edge.

You follow his line of sight, piecing together what he’s looking for. “A false wall?”

A look of approval flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears, replaced by that same mask of calm control. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he says quietly, pressing along the seam until he finds a spot that gives way under his fingers. There’s a soft click, and the section of wall pops open to reveal a narrow passageway, leading deeper into the building.

The air from inside the passage is colder, heavier somehow, and it’s clear that whatever secrets The Seraphim is hiding, they lie down that corridor.

You shoot him a glance. “What’s the play here? We go in quiet, or you wanna kick the door down and announce ourselves?”

His tail flicks thoughtfully behind him as he considers. “Normally, I’d say quiet is best. But with you around… maybe making a little noise wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Careful, Wagner,” you say, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t let my charm distract you.”

He snorts softly, but you catch the glimmer of something amused—something almost warm—in his eyes. “Trust me, charm isn’t the word I’d use.”

The space is tight, forcing you to walk shoulder-to-shoulder down the narrow corridor, and it doesn’t take long before you reach another door. This one is thick, reinforced with heavy steel, clearly meant to keep intruders—or maybe victims—out.

You look at Kurt. He just raises an eyebrow, as if to say, After you, fearless leader. You roll your eyes and press your ear against the door, listening for any sounds on the other side. There’s nothing but a faint, rhythmic hum, like machinery.

Without waiting for his input, you reach for the door’s handle, glancing over to see him tensing beside you, muscles coiled like he’s ready to spring. He’s watching you, his face set in a look of focused determination that sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you forget the tension between you, forget the hostility that marked your first encounter. Here, in this cold, empty corridor, you’re just two men, working together to find the truth.

With a quick nod, you turn the handle, and the door creaks open. The room beyond is larger than you expected, filled with strange, humming machines that emit a dull, greenish glow. And then, in the far corner, you see something that makes your blood run cold.

It’s a row of chairs, all bolted to the floor, each one equipped with heavy leather straps. The leather is worn and stained dark, and there’s no mistaking the purpose of those restraints. This isn’t just a club; it’s some kind of holding area, a place where people have been brought against their will.

Kurt’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenched tightly as he takes in the room. His tail lashes behind him in agitation, and you can tell he’s holding back a storm of anger. “They’ve been… keeping people here.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. The case has just taken a darker turn, and you can see it in Kurt’s expression. This isn’t just another assignment for him—he takes it personally, with a kind of righteous fury that resonates with you.

“We need to get out of here,” you say quietly. “Take what we know to someone who can help us shut this place down for good.”

Kurt nods, but he doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on the restraints. “If we leave, we might not get another chance. Whoever’s behind this could disappear, just like these poor souls…”

He’s right, but there’s something else in his tone, something that makes you pause. It’s a vulnerability, an unspoken understanding that resonates between you. For the first time, you see past the sharp edges and cold stares. You realize that Kurt isn’t just driven by duty—he cares, deeply, more than he’d ever let on.

You put a hand on his shoulder, surprising even yourself. “We’ll find them. All of them.” The words sound hollow, but you mean them, and Kurt seems to sense that. His gaze softens, just a fraction, and he nods.

Together, you make your way out of the room, retracing your steps down the narrow passageway. The club is still pulsing with music when you reemerge, the oblivious patrons drinking and laughing, unaware of the horror hidden just beneath their feet. Kurt glances around, his shoulders tense as he scans the crowd, like he’s memorizing faces, looking for someone who doesn’t belong.

Standing here, side by side in the heart of the city’s darkness, you realize that maybe there’s more to Kurt Wagner than you ever would have guessed.

As you turn to leave, Kurt places a hand on your arm, stopping you. You look up, meeting his intense, amber gaze. “If we’re going to work together,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the music, “then maybe it’s time we started trusting each other.”

The words hang between you, a silent challenge, an invitation. And in that moment, you know you’re both thinking the same thing: This partnership—this strange, uneasy alliance—is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

“Trust, huh?” you reply, smirking. “I think you’ll have to earn it, Wagner.”

Kurt’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The case twists around both of you like a snake, its secrets tightening with each revelation. As you and Kurt dig deeper into The Seraphim’s hidden horrors, the animosity between you shifts, replaced by something strange and unexpected: respect, maybe, or something that sits heavy in your chest, a feeling that lingers long after you part ways each night.

Days pass with late nights and long hours, as the two of you comb through leads, chasing down every dead end and half-truth until your leads point back to the club’s enigmatic owner, a man by the name of Isaiah Blackwood. Blackwood is as elusive as he is dangerous, with connections snaking through the city’s underworld like arteries to a rotten heart. Every question you ask about him leads to silence or threats.

It’s another long, damp night when you and Kurt find yourselves at the dockside warehouse Blackwood supposedly owns. The place is vast and empty, abandoned but for the scent of salt and mold, and the muffled thud of waves against the pier. Your breath mists in the cool air as you scan the room, senses on high alert. The place is silent, save for the creaks and groans of the old building, and the steady beat of Kurt’s footsteps as he follows you into the shadowed space.

“According to the records, Blackwood rented this place months ago,” Kurt says, his voice low but carrying across the silence. “Supposedly for storage. But the man’s too paranoid to store anything in plain sight. He’s hiding something here.”

You give him a sidelong glance. “You don’t say. Glad to know you’re not just a pretty face, Wagner.”

He snorts, amused. “I’ll remember that next time you accuse me of slowing you down.”

“Never said you were slow,” you mutter, and you don’t mean for your voice to soften, but it does. Kurt catches it, looking at you with a glint of something you can’t quite place.

The two of you move further into the warehouse, picking your way through abandoned crates and rusted machinery. The air grows thicker, charged, and the weight of what you’re here to find hangs between you like an unspoken promise. There’s a tension in the way he walks beside you, his movements measured and careful, and it hits you that somewhere between all the late nights and close calls, he’s stopped being just your competition.

When he pulls a flashlight from his pocket, casting a thin beam over the walls, you catch a glimpse of his profile in the dim light. The angle of his jaw, the concentration furrowing his brow. You don’t know when you started noticing these things about him, but it’s too late to deny it now.

He pauses, studying something on the ground—a faint set of footprints leading to the back of the warehouse. He looks up, catching your eye, and gestures for you to follow him down a narrow staircase that winds into darkness. As you descend, the walls grow damp, the smell of salt heavier as the narrow stairwell opens up into a series of underground rooms.

You scan the walls, thick and covered with peeling paint, and hear Kurt murmur under his breath, “This city has too many secrets buried beneath it.”

“Just the ones men like Blackwood want kept quiet,” you reply, your voice low.

Kurt’s eyes flick to yours, his expression softened, just for a moment. “And men like us are the ones who dig them up.”

In the silence that follows, you realize he’s not just talking about the case. He’s talking about you, about the unspoken understanding that’s settled between you, the way each of you can anticipate the other’s movements, read each other’s thoughts with nothing but a glance. It’s a partnership, but it’s something else too—something you’re not ready to name.

You both move forward, passing through another room with an odd metallic table in the center. There’s a file on it, filled with photographs—gruesome shots of the missing people, bound to the very chairs you’d seen in the club. Kurt’s jaw tightens as he scans them, and his fingers graze the photos, lingering over each one as if he’s taking in every detail, memorizing their faces. He doesn’t say a word, but his anger is palpable, a barely contained storm that hangs around him like the scent of ozone before lightning strikes.

“Blackwood’s not just making them disappear,” Kurt mutters, voice low and fierce. “He’s…” He swallows, his anger clear. “It’s not enough to kill them. He wants to make them suffer.”

You nod, your voice a whisper. “He’s a monster, Kurt.”

Kurt meets your gaze, and for a moment, the anger fades, replaced by something raw and painful. “That’s why we can’t stop until he’s caught.” His voice is tight with determination, his gaze hard. “I won’t let him slip through my fingers.”

You find yourself stepping closer, reaching out without thinking. Your hand lands on his shoulder, and you feel the tension coiled in his muscles. You give him a reassuring squeeze. “We won’t let him get away with it, Wagner. Not this time.”

Kurt’s gaze softens, the fury easing as he looks at you, and a faint, reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t know how you manage to make sense half the time,” he says, his voice gentler than usual, and it catches you off guard. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

The words hit you harder than they should. You let your hand drop, a sudden warmth spreading in your chest, and turn your attention back to the task at hand, reminding yourself that there’s still work to do.

Together, you press on, passing through the labyrinth of rooms until you reach the last door. It’s heavy and marked with a familiar symbol, the same devil’s tail you saw at The Seraphim. Kurt hesitates, a flicker of unease crossing his face, and you know he’s thinking the same thing you are—that whatever’s behind this door, it’s likely the heart of Blackwood’s operation.

