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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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Datura Tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born (let's go to the club alone, drink enough to finally get drowsy and then go home and finaaaaally sleep it off). Zayne treats some of your injuries, Mephisto does Sylus's stalker bidding, and guess who appears at the club right before you're about to probably violate the Hunter's Association code of conduct on an idiot who has a hard time taking no for an answer? Spoiler alert: he can't sing but he can dance, even if he chooses to dance to the music he'd rather be hearing than the music actually being played.

Second person POV, gender neutral MC/reader second person POV, a teeny tiny bit of Sylus POV at the end CWs: insomnia, trauma, grievous bodily injury, hospital environment, shots/needles/stitches, self-destructive behavior, MC may have issues regarding self-worth, MC refuses to get proper treatment, poor life choices, stalking (by Sylus), unwelcome boundary pushing by a non-main character, dubiously welcome boundary pushing (by Sylus), (irresponsible) alcohol use, everyone's thirsty for MC and MC is oblivious because this is a self-insert gacha game and no I will not be taking any criticism on this point at this time.

ao3 link here

Just as you had hoped before agreeing to Sylus’s deal that allows him to make use of your flat as a safe house if necessary, things have returned to normal. Well, as normal as they can be ever since your world was blown apart. It has been weeks, and you haven’t heard from him at all. At first, in the days following Sylus's little... visit, you sometimes find yourself thinking that you see a larger than normal crow amidst the swaying trees on your way home at twilight. Or you'll catch the reflection of two uncannily similar looking men in the shop window you just passed, but when you turn around, all you see is the blur of a faceless crowd.

You tell yourself that you're imagining things.

But then you stumble into your flat one night, wounded, again, but not so badly that you need to go to Akso Hospital, and stop short. You stand very still, clutching the hilt of one of the blades strapped to your back, and listen. Something feels off. Did you line your various pairs of footwear in a neat little row along the wall of your foyer recently? You can't remember doing so, but you've been doing a lot of things on autopilot recently. You wait, but nothing stirs in the gloom of your place as the automatic light shuts off due to how still you're standing.

Nothing. Just silence, and an aching feeling of absence that you refuse to think about too hard.

You tell yourself that you're imagining things.

Nothing. Just silence, and an aching feeling of absence that you refuse to think about too hard.

Just as you had hoped. Of course. Although you don’t know him well, you learned enough during the few days by his side to know that Sylus’s moods and interest were mercurial at best. You knew from the moment that Kieran and Luke offered you advice from a psychology book about how people who have everything often need constant challenges and the unobtainable dangled in front of them to keep their interest: Sylus would soon become bored with whatever game he thought he was playing with you, and your life would return to its peaceful… new-normal. And that’s good. That’s what you want. You are not equipped to handle a presence like him in your life. You’re a law-abiding, predictable, simple hunter, just trying not to leave the world worse than you found it, one day at a time. You shake your head, and hang your weapons on the wall rack, next to the coat hooks, and unlace your boots, relieve yourself of your blood-soaked pants and ripped shirt, and step into your flat wearing nothing but your underwear. Free, at last. You turn to head to your fridge for a pack of something frozen to place on the bruises that are only just beginning to bloom along the side of your face, only to freeze yourself, again. Your heart kicks wildly in your chest as you take in the looming mass in the middle of your kitchen, before you realize--

On your kitchen island stands a huge black and red pot, filled with a riot of white flowers, their edges ringed with a faint lavender color. You hesitantly reach out and run your finger along the deadly looking little points dotted along the petals' edges. You don't know shit about flowers, but these look threatening, somehow, in their savage beauty.

Maybe this is a prank. As your partner and closest neighbor, Xavier has access to your place. And Tara has your spare key, since Xavier is out of town so often on his little secretive, certainly not having anything to do with Lumiere escapades. Maybe this is their idea of cheering you up?

But you're not convinced. These flowers look like a warning. You quickly try to summon a list of people who might want to make you uncomfortable, or even frighten you, enemies you've made or hell, beaten at the claw machine? But no one comes to mind. Sylus had said that Sherman wasn't acting alone when... well. He wasn't acting alone, so maybe these flowers come from them, trying to tell you that they'll eventually finish the job. But if they knew where you were, and still wanted to take you out, they could have left a ... bomb instead of a pot of frighteningly gorgeous plants to accomplish their goal. You shudder.

There's no card. No message. Just the cryptic message of the flowers themselves. For fuck's sake, you're tired. Something about the flowers makes you paranoid, so you carefully run your hands through the leaves and stems to see if there is some sort of hidden surveillance equipment, but you fail to find anything. Giving up, you lift the heavy pot with a grunt and place it on your indoor balcony, shutting the door. Now if there is some sort of camera or audio recording device, all they'll see is your hazy outline through your glass balcony door. You can't help yourself: you make a rude gesture at the door, just in case there really is a hidden camera in there. You finish your trek to the freezer, slap a bag of something frozen past its due date onto your face, and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in your bed before another dawn rises.

As the days turn into weeks, and another day has passed where you're wincing as you open your front door, worried that he'll be on the other side, only to find it empty, with none of your clutter undisturbed, you finally decide to put Sylus out of your mind for good. He helped you when you needed it the most, and you repaid his dubious generosity when you patched him up at your place. So you push the thought of him down deep, down with all of the other things you can’t bear to think about these days, and life goes on. You water the mystery flowers from time to time, at the same time you water the rest of your plants, and resign yourself to not figuring out who sent them anytime soon.

You can’t sleep, again.

You’ve been trying it all: running on the treadmill until you’re on the brink of vomiting, the harsh lights of the deserted Hunter’s Association fitness center making you squint. All you’ve gotten for your efforts is a headache threatening to add itself to your list of complaints at midnight, 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM, until you’re still awake and your morning alarm is sounding from your hunter’s watch.

Squeezing in extra full body supersets with the kettlebell, sweat pouring down your back, soaking through the hair at your temples and dripping onto the mats. Your muscles are not getting any stronger, and you’re sure as hell getting more fatigued, but the sleep won’t come as you limp into your bedroom every night.

Camomile tea with honey, warm milk, cold milk, rooibos tea without honey, fennel tea (you gag a little, and decide that you’re absolutely done trusting Moments recommendations when it comes to tea that aids sleep) before slipping under your tangled duvet, only to have to get up to pee an hour later, with no drowsiness in sight.

Every time you try to meditate and take deep, calming breaths, the memories come. And you can’t. You can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Once, you even ask Zayne if he can prescribe you something to help.

"No."

"No? You haven't even asked what I'm asking for help with!"

"No."

You look down at your boots, wondering how far your pride will allow you to push him. You don't really want to tell him, exposing all of your messy insides and issues for him to clinically judge, to file away under this diagnosis or that and dismiss as he moves on to the next patient, for him to see you at your absolute lowest when you've never even seen him break a sweat. Something about that idea makes you want to cry.

"Ok." You smile brightly, or at least try. It probably comes across as more of a grimace, but you are trying. "I'll get going, sorry to bother you!" you chirp, and then cringe internally. Why did you apologize? He's your doctor, if you can't even handle asking him for help with this, even if he says no, you might as well switch physicians. It's fine. This is fine. You are fine.

You're about to turn the handle of his office door when his even voice stops you from behind. "What you need isn't pharmaceuticals. It's therapy. You need to talk to—"

But you can't. Talk. You can't imagine thinking the thoughts, let alone getting the words out. You can't, not yet.

"It's just sleep, Doctor Zayne. I'll just drink some fennel tea," you lie, give him a little salute, and escape.

So now you’re on the brink of doing something you’d previously rather have had your teeth pulled than experience: going to a crowded club, getting shit-faced, and hoping the dancing and alcohol will knock you out for a solid 24 hours. But Tara has already turned down your invitation, putting her hand on yours and saying with excruciating gentleness that she doesn’t think that’s what you need right now, which you can’t stand—the kindness, the knowing looks, the unspoken questions from everyone in your life who knows what happened, and are watching you like a ticking time—

Bomb.

You shake your head. You can’t.

And Xavier has been out of the office a lot lately, and from the mail piling up on his foyer floor whenever you nosily peek through his mail slot, probably out of town as well. So he’s not an option to invite after Tara turns you down.

You already know that Rafayel is out of the country on an exhibition tour, so you don’t even bother calling him. Talking to him usually does cheer you up, but you don’t need to be cheered up, dammit, you need to sleep.

You don’t even consider Zayne. First, he's your doctor and probably thinks spending time with you outside of the hospital would feel like a punishment for the sins of a past life. Also, imagining him, neon lights of a cheesy nightclub reflected off of his elegant glasses, indignantly pressed on all sides by unwashed, sweaty bodies, dancing—your brain short circuits even trying to imagine it.

There’s no one else you would trust being drunk around who you can ask to go with you. But the idea of getting drunk, alone, in your silent flat, makes you want to gag worse than the fennel tea.

As you slip on a comfortable pair of tights under a stretchy pair of shorts, and a soft, loose top—off the shoulder so that you look like you made some effort (you refuse to wear anything that can’t also double as athletic wear, because who the hell knows when you’ll get an alert on your watch), you tell yourself that you’ll be fine. You’ll drink enough to get tipsy, enough to make you drowsy, you’ll wear yourself out on the dance floor, and then you’ll go home again. And sleep. You don’t need anyone else for this. Of course it would be nice to be able to let off steam with a friend, but these same friends have been walking on eggshells around you for months, so it’s probably better this way. No awkwardness, no judgment, no gentle attempts to convince you that you need—

You’ve just slipped your boots on when you hunter’s watch goes off. A wanderer is within minutes of your flat’s location. You gaze at your weapon rack, which hangs next to your coat rack in your foyer, and hesitate. These days, you grit your teeth at the sound of gunshots at the practice range, loud in your ears even through your noise cancelling headset. Still too loud. Still too much like a bomb. You use your blades as much as you can, only unholstering your pistols when absolutely unavoidable. You grab two swords and your holsters, and sprint out the door.

You manage to avoid unholstering your pistols during the battle. However, blades require close quarter combat, which means you’re getting hurt more often. And the insomnia means that your reflexes are slower than they’ve ever been. So after you successfully defend a group of tourists from the wanderer, while unsuccessfully defending yourself against the death throes of a bladed tail that flays open your back, you find yourself back in Zayne’s office, again.

Lately, you feel like you see the inside of Akso Hospital more than the inside of your own flat.

You try desperately to avoid having to go, when at all possible. You take care of yourself, when the injuries are in places you can reach. Teeth sinking into your ever-dwindling supply of bandage rolls, the pain is sharp and demands your entire focus, so your thoughts are unable to drift elsewhere, to flit to the places you can’t go in your mind yet, not yet, you can’t—

But there are some wounds, like the one you just got, that you can’t reach, contorting yourself in front of the bathroom mirror, your heavy, tired arms unable to finagle some disinfectant and a bandage over the torn skin. So here you are, again. To put it mildly, Zayne is not happy. He delicately, efficiently, dabs disinfectant onto the latest laceration on your back in frigid silence. You can almost taste the disapproval wafting from him.

It stings, badly, but the pain is dull amongst the cacophony of other aches and healing wounds on your exhausted, battered body. You don’t even have the energy to wince with each point of contact between the cotton and your gaping flesh.

“You don’t have to fix me up yourself every time, you know,” you try to break the ice. “I’m sure you have other patients with urgent complaints more in line with your specialty. You only know about this time because Greyson ratted me out.”

“I am your primary care physician, as well a cardiac surgeon. I am responsible for signing your fitness for duty certificates. Greyson knows this, and acted accordingly,” Zayne clips out. His office falls silent again, and you focus on the flowers you gifted him sitting near one of his office windows, as he prepares to slip the needle containing the local anaesthetic under your skin in preparation of the stitches you need. You try, as you always do without success, to figure out why he keeps them in here. When you first saw them, they reminded you of the color of the little seals he had made you when you were children. That you had interpreted as a threat. So you gave them to him on a whim, and was shocked to find them in his office the next time you visited. You wonder if he waters them himself, or if he lets the hospital’s horticulturist do it. He’s probably too busy to keep track of such trivial things. You decide that you should thank the lady you’ve seen watering plants in Akso’s hallways with a fruit basket or something for her extra effort. Out of the corner of your eye, a couple black birds flap their wings as if startled, half hidden in the fluttering leaves of the trees in the courtyard that Zayne’s office overlooks. You’re about to look for what startled them when—

The shot is worse than the disinfectant, but the painful prick is quickly over. A welcome numbness spreads under your skin, and you desperately wish it came in pill form for—well, everything else that’s wrong with you.

All you feel is a distant tug and release, but your muscles are locked tight as you let the delicate petals fill your vision, as you try not to think about anything at all, as you’ve done for months now. You’re grateful for the silence, for Zayne’s steady hands and breath. You’re grateful for his care, even though you hate that you need it. You don’t want to be another burden to him, when he has so many heavy burdens already. In this too, you have failed, as you failed—

You can’t. You can’t—

Almost as if he has just felt the way your body has stiffened even further under his competent hands, Zayne interrupts your spiral as he, light as a snowflake, finally lays the bandage over your neatly stitched wound and secures the adhesive sides. He sits back with a sigh and just gazes at your bare back in silence.

You can’t bring yourself to move yet. You’re just so tired. But you know you have to. You don’t want to worry him, you know he has other, more important matters to attend. You gingerly lean back and let your shirt, which had been scrunched up under your armpits and around your shoulders while Zayne worked, slide down your back as you heave yourself to your feet.

You don’t want to turn and see whatever non-expression Zayne has on his face—you want to get out of here, from under these too-bright lights and his tangible concern, but you owe him the courtesy of looking him in the eye as you express a gratitude that can never be fully conveyed in words. So you do turn, but find him leaning back on his desk, his hazel eyes fixed on the same flowers you had just been staring at.

You open your mouth to thank him, to say your goodbyes to get the hell out of here, when he cuts you off with a voice softer than you’ve ever heard from him.

“You know that you cannot continue like this,” he murmurs, eyes still on the flowers.

You take in the sharp line of his nose, the severe set of his lips. The bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows draws your eyes down the contour of his throat, and it hurts you a little, what a beautiful man he has turned into. For a moment you are jerked back in time, the profile of a serious little boy with softer cheeks but the same hazel eyes overlaying itself atop the view in front of you. When he turns to look at you again the vision dissipates, and you suppress the pain—the only thing you’re good at these days. You steel yourself for whatever lecture he is about to lay into you, convinced that the gentleness in his voice is just his exhaustion at having to deal with you, again, when the shrill ring of his mobile rips apart the quiet in his office.

His frown deepens, but he doesn’t move to answer his phone. It continues to ring between the two of you.

“Better get that, Doctor Zayne,” you nod toward it, flooded with the relief that you might escape from his cold admonishment unscathed, this time.

His jaw clenches, and the knuckles of his hands are white where they clutch the desk, but after another ring he finally reaches into his white coat pocket and lifts the phone to his ear.

“This is Doctor Zayne,” he answers with his customary calm, despite the disappointment you’re pretty sure he’s feeling at the interruption of his flaying you open in ways that the wanderer failed.

You plaster the biggest smile on your face that you can muster, exploiting his inability to say anything as he listens to the other person on the line, and wiggle your fingers in a small wave. Before he can react, you’ve slipped through his office door, and you’re practically sprinting down the hallway to get the hell out of there before he can come after you.

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, glaring at his office door as if it’s the door’s fault for depriving him of the chance to tell you that he will refuse to sign any future medical certificates until you listen to him and get the help you so clearly, desperately need, that he needs you to get so that he can sleep at night without being afraid that his worst nightmares will manifest every time you enter his hospital. As he sighs, and prepares himself to handle the next emergency, he does not notice the fluttering birds outside his window, nor the jewel-eyed crow that disturbed them, taking flight from the trees in which they were perched.

***

It’s not too late. You’re exhausted, and hurt, but you’ve been patched up, and the idea of your empty, ineffectual bed fills you with anxiety. Your mission is still a go. So you stop briefly at home to dump your weapons, only retaining a small knife strapped under a black armband along your forearm, throw on a different loose, soft shirt since your other one was shredded and not in a way that looks cute for the club, and head out again. You know a place you’ve been to before with Tara and some other colleagues on an 'optional' but heavily implied as mandatory ‘team-building’ night that ended with a lot of vomit, an inter-office breakup, and a lot of stern glares from your captain the following week. You are deeply hoping that this place can give you what you need tonight.

You look up and cringe at the glaring neon sign: THE BOOM BOOM ROOM. Ok, so this place isn’t exactly classy. But you’re not looking for classy. You’re looking for affordable booze, overwhelming beats, and a late enough closing time not to get kicked out before you exhaust yourself to the extent required by this mission of yours. You’re relieved that the line moves swiftly, and the bouncer waves you in without a second look. Apparently you don’t look as horrifying as you feel, and the knife is discretely hidden under the band on your arm. And suddenly you’re inside.

You’re met with a wall of sound and smells, the bass vibrating in your chest, the floor sticky with what you hope is only spilled beer, and the crowd is surging. You close your eyes once and just soak it in for a moment, letting the mindless life that the place is bursting with wash over you. Then you slip through writhing bodies to reach the bar and order your first drink. You don’t actually want to get shit-faced, since you’re alone. But you do want to have enough to feel the pleasant numbness of alcohol burning its way through your veins, to get drowsy. You order a shot to start and a high-percentage beer to clutch while you dance so you don’t have to wait at the bar again.