With a single glance, you both know it’s time.

You reach out, grabbing the handle, and Kurt moves to your side, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. You exchange a nod, a silent vow that whatever you find in there, you’ll face it together. Then you push open the door, stepping into the room beyond.

The sight that greets you is as dark as you expected—rows of folders, files, photographs, the faces of missing people staring back at you in faded snapshots pinned to a corkboard on the wall. In the center of the room stands a massive, mahogany desk, littered with papers and what looks like medical instruments, glinting coldly under the dim light.

A slow anger burns in your gut as you take it all in, the twisted evidence of Blackwood’s crimes laid out before you like a grotesque trophy display.

Kurt swallows, his face taut with barely contained rage. “This… this is more than a club,” he whispers. “He’s been experimenting on them. Treating them like…” He chokes on the words, and you see the strain on his face, the pain in his eyes.

Without thinking, you step forward, placing a hand on his arm. “Hey. We’re putting an end to this. Together.”

He meets your gaze, a flicker of relief passing over his face. And in that moment, standing together in the midst of Blackwood’s horrors, you feel a connection between you, something forged in shared purpose and understanding.

“We’ve got him,” you say, your voice steady. “He can’t hide from this.”

Kurt nods, a fire in his eyes. “No. He won’t.”

And when the night finally ends, when Blackwood is in custody and the survivors found, when the precinct is silent and Kurt stands with you on the station’s steps, the city sprawled before you like some dark and endless dream, he looks at you with a new kind of warmth.

“Danke,” he murmurs, the German word slipping out, soft and heartfelt. “For having my back.”

You give him a small, exhausted smile, one that feels more real than any you’ve given in years. “Anytime, Wagner.”

And as he lingers there, his fingers brushing yours in a way that speaks of possibility, you realize that somewhere in the shadowed maze of this case, you found something else—a partnership you never thought you’d want, and the beginnings of something even deeper.

The satisfaction of solving the case lingers like the final chord of a song, resonating through you as Kurt steps forward, handcuffs glinting in his hand, to arrest Isaiah Blackwood. You watch Kurt, a silent intensity radiating from his every movement, his gaze locked on the man who has haunted your investigation since the beginning. Blackwood’s hands are trembling as he backs away, cornered, stripped of his power and facade.

“Isaiah Blackwood, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, human trafficking, and conspiracy,” Kurt says, his voice steady, each word dropping like the final nails in a coffin. He approaches Blackwood with calm, controlled steps, his amber eyes hard and unyielding, as if any shred of mercy he might once have felt has been burnt away by the horrors he’s uncovered.

Blackwood’s face contorts with fury and fear, his eyes darting around the room for a way out that doesn’t exist. “This isn’t over!” he spits, venom in every syllable. “People like me don’t just go away! You think you’re safe, that anyone is safe? I’ll—”

Kurt snaps the cuffs onto Blackwood’s wrists, cutting off his rant. “You’ll rot in a cell,” he says, voice low and final. “Where you belong.”

You step up beside him, arms crossed, adding a level gaze of your own. Blackwood’s protests fade, the finality settling over him as two uniformed officers enter the room to take him into custody. As the officers escort him out, you feel the tension in your shoulders loosen, a quiet relief unfurling as you finally let yourself breathe.

In the silence that follows, Kurt stands beside you, shoulders squared, eyes cast down as if in silent thought. You realize he hasn’t moved, and the handcuffs dangle from his fingers, a faint reminder of what you both had to endure to get to this point.

“You all right?” you ask, nudging him gently with your elbow.

Kurt looks up at you, his face softened, though his voice is still strained. “Yes,” he murmurs, nodding. “It’s… strange. Cases like this, they take a part of you. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Me too,” you reply quietly, the words carrying more meaning than you intend. For a moment, you simply stand there, side by side in the dim room, the weight of everything you’ve been through resting between you like an invisible tether. You think about the moments when your lives might’ve ended down here, in these rooms, when a slip or a wrong turn could’ve meant never walking out of that warehouse. You can’t shake the feeling that it’s time to take another risk—one that has nothing to do with the case and everything to do with what’s been building between you.

A warmth rises in your chest, and you look over at Kurt, your pulse quickening. The soft light from the flickering overhead bulbs highlights the planes of his face, making his amber eyes appear almost golden, softer, brighter. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—tentative, almost uncertain—that makes you want to say what’s been on your mind. But as you open your mouth, the words catch, and you feel a new kind of tension settle over you.

“So…” you begin, forcing a casual tone that feels out of place even as it leaves your mouth. “We did good, huh?”

Kurt blinks, surprised, but then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We did.” There’s a warmth to his voice that wasn’t there before, something closer, something unguarded. “Turns out I might have underestimated you after all.”

“Oh, so that’s what this was? You underestimated me?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong again sometime.”

He laughs, soft and real, and the sound sends a flutter through your chest. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the space between you seems to disappear, everything else fading away. The officers’ footsteps echo down the corridor, fading as they take Blackwood away, and you realize that you’re alone with him for the first time in days.

It would be so easy to ask him now, to invite him out, to see if whatever this is between you might mean something. But as you meet his gaze, a flicker of doubt catches you off guard. You don’t know if Kurt… well, if he’s interested in men, in you, in any of this. The thought sends an unexpected wave of anxiety through you, one that settles uncomfortably in your chest, and you’re not sure how to begin.

“So… what now?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “Now that this case is over?”

He hesitates, his fingers brushing over the worn cuffs in his hands. “We go home,” he says softly. “And wait for the next storm to roll in, I suppose.”

Something in his voice stops you—something that sounds less like duty and more like loneliness, like the weight of this case and cases before it have been more than he’s willing to admit. It takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels the same about you, if he might want more than this—than just cases and cold nights spent alone.

“Kurt,” you say, barely aware of how your voice trembles. You clear your throat. “I, uh… I was thinking. Maybe once we’ve wrapped all this up, you’d like to… grab a drink or something?”

His eyes widen, and he stares at you, caught off guard. You can see the faint blush spreading along his cheekbones, a rare hint of vulnerability. “With me?” he asks, almost like he can’t quite believe it.

You give him a small, reassuring smile, even though your heart’s pounding in your chest. “Yeah, with you. I figured we’ve been through a lot together. Thought maybe you’d like to unwind. With company.”

Kurt’s tail flicks slightly, an unconscious twitch that betrays his nerves, and he looks down, biting his lip. “I—well,” he stammers, his voice softening as he hesitates. “I… I’d like that. It’s just…” He swallows, his voice lowering, suddenly shy. “I don’t… I mean, I’m not sure…”

You realize then what’s holding him back. He’s unsure, not just because of you, but because he doesn’t know if the world you’re inviting him into is one he’s allowed to be part of, one where he can be himself.

The anxiety in your chest gives way to something warmer, something braver. You step closer, close enough that the faint warmth of his skin reaches you. “Kurt, I’m asking because I want you to be there with me. Just you. No one else.”

His gaze meets yours, and you see a flash of something vulnerable in his eyes, something raw and uncertain. For a moment, he’s silent, as if he’s processing your words, trying to believe them. Then, his shoulders relax, and he nods, a faint, grateful smile breaking through the hesitation.

“I’d… I’d like that very much,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than you know.”

The warmth in his eyes is answer enough, and your heart feels light as he holds your gaze. You realize, standing there with him, that the case may be over, but something new is beginning—something that feels more certain, more real, than any case or victory you’ve ever known.

The night of the date, you find yourself outside a cozy, dimly lit bar on the city’s edge, nerves swirling as you wait for Kurt. When he arrives, his usually sharp look softened by a rare, hesitant smile, you can’t help but smile back.

The evening is easy, surprisingly so. You talk about the case, laugh about the close calls, and somewhere between the drinks and the shared glances, the air shifts. Kurt’s warmth, his quiet laugh, the way his eyes catch the light—it’s all familiar but new, something you can’t help but want more of.

As the night stretches on, the conversation drifts from cases and work to lives and memories. He tells you about his childhood, his love for travel, his complicated past. In return, you share stories of your own, finding a strange comfort in the openness between you.

Eventually, the bar grows quiet, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket as you step outside together. The streetlights cast a soft glow over the pavement, illuminating the quiet look on Kurt’s face as he turns to you, his expression open, vulnerable.

“You know,” he says quietly, his voice steady, “I never thought… well, I never thought I’d be doing something like this.”

You smile, your hand finding his in a way that feels almost instinctual, and his fingers tighten around yours. “Neither did I. But I’m glad you’re here.”

He hesitates, but his eyes are soft, warm as he looks at you. And then, in a quiet, tentative movement, he steps closer, closing the space between you until he’s so near you can feel the warmth of his breath. He looks at you, searching, waiting for a sign that this is okay—that he’s allowed to want this.

And so you give it to him, leaning in until your lips meet his in a gentle, unhurried kiss, one that feels like a promise and an invitation, something real that neither of you can deny. His hand slips to your shoulder, pulling you closer as his lips press to yours, a soft, careful exploration that grows more certain with every second.

When you finally pull away, his face is flushed, his eyes shining with a happiness you hadn’t dared to hope for. He doesn’t say anything, but his smile speaks volumes, and in the quiet that follows, you realize that whatever happens, whatever cases or storms might come, this—this is the beginning of something worth holding onto.

kurt my baby <3 if you liked the story drop a like a reblog and a follow if you want to read more!

[flurrys-creativity]

A stitch in time...

Pairing: Ateez (OT8) x GN!Reader; Genre: angst, horror, thriller, murder au, hinted supernatural au, mentioned detective au; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: ghost hunting, abandoned place, trespassing, hints of being haunted, blood, puddles of blood, talks about blood, hinted murder, mentions of a serial killer/mass murderer, hinted demon possession, slight description of a rotting body, descriptions of dead bodies, OBVIOUSLY major character deaths, NO happy ending, open end... let me know if I missed something; Wordcount: 5.783

Event: @pirateeznet 2nd anniversary event; Prompt: Horror

moodboard/prompt credit: @daemour

Summary: Hunting for a ghost at an abandoned convent turned way more gruesome than any of you could have anticipated.

A/N: I feel like I suck at horror... and I feel like this isn't even closely enough horrific... well... have fun anyway. FUN FACT THOUGH! The title "A stitch in time..." is based on the proverb "a stitch in time saves nine" so I included some hints based on that proverd as well as the meaning of the number 9... the research was definitely a lot of fun and made my brain go brrrrrr...

“Why is it we’re going in the middle of the night again?”

You opened one eye, an amused smirk playing over your features upon hearing San’s question. 

The car shook gently as Yunho drove your group along a winding, uneven path towards an abandoned convent. Seonghwa guided him through the dark of the night with a map on his lap, ignoring San’s anxious demeanour completely.

Hongjoong, who sat next to Seonghwa on the double passenger seat, rolled his eyes. “You know the reason”, he grunted dismissively and made himself more comfortable in his seat again.

“I know”, San whined, leaning forward to grab Hongjoong’s shoulders, “but why?”

Wooyoung leaned over your form to pry San’s hands from their leader. “Oh, come here, my sweet little scaredy-cat.”

You opened both eyes now, watching them be all touchy and cuddly right on your lap with an unreadable expression. 

Jongho made the sound of throwing up, pretending to be heavily disgusted by their display of affection.

“The real question is, why didn’t you two want to sit next to each other? Now you’re torturing Y/N instead with your antics.” Yeosang snickered from behind, thankful he wasn’t the victim caught in the middle for once.

The two men on your lap turned their heads, looking at your face. While San had an almost apologetic and pleading expression, Wooyoung just grinned up at you cheekily. “Oh, you know Y/N secretly likes that.”

You scoffed at that, pushing his head playfully away from yourself. “You wish.”

“Oh, yes! You have no idea how much I wish for you to join.” 

“If they’re asking you to follow them, they want a threesome with you. Just a heads up.” Mingi commented, laughing at how Jongho immediately made the throwing up sounds again.

“Mingi!” San cried out, sitting back up and turning around to look at the man behind him. “You can’t just say that!”

“Worried you’re too scared to get it up?”

This time you rolled your eyes and slid down in your seat, wishing to be excluded from the fight. You closed your eyes again, drowning out their bickering voices and focusing on the reason you were there to begin with.

“We’re here!” Seonghwa’s voice cut through the discussion, directing a stern look at all the passengers around you. “Remember to be discreet. We do not want any authorities to bust our mission.”

“Yes, mom!” All of them called in unison before spilling out of the parked car. 

You chuckled softly, seeing Seonghwa’s pained smile. He truly did behave like the mom of the group. “They’re a lot, aren’t they?” You patted his shoulder and got out of the car yourself.

Yunho had opened the tailgate of the car, revealing several backpacks and equipment for the paranormal investigation they had planned.

“So this convent was abandoned ninety years ago after a massacre where eight nuns and a priest got murdered”, Hongjoong recited the information he had gathered over the past few weeks, “the other residents were so traumatised by this event that they couldn’t stand it staying near this place.”

Yeosang laughed nervously. “Nine people died back then.” He glanced around at his team. “And we’re nine people as well.”

The second Yeosang finished his observation, San started whining loudly, pouting and refusing to go anywhere near the convent now. 

Jongho smack Yeosang’s back. “Better watch out then.”

You rolled your eyes again and grabbed your backpack, hoisting it up on one shoulder. “They’re joking”, you muttered towards San as you thrusted his backpack into his flailing arms.

Wooyoung wrapped himself around the broad shoulders of San. “I’ll protect you, my sweet little scaredy-cat.” He laughed squeakily and jumped up and down, pulling San towards the building in the process.

“So much for being discreet”, Seonghwa sighed deeply. He turned on his flashlight, letting the circle of light wander over the surrounding area.

“It’s going to be alright.” Mingi patted his shoulder. “We’re far away from any town or village. Who’s going to notice we’re trespassing, huh?”

“With that blabbermouth even the capital miles away will hear us do that”, Jongho grunted, switching his flashlight on as well and heading straight for the building.

The rest followed him in various states of enthusiasm. Yunho was the last one to follow, closing the tailgate and locking the car before he tagged along.

All of you stopped at the gates to the convent, an unspoken tension weighing down on everyone.

You looked around, ignoring the roaming circles of light from the others. The surrounding woods seemed rather dense at night, the light of the flashlights barely reaching further than the second line of trees.

The old convent walls were overgrown with vines, some of them even stretching over gaping holes as the stone had caved in over time. Random things laid on the ground, grass half growing over them. Statues of angels had fallen over, their stone pieces scattered all over the place.

“Inviting”, you mumbled under your breath, pushing past the hesitating men and entering the convent grounds.

The path used to be there was barely visible - even less during the dark of the night. You stepped over some broken statue pieces, making a grimace at the crunching sound underneath your feet. You heard the others following you, their lights wandering around the area in curiosity.

“I think we should find the room where it all happened and set up some of our equipment there”, Yunho suggested, passing you with his long legs. Mingi followed close behind, already holding the EMF metre in his large hand.

When you glanced behind you, you noticed how the others also held their specialised equipment in their hands: a night vision camera, thermometers, an old radio to catch static sounds or even voices as well as a thermographic camera. 

All that in hopes of witnessing the presence of one ghost.

Before you even entered the building the first small groups had built and split up. Wooyoung, San and Yeosang stayed outside, checking the grounds for any activity. Jongho quickly ventured into the left wing of the building on his own, while Seonghwa and Hongjoong went further into the back. 

You hurriedly caught up with Mingi and Yunho, both of them walking up the stairs to the next level. 

The steps cracked underneath your weight, making you wince from the seemingly loud sound. The stench of mould and wet furniture invaded your nose. 

“Can you imagine all of this once bustled with life?”

“How lively can it be with a bunch of nuns living here?” You retorted to Yunho’s question, barely able to hide the grin on your face. 

He snorted and slowed down his pace, staying next to you and bumping your shoulder playfully. “Don’t you have to be a little more respectful on these grounds? Aren’t they holy or something?”

“Even after all this time?” Mingi joined you on your other side, looking at you two with wide eyes.

“Definitely not!” You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “Maybe the church on the east side was a holy ground but definitely not anymore.”

“Why not?”

Yunho grinned at you, heavily amused by the fact Mingi now started asking you all kinds of questions.

“To make something holy you have to cleanse it. It’s basically like showering. If you don’t shower after a while you start to stink. So do grounds that don’t get cleansed regularly. They don’t stay holy.”

Mingi made a sound of understanding, nodding his head ever so slowly while his eyes roamed around the long hallway.

You glanced at Yunho, who simply winked at you. He didn’t say anything else, instead turning around a corner and leaving you alone with Mingi.

For a while you two only walked side by side further along the corridor. Your steps and the constant peeping of the EMF the only sound bouncing from the walls. 

A cold shiver ran through your whole body. You stopped in your movements. You furrowed your brows. 