It works, for awhile. You let the music fill you, you let the warmth of the shot spread through you limbs. The presence of other, anonymous people, who know nothing about you nor what you’ve been through, relieves some of the loneliness that you refuse to admit has been plaguing you ever since your grandmother and Caleb … Ever since you lost them.

And then you feel someone sidle a little closer to you than comfortable, and you open your eyes to find some guy looking intently at you with a hopeful smile on his face. He leans even closer to you to be heard over the beat as he shouts “Hey! Wanna dance?” into your ear, making you wince.

You shake your head, closing your eyes again, dismissing him. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint, because you feel a hand at your elbow, and hear his voice again: “Why not? You’re not with anyone, right?”

You open your eyes again, and gently, but firmly remove his hand from your elbow with your other hand. “Nah man, I’m just here to relax. I bet someone else would be happy to dance with you though.” You shoot him a tired thumbs up and try to shift away, but he somehow manages to keep pace in front of you, and he’s opening his mouth to say something else, and you’re repeating to yourself I’m a Hunter’s Association role model even when I’m off the clock, I will NOT remove his jaw from his skull, I will NOT remove his jaw from his skull… When suddenly you feel heat envelop your back and someone’s huge hands are gripping your hips—instinct kicks in, you’re convinced that this asshole isn’t alone and his buddy has managed to flank you, and the knife is out of your armband and at a big, warm throat before you realize you’ve spun in his grip, and a pair of bright red, amused eyes are looking down into your face.

“Come now, is that any way to greet your boyfriend, kitten?” Sylus smiles indulgently down at you, hands still on your hips.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you breathe, unable to move, your brain scrambled from trying to reconcile the club’s beat, the aching absence that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, and the man finally filling it again, right in front of you for the first time since he left your flat’s foyer in a mess of blood and feathers.

Sylus lifts a hand from your hip and runs one long finger over the blunt edge of the knife, gently lowering it from where you are still holding it in shock against his throat. One droplet of blood, flashing like a jewel under the club’s lights, beads from where you pressed a little too hard, and begins to slip down the path of his carotid artery. You barely restrain yourself from launching yourself at his neck and running your tongue along his skin to counter the droplet’s descent—aaand at this highly intrusive thought, you want to punch yourself in the face, and tell yourself firmly that it’s the alcohol. You haven’t had alcohol in months. Your tolerance is basically non-existent at this point, you cannot be blamed for whatever the hell that urge just was.

“I see your professional greeting has not improved any since our last encounter, sweetheart,” he laughs, sounding genuinely pleased despite his complaint, thankfully oblivious to the insane thoughts inflicting themselves on your brain. His gaze flicks from you to the aggressive guy still gaping at the two of you. “I suggest you listen to what my partner has clearly communicated to you, if you would like to leave this... establishment, with all of the limbs with which you entered it,” he sniffs, clearly unimpressed with both the venue and the limbs in question. The guy’s eyes widen a little more, which you didn’t think possible, before he just nods his head so fast it looks like it will detach itself from his spine and pushes away from you through the crowd.

“I think you frightened him,” Sylus tsks, shaking his head. “Another poor service review for the Association’s feedback form, kitten. I’m worried about your performance review this year.”

“Perhaps I should bring them your head to compensate for my poor customer service. That would guarantee a raise instead of an admonishment,” you snap, still feeling violent from your inexplicable impulse to slobber all over this smug asshole’s throat.

Sylus’s eyes, impossibly, light up even more in response to your threat. “Oh, I would love to see you try to take my head,” he almost growls, smiling so wide you can see his crooked canines.

It’s the alcohol. It’s the alcohol. There is absolutely no innuendo to be found in what he has just said. You lift your hand to slap that thought right out of your head, but Sylus catches it in one of his own and tightens his other grip on your hip.

“You’ve already done quite enough damage to one of my favorite acquisitions tonight,” he says, running his thumb gently from your wrist to your palm. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up into his face, ensnared by the softness in his usually sharp eyes, the slight crease between his eyebrows, the hair that you had told yourself for weeks could not possibly be as soft, as pretty, with the sheen and color of a pearl, as you remember it being.

Ok, someone must have spiked your drink. This is not happening. You cannot handle whatever game he is trying to play right now. “What are you even doing here?” you ask, in a desperate attempt to divert this conversation’s track before a trainwreck happens that leaves you in more pieces than you’re currently in. "And boyfriend? You're my boyfriend now?"

"Well, this is sudden, but how could I say no to such an elegantly worded proposition?" he gasps, eyes widening in mock surprise.

"Sylus," you warn.

"Yes, my better half?"

"Stop messing with me. Why did you tell that idiot that you're my boyfriend?" You need to know. You don't know why, but you need his answer almost as much as you need sleep right now.

"Unfortunately we live in a patriarchy where having a big, bad boyfriend apparently garners more respect than a clear 'no'," he shrugs. "I considered removing his hand from the rest of him and choking him with it, but thought that might make you mad." You roll your eyes, and he narrows his own. "I was trying to help you, but it appears my aid was unnecessary. I'm almost positive I saw him soil himself when you stabbed me." He smiles in a way that almost looks proud.

"I did not stab you," you insist, even though you can still see the thin line of blood disappearing under the color of his black shirt. You decide not to point it out. He'll discover it when he looks in a mirror later. Considering how self-satisfied he is, probably an activity he spends a lot of time doing. "Why are you here, again?" you repeat, shaking your head.

“A little birdie told me that a certain feral kitten had gotten injured again, and I am finally in a position to do something about it after business kept me away far longer than I had planned,” he answers. Still holding your hip and hand, he gently pulls you a little closer and begins to slowly sway with you, completely ignoring the fast paced, thumping beat of the current track the DJ is spinning.

“Mephisto?” Once again, you’re on the back foot. You are a highly skilled hunter, trained to have sharp senses and to be able to notice when you’re being surveilled.

He leans down, rounding his broad shoulders so he’s close enough to your ear for you to hear him hum his affirmation, leisurely sliding his hand from your hip to span the width of the small of your back to better guide you out of the path of other dancers, his large palm making you feel … safe.

“I haven’t seen him. At all,” you admit, suddenly feeling so tired and out of your depth. So terribly lacking, even at this, a most basic skill of your job.

“No surprise, considering how little you’ve been sleeping,” he says, and then grunts softly as you’re pushed closer into him by someone behind you making their way through the crowd. He’s so warm, so solid, and from this distance, he’s all you can see. Again, just like during the auction’s dance. How are you even here again? You resist the urge to rest your head against his chest like you did that night, as he forestalled the growing panic, as he showed you more kindness than you’ve been shown, or shown yourself, in months. In the months since… you can’t. You can’t, you can’t you can’t—

“You were a little distracted at your doctor’s office, too,” Sylus’s voice cuts through the thunder in your head, and it takes a beat for you to realize what he’s saying.

“You had Mephisto spy on my doctor’s visit?” you almost bellow, or rather, actually bellow, as the people around you shift and give you sideways glances. You try to jerk out of his hold, but only succeed in dragging the two of you a little to the side on the dance floor.

“I instructed him to confirm that you were actually getting proper treatment this time,” Sylus says, unruffled by your continued squirming to escape his arms. “Cease, you’re going to pull your stitches.”

“The stitches you only know about because you’re a creepy stalker!”

“Creepy?” he laughs. “What a strange way of saying handsome, protective, and resourceful.”

“Now I’m worried about your hearing,” you seethe. “That appointment was private!”

“Not private enough for our good doctor’s tastes, I’d wager."

“What does that mean?”

He levels you look with a look that you cannot begin to decipher. After a moment, he shakes his head, the earrings you just notice that he’s wearing flashing under the spinning lights. Is this asshole actually wearing ruby earrings to bring out his eyes? “You cannot possibly be this naïve,” he scoffs, but without conviction. Like he’s talking to himself.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re not allowed to spy on me during private moments like that,” you insist, giving up trying to get away from him since he has the reach and agility of an octopus, apparently.

“Excellent, then I’m allowed to spy on you during other moments. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” he declares solemnly. “Please pay Mephisto no mind if you happen to notice him in the future, and for heaven’s sake, do not feed him. He is not a pet—he is a subordinate and should be treated as such.”

You make the fastest decision of your life in compiling a list of possible crow snacks as Sylus resumes gently swaying your bodies, and it’s after pistachios as the 7th item on your Mephisto treat list that you realize he has danced the two of you to the edge of the dance floor, and that you have failed to object to him stalking you through his cantankerous mechanical crow.

“Silence is not consent, Sylus!” you try, only to be met with a pitying moue twisting his wide mouth.

“A deal’s a deal, sweetheart. Come, it’s getting late, and I know you are very tired. Let me take you home,” he commands. "You can show me how well you've been taking care of my little gift in my absence."

"Gift?" You're so lost. You stop, not taking another step until he starts making sense.

"The flowers I had Luke and Kieran deliver to your place."

"Flowers..." You wrack your foggy brain, startled at the scowl that is scrunching Sylus's beautiful face.

"Oh, you receive so many bouquets on a regular basis that they just blur together?" He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you again, but his hand slips away from yours until just your pinkies are linked. "I promise to redouble my efforts to make mine stand out from the crowd, then." Inexplicably, he lifts your linked pinkies to his lips for a kiss-the word tender drifts through your exhausted mind. His lips are unbearably soft.

You snort. "I never receive bouquets..." and then it hits you. The doom flowers.

"You sent me the pot of death threats?"

"Death threats?" he blinks, and it's the first time you think you've ever seen him at a loss for words. But he recovers quickly. "You mean the subtle and elegant form of self-defense to comfort and protect you in my absence?"

"Wut."

"I sent you a very generous supply of datura flowers. They're not only visually appealing, but also highly poisonous. You can use them to poison any unwanted guests you happen to find in your home if your more conventional weapons aren't practical for the occasion," he explains, eyes lighting up again.

"Sylus, you sent me a pot of deadly plants with no note or message. I thought someone was trying to convey a message, message. Like, a warning to watch my back."

His face does something complicated then: flickering from surprise to something like pride, but then he just stares at you, sanguine eyes drifting along your face and down to where his hand is linked with yours for a long moment. "It seems I underestimated your cynicism about other people," he says finally. "And while I always enjoy the proof of our kindred spirits, I would rather you didn't have to live a life where you have to be suspicious of something so banal as a gift of flowers." You are blindsided by the gentle sincerity in his words, and you're trying to hold back the tears that are burning your eyes out of nowhere, when he looks at your face again, brightening. "Now that I'm here, let me taking care of being the paranoid one." His gaze sharpens on your tear-filled eyes, and he cocks his head. Runs his middle finger from the corner of your mouth to just under your left eye, gathering the moisture there that is threatening to overflow. "Sweetheart, tears of gratitude are unnecessary. If you're really thankful, then let me take you home, and just try to refrain from offering me any datura tea when we get there, hmm?" He lifts his finger to his lips and flicks his tongue out to lick, and you are convinced you are hallucinating when his nostrils flair, as if he's savoring whatever he tastes in your tears.

As is becoming routine with Sylus, you feel like you're in a fever dream, watching him from a great distance: he's ahead of you somewhere, already at his next destination, pulling you along in his slipstream like a bird in flight, when you're not even sure you know how to fly. The only thing you are able to process at the moment is that if you don't say anything, you'll be right back where you started: staring at the streetlights spilling across your ceiling, exhausted in an empty bed, with no sleep in sight.

“No,” you blurt out. “I don’t want to go home. Please. You’re welcome to go, but I came here on a mission, and I am going to fucking complete it even if it kills me.”

He considers you for a moment, before asking, “And what mission is that?”

You look away, unwilling to meet his eyes now. You don’t want to admit that you’re so fucking tired you can hardly see straight, shoot straight, think straight, but every time you close your eyes, the memories come and you can’t you can’t you can’t and you haven’t slept properly in months.

“I see,” is all he says, and he pulls you along, your hand firmly wrapped in his, and you’re too tired to ask what, exactly, he sees. You let him lead you into the cool night, the bright night lights of Linkon City drowning out the stars above. He tosses you a helmet, and unlike the first time he put you on his motorcycle, he lifts you in his arms to plop you on the seat behind his.

“I’ll have Luke and Kieran pick up your bike and have it back to you before you need it tomorrow,” he says before you can even think to ask about it. “Hold on tight, and don’t go falling asleep on me. I won’t scrape you off the pavement if you fall off my ride.”

And just as he knew you would, you do the exact opposite of what he ordered, because you’re his contrary, ever wilful, feral kitten who refuses to do as its told. You wrap your arms around his solid waist, rest your helmeted head against his broad back, and fall promptly asleep. He relishes the feel of your arms still wrapped tightly around him, but the scarlet-ink tendrils of his evol keep you secured against his back in case your hold loosens as you sink deeper into sleep.

He snorts when you begin to snore through the helmet's comms.

He sighs, feeling content for the first time in weeks. It has taken much longer than he anticipated to clean up all the of messes that Sherman and his backers made while he was gone. Mephisto has been reporting to him daily regarding how you were doing, and Kieran and Luke have been on standby in case you needed them. But even sleep-deprived and determined to take care of your own problems by yourself to the point of self-destruction, you have handled what has come your way with competence, so their help has never been absolutely necessary. But Sylus can see just how close to the breaking point you are. Now that things have finally settled in the N109 zone, he intends to begin a new game, and it starts with him flourishing the trump card of his current hand: your invitation to let him use your place as a safe house whenever the ‘need’ arises.

He revs the engine, just for fun, smiles to himself, and rides through the rest of the night, until the sun comes up.

Later, when you wake up alone in your own bed, stretching lazily in the soft sunlight filtering through your gauzy curtains, you realize it’s the best night’s sleep you can ever remember having. You turn your head and find a black feather on the pillow next to you. You flick it gently, and try not to think too deeply about anything at all.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #fanfiction #my fanfic #this one got away from me and ended up being wildly longer than intended #self-indulgent comfort for suffering from sleepless nights #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months ago

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I finally found one! It's remodeled so elegantly, I don't even mind the reno. This 1899 Victorian is in Chenoa, IL, has 4bds, 2ba, and is only $199K! You have to see this beauty.

Lovely little foyer with original door.

The beautiful main hall stairway is completely intact.

Isn't this a glorious ceiling treatment in the sitting room. I can see a stained glass window on the left.

Isn't that stunning?

And, the 2nd sitting room is done in jewel tones. I like the dark walls and the gold against it.

The vibe is like a chic NYC apt.

Another room with beautiful original fireplace and doors.

Lovely updated powder room.

Elegant dining room with storage built-ins. I love how they painted all the radiators gold, too.

The kitchen is the original footprint, and isn't overly done. I love the modest blue cabinetry and elegant stove hood.

This is lovely.

The pantry.

This small turret room makes a lovely home office.

Oops, someone was lazy and painted around an area rug or bed. Gorgeous doors in this bedroom and it has a transom.

The owner is in the process of fixing it, though.

But, this finished primary bedroom is elegant.

Is this a bath going in?

This narrow bedroom hall is directly like the other house I posted today, and it's so much nicer and authentic, for almost half the price.

The large attic has lots of potential. If it's possible to leave the ceiling and not put up dry wall, I would leave it.

This looks like a former carriage house.

Lovely neighborhood. The home is on a large .59 acre corner lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/732-E-Cemetery-Ave-Chenoa-IL-61726/76992579_zpid/

#victorian homes #renovated victorian #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $200K

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judecole · 4 months ago

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caught on film. cp20

pairing: you x cole palmer

summery: you’re a famous retired footballers daughter and have been dating cole for a few months. the media hasn’t caught on to your relationship just yet but your appearance at the euros final in a certain players shirt causes quite the stir.

word count: 2114

authors note: idk

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.

You’re not exactly sure what you did in your past life to end up here, in this beautiful grand hotel in central Berlin. Despite your luxurious lifestyle, being born with a silver spoon in your mouth and having everything you ever wanted, you never took a single thing for granted. The hotel foyer is vast and grand, great marble columns dwarfing everyone in sight and traditional historic paintings in huge gold frames hanging on every wall. It’s beautiful. You stay in these kinds of hotels regularly but they never cease to amaze you. Your family PA is checking you and your family into the hotel as the several concierges begin collecting your luggage. You smile warmly at them and thank them before the manager greets you to show you to your suites. As soon as you enter your room you lay flat out on the bed, exhausted from your day travelling. You’d been flying back and forth from the UK to Germany for the last month. Any major footballing tournaments were a big deal in your family, you’ve been to pretty much every one since you were born. You can remember being a small child, wearing a shirt with your father’s name and number on the back and feeling so proud every time he stepped on the pitch. However now, things were a bit different. Your family were now invited as special guests and given all the best treatment, a private box in the stands where members of staff would meet your every need. You did truly feel blessed and very appreciative for everything your parents had done for you and your siblings.

You pull your phone out from your trouser pocket and check for any messages. Nothing. You bite your lip and open up iMessage and clicking on Cole’s name. You had been dating Cole for about six months. Things were going very well for the two of you, your parents loved him, especially your dad who was amazed by his talent on the pitch. You’d initially met him when he played at Manchester City after being invited to watch an U21’s match. You loved his laid back style and calm manor when he was playing. You smile as you remember the first time you spoke to him, all sweaty after the game. You’d gone down with your dad to congratulate the boys on their win and chatted with them. You swear you’d fallen for him right then and there, not being able to get his stupid grin out of your head. You begin typing a message to him when your younger sister walked into your room, plopping herself next to you on the bed. “You texting Cole?” She asks, a smirk on her face. She loved to wind you up about your relationship with the football player, often saying that the pair of you made her feel sick. You roll your eyes before replying, “Yeah, I’m gonna see what he’s doing after training.” You type out the message, “I know ur probably training rn but what are u doing tonight? I wanna see youuuu.’