Mingi stopped a few steps further down the hallway. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you feel that?” You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “What about the EMF? Quick! Come back here! Does it pick something up?” You ushered Mingi back to your spot, grabbing his wrist and pulling the EMF right in front of your chest.

“Nothing.”

You moved Mingi’s arm around the area, hoping to catch some sort of activity. “What?” You growled in annoyance. Did you just imagine the cold? Is your mind playing tricks on you? What just happened?

“What’s wrong?” Mingi repeated his question, growing nervous from your frantic movements. “What was I supposed to feel?” 

Your heart rate increased rapidly. Your breathing turned shallow. Your eyes darted around aimlessly and unfocused. “Something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?”

You blinked several times, softly shaking your head. You looked back up at Mingi. Fear evident in both of your gazes. “I don’t know.”

Before your mind caught up to your body, you already hurried back down the corridor. Something pulled you back downstairs. While you had no idea what it was, you just knew you had to be there as fast as possible.

The light of your flashlight flickered as you turned around a corner, momentarily leaving you in the dark. You rushed deeper into the building, barely avoiding broken doors and walls. 

When you turned around yet another corner, you suddenly slipped and fell to the ground. 

“Fuck.” You hissed as you pushed yourself up again. The flashlight had rolled several feets away from you, going on and off repeatedly. You raised one hand to your forehead, groaning from the dull throbbing. 

You stopped in your movements. The scent of something metallic forcing its way into your nose. At the same time the feeling of something warm and sticky on your hands made itself known. As you sat there in the dark another cold shiver ran down your back. You raised your trembling hands in front of your body, eyes trained on them. Only after the flashlight turned on once again, did you see it.

Something red coloured your hands. It dripped down to the puddle on the ground, somewhat connecting your hands to it.

Your ears started ringing. A cold sweat spread all over your skin. Your eyes unfocused. 

“Y/N!” You felt several hands pulling at your shoulders and arms. They shook you anxiously until you finally snapped out of your stupor.

“What happened?”

“Y/N?”

“Are you alright?”

“We heard you scream!”

You turned your head almost mechanically to look at them. Your eyes wandered over the seven faces staring at you. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

The men turned their heads, looking at each other and around, before shrugging with their shoulders.

“Wasn’t he with you, Seonghwa?”

“Only in the beginning!”

You looked back at your hands, trying desperately to stop the tremble inside of them. 

Wooyoung grabbed your shoulder, pulling your focus back to them. “What happened, Y/N? We heard you scre-”. His voice got stuck in his throat when he finally noticed your hands. “What the fuck?”

The others turned their gazes to your hands as well. They gasped or cursed in shock.

“Is that blood?”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Why did you ask for Hongjoong?”

Yunho walked around the room, moving his circle of light all over the place. “Hongjoong?” His voice boomed through the room, even echoing from the hallway outside. “Hongjoong? Where are you?”

No answer.

“Y/N? Please”, Seonghwa begged quietly, crouching down next to you. “Tell us what happened?”

“Let’s get Y/N out of this room first”, Jongho interjected. He forcefully helped you up, keeping his hand on your upper arm and pulling you outside.

Once outside Jongho sat you down on one of the many fallen statues. He stepped back again, leaving you some space.

The others gathered around you, nervous glances being exchanged and wandering around. Hongjoong still hasn’t appeared.

Seonghwa was the first to move again, walking up to you and kneeling in front of your form. He pulled some tissues out of his pockets, as well as a bottle of water. Without a word he reached for your hands and quietly started cleaning them.

“Do you think Hongjoong got lost somewhere?” Yeosang whispered, glancing at the others with uncertainty.

“No.”

All heads snapped to you, surprised to hear your hoarse voice. “You seem to know something we don’t.”

You nodded ever so slowly. “There’s a reason I joined your mission.” You pulled a badge out of your pocket and held it up for them to see it. “I’m a detective and I’m working on a case of a serial killer. I followed some new leads, which brought me to you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Yunho interrupted you with furrowed brows. His expression appeared cold and distant, as if he tried to control his own anger.

“Hongjoong was murdered.”

They gasped in shock, eyes widening almost comically. Some of them protested weakly, not wanting to believe one of their friends is dead. “He could just be hurt somewhere!”

“There was too much blood on the floor.” You shook your head and bit down on your lower lip. “He’s definitely dead already.”

“Shouldn’t we get out of here then? If there’s a serial killer roaming around that building somewhere?” Wooyoung questioned.

“We can’t just leave Hongjoong here!”

“HE’S DEAD ALREADY! Are you willing to risk your own life for a corpse?” 

“HE’S OUR FRIEND!”

You watched them yell at each other. Silently, you noted down within your mind every little detail you caught on. After all, your intel showed you it must be one of them. “We won’t be able to leave.”

“What?” Their arguing stopped instantly as they turned back to you. As you didn’t say anything else, a nervous tension filled the air.

“You think it’s one of us”, Jongho stated bluntly, followed by more gasps of shock.

You saw how they turned to look at you, hoping Jongho only made a cruel joke. Though seeing your serious expression their hope vanished. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“I need to go back to the crime scene. I hope to find some sort of clue who might have done it.” You pushed yourself up, quietly thanking Seonghwa for his help cleaning you up. 

“What about us?”

“You can’t go alone!”

San jumped forward and wrapped his arms around one of yours, clinging himself to your side. “I don’t wanna die here”, he whispered into your ear, looking at you pleadingly.

Seonghwa stepped next to you as well. “If it’s one of us, I agree that you can’t go alone.”

“We can’t all go”, you sighed in exasperation. “I fear we already destroyed important evidence the first time we were there.” You massaged your temples, feeling like your head was about to explode. “I also need to find his body.”

“Then let's make two groups”, Mingi suggested, “one will search for Hongjoong and the other will check the room again.”

You nodded. “Let’s do that.”

After some discussion Yeosang joined the two men, who already made it to your side, and the other four men formed the second group.

You hoped this way everyone stayed somewhat safe for now - or at least until you discovered some sort of clue to save the innocent.

“I, uh, I’ll stay outside of the room”, San whispered as he stopped in front of the broken door, staring with unfocused eyes into the dark void. He didn’t react to Seonghwa’s sweet words, asking him to come inside, nor did he react to Yeosang’s soft pulling.

“Stay in the doorway and look outside. That way you’re not out of sight.” You barely waited for his short nod before you walked into the room. You had grabbed San’s flashlight, since your own lied broken on the ground. 

You immediately started your search, checking every corner of the room. You somewhat ignored the others, too focused on your own mission. There had to be something. You had to find something, anything.

San stayed at the doorway like you told him, but your constant muttering as well as the stench of blood and mold drained the colour from his face. “I don’t think I can…” He didn’t finish his words, doubling over and vomiting on the ground. 

“He needs to get out of here!” You ordered and pointed aimlessly at Yeosang and Seonghwa, hoping either of them would help him out. 

Yeosang immediately jumped to his friend, waiting until he only gasped for air to pull him outside. 

Seonghwa on the other hand already pulled out several more tissues and handed them to San. He crouched down as well, wiping along the doorframe for a second, before he followed Yeosang and San outside.

You stayed behind, pondering over the events that happened here. You definitely wanted to talk to Seonghwa, questioning him about his actions. As far as you knew he was also the last one to be with Hongjoong, making him the main suspect in this case.

Too absorbed in your own thoughts you didn’t notice someone approaching you.

Out of the corner of your eye and at the edge of your light you saw something bloodied. Again.

A scream got stuck in your throat.

You turned around. Ready to defend yourself.

When Mingi raised his hands in an innocent manner. “Hey, there.”

You cursed under your breath, laughing awkwardly when the initial shock subsided. “My heart nearly stopped, Mingi! You can’t scare me like that!” You walked over to him, pulling him into a hug from the relief you felt.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” He wrapped himself around you. “I just lost the others and knew you should be here.”

You furrowed your brows in surprise and confusion. “How did you lose the others? You should have stayed together.”

“You’re on your own as well!”

You rolled your eyes with a soft chuckle. “San wasn’t able to stay near the crime scene so the others brought him outside.” You turned your head and looked over the room again. “Maybe we should follow them”, you mumbled and pursed your lips. You had to question Seonghwa, there was no way around it.

Mingi guided you outside again, where you found a retching San and Yeosang helplessly standing next to him. 

“Where’s Seonghwa?”

Yeosang pointed towards the building and you followed his finger with your gaze. 

With a sigh you rolled your shoulders, ready to confront him, when Yunho, Jongho and Wooyoung came running from the direction you wanted to go.

Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, the colour from his features draining as he stared at you with wide eyes. 

The other two kept rushing towards you, a crazed look in their eyes. “Weren’t you all supposed to stay with Seonghwa?” Yunho pointed accusingly at you and then at Yeosang and San.

“He went back in! How was I supposed to stay with Seonghwa with a retching San right over here?” Yeosang protested loudly, his hand vaguely waving over the bend over San.

“Mingi was with me”, you answered, furrowing your brows in suspicion. “Why are you even asking?”

“Because we just found his body”, Jongho interjected.

Your expression dropped, hands falling to your sides. “No”, you whispered, exhaling shakily. “This can’t be.” You ran past them, ignoring their calls and hurrying inside. You stopped at every little room, peeking inside in hopes to find Seonghwa.

“Hwa!” Your voice carried a sense of desperation as your search continued without any sign of him. “Seonghwa! Answer me!”

“He can’t.” 

You whirled around at Yeosang’s voice. Your eyes jumped between his own, trying to understand what was going on. “This can’t be true.”

“What are you doing here?” Yunho interrupted you two, staring at you with a pointed look. “Why are you over there? We found him in that room.” He pointed at a room that you had passed already.

You scoffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “I already checked that room. Seonghwa wasn’t in there.”

“What are you talking about?” You heard the hint of annoyance in his voice before he stormed off into that room. 

Without hesitation you rushed over to him, following him into the room as well. You ignored Yeosang who still stood there, silently watching you. “See, I told you-”

“Where did you take him?” Yunho’s voice boomed through the room. His anger finally took over and he turned around, glaring at you menacingly.

You startled from his sudden outburst, stumbling backwards and blinking several times. 

Mingi showed up behind you, followed by the others. All of them got drawn into the room by his loud voice, worried gazes switching between him and you.

“I’m asking you again. WHERE DID YOU TAKE HIM?”

You stuttered something incomprehensible, unable to form a coherent sentence or argument. You didn’t even know what to say to calm him down either. 

“How would they be able to drag a whole body around without any of us noticing? Y/N wasn’t even alone at all.” Mingi placed his hands on your shoulder, backing you up not just with his words but with his gesture as well.

“Then who did it?” Yunho stalked through the room, grabbing drawers, tables and chairs and throwing them around as if he’d find Seonghwa somewhere behind them. 

You watched him silently, thoughts already racing inside your head. You had suspected Seonghwa to be the murderer but apparently you had been way off with him now gone too. Your eyes wandered to the other guys, wondering who the culprit might be instead.

Something wasn’t adding up.

You just couldn’t figure out what.

“I’m out of here”, San muttered, still pale and weak on his legs. He didn’t wait for any response, wobbling out of the room already.

“He shouldn’t go alone.”

You watched how Yeosang followed him until he was out of your sight. In the meantime Jongho tried calming Yunho down again, promising to find both missing members with him. They left the room as well, leaving Mingi at your side and Wooyoung close to the entrance, staring at you blankly.

“What are we going to do now?”

You silently shook your head, unsure what was the best course of action. You turned your head to look at Mingi. As of now he seemed to be the only one who couldn’t have done either of the murders.

“I think we shouldn’t be splitting up again”, he mumbled and gently pushed you towards the entrance.

Wooyoung stayed where he was, his head turning almost mechanically as you passed. 

“Aren’t you coming?” You called over your shoulder. A cold shiver ran down your spine again. Something definitely was off here.

Even with Mingi’s suggestion of staying together, it appeared harder than all of you anticipated. Somehow there seemed to be always a kind of situation that pulled your group apart.

And one by one your group got smaller and smaller.

After Hongjoong and Seonghwa, Yeosang was the next to vanish.

Except for another large puddle of blood his body was nowhere to be found.

Then Jongho disappeared. 

He heard a noise and followed it. Never came back.

San currently sat down, pressed against a wall. He slightly rocked his upper body back and forth, mumbling quietly and erratically to himself. 

You tried calming him down, crouching down in front of his form. Though your words didn’t reach him at all. 

A movement at the corner of your eye caught your attention, letting you glance towards it for a second. Only when your gaze moved back to San, did your brain register what you saw.

Mingi. 

At least a version of Mingi.

Pitch black eyes. Hollow cheeks and blood streaks running down from his eye sockets. Chapped lips and an even paler complexion than San who felt sick.

The air got stuck in your throat, fear gripping at your very core. Your eyes shakily moved back, followed by your whole head.

You exhaled in disbelief, pitifully laughing at yourself and your mad imagination. “It’s you”, you chuckled and shook your head, “again.”

Except for some dishevelled clothing and hair Mingi looked just the same.

You stood up and brushed over your clothes, sending one last pitiful glance at San. “I think I’ll go look for Yunho. He’s been raging around like crazy with everything that’s going on.”

As you started to walk away, Mingi silently followed you, continuously staying one step behind you. He only left your side when you asked him to check a room here and there.

To your surprise though Yunho was nowhere to be found. At the same time you noticed something else.

It felt eerily quiet.

“Let’s head back to San”, you called out and started running towards the outside.

Your breathing came out ragged when you finally reached the spot where you had left him. 

Only to find an empty spot.

You cursed under your breath, running your fingers through your hair. “This can’t be happening.” You paced around and started chewing on your nail.

By now you had searched every room of the convent and even the outside grounds without having found any trace of the others. 

Except for puddles of blood.

You stopped your pacing, your head turning towards the church at the east side of the grounds. 

The only place you hadn’t checked yet.

Your first steps were hesitant, more like a stumble before you broke out into another sprint. 

When you reached the double doors to the church, two voices called out your name. You turned around with wide eyes, seeing both Wooyoung and Mingi running towards you.

“You shouldn’t go in there alone”, Mingi panted once he reached you.

“You shouldn’t be here in the first place”, Wooyoung hissed.

You blinked several times, trying to comprehend what was happening. With furrowed brows and your eyes switching between them two you still reached for the door, intent on opening it. 

It’s then that you noticed Wooyoung wasn’t even looking at you. His glare was directed towards Mingi.

“What’s going-”

“How many times do I have to kill you?”

Your jaw dropped open and your eyes widened when you heard Wooyoung’s question.

“WHY! Why can’t you stay dead?”

You stepped back, your weight pushing the door to the church open. You stumbled backwards, barely catching yourself.

Mingi called out to you but got rooted in his place when you reached for your weapon and raised it towards them. You moved it between the two men, desperately trying to make sense of this whole situation.

“What do you mean by killing him over and over again?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your eyes flicked towards Wooyoung and then back to Mingi. 

“So”, you inhaled deeply, “you killed all the others?”

“No!” Wooyoung raised both his hands, a desperate attempt to show his innocence. “I swear it wasn’t me!”

Your attention turned to Mingi who stared ahead of you with a face void of any emotion. When you glanced back at Wooyoung, you noticed how his eyes widened in shock as they focused on something behind you.

Ever so slowly you turned around. You swallowed harshly.

The inside of the church was kept in pristine condition. The walls stayed a blinding white, same with the floor. The seats were aligned in perfect rows from the front to the back and the gold applications on the altar appeared as new as ever. 

There wasn’t any sign of broken furniture nor spots of mould. The only thing inside the whole room that shouldn’t have been there were six bodies placed in a circle right in front of the altar.

You clapped your hand in front of your mouth, the scream stuck in your throat. 

More blood pooled around the bodies, connecting them to one another. Their pale skin nearly glowed against the dark red of the blood. Their hands were folded in a praying manner across their chests while their dead eyes stared at the ceiling.

You turned back around to the two remaining guys. “What kind of psycho are you to do this to your friends?” You yelled and pointed your gun back at Wooyoung. “And you tried killing Mingi too?”

“It wasn’t me!” Wooyoung cried out. “Well, at least not this.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” You glanced towards Mingi, who stayed oddly impassive to the whole situation. You mused he was in shock.

Wooyoung stepped towards you and you quickly focused back on him. “I can’t let this slide.” His eyes widened and his expression morphed from shock to sheer panic. 

The gun shot rang loudly through the air, followed by the dull drop from Wooyoung’s body hitting the floor.

You exhaled shakily. Your eyes were unfocused. 

You only got it together when Mingi started moving again.

Mingi calmly walked over to Wooyoung’s body and picked it up, carrying it over to the circle of the others.

“What are you doing?”

“Finishing what you started.”

“What I started?” You asked incredulously. You scoffed, disbelief radiating from every cell inside your body.

“The human mind is such a flimsy thing.” Mingi laughed out, the sound empty and foreign. “Can’t even remember what you did, you poor little thing.” He placed Wooyoung down on the ground, filling one of the empty spots in the circle.