You place your phone down on the bed and lay back, resting your head on the soft pillows. “Are you nervous about tomorrow? I hope Cole gets to play.” Your sister says, actually not being mean or sarcastic for once. “Yeah. I hope he does too.” You hear your phone ding. Picking it up, Cole’s name flashes on the screen. ‘Defo getting an early night but i can see you in the afternoon. Love ya.’ You smile at the words. You know how serious he takes his job, but he never fails to make time for you too. You text him back quickly and lay back again, smiling. “You’re so in love with him it’s gross.” Your sister playfully hits your arm causing you to slap her back.

A few hours later you’re getting ready to head to the England Squads hotel, a little trip planned by your father’s management team that conveniently lined up with your plans to meet Cole that afternoon. Your mum comes in to your room as you’re putting on some makeup and compliments your outfit, a simple pair of jeans and a top that was sent to you by a company that no doubt cost more than a night in the hotel itself. You smile and thank her, pulling her into a gentle side hug as she kisses your head. Your mum was definitely surprised when you told her about your relationship with Cole. Given your previous dating history he would never had been your type. But there was just something about him that instantly pulled you in, you still don’t know what it was to this day but you weren’t complaining.

Arriving at the squads hotel you check your hair and makeup in a compact mirror, brushing a few stray hairs into place with your nails. Your sister rolls her eyes, something that had now become the norm and makes a comment under her breath you can’t really hear. You get out the car and are greeted by some of the staff who lead you in through the hotels modern entrance. The hotel looked more like a spa than a hotel, every piece of furniture placed exactly, in a way to promote relaxation. You follow through the entrance into a board room, filled with players, staff and other prolific footballing legends and their families. You scan the crowd, looking for Cole. It doesn’t take you long as you see your dad pulling him in for a hug and patting him on the back, obviously congratulating him on reaching the finals. You grin as lock eyes with him, quickly wrapping your arms around him. He places a kiss to the top of your head, surprising you. He wasn’t the biggest fan of PDA, even the smallest things like holding hands made him panic. Maybe it was the fact you were one of the most famous people in the world which constantly occurred to him but never to you. You noticed some eyes laying on the pair of you which made you release him. You quickly returned to your professional manner and wished him good luck before finding your mum. She nudges you and gives you a cheeky smile when you reach her. “You two are silly. Why does it matter if anyone finds out?” She says. “It’s not that. I want to be public with him but not now. I want him to focus on football and I don’t want the media circus for him right now.” You say and give her a small smile. “Well that’s very thoughtful of you but make sure you’re public before Christmas because I’m not editing him out of the Instagram pictures.” She wraps an arm round you as you approach more people and chat about the final tomorrow.

Later that night after an expensive dinner in a posh restaurant near the squads hotel, you text Cole and tell him you want to see him before he goes to bed. He replies almost immediately and you ask your driver to wait outside the hotel and that you were just going to take a quick walk. You could see his tall figure on approach which made you speed up, not wanting to waste any more time not having his arms around you. “Hey.” He says softly when you reach him, extending his arms out and enveloping you in them. “Hey.” You almost whisper. “Wanna go for a walk?” You nod your head and begin walking hand in hand. It was dark now but the city of Berlin was still bustling, what with the warm weather. You walk past busy restaurants and bars packed with what you could only assume were England fans based on the noise. Cole squeezes your hand every so often, he can feel his palms become clammy when you look up at him. He still couldn’t believe his luck. After the first time he met you he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He was glad you made the first move though, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have been in this position now. Once you reach somewhere quieter Cole lets go of your hand and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your temple at the same time. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” You ask him. You almost knew what he was about to say, “Not really. You know me.” He cracks a smile.

“I hope Southgate plays you, Cold Palmer.” You joke and poke his side playfully. “Me too. Hopefully I’ll get some time.” You end up sitting on a bench overlooking a river, the hustle and bustle far behind you now. “It’s really pretty here.” You mutter. “Not as pretty as you.” He winks as you roll your eyes. You continue talking for a while before Cole regretfully tells you it’s getting late and he probably needs to head back now. He places a quick peck on your lips and stands up, offering you a hand. “I’m so excited for tomorrow. Are you gonna score a goal for me Palmer?” You tease as you approach the hotel. He shakes his head at you and smiles. When you return to the hotel entrance he turns to face you, you look up at him and he swears his heart starts beating a hundred times faster. “I’ll see you after the game, okay? I love you.” He places a soft kiss on your lips making you blush. “Good luck babe. I love you too. You’re gonna smash it.” You wave him goodbye and open the door of the car, getting in and thank your driver for waiting.

You wake up the next morning with a nervous feeling in your tummy. It sticks around for pretty much the whole day. You feel especially nervous when getting dressed. You grabbed your England shirt that you’d hung carefully in the hotel wardrobe and put it on, turning around in the mirror to see the back. You’d always wanted to wear his shirt to a game. You snap a quick picture and keep it for later, maybe to post on Instagram. You knew the absolute carnage that would take place when you did. You arrive at the Olympiastadion Berlin in your families usual fashion, through the back in all blacked out vehicles with staff waiting for you at the other end. The nerves had well and truly kicked in now. You check your phone to see if Cole had texted you. You knew he wouldn’t be nervous, very sure in himself and the team’s quality but you wanted him to text you to ease your nerves. Your dad shook the hands of the staff that greeted you and you thanked them as they took you all up to your private box. You were sharing with a few other well known people, you eagerly greeted them with big smiles.

(We all know how the game went so we’ll just leave it at that.)

A devastating loss for England. You were gutted. But also immensely proud of Cole. He’d been subbed on in the seventieth minute and scored only three minutes later. The only goal for England that game. You headed down to the pitch once everything had calmed down and spotted Cole in the stands with his family. His eyes were glassy with tears as he spoke to his dad. You approach slowly and he notices you, standing up immediately and wrapping you in a tight hug. You could hear the snapping of cameras behind you but neither of you cared in that moment. “I’m sorry baby.” You spoke quietly as you pulled away, cupping one side of his face with your hand. “You were amazing.” He sniffled slightly, trying not to cry in front of you but failing miserably as he pulled you in again. You rubbed his back reached up to kiss his cheek. His dad walked towards the both of you and pats Cole on the back before sitting with Cole’s mum. “I can’t believe we lost.” He reaches up to dry his eyes as you pout and rub his arm. You turn around slightly hearing his sister call your name. “Love your shirt.” He smirks a bit, it clearly cheering him up. He wraps his arm around your shoulder as you begin chatting with his sister.

You’re on your way back to your hotel when your phone begins to blow up. Story after story about your relationship with Cole, using the picture they clearly got when you were consoling him after the game. You save the picture, setting it as your lockscreen and then posting the picture of you in his shirt from earlier to your Instagram story.

#cole palmer #england #england nt #football #cole palmer x reader #footballer x reader #chelsea fc #chelsea #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #trent alexander arnold #premier league #euros 2024

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agendabymooner · 1 year ago

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seb’s best girl: enter barbie || sv5 scenario (1)

foster dad!sebastian vettel x daughter!ofc (filo!ofc)

EXTENSION TO CRAZY RICH WIFE AND SHE’S EVERYTHING… AND HE’S JUST MICK.

Summary: Sebastian Vettel understood the downfalls of infertility just by being there for his wife. What he didn’t know, however, was that his life would drastically change when their foster daughter, Barbie Blanco, was put into their care. OR, what made Sebastian the best father figure to a teenager who had nobody but herself.

Scenario Summary: When the Red Bull driver and his wife, Bel, struggled to make the children that they would love forever, a teenager who needed to be provided for came entering their lives. OR fifteen-year-old Barbie Blanco thought that meeting new people was intimidating, and Sebastian learned that making her comfortable in her new home was a responsibility he should uphold as her father figure.

Content warning: circa 2014–present, Mom!OFC (Bel Vettel), girl dad!Seb, mentions of infertility, isolating, mental well-being of youth, young!Barbie Blanco x young!Mick Schumacher (platonic to lovers pairing), shitty Filipino translation

Note: First of all: 1,000+ followers??? Are you guys insane?! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE!!!! ❤️

Another thing, there are requests in my inbox and I’ll look into it! I got my English paper back and I was so disgruntled at the sight of my mark so please bear with me~ Everyday I think about Seb being a dad to a girl— a teenage girl. Especially thinking about my character’s father-daughter dynamic with him. Enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

💌re:moony’s planner + convo with mooners open!

January 2014

This was a crucial step toward their journey to parenthood, they both could admit that, but it wasn’t anything that they weren’t thankful for.

Being engaged and married last year, both Sebastian and Belinda Vettel had a plan — to have a kid or two sometime soon. It’s been planned out— and they even started on the process of conceiving long before they got married. But fate said no to that and gave them nothing of the sort. No kids, no babies— nada.

Finding out that a treatment for fertility issues was a necessity, though, left Bel to feel so disheartened. She was so disheartened at the fact that she couldn’t be a mother in her late 20s and cherish them for as long as she could breathe— because her body didn’t function as she expected.

While she tried blaming herself and attempted to hide herself away in shame, Sebastian refused to allow her to let her guard down against the adversity parenthood had in store for her. He knew Bel so well— she wouldn’t simply give up like that and he wouldn’t let her do so. He, too, struggled at the thought of not having kids with her sooner— but he needed to be there for her before she could even snap.

So while she went for treatments and worked as a celebrity, another person came along that the Vettel couple didn’t think would become a permanent fixture in their lives.

Barbara Elisandra Duque Blanco entered their lives with her meek expression and cowering dark eyes, standing behind the social worker and the orphanage nun while the older women spoke to the couple gently.

Her eyes tried to look around the house that she was brought to, eyes somewhat glimmering as they skimmed through the paintings on the walls and the intricate details of the upholsteries in the foyer. Her hands gripped on the straps of her backpack while she observed her surroundings, freezing on her track when she found some blue eyes trained on her. She looked away and avoided his eyes.

It wasn’t everyday that the girl got to meet a man whose skin and hair were lighter than hers. This was the Philippines, after all. Everyone lived with similar shades of skin, hair and eyes— and the girl knew that the man wasn’t the same as her.

Plus, he was a stranger. Like everyone else in the room that wasn’t Sister Jane. This whole thing, if not peculiar, was intimidating. New people scared her— it was no wonder why she lasted in the system for six years now. They’ve turned her away. And the Philippines’ foster system didn’t work as well as it would’ve in first world countries.

Still, she found him intimidating— that was until Sebastian called for the caretaker.

He murmured to the caretaker, “Ate Angie, if you don’t mind, can you show her to her room? Maybe help her get settled?”

The caretaker looked at the social worker and the nun for approval, and when they nodded Angie looked at Barbie with a soft smile. “Sama ka sa akin, anak?” Come with me, child?

Barbie looked up at the social worker and to Sister Jane with wide eyes, to which they chuckled gently as Sister Jane said, “Doon ka muna sa kwarto mo, Barbie.” Go to your room for now, Barbie.

Sister Jane then coaxed her, “Maguusap muna kami ng mga foster parents mo, ha? Kakausapin kita mamaya bago kami umalis.” I’ll talk to your foster parents, okay? Then I’ll talk to you before we (the social worker and I) leave.

With a bit of hesitance on her part, she nodded before she followed the caretaker to wherever she was being taken to.

The adults watched her depart from the foyer before looking at each other with curiosity and concern. Sebastian’s brows furrowed, wondering if the girl really was scared of him because he really wouldn’t have done anything to hurt the girl.

Then Sister Jane told the couple, “She’s very quiet at the very beginning, Mr. and Mrs. Vettel. She’s very polite and smart— and once you get her out of her shell, you’ll know more about her than you do now.”

“All we ask is that you take care of her,” Sister Jane continued with a genuine smile. “That girl means so much to us sisters at the orphanage and the countless times she’s been turned down by people showed us that they missed out on such a good child.”

Sebastian softly smiled and nodded gratefully, “We will take care of her, Sister Jane.”

“And please teach her everything there is to your world and your knowledge,” Sister Jane added, “she’s keen to learn everything and would do everything. All she needs is encouragement and someone to guide her— especially now that she’s got English-speaking foster parents.”

“Can I… what does that mean?” Sebastian was just confused and curious.

“Oh,” Sister Jane faltered, “she doesn’t speak English, Mr. Vettel.”

Sebastian and Bel looked at each other, puzzled at the information they just received but didn’t make a big deal out of it. After all, Barbie Blanco was a girl who can learn fast— and with Sebastian and Bel as her parents, the Red Bull driver was certain that the girl would get all of the support that she needs when going to school or anything at all.

After all, the couple made it their goal to be the best parent to her. They’d do anything.

Sebastian would do anything. Anything for Sebastian’s best girl. His daughter.

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mochilatae · 9 months ago

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No One Else (Namjoon x Reader)

Word Count: 5.0kish

Pairing: Namjoon x Y/n/Reader

Rating: 18+/Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Unprotected sex, semi-clothed sex, creampie, biting, groping, pinching, slapping, kissing (tongue and other), aggressive Namjoon, jealousy, possessive undertones, rough/intense sex, orgasms (yours and his), squirting (implied), hair pulling, scratching, cuddling, softness (at the end), rich Namjoon/CEO Namjoon elements, Established (early) relationship stuff

Genre: PWP, Established Relationship

AUs: CEO BTS/CEO Namjoon

Summary: Namjoon is a man who gets what he wants. Nothing is out of his reach. You find out what happens when he thinks someone else might get something that should be his. It brings out a side of him you never knew existed.

Author’s Note:

For my sis @worldwideseal

This is a standalone story from the CEO AU and isn't the same CEO Namjoon from previous stories, although there are some of the same elements (established relationship).

Thank you for reading. If you liked it, feel free to comment. If you reblog, it's also very much appreciated but not required.

Tags: @askkrisachan @kiestrokes

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

The penthouse door shut behind you and Namjoon’s footsteps followed shortly after.

Although the foyer hall was dark, you knew it well enough to identify every single shape like you’d lived there for years. You’d certainly leaned into the comfort and confidence of accepting that you did in fact live here. It was as official as could be: you’d gotten a couple bills and updated your mailing address.

It didn’t get any more real than that.

As you wandered past the tall mirror mounted on the wall, you glanced at yourself, enjoying the site of your legs in the heels chosen for the night: slightly taller stilettos that made your legs look as long as you’d always wanted.

It was that much better hearing Namjoon’s dress shoes pacing at your back. You finally slowed at the end of the hall, facing the den unfolding before your eyes. Based on the warmth suddenly rising at your back, Namjoon had stopped just behind you.

His breath grazing your shoulder only confirmed the fact a moment later. His words chased the fading wisps when he spoke.

“Did you have a good time?”

Whatever reason he was asking, you hid your confusion and smiled, noting the far off night sky through the massive picture windows framing the room across the way. The night sky looked surreal this high up. Living in one of the tallest buildings in the center of a bustling city had its perks–and this one was high on your list.

“Yes.” You whispered. A beat passed.

Namjoon’s lips pressed your skin then slid towards the outside of one shoulder and departed just there. “Good.” He murmured.

Another moment slipped between the silence that followed.

“..It was nice to show you off.”

Hearing him say that ALWAYS felt amazing, and Namjoon never seemed to get tired of announcing it. You often suspected that was the whole reason he insisted you come along to these events.

Gatherings. Galas. Whatever they were, whenever they happened, it was almost a guarantee he’d send you a message ahead of time with a save the date notice.

Which was followed by a visit to his tailor for fittings. Beautiful dresses that you’d never imagined being in, customized to your shape. Emphasizing what you had and making you feel like a model. A goddess.

Skin treatments that had you smelling like heaven and glowing like an angel come to earth. You couldn’t get enough. The hours of prep was always worth the end result: eyes on you.

Attention of the most surprisingly good kind. It was a wonderful change you’d grown into with this relationship.

For once sensing eyes on you from all directions didn’t scream ‘be on guard’. It lifted you. Pumped your ego and fed it to a healthy size.

You always came back to a single home truth: the only eyes you really desired belonged to Namjoon. His stare was what you craved. Dined on, when it was served.

Like he’d done earlier tonight, all through the drive over. In steely silence, city lights washing features and his jaw muscle writhing. From next to you at the banquet hall table, shoulder to shoulder among his friends and associates.

And just like now: when you turned and spotted his gaze leveled your way again. There was something amiss in the sparkle there, beaming from those narrowing eyes.

“What?” You scoffed playfully, offering a coquettish pose, fanning lashes at him. Your lips pursed just a little and Namjoon’s own thinned into a very taut smile.

One that you’d seen after many unpleasant work meetings or a particularly busy work day. He did move a lot of money so his mood could be mercurial.

Nerves rising a little, sending goosebumps along your skin, you straightened a bit, waiting for him to speak. But Namjoon didn’t. He waited just long enough to break the silence, right when your lips parted to speak.

“What did you think of him?”

“Him.” You repeated, now fully turned to face Namjoon. He was slow, tugging each cuff of his suit jacket sleeves and sliding arms out one after the other. Even in spite of the broad shouldered design of the garment, Namjoon shedding it did little to diminish his stature.

This man managed to look just as broad. Except now the more fitted shape of his dress shirt thoroughly outlined his triangular shape. As if you needed the reminder he was spending more and more time at the gym in the mornings.

Like it wasn’t enough he could destroy you as he was if he never stepped foot in there again, but that wasn’t enough for him. Namjoon cared about his body and keeping it ready to work at peak performance. He didn’t just keep his mind sharp. He kept every muscle ready. Trained.

He wanted the best and he did not sit back until it came to him. He chased it down, made it his own. Just like he’d done to you.

The way he stepped closer after hanging the jacket on a nearby wall hook shrank the air around you. This room’s high ceiling wouldn’t stop you if your soul departed and sailed up with the energy of a rocket off the launch pad.

You swallowed, chest dangerously tight. That was easy enough to ignore–you had to or you’d panic.

“Him?” You repeated, letting all the confusion and nervousness out in this single word.

It didn’t change that slowly deepening glare that had taken residence on Namjoon’s face.

“Him.” He grunted, tone like granite. And just as warm. Now he was within reach, chest puffing. His fingers found your chin, tracing the shape, then circled and held tight. Slowly he tipped your face up so he could see you clearly.

Knowing Namjoon was looking into your eyes, there wouldn’t be any way to retreat because you couldn’t look away, no matter how hard you tried.

“The man who was talking to you by the champagne fountain.”

Your mind scrambled backwards in the evening, combing over every mundane detail. Things you might have missed, down to the color of the salad fork and the way Namjoon had unfolded his napkin and laid it on his lap.

The big, plump warmth of his palm on your thigh there, under the table. The way it climbed slowly until you’d almost choked on a mouthful of red wine between courses. Just before you’d gone to the dancefloor.

“Oh.” The admitting came in a low wheeze from your lips. You resisted licking them, lest you ruin the lipstick you’d purchased just for this evening.

Namjoon released your chin. Smiling, he leaned closer. It was hard to see that smile didn’t go further than the apples of his cheeks because you’d never seen it directed at you. He was not pleased.

“Yes.” He cooed but it was a rumble. From deep in that broad chest. The buttons of his shirt looked like they were as stressed as you felt. His free hand was at the top button, popping it open. “..Him. What did you think of him?”

“You want me to say something specific, then tell me.” You replied. Playing mind games with Namjoon was dangerous when he was in a mood like this. It couldn’t have gone well for anyone who tried it in the world of business and you were far more woefully underskilled to even begin trying.

You’d be crushed like a bug.

Namjoon’s smile stayed. He opened a second button. More skin came into view, the v shape of parting shirt material widening. Tempting your attention and the beginnings of a sweet ache much further below your navel.

“I just want the truth.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Y/n. Which is why I trust that I can ask you and get the answer.”

“I can’t make something up. I just said—” You sputtered weakly and Namjoon’s finger drew a rail of fire down your lips,heading for the center divot at the base of your throat. You were helpless as your head lolled backwards.

The ceiling was all you could see, starlight making a white aura there as his touch stopped and he traced a spiral there just near one collarbone. His lips feathered your neck on one side and your knees shook.

He growled. Sank teeth gently to pinch just a bit of skin. So careful that you knew it could be so much more dangerous than he was letting it become. And you knew HE knew how much this turned you on. The danger contained and wielded by such a powerful man like Namjoon Kim.

Beyond-billionaire. Earned his stripes and his reputation. Earned the privacy and mystery of his success and the corners of his life he kept locked up tight. You’d only just gotten into the inner circle but there were doors you knew were still closed.

Especially when it came to his appetites. You’d never thought that you could walk around on this earth feeling perpetually wet like Namjoon had you doing since you became serious.

Your knees locked as you drew in a deep breath. Instead of helping, your head spun.

“So don’t. The truth gets MUCH better rewards than lies,my sweet. Unless..” He dragged a finger over the wet spot where his teeth had been, then massaged into the depression left. You bit back a moan.

“...Unless you like that kind of thing? Are you that type? Do you like to be punished, Y/n? I know we’re still learning about each other–we’ve got a long way to go. But I wouldn’t mind knowing that. I can oblige if you’re into going through it. Wouldn’t be my first time.”

Oh my god. The ceiling wobbled and you blinked. Shaking your head had you unsteady in the heels you’d managed to strut successfully in most of the night. Good thing it didn’t last long before the ceiling stilled again.

Namjoon moved onto your shoulders, bringing one finger under the stress strap and tugging it aside. It fell down to your bicep. The tickle was so intense you almost shuddered. Everything was so alive with Namjoon so close.

Having him in your life had EVERYTHING much brighter and more fresh, so this should stop being a surprise, and yet…

After he guided the other strap down and it was hanging the same way on the other side, Namjoon’s eyes came into view after he cupped the back of your head and pulled it upright. Placing your attention solidly where he wanted. Getting his way.

Exactly what he deserved.

The only remaining sign of his former smile were two dangerously thin pink lines, even tighter than you felt.

“Are you that type?” He was speaking so low and quiet, forcing you to strain beyond your thundering heart just to hear.

“I’m not.”

“..Mmmhm.” He barely nodded. Something entered his eyes–a new kind of flame. Flickering and hungry. Was that …jealousy? Namjoon’s lips parted and his forehead barely touched yours. He spoke again.

“Then tell me what you thought of him.” He wasn’t going to let this go.

At least you’d finally remembered who he was talking about: some nice older man from your trip to the champagne fountain while Namjooon made his social rounds. One of the only moments he’d left your side.

An exotically handsome man. With an accent thick enough you mostly understood and pieced together what he’d asked. Basic questions. A compliment, and his reaching for your earring–the 24k dangling drop with a real pearl at the center.

He’d been brief in his conversation and your gut dropped when you remembered the man leaning close to speak in your ear and whispering his compliment on the accessory. It wasn’t a long conversation and enough people had been around, you hadn’t realized Namjoon was still aware enough to see.

But he had. His sneering smile slowly opened the door to whatever lurked underneath his composure as he waited.

Two of his fingers walked right down the center of your chest, stopping at the top of your dress, where it dipped low between the swells of both breasts, then curved into a hook shape.

“I didn’t..” Your lips shook. It was a bleating plea. No room to feel pathetic or weak. You meant it so much right now.

The plea in your eyes hit whatever wall was up in his mind. Namjoon smirked a little, heat rolling from his flaring nostrils with the sound.

Your body jerked forward as he pulled away, dragging you with him. You barely kept up, stumbling along, heels dangerously unsteady as you both moved towards the hallway. It never seemed so long, passing doors as you plodded along, going from marble to tile to carpet, paving the way to the last door at the very end.

Namjoon only let go to reach forward and open the door. He pushed a little with one palm, then stepped aside and jerked his chin towards the inner chamber.

You moved over the threshold. Just like he’d done with the front door, Namjoon shut the bedroom door. Even so, closed off from the rest of the place, this room was massive and always felt that way. Day or night, it didn’t matter. This space was just as big as everywhere else here.

Namjoon wasn’t about to live small. He demanded room and made his own, no apologies.

You turned around, seeing his form striding for the closet. Without looking at you, Namjoon was at work, stripping his shirt off. It fell to the floor as a crumpled heap. His hands went to his belt as he stood in the open closet doorway.

It was like he’d felt your hands rising to the back of your dress, arms twisting and fumbling to find your dress zipper. His words were ice, cutting across the darker space.

“Don’t you dare. Face the bed. Bend over, palms flat.”

Your eyes opened wider but you turned away and did as told. You hear the sounds of hangers moving along the rails in the closet. He disappeared then, the sound of material rustling coming from around the door that blocked your sight.

Forever seemed to pass as you stared at the headboard further up, so many pillows arranged neatly. Almost nearly perfect. Namjoon was no slouch in housekeeping efforts either. His cleaners knew their standard and never slipped an inch.

A hard squeeze on one ass cheek, through the material of your dress made your thighs tense. You went up on toes and your ankles threatened to quit entirely. Fingers curled into the perfectly smooth bed sheets. Your nails dug deep into the cool surface, sending an ache through the first knuckles on every finger.

Your lips retreated from your teeth as you sucked air through. “Joon..” You whined. Heat rushed through your folds, daggering right up into your center. You felt the rush of pressure and warmth building just behind your seal.

Namjoon’s laugh behind you was long and faded. His single slap was hard. A little bit more pain than pleasure and you took it, eyes rolling a little. You quickly focused on a single pillow at the center of the collection directly ahead.

“Love it when you say my name.” His fingers pinched. Groped a solid handful of your cheek and kneaded. He let go and the ache stayed there for a few seconds. “..You remember his name too?”

“No.” You spat out. Even if you did you wouldn’t have said it for all the money in the world. You wanted to forget you’d even met this guy, whomever he was, that Namjoon suddenly couldn’t think about anything but that stranger.

“No?” Another snicker and Namjoon’s fingers traced the hem of your dress and tugged it up over your ass. He bunched the material around your lower back. You wanted to feel shame but the fire didn’t stay at your face, it ran right down to your pussy.

“Please.” You began. A low moan came out when Namjoon ran the back of a knuckle across the crotch of your panties.

“So hot, kitten. Is that me..or him?”

“Namjoon..” You whined now, thighs openly shaking. Your knees bent briefly and you struggled, straightening them again. Your ass jerked and Namjoon kissed the small of your back.

“Don’t you hear me? I’m talking to you. You weren’t noticing me when he was next to you.”

You had so many things you wanted to say–every word bottlenecking at the back of your lips. You worked, chewing invisible sounds but nothing made it out. It was peak frustration borne of the pinnacle of arousal.

And it was going to burn you alive. Namjoon was quite clearly happy to see you spinning so far out of control while he was slowly gathering the reins.

His monologuing continued as he followed both sides of the cotton center panel with a pointer finger, debating which side to move first. As if it was a when, not an if. Time warped, extending into the unknowable future as you waited. Suffered. Found it harder to focus on anything but survival.

The sheets under your palms warmed and sank a little deeper when your weight listed forward. A knee rutted the inside of your right thigh, hinting. ‘Spread’ wasn’t said in a word, just in that action.

“Seeing him close to you made me realize something. I’m a jealous man. I want what’s mine. What’s mine…is MINE. I don’t share. Why should I have to? Is that impractical, Y/n?”

You couldn’t speak still, lips twisting. Your eyes rushed with wet heat. Shock was filling you to the top–you’d never been so emotional over desire in your life until now. Whatever was happening, you needed Namjoon to make it all disappear. To imagine he was somehow misunderstanding a casual conversation this much…

But you’d never plunged this far into the depths of a dark enjoyment: having someone so into you they were being unreasonable by more and more measure. You, a woman so desired that a man this powerful would be so swept up to lose some semblance of control.

He could have it ALL–every inch of you. Whatever he’d ask in trade, let him take it all. Crush it in his big, strong fist. And let him put that same hand around your neck. Squeeze until you can't think or feel. Until the resistance that might be there flowed out, like the last breaths and the high that promised to rush through you at that perfect moment…

You came back to reality with Namjoon tracing something warm and blunt along your sex. It was heavy, the thump when he slapped it against you. That impact made you jump.

Your ankle rolled and you whimpered, kicking that heel off. The other went too, shooting across the carpet and ending up somewhere in the dark, chased by Namjoon’s giggle.

“I know…it’s so much, isn’t it? But…I’m not being totally crazy, am I?” He pushed against you, his belly brushing over your ass and the pressure over you increasing as the blunt shape nosed hard into your folds. You realize: it was the tip of his cock and it was fat.

Your senses dulled and the world grayed as you nearly fainted in need. “N..no. You…want…it..” It was hard to even hear your own voice, tinny and breathless in the dim space ahead. No need to finish your thought. He did it for you.

“---I do want it. I want YOU. You’re mine…aren’t you?” A hand clapped over your other hip and he pulled you into his rolling hips. His cock brushed against the inside of your thigh, silky hot. Burning to the touch.

Your arms trembled and you let your face touch the sheets with a pained moan. Namjoon wound his free hand through your hair and pulled you right back up.

“Stay there. Listen to me when I’m talking to you. Couldn’t hear me there.. You hear me now, don’t you?” Cool air washed over your pussy as the panties slid to the side and took your seal with it, breaking you open.

The head of his cock bulldozed through your flesh, spreading the slick. He used a single, spiraling stroke to coat himself and leaned back enough to seat his tip right inside of you, then leaned forward, pulling your head back to bring you into his stroke.

It was white sparks showering through your closed eyes as he filled you up. Your walls bloomed in tightness as they filled. Stretched. Expanded to take in every inch of this thick cock pushing into you until his belly met your ass.

When he was hilted, Namjoon tugged your hair again, firmer. Growled and let his head roll back. Pulled back just enough, then snapped his hips. Still speaking, he set a pace–a stroke every second. Not wasting time or waiting around like he’d done hours ago.

In the elevator.

The car.

In line to get into this dinner.

In line to get a drink, with you against his side, demurely, fingers wound through his own and greedily choking on his cologne.

Wetness oozed from deep inside, cresting the outer edge of your pussy lips as he drove in harder. Began to really heave with each forward thrust.

“This..I bet he was thinking about this.. But it isn’t his. He couldn’t see or touch this–could he Y/n? You wouldn’t bend over his bed like this. You wouldn’t spread wide open and take every inch for him, would you?”

Even if he demanded you play along and answer, your body rocked and jerked so hard as he fucked you that the words would have been jostling too. Lost bouncing up your throat if they even made it to your lips.

The grip on your hip tightened and nails scraped your skin there, leaving stinging that melted into nothing as seconds passed, overlapped by the slapping sound of your skin meeting his. The bed began to tremble when Namjoon went harder.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore, ass raising up and head dropping,letting your face crush against the fresh cold of the sheet's surface. Your makeup made a rainbow of colors, the color of your lipstick leaving streaks below that you only glimpsed before your eyes shut again as a clamp seized your insides. Chills rushed through you, pushing out a warning moan–he was getting you close.

You were going to cum. And it was going to be hard.

Whether or not he was actually aware, Namjoon continued to pound away at you, snarling–muttering something you couldn’t hear. Squeezing your skin so hard vessels burst underneath. He slapped and pinched, the sting biting through the ecstasy.

“J..Jooonieee.” You keened, head heavy and turning, giving you a chance to turn your profile to one side and suck in a much needed lungful of air. You could taste his scent. Taste that cologne. Namjoon made some belly deep sound behind you.

His weight fell into you as he pushed your body onto the bed, forcing you into a prone position. Now his thrusting went from forward and back to almost straight up and down. Dunking into you, sinking down hard and rising up. Like a piston into the ground, pulling up oil. Pumping for the desired fluid, relentlessly steady.

It was no use. Namjoon stabbed his cock deep and stayed there with a boom of pleasure.

The clench came again and your body vibrated. Your hands clenched at sheets, tugging them towards you in desperation. Trying to pull away a little and find some moment of relief. To think a little.

Most fruitlessly of all: to save yourself against the rushing inevitability on your heels.

“Fuck baby..You feel so good…” Barked at you this time, loud like he didn’t care to remember where he was. And if he did? He gave no fucks because it was all about what he wanted and how close it was to being in his grasp.

He felt you within his reach, like his hand rising from your hip to your throat to grip tight, and his weight along your back as he barely planked.

You weren’t escaping.

You were trapped and you were exactly where you belonged.

“C..close. Ple…please..Don’t..”

“What is it?” Namjoon’s tone dripped in evil. In such an offensive pretend innocence, the way he nudged at your few remaining senses.

You barely blinked, just at the edge. Ekeing out a the few words you could to warn. To beg, one last time.

“--He can’t be me. He can’t stop me. NO one takes what’s mine. THIS is mine..” The pumping started, hard and furious as Namjoon lips found your ear.

Like he wasn’t pounding your insides into nothing but a creamy mess. He fucked into you with angry strokes. Going deep. Into your guts. Almost into your lungs.

Your throat, where his fingers circled and squeezed more. You barely gasped out the last remains of air, eyes rolling so hard it was static graywash as the orgasm hit.

You seized under him as Namjoon pulled back and gave a few more strokes before you squeezed so tight he couldn’t move. He fell against you with a satisfied grunt, feeling you convulse and squeeze. Your pussy rippled, sending spastic ripples down the length of his thick cock.

Namjoon ground into you as he rode out the high, then stirred himself until he shuddered.

“Make me cum..” He breathed, growling again in a long, creaking exhale as he did just that, hips blanching from how hard they pushed into your ass until he was done. Namjoon’s weight fell onto you completely as he took time to recover himself.

Eventually he came away enough and your hair slid free from his fingers, falling across the sweating span of your shoulders. The room air washed across your skin, giving much needed air a chance to cool you off.

You laid there until your eyes opened, then turned your face the other way, barely spotting one of Namjoon’s naked palms digging into the mattress near your head.

He leaned down enough to look into your eyes. The bridge of his nose was glittery. His temples and brow fared the same but Namjoon didn’t seem to notice.

Instead he offered a pleased grin. Both dark browns rose. “Still with me, Y/n? Here..look at me.”

Right now doing that took every ounce of energy you could muster. And that wasn’t much. Your ass clenched with the occasional aftershocks in your pussy. As your hips shifted you felt the dampness under your mound. It was a sizable circle that spread almost wide enough to both hips.

“I..” You licked your lips, then tried again. “...I..came.”

“Did you?” Namjoon winked. How he still had any ability to be upright was sending you right now. It must have looked like you’d been shot, the way you just posed there on the bed, boneless. Feeling weak and wasted.

Dick drunk. The very definition.