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin as one cold shiver after the other ran along your spine.

This wasn’t right. Nothing of this was right.

You raised your gun back up, pointing it at Mingi this time. Dread filled your chest at the thought of having shot someone innocent. Though he said he tried to kill Mingi - more than once. So technically Wooyoung wasn’t that innocent. At least that’s what you tried telling yourself to justify the seemingly grave mistake you made.

“Explain yourself!”

“You suspected Hongjoong at first-”

You barked out a laugh. “What are you even talking about? He died first! How should he have been a suspect?”

Mingi’s head turned towards you, a boyish grin plastered on his lips. “Remember the reason you joined this expedition? ‘Cause you thought there was a serial killer hiding among us. And you suspected Hongjoong to be it.”

You bit on your lower lip, silently waiting for him to continue speaking.

“Now with Hongjoong’s death you needed a new suspect and who else to pick but his partner for everything.” Mingi stood back up, walking around the circle of bodies only for him to stop at Seonghwa’s head. “So you confronted him and killed him, thinking all your made up clues inside your head were pointing at him. But then his body disappeared and fear gripped your heart again.”

Memories flashed inside of your mind, showing you scenes of a fight and Seonghwa’s face twisted in pain. 

“Same with all the others. Yeosang, Jongho, Yunho, San.” Mingi stopped at each one of them as he spoke before he slowly walked towards you. “For each one of them you crafted yourself some sort of reason why they were the culprits and you killing them was supposed to save the others. And nobody ever suspected you. After all, slipping on Hongjoong’s blood was a great move: being covered in it nobody suspected any blood stain on you.”

Your hands started trembling as more memories of your gruesome actions filled your mind. 

Mingi placed his hand on yours, slowly pushing them down until the gun pointed at the ground. He walked around you while his hands ran up your arms. 

You shivered when his breath caressed the shell of your ear. “There never was a serial killer in this group”, he whispered in a low tone, “not until you turned into one yourself, my little mass murderer.”

You shook your head in denial, tears spilling out and running over your cheeks. This couldn’t be true. You couldn’t have possibly done all of this. “I don’t believe you.”

Mingi chuckled into your ear, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders. “Maybe you should believe your own memories. Aren’t they coming back to you? Right, you simply don’t want to trust yourself. How could it be possible for a good person to turn bad all in the name of justice.”

You shook your head again, barely noticing how Mingi guided you closer towards the circle of bodies. 

There were still two empty spots and a part of your brain knew what that meant. “You’re going to end this here, aren’t you?”

Mingi laughed again. “On the contrary. You’ll be the one to end it all.”

You looked up at him through teary eyes, brows furrowing in confusion. “I won't kill you now that I know what happened!” 

Mingi stepped away from you, walking over to one of the empty spots. “There's no need for that. This body has been dead for a while now.” He waved his hand in front of his form as if he was pulling a curtain aside, revealing the horrific state of his body that you had thought you imagined earlier on.

You slowly shook your head from side to side in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. You simply couldn’t believe this to be true. 

You watched him sit down on the ground, crossing his long legs over one another and leaning back on his palms. He even tilted his head and grinned devilishly at you. “It’s missing only one more thing.” Mingi jerked his chin towards the second empty space of the circle.

A gasp tore its way through your throat at the indication. Yet, all you could do was shake your head mechanically. “You can’t mean that.”

“Oh, obviously I do. We both know you won’t be able to live with the guilt of having murdered eight men - eight friends.”

You desperately wished for this to be a lie, hoped to wake up from a nightmarish fever dream. Tears welled up in your eyes and your throat closed up. 

Your mind played one murder after the other inside your head, letting you relive each and everyone of it. 

Mingi layed down on the floor, laughing to himself while your inner turmoil tore you apart.

As if your body had a mind of its own, your feet carried you to the last empty spot. Your eyes wandered over the others, staring at them through a blurry vision. 

“I can’t”, you whispered, followed by a soft hiccup. You dropped to your knees as sobs tore through your throat. 

The dim light from the candles flickered around, casting shadows all over the circle. Soon the sun would rise again. Though none of the bodies inside the church would do the same.

Ever again.

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ @songsoomin

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

It's Not Over, Is It?

{Where a silly game of blooming romance, becomes tangled in a spiders web of jealously and rivalery.}

Cast: (Y/N) (L/N), Bruce Wayne, Talia Al Ghul [Rule 63], Catwoman [Rule 63].

Au Synopsis:

(Y/N), having been chosen as Bruce Wayne's manager/secretary for his "playboy act". Controlling over the media and press that had anything to do with Bruce Wayne or Batman.

(Y/N) is in love with Bruce and is a mother figure to Dick. But Bruce has never once tried to express his love for the reader. Afraid to ruin the little peace and normality he had in his life with you, Dick and Alfred.

So, he finds "comfort", in other's embraces unknowingly.

(Y/N) knows everything about Bruce, to his coffee, to the names that he slept with or fancied when in his "playboy persona".

Has helped create every file and notes or each vilian or other in his rouge gallery.

-

Talia Al Ghul, the son of the Demon Head: Ra's Al Ghul.

Knows of the little game of "hopeless lovers" when he sees a pair. Instead of waiting for the other to fall, he instead makes his move. Finding (Y/N) under the guise of friendship and a random civilian that happened be at the right place and right time.

Yet. He toys with the Detective, that he and his father had found quite intriguing.

Though he is not seen as a worthy enough successor in his father's eyes. He doesn't mind, finding Batman much more of a worthy advisory and leader.

Ra's sees you as the perfect bride for his son. Along with carrier for the perfect successor.

-

Catwoman: Selina Kyle

Selina adores poking fun at the Bat when knowing somewhere you could be listening. Often stealing Batmans communicator to converse with you.

He too plays the civilian card with you, wanting to charm you with his real self instead of the sleek cat burglar he dressed as.

He found you gorgeous, more precious than any jewelry he could've stole.

But you know his true intentions (?) and identity.

So often leading him astray with words of formality and obliviousnsss.

-

"You know, I think it's weird.." The young Grayson started, watching you clean up Bruce's wounds carefully as he stares at you. Doing his best not to flinch or show any signs of pain. Failing terribly, but you didn't seem focused on it. More wrapped up with placing bandages over his ribs.

"What is odd to you, young master Richard?" Alfred questions the little Robin.

Dick looks away from the two, giving Alfred a stern look.

"Mom's been busy as of late..." The sidekick kicks his legs back and fourth on the small chair.

"In what way?" Alfred rose a eyebrow.

"I've noticed she's been getting flowers or little notes. I think, she thinks, there from Bruce." Dick sighs, "but I know there not. But also, I saw this guy follow me and her to the nice bakery she takes me too when I get a good grade on my tests."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the desserts are good. But not as good as your's Alfred."

"Why thank you, Master Dick." Alfred smiled at the young lad. "But I must say, a strange fellow following the two of you around sounds concerning."

"Don't worry, I kept glaring at him and told mom about it. So we left in a hurry. I made sure they didn't track us!" Dick said pridefully.

-

[Just a small idea I had at 3am, hope you like it!]

[ren-054]

Waves!! Hi!!! Hiiiii!!! Hello :D

✔️ - Tell us a random fact about any of the characters in your AU

About the bbg shadow paralysis demons au

Ouughhh I just posted my fun fact list with the babygirl demons im sorry Sunny :<

Uhhh SD!AU’s y/n can more easily detect Sun and Moon during the day because they’re paranoid their eyesight is really bad and the blurriness helps reveal the, comparatively crisp, slightly refracted light that shows whenever a demon is occupying that space on the waking plane

For some reason, the brains of organisms on the waking plane are connected to the void plane on some sensory level. This connection is strengthened when individuals—people, in this case—sleep due to the reduced sensory input from the rest of the body.

Also hewwo!!!! :3

[impcarcass]

Y’all miss me?

Reuploading (if I did already) an old magma sketch I did. Still really proud of some of my work, yearning to join another magma in the future

[preet-01]

I really enjoyed the last time I did one of the au prompts ask game so I decided to make one of my own with some of my favorites

Send me a letter and a ship (or not totally up to you) for a short ficlet

Feel free to use and reblog

A — Modern Royalty

B — Academic Rivals

C — Teachers (or Professors)

D — Tudor Era

E — Roaring 20s

F — Stuck on a Deserted Island

G — Fairytale

H — Game of Thrones

I — Model/Photographer

J — Mythology

K — Detective/Criminal

L — Superheroes (Comic Books)

M — Angel/Demon

N — Reincarnation (Doppelgängers)

O — Wizards

P — Driver/WAG

Q — Delayed/Missed Flight

R — Pirates

S — Hallmark Christmas Movie

T — Accidental Marriage

U — Single Parent(s)

V — Romeo and Juliet

W — Hunger Games

X — Omegaverse

Y — Time Travel

Z — Renaissance

[outrogi]

laura's jimin recs

I’ve been reading fics in here nonstop way before I started this blog. It felt like a sin not compiling a list of some of the stories that I loved and hadn’t gotten around to sharing yet, a few of them safe in my drafts until I was ready to make this.