Whatever his jealousy had inspired, Namjoon had done well above whatever he needed to do to prove himself to whatever his name was. You could barely remember anyone from hours ago, let alone the man he’d fixated on. Maybe that was how he’d wanted and planned it.

Namjoon stripped your dress off your body and peeled the panties away. Seeing the soaked panel earned another laugh.

“I love the mess you made..” He praised, bunching your panties up and brushing them over his nose and lips. A moment later he tossed them up the bed and your dress followed. Your heels rolled across the carpet, just in view off the bed.

Namjoon’s body melted into the bed next to you and he rolled onto his side. You were still fairly helpless as hands found you and turned you over to one side, facing him. As you gazed at Namjoon from lids raised to a pathetic minimum, he watched your face.

And he did it for a long time. Long enough your blinks started to last longer and longer. Fatigue crawled into your mind, pushing out any thoughts and making conversation an impossible and unnecessary thing. By the placid expression you kept coming back to when you could open your eyes, Namjoon didn’t mind. In fact, maybe it was that he expected this result.

When fingers traced your temple and stroked through your hair slowly, it sealed your fate. You yawned and it ended in a fitfully weak moan.

Namjoon caught your hand against his chest and pulled it up to his lips, kissing the curled fingers, then opening them to lay your open palm against his cheek.

“Mine.” He murmured.

You nodded. Or it might have been a dream. But it felt so real. Like his kisses, each one following your nose down. He kissed you deep and slow, taking his time, letting his tongue explore your mouth for a little bit before he pulled back.

Your tongue swabbed the wetness his kiss left behind as he drew you against his front and wrapped an arm over you in an unyielding hug that was a perfect fit. It was only Namjoon’s steadily slowing breathing that you heard. Not even your own registered as you inhaled him again.

Floating in sweet, heady nothingness, you stayed silent. He did the same.

It was the kind of night you dreamed about. The kind of world he’d opened to you: expensive sheets. Massive, spanning beds. Big spaces with glittering, clean furniture, more expensive than you could calculate.

Sitting at the top of the world with a man who might as well own it–well on his way to doing just that. But all he really wanted was you. And if there was truly ever any doubt he could get you, it ended here. Tonight. If jealousy was a motivator for him, he used it as a tool like an expert at the craft.

Let him want and covet. Let him desire and buy it all up. He had you lock and stock.

Except when he mumbled in the dark, minutes later.

“There’s no one else, Y/n.”

You couldn’t say it, but you thought it. Distant hope was eternal that he’d hear you, even in your unfocused and fuck drunk state.

There’s no ‘someone else’. It’s just you. Always.

#kim namjoon x y/n #namjoon x yn #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #ceo namjoon x you #CEO namjoon x reader #CEO Namjoon x reader #CEO Namjoon x y/n #CEO BTS: Namjoon #knj x you #CEO knj x you #CEO knj y/n #CEO knj x yn

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failing-to-write-again · 2 years ago

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@lilithram a most excellent idea.

Vampire Defense Test 2.0 - Camouflage

Shu Sakamaki

Giggles slowly came into earshot as Shu lazed in one of the mansion's many foyers. Refusing to acknowledge them Shu's eyes remained shut and his earphones continued to play some symphony lowly in his ears. The smell soon followed, sweet and far too comforting for his liking, becoming more and more pungent as the source of the giggle's approached.

Shu then opened an eye. Like a fool, a poor poor fool.

Your outfit was certainly something he'd give you that. You had taken the time to stick cardboard to yourself creating a complex geometric pattern. Many right angles up in his face sending his eyes spinning like marbles for a few seconds. Your laughing ever present in the background.

Until his eyes snapped back to normal as his eyes finally pushed his focus past the shapes and on your very much less angular face.

"I know how dead I am but can you really blame me?" The only response you received was the characteristic dead eyed glare of the blonde. Slowly retreating as he begins to move to sit up you don't get far before a cold hand locks around your arm.

A scream barely escapes before you're in the vampire's lap and your cardboard insult was thrown to the far corner of the room. Sitting there stunned out of the corner of your eye you see Shu staring. Weirdly staring, not in the same creepy predatory stare you're used to but instead more just a look. He didn't even have you straddle him like he normally does when he deems a dose of teasing in order to balance the scales. Then, gently this time, you feel arms pull you to your side laying with your back to Shu on the sofa.

"Shu what are you doing?-"

"Hush."

Reiji Sakamaki

Reiji really had to stop this, you were becoming an incredibly effective distraction. It was your scent, or your taste, or maybe the feeling he had after drinking from you? He couldn't be bothered to pin point it right now though, not when he had you mere inches from his fangs.

His eyes scanned your face before your hand pined by his, caught his eye. A doodle of some sort covered your palm with squares within squares. A headache began forming as your eyes widened in surprise and alarm. Breathe stopping as chills ran down your spine.

"While this was not planned on my part, you really had to spot it now rather than when we were apart and I had time to run?" Nervous sarcasm could lessen the blow surely.

Reiji was simply smirking while staring down at the woman. Eyes having forced the hand to the background of his vision. Once his focus was back to your face the headache subsided considerably. Face nearing once again towards you as you gazed up at him with an expression that told of little else but almost boredom.

"Well it seems your little trick will not be as viable a tool as you suspect." Was all you could hear in that moment. Low baritone words while being surrounded by what felt like all sides by the thing holding you in place. The gentle biting sensation in your neck was both, in equal ways, welcome and worrying.

Ayato Sakamaki

You were really starting to get on his nerves. Anytime he pops up you and your fucking eye scrambling paddle. Pulling it up and running the second his daze got fuzzy. The worst part was that when he wasn't looking for a drink you were joking with him and acting normal.

Reaching his limit and storming into you room after weeks of this treatment. So focused on finally having you there, the paddle was left sticking in the wall somewhere and you were left defenseless with a very hungry vampire across from you.

"I can't keep not drinking anything Sparks," coming out as a whisper so close to a breathe.

"But, why aren't you... you have options." Words spoken to air for all the response you got. A head thumping on your shoulder with your speech being jumbled in between soft tufts of red hair.

Cold hands awkwardly raise until resting on your hips, hesitation oozing from you both. An inhale. An exhale. A bite.

#shu sakamaki x reader #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #reiji sakamaki x reader #ayato sakamaki #ayato sakamaki x reader #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik boys #diabolik lovers #sakamakis

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ellssbellss · 2 years ago

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Lavender Roses ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is.

Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

summary: He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how.

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.”

word count: 14.3k

legend:

(e/c) = eye color

(n/l) = native language

(c/n) = home country's name

(p/c) = pick a color

see masterlist! : masterlist

taglist!: @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn

The Grade School Host The Naughty Type! pt. 1

“What kind of music do you like, (Y/n)?”

You leaned forward on the table, your billowing sleeves falling down your forearm to reveal beautiful rings and bracelets covering your wrists and fingers. You gave your guest a loving smile, biting your lip slightly as you stopped to think.

“Hm,” you say, a seductive hum rolling its way to your guests ears, and resonating within the blush on their cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure. I love all kinds of music.” Your deep lipstick moves as another flirt slips out of your mouth.

“But, I think the sound of your voice is what brings me the most joy, honey.” The girl across from you loops arms with one of your male guests and they both lean on each other to keep from fainting.

You reach out to steady them, the vibrant skirt of your dress swishing with your movements. The flowing cloth was dyed in a deep (p/c), bringing out the brightness of your (e/c) eyes. Your lipstick matched perfectly, and gold jewelry accented the entire look.

Tamaki promised a royal Arabic theme, and boy, did he deliver.

“Careful,” You warn as you place your guests back in their chair. “You shouldn’t be falling for me so soon.” A blush is fabricated on your cheeks as well as all three of you giggle at your pun.

But before you can continue your conversation, you pause your hosting to watch Tamaki excuse himself from his guests.

A rare sight, indeed. Tamaki would never leave his guests alone if it wasn’t important.

Hikaru and Kaoru rise with him, but you ignore the way they rush to their places in the foyer of the music room, getting into their positions. You didn’t want to leave your guests unattended.

The guest that you were laughing with suddenly becomes very close. You had entertained her many times, but she had never been this brave. It was a good-natured advance, so no alarm was needed on your part. It was just surprising.

She looked confident, but a blush raged a war on her cheekbones as she grabbed your hand. Her friend beside her looked at her in awe.

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” She admitted, a small smile on her face. It was your turn to blush when she grasped your face in your hands and planted a firm kiss on your cheek.

Her forwardness caught you off guard, a nervous sound coming out of your dropped jaw.

Kissing was definitely not encouraged in the club. It was too sentimental, too intimate. If the hosts went around kissing guests left and right, too many people would be let on, and things could take a dramatic turn. All guests were made well aware of that fact, but some people thought that they deserved special treatment. Not surprising coming from a crowd of heirs and rich nobles.

Your guest smirked at your disbelief, and you didn’t know what to say. As uncomfortable as this situation was, you didn’t want to make a scene.

Before you could figure out something to say that could gently defuse the situation, the girl’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind you, causing her to draw back slightly. Her other friend swallowed.

A pale hand gently grasped your shoulder.

“Kyoya?”

“A new guest is arriving. We need to get into our positions.” He said, his slightly-more-than-monotone voice piercing through the room. Over his glasses, you saw his stare catch onto the guest that had just crossed a club boundary.

“I’m afraid to say that (Y/n)-san’s hours have unfortunately come to an abrupt end.” He voices to your guests, a host grin pulling on his face. His words were like ice. “Thank you for choosing to spend your free hours here, but you may be excused.”

“You need to leave?” The girl whined as she leaned ever closer towards you.

Kyoya moves in front of you and offers a hand. You take it, his skin soft against yours, and gracefully peel yourself off your chair.

“As I said,” Your best friend glazes a stare over his shoulder at the guest behind you. The grin was gone, and his gaze was casted to the women who sat below him. It was the look he used for when the people who worked for him disrespected his father’s work. For when inferior individuals questioned his authority. “You are excused.”

A chill went down your spine as the girl huffed then grabbed her friend’s hand. She pushed out her chair, allowing it to skid across the tile. Throwing a fit, her friend followed behind her embarrassed, his head down and a sad blush dusting his cheeks. Your eyebrows crinkled in sympathy as he was dragged away to another chaotic event that girl would surely create.

You both watched them walk away before making your way to the foyer, where the twins adjusted their uniforms as they took their places around Tamaki, who draped himself over the couch, a royal centerpiece of jewels and fabric.

“Please tell me she won’t be back here.” You laugh nervously, trying to play it off as a joke. But it was hard to contain the insecure wobble in your throat, and you tried to disguise it as a chuckle. Kyoya’s jaw set as he picked up the crack in your foundation, and squeezed your hand as he led you to your position: in a window position behind Haruhi.

“She won’t.” He didn’t need to elaborate more. As cold as he was, you felt safer, appreciating the action Kyoya took when your boundaries were crossed. Add that to the lists and lists of reasons your heart yearned for this man.

A breeze rushed over your palm as the ravenet let you go. He made his way to his place behind Tamaki’s right, directly to the side of you. A moment passed before your gazes met again and he offered a small smile, washing away the last bits of the scene that had played out minutes ago.

On the other side of the coin, Kyoya’s nerves were a light with a new flame.

There wasn’t much more he could take. A female host was a smart addition to the club, as you were bringing in more money and more popularity to the club every day. But with that came more risk, and the money was becoming less and less of a reason to keep putting you in the spotlight.

Guests got courageous, lazy. A slip of the hand here, a caress there. He has seen the way some look at you, the least bit of good intention in their eyes. He especially had a bad feeling about the girl who had just made a new enemy of the Ootori company. It was a pity no one taught her to follow the rules.

However, what was he going to do when someone made their advances clear, and you accepted them?

That kiss on the cheek shocked him back into reality. He had become complacent with softened gazes and light touches here and there, but he wanted more. Kyoya wanted to be more.

He had to act soon. But how?

Being a club member didn’t automatically mean that Kyoya knew how to bring his relationship with you to the next level. Naturally, he didn’t know the first thing about relationships.

He fidgeted, adjusting his glasses as he looked around the club, watching the girls cry when Honey and Mori-senpai said their temporary goodbyes as they walked towards your side of the picture they were creating to greet the guest that was on their way. Each host was skilled in knowing what these guests wanted in an entertainer.

Extravagant gestures, money, power. Promises of devotion no matter what consequences their choices led too, words of everlasting beauty and riches.

The ravenet knew you enough to be sure that you were above all that. If there was one thing Kyoya knew he wanted to give you, it wasn’t empty promises.

Before he could think about it more, the door to the club creaked open, a boy walking in tentatively, choking on a rose petal that had flown into his mouth.

His thoughts instinctively transferred back to the reputation of the host club and the megane’s back straightened.

“Welcome to the Ouran High School Host Club!” Your friends said in unison, setting the tone for the atmosphere that you all created around you.

Your host smile shifted slightly when the short figure plucked the rose petal from his mouth, shaking it away when another one caught onto his fingers. He looked up in awe, his deep brown eyes glittering as they flicked over each costume, Arabian culture deeply rooted in the vibrant colors and jewelry.

He was just a child, fascinated by the shiny things.

Hikaru’s arms flopped to his sides, having put them up in a romantic, outstretched gesture. He blew a ginger strand of hair out of his face as his eyebrows drew close in confusion. You had dyed their hair a third time when they grew bored of the bright colors. They liked the sneaky potential of always being mistaken for the other, and the colored hair made it too obvious.

He grumbled to his brother and Tamaki posed in front of him. “Oh, it’s a kid.”

Tamaki, never one to break character, floated a hand towards the boy, gracefully splaying his fingers out to show off his rings. “What’s wrong little boy?” The prince’s voice drawled, a soft, royal tone passing over his tongue. “Did you come to my palace in search of something?”

The kid shuffled, one foot pointing toward the blonde, and another pointing toward the doorway. His response shook in hesitation as he struggled to make eye contact with the blonde.

“Are you the King of this place?”

You immediately looked at Kyoya, and gray met (e/c) in an exasperated effort. You sucked on your cheek, trying not to roll your eyes as Tamaki sat straighter, a glimmer glossing over his violet irises.

“Well?” The boy pressed on. “Are you?”

Tamaki’s hand turns, his palm facing upwards. A finger curls, beckoning the child to come closer.

“Come closer, lost one.” Oh god.

The kid’s green uniform crinkles as he makes his way towards Tamaki, and your posture sinks even more as he adjusts himself to tower over the poor child.

“What did you just call me, little boy?” Tamaki asks. Egotistical, lovable prick.

Brunette eyebrows furrow on the young face. “The King?”

The king lights up, standing to sway around the club room, basking in the words of a naive little child. “Ah, the king! Yes, I am the king of the host club!” You could’ve sworn you saw stars appear in his eyes. “Long live the king!”

“God, kid, what have you done?” You grumble, and watch as Haruhi’s shoulders struggle not to shake with her contained laughter.

In the presence of the supposed king, the boy straightens his back, putting both feet together in a structured salute.

“I’m an elementary fifth year! Shiro Takaoji!”

Shiro had a look of determination on his face that seemed too brutal for his age. His soft cheeks were clenched as he set his jaw, and the downturn of his eyebrows accented the shine of a purpose in his brown eyes. It was off-putting.

Then again, Honey-senpai didn’t act like how you would’ve expected either.

Tamaki gasps as the posture of the child, and you didn’t think his head could get any bigger than it already was. That was before Shiro pointed to your blonde friend.

“I want the host club king to take me on as an apprentice!”

You were sure the entire host club was going to suffocate under Tamaki’s ego.

Tamaki rejoices, spinning the kid around in his arms as the boy kicks and spits until he settles under his grasp.

More than displeased, you lean over to your left, scoffing as you whisper to the handsome director next to you. He notices and discreetly leans to his right.

“Please, an apprentice?” You scoff, your lips curling into a joking frown. “What is Tamaki going to teach the little squirt, huh? His detailed skin care routine?”

A small puff of air exerts from Kyoya, encouraging a small chuckle. He looks at you with a roll of his eyes while you turn your attention back to the boy in front of you, watching how you analyze the little boy like he is a mutant strand of the flu. His gaze softens without you noticing, then he looks to Tamaki as he immediately begins spouting small lessons to Shiro.

His eyebrow quirks as an idea flashes through his mind. If Tamaki is already going to be giving out free lessons on how to flirt with women, how bad would it be to sit in on a class?

“Oh my Tamaki, you have an apprentice?” A girl asks as she basks in the light that is Tamaki Suoh. Guests surround the prince like a moth to a flame, the center of the host club becoming something of a hive. But that wasn’t the unusual part. Today, there was a new kind of bug in their mist.

Shiro watches intently as Tamaki grasps the girl’s hand, smiling down at her.

“Yes. He is in elementary school, but I quite like the fire in his eyes.”

“But are you sure it’s okay for such a young boy to become a host?” The guest says, looking between the elementary fifth year and the high school second year.

Tamaki’s expression simmers down to a smirk, but clearly ignites a fire in the girl’s heart as he draws nearer, causing a blush to form on her cheeks.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Love has nothing to do with age.” He rests a hand on her cheek, and you watch as she leans into the touch. “Take us for instance. When I’m with you, my heart starts pounding.” He leans a little closer. “Suddenly, I feel no different than a love-sick little boy.”

She swoons. “Oh Tamaki~.”

Across the pastel tile, You, Kyoya, and Haruhi watch from the snack table as Shiro leans onto his tippy-toes, poking his head slightly above the table so that he can get a better look.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s making the kid observe him up close like that?” Haruhi asks, wincing as Shiro opens his eyes a little wider, hoping not to miss anything.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that this kid is here at all?” You say, frowning as you watch what you think to be a 10 year old take notes on how to seduce women.