I will keep on adding onto this list as I keep finding stories I've read before and would love to share with you. Leave some love and appreciation to the authors if you can!

disclaimer: all stories that include mature themes will be labeled accordingly. DNI if you aren’t 18+

♡ - favorite

S E R I E S

raise the barre by @kpopfanfictrash ♡ ◦ dancers au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

lovely demons by @kpopfanfictrash ♡ ◦ fantasy au, enemies to lovers, prince of hell jimin, angst, smut

of stars erased by @fantasybangtan ◦ dystopian au, angst, smut

catch your drift by @snackhobi ◦ street racer au, rivals to lovers, smut, fluff

p[ass]enger from hell by @dovechim & @jimlingss ◦ airport au, enemies to lovers, humor, fluff

what's a soul really worth, anyway? by thisneedsmorefilth ♡ ◦ magic au, mxm jikook, demon au, angst, fluff, smut

O N E - S H O T S

equinox by @crystaljins ◦ king of spring jimin, queen of winter reader, light angst, fluff

sololiquy by @kinktae ♡ ◦ angel jimin, spin-off, light angst, fluff

neon seoul by @readyplayerhobi ◦ cyberpunk detective jimin, angst, smut, light fluff

quid pro quo by @fantasybangtan ◦ lawyer au, smut

note #1: if any fic recommended is in hiatus, the author has yet to update or left altogether, please do not pester them with updates.

note #2: These are not all of my PJM recs! There’s more with extensive commentary from me here and you can find more of my favorites here

[mod-kyoko]

for the event promp.. might I ask shuichi?

chocolate aphrodisiac ft. shuichi saihara

info: ⚠️nsfw!!, one-shot format, non-despair au, established relationship, reader is dominant and gender neutral, i'm following the prompt exactly lol

a/n: thanks for the request, anon!! i rarely get shuichi requests!

also sorry this took so damn long

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

shuichi would never be one to initiate anything, perhaps other than a makeout session, he's too shy. so one day you decided to try something with him. you were at the mall with him earlier, and in a certain store there was an arrangement of candies. you let yourself look around, and your eyes landed on a chocolate bar that was labeled as a 'chocolate aphrodisiac.' it came with a warning, explaining the effects of this so-called aphrodisiac. with a devilish smile, you bought it without shuichi knowing, and the two of you returned home.

here you are now, unwrapping the chocolate bar and breaking it up into pieces. you take the plate out to shuichi, who is waiting for you on the couch, watching his favorite detective show.

"hey babe, i got some chocolate for us," you sit down next to him.

"oh, thanks s/o," he reaches for a piece, but you lift the bowl out of his reach.

"ah ah, there's something special about this chocolate i have to tell you first."

he retracts his hand, furrowing his brows. "what would that be?"

the corners of your lips turn up into a smirk. "this chocolate contains an aphrodisiac," you start, watching his eyes widen. "i want us both to eat some, and then see how long we can go without touching each other."

the blush is already spreading through your partner's face, and you can see he's fighting demons in his head. he averts his eyes, and you start to think you made a mistake. you're about to speak up, when he breaks the silence.

"yeah, okay." he looks you in the eyes now, but his cheeks are still a violent shade of red.

"really?" you smile, watching as he reaches for a piece of chocolate.

"why not?" he says, taking a bite. you feel your own face heating up, and take a piece for yourself. the two of you continue eating the chocolate, while shuichi's show plays on the tv.

once it's all gone, you set the bowl down on the coffee table. shuichi turns and meets your gaze.

"so... how long until the aphrodisiac takes effect?" he asks. you snuggle closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"not sure. i guess that's the fun of it!"

"sure," he replies, turning his head back to the tv. you pick up a book off the table and front of you, and open it to the chapter you're on.

it's not long before you notice shuichi mindlessly tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. you discreetly look up at him, and notice he's pursing his lips. you return your attention back to your book, suppressing a chuckle. one chapter later, and you feel shuichi's hand on your thigh.

"hey, did you forget about our challenge?" you tease, closing your book. your boyfriend covers his mouth with his hand and averts your gaze.

"i can't touch you sexually, right? what's wrong with my hand on your leg?" he answers shyly.

"well i hope you don't regret it," you reply, tossing your book to the side. your eyes shift to the tv, wondering what's playing. then, you get an idea.

"it's kind of hot," you remark, grabbing at your pants and sliding them down. shuichi stares at you in awe as you settle back into him in only your underwear and shirt. you don't say anything else, instead adjusting your position so that you're now curled up in his lap.

you can feel his hard-on under your ass, and you want to laugh, but you really have no room to talk when you're heating up like this. butterflies are fluttering around in your stomach, and you feel your chest tightening with anticipation. innocently, you adjust yourself every so often, wiggling around in his lap. you don't look at his face, but you can tell how he's reacting because his dick twitches underneath you, and the hand that is rested on your hip clenches.

he tries his best not to look at you, and you do the same, but eventually he relents.

you catch him trying to snake his hand down between your legs, slowly, and grab it.

"giving in so readily, huh?" you smirk, and he takes the opportunity to pinch your thigh, drawing out a gasp from you.

"s/o, i don't really care anymore," he breaths, and spreads your legs while you let your guard down.

"really? i could keep going," you swallow dryly, watching as he rubs up and down your leg. his hand comes to a stop.

"s/o. please." the sound that comes out of his mouth is borderline whining. you laugh, but give in to what he wants. with one fluid movement, you turn and straddle his hips, and grind on his cock. as his breath catches in his throat, you lean forward and whisper into his ear.

"you lose," giving him no warning, you start grinding on his clothed groin, running your hands from his chest up to his face. he groans as you press yourself down into his lap. "so adorable," you coo, taking his face into your hands as you kiss him all over. he's panting now, clutching the arm of the couch as you grind on him harder and faster. you moan a little yourself as you help him chase his high.

"s/o, i'm gonna-" he starts, bucking his hips up into yours, but he's unable to finish his sentence. as you lean down to suck on his neck, he finally cums, straight into his underwear. he leans his head back as he catches his breath, and you stop grinding.

"aw, baby, you were so needy you came right into your underwear? all i did was was grind on your lap a little bit," you laugh tangling your fingers in his hair. "i think you owe me a little something now."

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omgggg

[kpop-stories-21]

Lobby - Introduction

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: ATEEZ x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Themes & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Sci-fi, Horror, History, Mystery/Crime, Fantasy, Adventure, Supernatural themes and creatures, aliens, vampires, gladiators, detectives, criminals, Dark & Light fae, princes, princesses, treasure hunters, monsters, demons

Content & Trigger Warnings: Strong language, Explicit sexual content(Minors DNI), themes of science fiction, horror, history, mystery, fantasy, adventure and the supernatural

Summary: After losing your job, you fear you won't be able to continue supporting your mother. Then you hear about the Library of Illusion and the fabled treasure housed within. Perhaps this is your lucky break.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

MDNI banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

The ringing of your phone ripped you from your sleep, the shreds of a nightmare still clinging to your sweaty skin. You couldn't recall what the nightmare had been about, but an overwhelming feeling of terror lingered even now. Shaking your head to clear the cobwebs from your brain, you reached for your phone and answered the incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Y/N, where the hell are you?! You're 45 minutes late for your shift and Mr. Lee is losing his shit. You need to get over here as fast as you can!"

Looking at the time on your phone had your eyes in disbelief. How in the world had you slept this long? "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'll be right over."

Cursing under your breath, you leap from bed and yank your uniform out of the closet. As you slapped on some makeup and dragged a brush through your hair, you prayed that your boss would be understanding and give you another chance. Throwing your phone in your bag and grabbing your keys, you raced out the door.

On the way to the restaurant you forced yourself to drive the speed limit, even though you wanted to go faster. Getting pulled over would just make you even later and that was the last thing you wanted.

Upon arriving you snatched up your things and ran across the parking lot to the back door. Flinging it open, you stepped in and were immediately greeted with Mr. Lee's bright red face. Freezing in place, you watched as a fat finger came up to wave in front of your face.