Leaning on a table behind you, Kyoya slightly glances up from his writings to check on Tamaki before focusing back on the pages in front of him.

“There is a theory that people are considered more beautiful when observed up close.” He pauses, disguising it as a bored sigh, while taking the chance to glaze his eyes over your features. It wasn’t that you were more beautiful up close – because he didn’t think that was possible –, but he will always revel in the effect of your presence, and will never bore of you being inches away from his touch.

“Tamaki seems to live by that theory.” He continues, and writes down the way Tamaki angles the girls face towards his, forcing a blush away from the thought of touching you that way.

You roll your eyes as an irritating look on the kid's face forms when he tries to focus on the conversation happening in front of him.

“Well, let’s leave them alone.” You say, as you gather what you came to the snack table for in the first place. You set pastries and sandwiches onto a silver platter, then begin walking back over to your guests for the afternoon. “I’m here to work, not to babysit.”

Both Kyoya and Haruhi look at you as you leave, taken aback by your harsh tone reserved for the fifth year. Haruhi looks between you and Kyoya, who has an eyebrow raised on his forehead, but otherwise seems unfazed.

“What’s up with her?” The honor student asks, directing her question to the club director while still keeping an eye on you. As you pass Shiro, you give him a wide girth, your posture slouching slightly.

An amused chuckle resounds through Kyoya. “(Y/n) is scared of children.”

Haruhi’s brows furrow together, and she looks at you again. You are so bubbly and kind, accepting of everyone and everything. For you to not like something as innocent as children is almost hilarious in a way, if it wasn’t so confusing.

“I was just as surprised as you are when I first figured it out.” Kyoya assured her. “But she finds them incredibly annoying, especially when they aren’t supervised by their parents.”

“But that’s so unlike her, she’s usually so open.” The brunette debates, remembering how caring and motherly you can be towards the members of the host club.

Kyoya sighs, glancing at you once more, and Haruhi catches a glimpse of sympathy in his facade. “(Y/n)’s past is more complicated than she makes it seem. When she was younger, her parents made her feel like a burden. She had to rely on them so heavily, being a child and all, and her parents weren’t able to live their lives the way they wanted too.” A chuckle of dark humor travels past his lips. “Because who can travel and do business with a toddler attached to their hip?” Kyoya’s tone is dry as he looks down at Haruhi, whose eyes have lost their mirth.

“So, psychologically, she feels like she has to avoid kids at all costs. She’s scared to treat them the way her parents treated her.”

His statement leaves Haruhi even more confused, and a little saddened to hear about your past. “Since when are you a psychiatrist?”

“I’ve never claimed to be a medical professional.” Kyoya smirks once more. “I’ve known (Y/n) for a long time, and I’ll admit I’ve come to learn how to read people.”

He shrugs. “Additionally, I know a thing or two about parental issues.”

The ravenet lifts his gaze again and watches as the boy apprentice calls one of Tamaki’s guests a carp, and as Tamaki tries to comfort his offended guest, Shiro casually walks around, looking for something more interesting after grumbling under his breath.

Kyoya’s jaw clenches from holding back a smile as he follows Shiro’s path. “Would you like to know the irony of the situation?”

Haruhi nods and aims her brown eyes in the direction of Kyoya’s gaze.

“Because (Y/n) is so kind and open, children are drawn to her.”

As if punctuating the megane’s statement, Shiro drops down into an empty seat next to you, and they both laugh as you stiffen.

“Man, what a crybaby.” Shiro casually says, resting his elbows on your table as he interrupts your conversation with the guy across from you.

“You look like you won’t annoy me.” He says to you, and you wince internally.

You look at him, your (e/c) eyes piercing through him, and Shiro gives a little gasp. You definitely remind him of someone. A girl in his class. She has the same smile that you do.

Too bad he didn’t know that this smile was forced. “Shiro, you can’t sit here right now. I’m working.” You’re trying to be kind, you really are. You might be uncomfortable around children, but that didn’t give you the right to be rude to them.

“Who says?” He looks back at you. Your cheeks puff out, and your face takes on a deadpan expression. Your eyes slide back to your laptop as you continue working out the budget, typing up financial plans to save up for some more specialty items for those who are a part of the point system.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, and he sits up on his knees, prying his eyes over your computer.

As he gets closer, you slide the laptop away from him. He leans even more, and you slide it away. Eventually, he is crawling on the table, scrambling to get a glimpse at your screen.

Biting your cheek to keep from cursing at a kid, you stop typing and pick him up from his armpits, treating him like a radioactive piece of lab equipment, and set him back down at his chair.

“Stop being nosy, or go find someone else to bother.” You say, firm, but there was no anger in your words. Just exhausted annoyance.

He huffs, folding his arms and pouting, but he stayed in his seat nonetheless. Your company was somehow less stressful than the king he was observing from your table.

That is, until two gingers came up behind you and wrapped around each shoulder. Like you weren’t already annoyed.

“So how’s it going, (Y/n)? That’s an adorable little buddy you got there.” They tease you, also knowing your distaste for the young.

The twins laugh at your dismay, and you hunch further over your computer, struggling to focus on the task in front of you. Not with three immature little brats surrounding you.

“But, Hikaru…” Kaoru suddenly becomes very sheepish, his laughter coming to a halt. You turn slightly to see a blush painting his face, and you roll your eyes in favor of watching your screen.

Kaoru continues. “Do you wish you had a little brother like Shiro?”

Stars and moons light up in each guests’ eyes as they watch Hikaru gather a tearful Kaoru in his arms, cradling his head as he looks down on him with dramatic longing.

“Don’t be silly.” As if on cue, rose petals fall over them, most likely from the ones Renge had installed in the ceiling for moments like this. “I could search the whole globe and I’d never find a better brother than you, Kaoru.”

“Hikaru…” Kaoru sighs.

Boys and girls all swooned around them as they shouted praises at their brotherly love act, especially after being deprived of it for so long.

But beside you, Shiro scrambled, leaping off his chair and pointing at the two brothers. He tugs on your sleeve, and with more strength than you would expect from a fifth year, pulls you out of your chair. He drags you away from the twins and sets you in front of him like a human shield, pointing at the Hitachiians in disgust.

“What the hell? Their brothers! That makes this totally insectuous!”

You rip your hand from his grip while you roll your eyes, already exhausted. You’re so used to the twins’ act by now, you forget it takes a while for people to get used too.

You sigh as you try to make your way back to the table. “I think what you meant to say was incestuous.”

You stop and turn at a grunt from Shiro as Honey jumps on his back, a cute smile on his round face. “Hey Shiro-Chan! You wanna have a piece of cake with me? We’ve got three kinds: chocolate, strawberry, and lime!”

Manically, Shiro shoves the third year off, and you wince as Honey lands on his butt. “Hey back off! What grade are you in anyway? Why’re you wearing a high school uniform?”

A shadow looms over him as Honey stands, rubbing his sore backside. You watch as Shiro looks up to see Mori, tall as ever, looking down at him over the bridge of his nose.

“Something wrong, Mitsukuni?” Moris deep voice swept over the kid, and he backed away, finding refuge behind your legs, much to your dismay.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Shiro cries. “A little kid like you can’t have a cool older friend like him!”

Mori picks up Honey while you back away from Shiro, turning only to run into Haruhi. Why can’t you just make it the two steps to your seat?

Startled, Haruhi looked up from what she was doing. She grips a fragile tray in her hand, balancing a teapot with snacks that you helped prepare this morning arranged in a small little circle.

“Sorry Haruhi- oof!” You say as the elementary schooler bumps into you once more, and you take a deep breath before you could explode on the poor kid.

The honor student peeks behind you and sees Shiro gripping onto your skirt for balance.

“Are you alright?” She says, and both of you face the kid, considering you were awkwardly trapped between them. Might as well become part of the conversation.

Haruhi leans down so she can be slightly more level with Shiro, and a kind smile traces her features. “I know, it’s kinda hard getting used to all the weirdos around here.”

Her joke puts you a little more at ease. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

“It took me a while to get adjusted to all the craziness, so don’t freak out.” You say, hoping to give the kid some sort of comfort. Your voice doesn’t come out as confident and bright as you would like it, but it was soothing. So A for effort.

Haruhi nods. “We’re sure you’ll get used to it.”

You both pause as Shrio’s face becomes wrinkled with concentration. His eyes pin down Haruhi’s face as he studies her, confusing you to no end. Was he listening to anything you were saying?

You try again. “Shiro? Is there something wrong?”

The kid’s eyes squint at Haruhi a bit more before he opens his mouth, causing your breath to stop in your throat. “Are you a crossdresser?”

You gasp. “Oh no.”

Suddenly, the twins and Tamaki are at your side, Kyoya walking over at a leisurely, but purposeful, pace. They become the Keep-Haruhi’s-Gender-A-Secret committee as Tamaki covers Shiro’s eyes.

“Okay! That’s enough!” The prince declares, chuckling nervously as he tries to direct Shiro away from your best friend, but the student doesn’t budge. “I think Shiro should take care of the tea for us! Don’t ya think?”

You nod urgently and promptly take the tray from Haruhi’s grasp. The twins form a tag team, reaching out and patting her on the back to assure her of her manliness.

“Wow, Haruhi, you’re looking extra manly today!”

“Yeah, you’re too macho for tea sets!”

Kyoya arrives at your side, humming in interest. “This kid is smarter than I thought.”

Your mouth curves in distaste as you move to hand Shiro the tray. But not before you’re able to respond under your breath. “He may be a kid, but he has quite the eye.” The sarcasm couldn’t have been thicker in your tone.

Trying to be more polite for Shiro, you paste a light grin when you face him. The tea tray extends out in front of you, and you give him a gentle warning.

“Now be careful with it. It’s pretty heavy.”

When you pass it to the kid, a crash sounds when he immediately drops the expensive pottery. Your gaze falls to the porcelain that lays shattered at your feet, just like your patience.

“It’s not my fault I dropped it. It’s your fault because you’re the one who made me take it in the first place.”

Your hands were frozen out in front of you, still grasping an imaginary tray as you prayed that you were dreaming.

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, mainly to yourself, despite being in the company of the entire host club.

Disbelief flooded your senses at the spoiled audacity of this kid, and your mood deflated even more when you realized that you were the one who had to clean it up. Your hands came up to rub at your face as you turned on your heel, heading for the broom closet. Baring your teeth behind a closed grimace, you kept your profanities to yourself as you calmly walked away from the little devil.

Throughout the years, you had come to realize that Music Room #3 was larger than it seemed. Tucked into corners of the clubroom were closets, hallways, and cabinets that were hidden in plain sight, and once you found them, you couldn’t figure out how you had missed it. The broom closet was one of these rooms. Past the kitchen and to the left used to be a door you had never opened. But at some point, the twin’s curiosity got the better of them, and a vast storage space was discovered.

So, briskly, you made your way to the privacy of the broom closet, already a little emotionally overwhelmed from this aspiring new host, even if he had been here for only an hour or so.

Once you’re faced with the entrance to the broom closet, you sigh, letting your head rest against the white paint on the wood of the door. Eyes closed, you will your bubbling anxiety to simmer, but it doesn’t really go away until you feel another presence lean against the door beside you.

“That tea set was one-hundred-thousand yen. I’ll have to add that to your debt.” A familiar voice resounds within the confined space of this hallway, erasing the rest of your tension.

Leave it to Kyoya to find the humor in your dismay.

“And what debt would that be?” You ask, opening your eyes to see his shoulder pressed against the closet door, a smug look with a touch of softness painting his face. “It seems I only owe you favors, Ootori.”

The club’s director hums, a teasing light sparking in his gray iris. “Then I suppose you owe me two favors.”

The heartbeat in your throat is no longer caused by anxiety and you scoff, annoyingly enamored by the banter you two share.

Motioning him away and moving towards the door handle, a monotone response leaves your lips. “What a joy.”

With a creak, the door opens to reveal various multiple cleaning supplies. At the esteemed Ouran Academy, even the janitor’s closet is a walk-in space. Reaching above your head, you pull a small silver chain, turning on the lights and walking towards the back corner of the room.

Shelves on the walls are illuminated by the bright light of a fixture in the center of the ceiling. Different tools are organized on all levels, while the larger of them hang on the walls in front of you. You scan the room before stepping in, trying to get a better look when you realize that what you were looking for wasn’t in its usual place.

“I could’ve sworn the hand-held broom was back here.” You say, pantomiming the kind of tool you were looking for, as all you could see hanging from the walls were mops and brooms taller than you were.

“You mean this?” His voice projects behind you, and you spin to see Kyoya holding a small brush and a dust pan. Gratefully, you smile and reach for it, only for him to move it slightly out of your reach.

“Kyo?”

“Are you alright?” He asks, and you blink. It takes a second to process the change in mood, but a small smirk appears on your face nonetheless

“Are you worried about me or something?” He deadpans, and his concern is replaced with a slight regret of ever being associated with you.

The ravenet crosses his arms, the small broom hanging over the crick of his elbow. “I am simply aware that your emotions might be a little more than negative at the moment.”

You give him a ‘really?’ look, but he meets it, peaking over his frames for an answer.

Taking a deep breath, you give in. “I’m fine. Kids just put me a little on edge.”

“It seemed like you were about to rip the poor child’s head off.”

“I know, I know.” You wince at your previous behavior. Apparently, as much as you tried to hide them, your feelings still managed to be sewed onto your sleeve. “Honestly, being in here helps me cool off a little.”

With a classic eyebrow quirk, Kyoya turns his wrist, holding out the small broom in front of him for you to take. But when you take it, he doesn’t move out of your way.

The megane studies you before pushing himself off the wall and reaching towards your face. Delicately, his pale fingers push a runaway hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. His light touch causes something to bloom in your chest, and he takes comfort in the way you don’t push him away.

The light touch of his fingertips morphs into a palm resting on the side of your face, your cheekbones warm from the pressure. Your flustered confusion manifests in a slight drop in your jaw when he draws in a breath, adjusting his hand to tilt your head slightly.

“I realize that this may be a stressful situation for you.” Kyoya says, and in the small closest space, his quiet tone bounces off the walls and settles into the hollows of your rib cage. “But I hope I can be a place of comfort for you, if you need it.”

It takes you a while to find your breath, but the oxygen rushes in soon enough, pulling along a fluttery feeling by a romantic ribbon.

“Thank you, Kyo.”

A soft smile etches into his handsome features as time stops for a moment, allowing the two of you to bask in the other’s presence, a treasure that is always hidden in plain sight, but doesn’t present itself often.

That is, until a slam is heard from outside your little energetically filled bubble.

Your mind is given whiplash as you are yanked out of the dazed feeling Kyoya always seems to give you, and harshly released into the present. Kyoya follows your lead as he spins his head, trying to peer his vision around the corner.

“What the hell?” You ask, trailing off as you quickly circle around Kyoya, shoving your shoulders together before dashing off towards whatever made that disrupting noise.

In your dust of sunlight, Kyoya stands. He doesn’t follow you in favor of pulling out his notebook. He flips to the most recent page and scans it, finding the checklist he started at the beginning of the day.

In his neat handwriting reads: Head Tilt.

Shaking his head, Kyoya goes back to that moment when his hand touched your cheek, sighing at the electricity he felt surge through his fingertips. Maybe he didn’t copy Tamaki’s movements well enough?

Next to it, he writes Ineffective before pulling the chain above him, darkening the small space.

As you turn the corner from the closet, you nearly drop the small broom onto the polished tile when you find the newest addition to your club trapped in a giant metal cage.

“What’s going on here?!” The kid shouts. “Why did you put me in a cage?”

“Yeah!” You say as you stomp over to the group that has now been made around the poor child, making your presence known. “And where did it come from?”

Haruhi is also in awe, speaking through a dropped jaw. “Isn’t this supposed to be a music room?”

Shiro bangs on the bars as they ring in defiance. “This is no way to treat your loyal apprentice! Now let me outta this cage!”

“Jesus Christ, I was gone for two seconds.” You say next to Tamaki as you watch the elementary school kid bar his teeth at the seven of you as Kyoya joins the commotion.

“His attitude was in absolute distaste and he insulted Haruhi. Drastic actions call for drastic measures.” Tamaki states, arms folded in a scold towards the boy.

The blonde grabs a cup of tea that was freshly made by Haruhi before all of this began and sips on it, completely brushing off the kid’s whines.

“I will not let you out of that cage until you’ve learned your lesson. I made you my apprentice because I thought you were serious about becoming a host, but I guess I was wrong.”

Another cry comes from Shiro, and sympathy pulls uncomfortably in your chest. “I am serious! I am totally serious!”

His pleas seem to fall onto deaf ears as the King continues to ignore him, so he tries again. Your brow crinkles at the tears that glisten in his eyes. Maybe this was too much.

“I want you to teach me how to make a woman happy!” With desperation and defeat, he slumps to his knees, his knuckles white from his hard grasp on the prison bars. “I’m gonna run out of time.”

You share a look with Haruhi, both of you catching that brief example of vulnerability while Shiro takes another wet gasp. “Please, won’t you teach me?” The boy looks up, still on his knees.

“You’re a host because you like girls. You like bringing a smile to a girl’s face.” The kid swallows, not having the proper adult experience in controlling strong emotions like these. “That’s why you do it right? Please, won’t you teach me to be like you?”