"I've had just about all I'm gonna take, young lady! I gave you this job because I'm a family friend and I felt bad for the position you've been put in. But compassion can only go so far, and I've given you too many second chances.

"At the end of the day, I have a business to run and it's not fair to me, the customers, or the other wait staff if someone has to cover your ass every time you oversleep. I really hate to do this, but today will be your last day working here."

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling as you watched him walk away. Deep down you knew he was right, and you felt incredibly guilty for disappointing someone who had been like a father to you. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to remain calm. The tears could come later, once you were alone. Right now you had a job to do, and you owed it to Mr. Lee to make your last day count.

As soon as you finished your shift, you headed to Mr. Lee's office to collect your final payment and turn in your name tag. The envelope he handed you was thicker than you'd expected, and you looked at him in confusion.

He smiled sympathetically. "Just because I fired you doesn't mean I stopped caring. I know things are hard right now, so I gave you a little extra to help hold you over until you find a new job."

You blinked, suddenly swallowing around a lump of tears. "T-Thank you Mr. Lee. I'm sorry things had to turn out this way."

Mr. Lee stood and hugged you tightly. "Me too. I'll still be checking in on you, so keep your chin up kiddo. Things will turn around one day."

Nodding, you thanked him once more and left the restaurant.

Back in your car now, you made the drive you've been making every evening for the last year and a half. After parking outside the hospital, you walked in and took the elevator to the cancer wing. You greeted the nurse at the nurse's station with a smile, after your many visits she had become something of a friend to you.

"She's in her room, having her dinner. She's expecting you."

You smiled at the nurse and walked down the left hallway. You'd memorised the room number by now. Pushing the door open, you smiled at the slight woman sitting upright in the bed eating her dinner from a tray.

“Hi Mom.” You said with a soft smile as you closed the door behind you.

Your mom looked up as you entered, her entire face lighting up at the sight of you.

"Y/N, my little dove, I was hoping you'd turn up soon! Have you eaten yet?"

You shook your head as you sat down in the chair situated next to her bed. "I came here straight after work, like always. I'll eat when I get back home." Reaching out to take her thin hand in your own, you changed the subject. "So, how was your day today?"

A grim look crossed your mom's pale features. "Dr. Kwang visited me this morning. He said the current course of treatment has stopped working, so they're going to have to start doing chemotherapy."

You felt your heart sink into your stomach. The chemo was going to be so much more expensive, and with you now out of a job there was no way you could pay for her to continue getting treated. Then you remembered the envelope in your purse with your wages plus the extra from Mr. Lee. You could keep a little out for yourself and give the rest to pay as much of the chemo as you could.

You spent some more time with your mom, then left to go find Dr. Kwang. He was in his office, probably expecting a visit from you due to the change in treatment.

“Ah, Y/N. I trust your mother told you about the chemo?”

You nodded and he continued.

“As we discussed previously, the chemo will cost more. Are you still able to support your mother's treatment?"

Taking the envelope from your purse, you flipped through the bills within, doing some quick maths in your head. Keeping back enough for you to get by for a little bit, you handed over the rest.

"This should be a good starting place until I can get ahold of some more."

Dr. Kwang smiled at you as he took the money. "I admire your drive, young lady. Most young people these days would just throw their parents in a home and never look back."

You blushed a little, unused to such praise. "She sacrificed so much to raise me all on her own, it's the least I can do."

"She must be so proud to have you as her daughter."

You blushed a little deeper, then put the envelope back in your purse and stood. "I'm proud to have her as my mother. Thank you for taking care of her when I could not. Good evening Dr. Kwang." You nodded to him once more and exited his office.

As you walked back to your car you ended up behind two young women not much older than you and happened to hear a part of their conversation.

"Have you heard that rumour about the Library of Illusion and the treasure that supposedly resides within?"

"I have actually. Isn't it supposed to be in the woods around the town?"

"Yeah it is! Maeri said she wanted to see what it was all about, so we're going up there this weekend to check it out."

Intrigued and wanting to find out more on your own, you stepped around the women and hurried to your car. On the drive home all you could think about was the "treasure" and how much it would help your mom with her treatment if you could get ahold of it.

Once you had returned home, changed into comfortable clothes, and eaten some food you booted up your laptop and Googled "Library of Illusion". The first result that popped up was a Wikipedia page containing the location, along with the sparse information known by the general public. Plugging the location into the GPS on your phone revealed that the Library was a good ways away from where your apartment was.

The town you lived in was in a bowl-like valley surrounded by mountains except for the cutout where the road was. The Library was nestled on a perfectly-sized plateau halfway up the tallest mountain in the eastern range, which put it out of reach for all but the most determined.

You hadn't been mountain climbing since your mom was first diagnosed with cancer, so you were rusty at best. But you'd do almost anything at this point to ensure your mom had the best possible chance of surviving. So you researched what gear you would need for such an arduous climb, then used the money from Mr. Lee plus some of what you had in savings to purchase everything.

It took several days for everything to arrive, but once the last package was delivered you began to pack things up and plan when you would begin your journey. You decided that the sooner you left, the sooner you'd be able to return. So you made plans to leave the following day as early as you could manage.

Your mind firmly made up, you went to bed earlier than usual. Tomorrow you would get that treasure and then you would be able to fully support your mom.

You woke the next day to the ear-splitting crash of thunder as rain pounded on the roof like it was trying to get inside.

"What a lovely day for mountain climbing." You muttered to yourself as you slipped from under the warm blankets to begin getting ready.

You dressed warmly to combat the cold rain and had a quick breakfast before grabbing your phone, gear and keys and heading out.

Twenty minutes later you arrived at the base of the mountain you would be climbing. Parking under a handy overhang of trees laden with thick ivy, you got out and began to gear up. By the time you were ready to start climbing, the rain had subsided and the sun was making its way out from behind the clouds. A smile rose to your face as you placed your hands upon the mountain and began to climb.

The next three days were a constant cycle of climb until dark, find a flat enough place to set up your tent, sleep until morning, then eat and begin the routine again. By the afternoon of day three you were starting to lose hope, thinking maybe this was all a dream and there was no library way up in the mountains.

Then you came to a flat place that seemed the biggest one you'd encountered yet, and your heart soared. Pulling your weary body up onto solid ground, you found yourself in front of a huge building that looked centuries older than it probably was. After a short rest and some food, you walked closer as a storm brewed overhead.

Ivy covered the majority of the brick walls, the gold on the door handles dim and tarnished. Taking a deep breath, you pushed them open and stepped inside.

The interior was far more well kept than outside, and if you didn't know better you'd have a hard time believing this was the same building.

The first thing that caught your eye was the front desk, or more accurately, the handsome man seated behind it. Feeling suddenly shy, you slowly approached him.

He was much more good-looking up close, bordering more towards beautiful than handsome. His hair was cotton candy pink, and slicked back stylishly. Chocolate brown eyes glanced up suddenly, amused at having caught you staring.

"May I help you?" His voice, almost as deep as the thunder roaring outside, jerked you back to the present moment.

"M-My name is Y/N, I heard about the treasure a-and…."

"And you wanted to see if the rumours were true?"

You nodded.

"Well, Miss Y/N, my name is Seonghwa and I am the Keeper of The Keys here in the Library. The rumours you've heard are more or less true. There is treasure here, but it is housed in the Restricted Section and requires several keys to access it."

Hope flared in your heart, and you leaned forward a bit. "How do I get those keys?"

"You must get them from the Guardians of the main sections within this library: Science Fiction, Horror, History, Mystery, Fantasy and Adventure."

"And how does that work exactly?"

"In each section there will be a special book that will send you into a dream-like state and transport you to wherever the Guardian is. The first time or two you might be somewhat aware that your surroundings are fabricated, but the deeper in you go the more real things will feel. Once you have obtained all the keys, bring them back to me and we can proceed from there."

Seonghwa led you over to a set of double doors and pulled them open. Inside you could see plaques announcing the many different sections. Determined, you stepped forward, deciding to go for the Mystery section first.

"I wish you luck Y/N." Seonghwa said as he closed the doors behind you.

[apavlovs]

silly doodles ft an oc I was obsessed with for like 2 and a half years before Doc existed,, might start drawing him again

SOME INFO ABOUT HIM!!!

His name is Vaughn Delerio, he’s a detective and is a demon from my little heaven n hell universe thing!! He’s from wrath specifically, and is made of smoke and tar :] Also he has about 353749 different AUs because I went a little insane

His husband Enzo (the silly magnifying glass guy) belongs to @dexoro :]]]