Tamaki still continues to give Shiro the cold shoulder. Your discomfort for the child is momentarily erased as you come to Shiro’s aid.

“You should help him, Tamaki.” You say, and his violet eyes meet yours in suspicion. “After all, you are a genius. The King at making women swoon. You’re the only person that could help him.”

Tamaki drops the tea cup, but he skips over the shattered pieces towards Shiro with stars in his eyes. At least you already brought a broom from the closet.

“Well, you may be a brat, but I admire your ambition!” The prince exclaims with eagerness in his voice, his pride overflowing more than the tea that was previously in his cup. “So, I’ll teach you! You know Shiro, you and I are so much alike!”

You roll your eyes as Tamaki starts hugging himself, and the twins saunter up to each side of you.

“That poor kid…” Kaoru starts.

“...He doesn’t know what he just got himself into.” Hikaru finishes.

Chuckling, you roll your shoulders, feigning annoyance as you shove them off. They’re laughing too, but they twist their heads, trying to see if anyone was within earshot of the three of you.

“Too bad you weren’t here to see the shit Shiro pulled to get him landed in a cage.” The mischievous twin states, his golden eyes locking with Kaoru’s in another spurt of twin telepathy.

“Yeah, wonder what took you so long in that broom closet? Didn’t we see Kyoya go in there with you?” Kaoru states, and relishes in the blush that quickly rises to your cheekbones. They start snickering at your burning face, but their humor is interrupted as you yank on each one of their ears, crouching down and pulling them with you.

Your voice is a hushed whisper as you try your best to not bring any attention to yourselves. “If you guys don’t cut it out, I’m gonna call your mother and have her cease your weekly allowance for a month.” You tighten your hold on them and they wince. “Ms. Hitachiian and I are very close.”

They roll their eyes once you release them and dust off your skirt. “Geez, since when was your grip so strong?” They whine in unison as they rub their red ears.

You smirk as you walk past them to tune back into the conversation, serving them a fake smile. “It’s powered by my pure annoyance for the two of you.”

Rolling their eyes for the second time in a row, the three of you make it back to the host club’s shenanigans.

When Tamaki’s voice comes back into earshot, his tone has taken one akin to a teacher. “If this is really what you want, Shiro, then you’ll have to figure out how to use the material you already have.”

His innocence is highlighted when Shiro scrunches his eyebrows together. “What does that mean?”

The click of a pen is heard as Kyoya opens his book, turning to an earlier page. You scan it to see all of the host’s names, along with the advantages and disadvantages of each persona that you all hold. You were pleased to see that your category was recently added in a different color of ink, the few sentences suggesting that there was more to learn about how you can contribute to the club’s image.

“You see, here at Ouran Academy, our policy is to use our individual personality traits to meet the needs of our guests.” The ravenet speaks, a tiredness twisting into his tone as if he’s had to explain this exact thing several times over.

He gestures to Tamaki, who puffs out his chest proudly. “For example, there’s Tamaki, who is the Princely-Type.” Kyoya’s open palm then moves to each of you as you are introduced, seemingly proud of the system he has put together.

“Then, there’s the Strong Type, The Boy-Lolita Type, The Little-Devil Type, The Cool-Type, and the Natural-Type. It’s all about variety.” Finally, he points to you.

“And now our group is complete with the addition of (Y/n), the Sweet-Type.”

The brown-haired honor student points to herself, clueless of the nickname that had unknowingly been given to her. “The Natural?” You chuckle to yourself at her question.

Kyoya continues, looking up from his journal. “It would seem now that we have the perfect blend of characteristics. So it’s going to be hard to find a new one for Shiro.”

“If you go by his age, he would be the Boy-Lolita type.” You think out loud, the logical side of your brain taking over.”

Honey’s eyes wells up, his pupils glistening with sudden tears as he looks at you. “Is he gonna replace me?”

Before you can comfort him, another sudden noise pierces the air. Machinery crashes together with tremendous power, but unfortunately it wasn’t loud enough to silence an annoying voice tearing into the host club.

“Oh, come on! Is that all you’ve got?”

Your stomach ties in knots at the familiar voice, and you spin on your heel.

Laughing nervously, you wave to the rest of the host club. “Sorry guys! Last minute robotics club meeting, gotta go!” You briskly walk towards the front door. But before you can make it to the large double doors, the floor below you begins to open.

Wobbling on the edge, you nearly crash into the tiered platform rising out of the tile, but strong hands steady you just in time. Mori pulls you back onto stable ground, but as a pink bow reveals itself from the depths of the music room, you wish you would’ve fallen anyway.

Renge stands on three metal circles that get smaller as your vision rises, each acting as a step as she descends into the host club. You suddenly feel emotionally worn out, all of your patience draining at the sight of her sickly sweet smile.

“I need to sit down.” You tell Mori in a lower tone of voice than usual, rolling your eyes at her victory laugh as she makes her way over to the host club.

The otaku sighs dramatically. “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but what’s with the lackluster character analysis? I must say I’m quite disappointed. I thought I taught you better.”

You sink deeper into your chair when Haruhi appears at your side, her tolerance equally spent.

“What’s up with this place?” She whines. “I thought it was supposed to be a music room?”

“A Renge-free music room.” You grumpily add on.

Tamaki sighs and folds his arms at Renge’s statement. “Alright then, Miss Renge, how would you work Shiro into our collection of characters?”

“Hmm.” She taps her fingers against her chin cutely as her eyes scan the room, landing her gaze on you, pinning you against the cushions.

Renge smirked and sighed. “First of all, I think you have too much variety. (Y/n) sullies what a host club is supposed to be!”

Grasping her hands together, her eyes shape into hearts as she twirls. “A room full of beautiful boys! Take her out of the club, put her back on sole errand boy duties, take her away from my Haruhi.” She stops twirling and points to the boys. “That’s what I would do first.”

On the other end of her finger, the host club deadpans.

Haruhi chuckles next to you. “Wait until she finds out I’m not a boy.”

Kyoya steps out from the group. “(Y/n) will not be leaving the host club. If you don’t have anything that’s actually useful, then feel free to escort yourself out, Renge.”

Renge pouts. “So mean.” But her demeanor completely shifts once again, from an annoying whiny spoiled brat, to an annoying loud spoiled brat.

“Listen up!” Your head reels from the whiplash of her emotions. “There are plenty of girls out there who have a thing for younger boys, or boys with baby faces. These girls are considered Shota fans.”

She begins to pace, walking in a pattern similar to a military general commanding her troops. “Now shota can be a broad category, so it’s important to know that the genre can be broken down into many different smaller categories.”

You hear scribbling and scoff as you see Kyoya taking notes on Renge’s mini lesson.

“If I had to pick a category for this little boy,” Renge contemplates as she walks in front of Shiro’s vision and crouches down, scanning the poor boy from head to toe. “Then he would be the Naughty-Boy Type for sure!”

A creaking sound emits from the ceiling as the cage rises, disappearing into the room as if it was never there. A now freed Shiro points to himself, confused.

“The Naughty Type?” He asks.

Renge rushes him, pulling a whistle out of the neckline of her dress, and blowing it. “Now to be the Naughty Type, you have to wear shorts!”

“He’s already wearing shorts.” You point out as you stand, a headache budding behind your eye sockets. How you were still sane with a kid and Renge in the same room, you couldn’t say.

Too focused to insult you, Renge blows her whistle again, and the noise ricochets off of your skull. “Okay! Then, you gotta have bumps and bruises! Give him a couple scars!”

Skilled in the makeup department, Hikaru and Kaoru get to work, painting on scratches and securing some bandaids to Shiro’s body as you make your way towards the ruckus.

Too soon, Renge slaps Shiro on the back, making that same damn whistle noise. “Now run like a spoiled child. Make it reckless!”

Flabbergasted, Shiro sprints to one side of the room, flicking his heels behind him and staying low to the ground, throwing off his balance and making a messy sprint. Renge watches as he runs suicides for a minute or so before she interrupts with another blow, catching his attention.

“Now I want you to trip and make it big!” Shiro does as he’s told, and takes a nasty fall to the tile. It looked like it hurt.

“Jesus Christ, Renge, he’s just a kid.” You say as you rush to him, grabbing the spot under his arm and pulling him up gently. “Are you okay, Shiro-chan?”

Renge laughs victoriously. “Now say your catchphrase!”

Shiro simply smirks, wiping the dust from his mouth that came from the unswept floor. His voice comes out scruffy and forced. “No big deal, it was nothin’.”

Realizing you’d been played, you promptly drop the kid and walk away. “Last time I help a kid like you.”

But Renge squeals. “That was perfect, Shiro!”

Tamaki claps behind her. “That was outstanding! I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge!”

You rolled your eyes and took a stance between Kyoya and Mori, the land of non-expressive annoyance.

Shiro stands, and when he lifts his head, he has the same look that all children have when they are frustrated, or can’t understand why something is happening.

His brow furrows, and there’s a desperate shine to his eyes as his mouth parts in disbelief before his entire facade shifts into anger.

“You’re idiots!” He shouts. “You’re all a bunch of idiots!”

Before any of you can stop him, he starts towards the door. “I’ve had enough of you people!” Shiro’s voice drops to a sad tone before he steps out of the club room. “This is so stupid, none of this is ever gonna make her happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who’s her?”

But Tamaki is calling after the kid. “Wait, Shiro, we haven’t taught you how to apply the techniques you’ve learned yet!”

It was too late. Shiro had left Renge’s crappy teaching in his dust, along with a hint to a secret he has clearly been hiding.

‘None of this is ever gonna make her happy!’

Completely ignoring Shiro’s feelings, Tamaki marches back to the group. “I can’t believe he ditched us because he didn’t like the lesson. What a selfish little brat.”

“It takes one to know one.” Haruhi says, and you both snicker as Tamaki whines.

“Haruhi! Mon ami!” He runs to hug Haruhi and cries, but the noise is swallowed by the sound of the platforms turning. You spin to see Renge slowly lowering herself back into the floor, the machine descending into wherever it came from.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, maybe a little too hopeful.

She sighs. “I swear, young boys are good for nothing. I went through all that trouble, and he quits!” Renge throws her arms up in an exasperated expression just before the tile closes around her, placing her out of sight and out of mind.

The air in the clubroom seems suddenly calmer, for some reason.

Haruhi breaks herself from the prince’s grasp. “Listen Senpai, weren’t you listening to what he said?”

Tamaki stops trying to grab her and pull her to him to tilt his head, humming in question.

Her brown eyes meet yours as Haruhi silently asks for your support, considering you heard the same things she did.

“He said ‘I’m gonna run out of time.’” You clarify as you make your way to her. “What do you think he means by that?”

Haruhi gets a thoughtful look on her face, her eyes drawing downward to focus on the tile that apparently holds many secrets.

But soon she answers with a quiet confidence. “I think, maybe, it’s a girl.”

Giving her a confirming nod, you think back to how desperate a reckless little boy was to take instruction from a bunch of uptight strangers. But you guessed that nothing was a better motivator than love.

Why Kyoya let Tamaki make up these ridiculous plans was beyond him, but here he was nonetheless. In the dark, pressing himself against a wall of a school he hasn’t stepped foot in in over a decade. He rolled his eyes as the idiotic trio couldn’t stop themselves peaking out from the door they hid behind, watching as Haruhi and Honey pranced around in grade school outfits, Haruhi’s being more revealing than was needed.

“You think the fact that Tamaki practically forced her to wear that outfit would reveal a little secret crush or two, wouldn’t you say?”

Ah yes, you were here as well. Crowded against him in another conveniently small closet where your shoulders were pushed together and the air smelled a little sweeter from your presence. He felt you chuckle against him at your comment, and soaked in the sound as he shook his head.

“Those two are too stubborn and ignorant to interpret their behavior as anything other than a close friendship.” He whispered.

Without light, it was hard to make out how close your face actually was to his, but you were close enough that he could see a few features in the shadows. The shape of your jawline, your nose, your jewelry that reflected the small sliver of light that was streaming from Tamaki’s peephole.

You were close enough to make his heart race.

His response expelled another small laugh from you, causing a small smirk to rest on his face.

You peep out the little crack in the door and shake your head. “Why did they even bother with those disguises?” You ask while Kyoya brings out his notebook. “They stick out like a sore thumb.”

The ravenet hums as he flips to the first page with some open space and begins to draw small spirals. He couldn’t bring out his phone since it would be too bright, so doodling seemed to be the next best conqueror of boredom.

“Oh ho, (Y/n), never doubt me.” Tamaki says in front of you. He’s crouched, and there’s a creepy glint in his usual violet irises. “There’s a reason, a damn good reason.”

“Gross.” You chide next to Kyoya, watching suspiciously as he rubs his hands together like a madman.

The twins sigh next to him, and Kyoya rolls his eyes at the drool that leaks from their mouths. “Isn’t she the cutest?” They admire, watching Haruhi being pulled around the elementary school by Honey’s direction.

“Just because she is helping you infiltrate the school and look for Shiro, doesn’t mean you can ogle at her the whole time.” You say, and Kyoya’s shoulder feels colder when you move away from him to wack all three of them.

Tamaki barely feels the impact, the evil glimmer in his eye turning into adoration. “Look at her in that little mini skirt! Haruhi looks like a little doll!” He whisper-squeals.

You roll your eyes and hit him again for good measure.

“So basically, you just wanted to see her dressed like that.” Kyoya says as you slowly make your way back to your spot in the dark. He reaches a hand out and you take it, feeling a small buzz in his palm while he gently guides you back to the wall.

The twins turn back, and the megane watches as their eyes drop to your intertwined hands and then back up to him. Kyoya lets go and rolls his shoulders, emitting a practiced nonchalant aura around him.

But the red heads smirked anyway, and he braced himself.

“You wouldn’t let us dress up (Y/n) like that, so Haruhi was our next best option…” Kaoru whispered, raising the right corner of his mouth.

“Let us enjoy this, Shadow King.” Hikaru finishes, the left corner of his lips mirroring his brother’s.

Kyoya ticked his jaw, not bothering to look at your reaction. Not like he could see it anyway.

Thankfully, there wasn’t time for you to reply when Haruhi and Honey walked into a classroom at the end of a long hallway, moving out of sight of the host club.

“We need to follow them.” Kyoya looked at another dark shape across from him when Mori spoke. From where Kyoya could see, he was leaning up against the wall, keeping a watchful eye.

At the stoic’s words, the club files out of the closet. You stretch next to him, sighing as you both are released from another small closet space.

“Is this your elementary school?” You ask beside him, and he looks down at you over his glasses. The two of you had fallen behind the rest of the group, and he watched as you looked at the walls full of trophies and pictures, appreciating the memories.

He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “It is.”

“I bet you were kind of a nerd.” You say and he rolls his eyes. Kyoya thinks back to those times where he sat at a cafeteria studying rather than enjoying the period with friends. At the time, that’s what he preferred, but now he could barely imagine what lunch would be like without the chaos of the host club.

He supposed he would miss it.

“As were you, I assume.” Kyoya replies while turning his head to look down one of the corridors. Classrooms bustled inside and nostalgia hit him like a truck, remembering what it was like to be about a foot shorter, roaming the halls silently and carefully just as he did now.

A whack on his shoulder brings him back to the present, and he sees you scoffing at him for what seemed to be the hundredth time today. And then that scoff turns into a smile.

There wasn’t much that could incite an obvious emotional reaction from the megane. While there was quite a bit that could make him feel something, usually anger or annoyance, an apparent expression of contentedness and joy was rare to come by for him.

From the mixture of nostalgia and love, he feels a smile bubbling behind his lips, the corners twitching from the restraint of holding it back. The usual knot in his chest is unwound, falling instead to the bottom of his stomach, the strings feathering slowly and tickling the muscles beneath his abdomen.

He is too distracted, something that has never truly described him before, to realize that they've made it to the end of the hallway. Or to realize that a door has opened up from a corridor behind them. Or the gasp that sounded off in the distance.

The classroom that the club has stopped in front of set off another round of bursts. This was his old music classroom. He had played the flute for a time in elementary school before his dad made him drop it to focus on his academics. This was his old music teacher’s classroom.

Kyoya calmly made his way to the front of the crowd, leading them behind Haruhi, who had stepped in first to examine everything.

“Hm, there’s nobody here.” She states, and everyone else files in. Or, at least he thought it was everyone.

Tamaki enters the space, a hand to his chin. “So the kid’s classroom is empty, is it?”

But instead of being curious, the twins look as elated as Kyoya feels. “Man, this takes me back.” They say in unison. Hikaru rounds one of the desks, bending over to look on the underside of the wood.

“I wonder if my doodles are still on my desk.”

Another hum emits from the club’s director, except this one was dismissive instead of amusing. “Doubtful. The school changes the desks out every year.”

When he came back to his second year of flute lessons, he had thought the same thing when secretly observing each desk, looking for the tell tale sign of spirals. They had been wiped clean.

The twins, conventionally, ignore him and continue spelling off nonsense. “Let's check out the cafeteria after this!” Hikaru exclaims, with Kaoru nodding along with him.

“I wanna see the old gym!”

“Great idea, Kaoru!” Tamaki chimes in, still looking around. But unlike the rest of the host club, there wasn’t the glint of nostalgia in his stance. Kyoya’s mouth draws into a thin line before continuing to slowly walk the classroom.

Before you, Tamaki was Kyoya’s only source of this peaceful feeling. Even if he had to fight his way in, the blond prince had proven that people could and would take the time to truly get to know someone like Kyoya. So when Tamaki had opened up to him months later about where he had come from, Kyoya knew that he needed to be there for the prince. The same way that the prince had been there for the Shadow King.

Haruhi cleared her throat, breaking the ravenet from his thoughts. A vein was popping from her forehead in an attempt to control her frustration.

“If you’re just gonna barge in here like that, then why did we wear these stupid disguises?”

Tamaki flicks his wrist, ignoring her while the brothers laugh.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hikaru assured, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Kaoru agreed. “There’s no one here to catch us.”

Ironically, at that moment, a pair of footsteps was heard walking down the hallway.

Like rats, the host club scattered. Heads ducked underneath desks, even if some fit more awkwardly than others. Kyoya adjusted his legs around the weirdly placed support bars of the table as the footsteps got closer, two muffled voices becoming clearer as the intruders grew near.

Weird, Kyoya thought, to label them as intruders when I’m the one hiding with a metal chair leg stabbing into my back.

“Is everyone hidden?” A cute whisper sounded in the classroom as Honey checked to make sure that everyone found a hiding spot. Always analyzing, Kyoya scanned from his uncomfortable position, taking a sort of attendance. He checked off a list of names in his mind to the beat of shoes against tile, the assumed teacher inching closer and closer every second.

Silence followed as the footsteps stopped right outside the door, and Kyoya realized he was missing someone.

A very important someone.

Doing his best to keep calm, he double checked.

Tamaki, Mori, Honey, Haruhi, the twins, and-

Where were you?

His collar felt uncomfortable against his neck when he angled his body slightly so that he could see farther down the line of desks. Catching the attention of Haruhi, who had picked the desk right beside him, he asked her if she knew where you were.

You and Haruhi had grown so close in these past few months, if you hadn’t told him where you were going, then certainly you would let her know-

“I thought she was with you?”

Confusion pulsed inside of his rapidly beating heart as his jaw clenched too tightly. The tip of his canine scratched the tissue of his lip as he rewinded the past few moments. His nostalgia had distracted him from those short moments between the closet and now, which had felt much longer in the moment.

As he looks deep into his memory, he swallows, remembering a small gasp emitting from where you were beside him before he took the lead into the classroom.

But before he could start the search party, the door to the teacher’s classroom opened, an airy laugh filling the space.

“This is my classroom.” A deep voice speaks in (n/l) as the two pairs of footsteps file onto the tile, and the host club instinctively pulls their feet closer to their bodies, making them as small as possible. “I just need to grab some sheet music, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Wow, Mr. Salling.” Another voice compliments in the same language as she begins to walk between the aisles. “This is much better than the classroom back home.”

Kyoya meets Haruhi’s shocked gaze across the way. That was your voice. How in God’s name had you become acquainted with a teacher? All while not being detained by the school?

Who the ravenet assumes to be Mr. Salling laughs, a deep but quiet chuckle that was nothing other than genuine. “Yes. While I loved what I did back in (c/n), opportunities like this don’t come around very often.”

“You definitely deserved it, though! The music room was never the same without you.” You said as you continued walking. It sounded like you were dragging your palm against the desks as you slowly passed, taking in the new environment.

Black dress shoes came into Kyoya’s vision, and the moment of freedom was fleeting when he recognized the Ouran Academy sigil on the heel.

Shooting his hand out from beneath the desk, he laid his hand on the top of your foot. Tapping it twice with the pale pad of his fingers, he smirked as you jumped a little before looking down. (E/c) eyes met with his gray ones, and he watched fear, shock, and then annoyance pass through them as you noticed little tufts of hair scattered under the desks.

“(Y/n)?” The (n/l) speaker asks as your teacher notices your pause, and Kyoya raises a firm finger to his lips.

“Yes! Yes, sorry.” You cleared your throat as you quickly, but calmly made your way back to Mr. Salling. “I was just still processing that I was able to see you! What a small world!”

Another laugh emits from him. “It is nice to be able to speak (n/l) outside of the house.” Mr. Salling’s feet shift as he adjusts his weight when leaning on his desk. “What have you been up to all these years? Still practicing piano?”

“Oh, god no.” You scoff. “We both know I gave that up years ago.”

Even under the stress of the situation, Kyoya takes the risk of opening his journal to write down the fact that you had taken piano lessons.

You and your teacher take a moment to laugh a little more before it dies down. “I actually have a club that I joined that I’m really enjoying so far!” You lean back on your heels with a sigh. “Even if the people I work with can be pretty annoying.”

“Sounds exciting.” Mr. Salling says knowingly. The twins and Tamaki share offended glances.

You walk towards him again as you change the subject. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your students. I know you mentioned you didn’t have much free time.”

From where Kyoya can see, the brown shoes of your old teacher turn towards the clock, and then turn frantically as the megane hears papers rustling together.

“You’re absolutely right, Ms (L/n). I’m sorry to leave you, but my students are waiting for me in the practice room.” Salling rushes as he goes around his desk to retrieve the last of his things.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until I get back, but it will probably be a while. If I don’t see you again, call my office. We can catch up over dinner with my husband.”

Your shoes follow him out, then stop by the doorway. “That sounds perfect! It was amazing seeing you, Mr. Salling!”

Down the hall, his footsteps are growing quieter as he calls out his reply. “Please, call me Esben.”

When the music teacher from the past is out of reach, the soles of your shoes spin as you close the door behind you.

“He’s gone.” The sweet voice you were using with Esben dropped many octaves as you alerted the bodies under the desks. The hosts crawled out of their hiding spots, stretching their torsos from the longevity of unnatural folding.

When Kyoya rises, you’re folding your arms across your chest.

“Where were you?” Haruhi asks.

“Where was I?” Your eyebrows raise in disbelief as you scoff. “I turned around for one second to say hello to one of my old teachers, but when I looked back, you guys were gone!”

A chuckle follows your amazed tone. “Of course you guys were hiding in the one classroom I just happened to follow Esben into.”

Haruhi shakes her head, but is satisfied with your answer. “So what do you think we should do now?” She asks as the hosts begin to explore the classroom.

Mumbling voices fill the classroom as the hosts pair together and split up, knowing that this place was as good of a start as any to begin their search for answers.

Kyoya makes his way over to you, the light in his eyes darker than usual.

You smile at him as he approaches. “What’s up?”

“You left.” He realizes his tone comes out flat as he speaks to you, and he tries his best to inflect it differently. “Without telling me?”

Another small laugh passes your lips. “Do I need to ask permission?”

“Not necessarily.” Kyoya turns, and he feels you naturally begin to walk at his side as you both scan the numerous pictures on the walls of the classroom. It feels right. “I’m just disappointed I wasn’t invited on your rogue mission.”

“Was that a joke?” Your finger pokes lightly into his shoulder, and he can’t fight back the smirk that appears on his lips at your playful voice. “Did Kyoya Ootori just make a joke?”

The ravenet jolts his shoulder, shrugging you off lightly, and scoffs when you act offended. “Get away from me.”

You laugh again, and the constricting knot in his chest loosens. There was a time in a certain private dressing room where he wasn’t close enough to help you. When you disappeared this time, that feeling of panic surfaced too suddenly, crescendoing into something monstrous and consuming.

But you came back, and that was what mattered. You were your own woman, and could take care of yourself, but he still wanted to be with you, in case you ever needed him.

“Here’s something interesting.” You muse as he snaps out of his daze. He sees you standing in front of another picture hanging up on the wall.

“What did you find?” He asks, making his way to your side while eyeing the picture in a golden frame.

Kyoya’s gaze softens as he processes the image. Shiro sits at a grand piano, a happy smile on his face. His fingers are dancing across the keys, but they aren’t alone as another set of hand rests next to them. Delicate fingers belong to a girl sitting next to him, a happy blush across her cheeks as they play and talk, joy seeping through the captured memory.

You hum next to him, and Kyoya sees an expression similar to his on your features.

“He may be a pain in the ass, but it seems he’s found the thing he loves doing.” You say dreamily as you zone in on Shiro’s content face. “And the person he loves doing it with.”

(E/c) orbs meet gray as you look at him then, and those words combined with the emotion in your eyes conduct an orchestra in Kyoya’s chest, his heart beating to the melody it creates.

The look lasts longer than it was meant to, but it’s broken as the rest of the host club gathers around to look at the photo.

“Wow, is that Shiro-chan?” Honey asks next to you, taking Kyoya away from his sweet (e/c) oasis as you nod.

“I’ve never seen him look so sweet. It’s nice to see him enjoying himself.” Haruhi says on the other side of you, and Kyoya focuses on the image again.

“It seems that he is in the classical music club. His teacher must be Mr. Salling, the man (Y/n) met earlier.” The ravenet states, and the rest of the class nods.

“Let’s see if we can find him.” You say, and with that the club pours out of the space, everyone staying together this time around.

Now, the eight of you watch from outside the window of a classroom, trying your best to stay out of sight. It was creepy, yes, but the club’s curiosity on this new side of Shiro was overwhelming, even Mori looked interested as you watched Shiro sit on a chair in his classroom.

The host club gathered closer toward the window when the same girl from the photo made her way over to him, a blush on her face as she clutched sheet music in her hands.

Her voice is cute and high, and she stutters when she speaks to him. “Excuse me, Takaoji? I-I’m sorry, but have y-you been practicing the new piece that Sensei gave us?”

When Shiro looks at her, there are no daggers, no downward glances. Just warmth. “The new piece? Not really…”

She perks up at the opportunity. “If you want, I can show it to you! Do you wanna come play it with me?” The little girl gestures to a grand piano near the far wall of the classroom, the sun reflected off the elegant, black exterior.

Shiro looks, and the warmth is replaced with a quiet sadness. “No thanks,” he says to her, his eyes meeting hers with less joy than before, “you go ahead. After all, there’s only one grand piano. You should use it, Kamishiro.”

The little girl’s disappointment rests in her shoulders as they droop slightly, but she keeps a kind smile. “Thank you, I will then! But if you want to join me, just let me know.” Kamishiro says before giggling and making her way to the large instrument.

As she places the sheet music on the stand and settles in front of the keys, Shiro’s eyes follow her the whole time. It’s even hard for the club to look away from her as she begins to play. Her fingers dance gracefully over the keys, showcasing the skill, talent, and love that she holds for her art. The hosts watch as she sways with each crescendo, falling into muscle memory and contentment as she plays.

A ding from a bell is heard, the sound interrupting the host club’s trance with this little girl, as another one steps out from the hallway. The child seems more bubbly than Kamishiro as she dances out of the room, into the hallway, only to pause at the sight of eight random teenagers looking like they just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Her innocence is practiced as she shrugs and keeps walking, sensing no apparent danger, but Tamaki stops her politely.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle.”

“Huh?” The girl stops, only to see a white rose in her face. Her eyes grow wide and happy as she takes it from the handsome prince, and looks up at him with her full attention.

“I’ve never seen a rose more beautiful than you, my dear.” The little girl gasps while you cringe internally. If someone had talked to younger you that way, let alone a stranger, you probably would’ve either crawled into yourself or bolted away at the speed of light.

The prince continues. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the young lady playing the piano. Do you know her?” He says in a gentle tone, and you soften slightly at the interaction, feeling your soft spot for Tamaki grow as he interacts with the young girl. You imagine you can’t be the only one feeling it.

The young girl perks up, happy to help. “That’s Hina Kamishiro!”

“Her name is Hina?” Tamaki asks, still gentle in his inquiry.

She suddenly gets serious. “That’s right, but you better not fall in love with her.”

A small chuckle emits itself from the prince’s mouth. “Why not?”

“Didn’t you know?” The small girl asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Hina has to move away soon. Her dad just got a new job in Germany, so they have to move there at the end of the week.”

You and Kyoya meet eyes, both of you connecting this recent piece of information to all of Shiro’s previous actions. It made perfect sense.

“What are you idiots doing here?!”

A deeper, but still pre-pubescent, voice interrupts their conversation, and the hosts look to see Shiro in the doorway of the classroom. He walks up to the eight of you, ignoring the girl with the white rose. “I want you to leave immediately!”

But Tamaki is not stunned. Instead, after a moment to think, Tamaki reaches down and scoops up the younger kid, Mr. Salling completely oblivious to the actions happening outside of his practice room. After throwing Shiro over his shoulder, Tamaki leads the host club out of the school. Trudging along, you drag your feet, unenthused about having a kid back in the music room.

The soft tone that Tamaki used with the little girl was gone when they got back to the clubroom. Heaving Shiro from off his shoulder, the kid bounces on the couch, shock inhibiting him from speaking.

“Tamaki, what are you-” You were about to scold him for tossing Shiro around like a sack, no matter how funny it was, but the prince cut you off, disappointment and anger twisting through his words like vines.

“What is your problem, you big idiot?!” Shiro yells, his voice cracking slightly from the volume.

Tamaki huffs, his eyebrows creasing with restrained emotion. “I’m sorry, but you’re the idiot! You said that you wanted me to teach you how to make women happy, but that’s not it, is it? You’re not concerned with the happiness of just any woman.”

You jumped in, catching onto where Tamaki was going with this. “You’ve got your sights set on one woman in particular. You only care about Hina Kamishiro.”

Tamaki moved to kneel in front of Shiro, taking on a sort of brotherly aura. “Listen Shiro, I know I told you it’s the job of a host to make every guest happy, but when you care for someone, you must find the courage to express what is in your heart!”

Your head turned as Tamaki stood again, a determined look in his eyes as his words resonated throughout the host club. “You have to tell her how you feel! You didn’t come to me wanting to be a full-fledged host, you wanted to be a full-fledged man.”

Your breath was hitched when you subconsciously met Kyoya’s eyes during Tamaki’s speech, swallowing at his indirect advice. When you realized that you had slowly fallen into his gaze once again, a blush burned your cheeks as you smiled slightly and looked back to the front, heartracing.

Kyoya’s heart matched your pace.

A sigh brought your attention back to the couch as Shiro dipped his head, his bangs falling sadly in front of his face. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve run out of time. I just- I wanted to hear her play before she left…that’s all.”

Just as your heart slowed down, it broke in two at his admission. Forgetting your vendetta against him, you knelt down beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“That piece she played…it’s Mozart’s Sonata in D major for two pianos, isn’t it?” You asked him, sweetness pouring out of your voice like sugar.

He looked at you in slight amazement. “How did you know?”

Another soft smile graced over your lips. “We have the same music teacher.”

With a slight tilt of your head, the prince walks over a large sheet near the back center of the music room. He pulls it away like a curtain, the fabric floating through the air before billowing to the polished tile.

The host club relished in the sight of a glorious grand piano, barely used to the point where it was basically brand new. The window behind it surrounded the instrument in the light of the sunset, but the image wasn’t complete until Tamaki sat down behind it.

“Wait a minute, since when was there a grand piano in here?” Haruhi asked.

The twins smirked as they turned to look at her. “Well, this is a music room.” Hikaru stated.

“So why wouldn’t there be a piano?” Kaoru asked, expecting the frustrated look Haruhi gave them.

A smirk tightened on Kyoya’s lips. “This is a music room after all.”

“It is a music room.” Mori adds with a curt nod while Honey stuffed his face.

“It’s always been there, we just had it covered up.” The boy lolita explained through the crumbs of his cake.

Kyoya looked at you, expecting you to join in on the bit. And you would’ve, if Tamaki wasn’t playing the most beautiful thing you ever heard.

Your fingers caged around your mouth, trapping any sound that might disturb him as Tamaki’s finger moved expertly on the keys. The piece was perfect, technically and artistically as Tamaki brought his own emotion into the piece. The feelings translated so strongly that you fought to keep the tears in your eyes from falling.

It wasn’t everyday you got to hear Tamaki play. The first time was at one of the school’s recitals a while back. You had cried then too, not prepared for the sheer light of his content smile as he made every single audience member sit on the edge of their seat.

Since then, he played rarely, the most frequent being when you had asked him to teach you a song. He had laughed and pushed you onto the chair, and he spent the whole afternoon watching you fumble over the keys. Then it was your turn to laugh.

Now you need to learn how to listen to Tamaki play without crying.

Snapping out of your daze slightly, you look over to Shiro, hoping you’re not the only one struck with inspiration. You laugh softly when he looks as amazed as you do, his eyes fuzzy as he sinks deeper into his thoughts.

A touch on your shoulder drew your attention away from the little boy and onto Kyoya, who was giving you a soft look.

He glanced around the two of you before raising his hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb came up to wipe a stray tear that was rolling down, gentle and slow. The piano grew louder, the notes adding to the moment as a chuckle escaped his lips, watching your surprised face.

“I apologize if I’m intruding.” He said in a quiet voice, but he still moved closer, so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “It’s hard for me to see you cry without trying to help you.”

A wet giggle blows past your lips as you cover his hand with yours, leaning into his touch.

‘You must find the courage to express what it is inside your heart!’

“Not at all.” You say in an equal whisper, the music wrapping around the space where your hands touch and holding them still for a moment. “I would do the same, I think.”

‘You have to tell her how you feel!’

After a moment of forced motivation and relishing the sudden closeness, you both drew synchronized breaths, speaking at the same time.

“Kyo-”

“(Y/n)-”

Both of you gaped at the other. Kyoya quickly closed his mouth and swallowed into a small smile, while you laughed slightly at the accident.

Ever the gentleman, Kyoya waited. “Please, after you.”

Feeling more confident as the music swelled to a dramatic ending, you licked your lips slightly before trying again.

“Kyoya, there’s something I need to tell you.” You moved both of your hands to the space between you, putting your other hand over his so you can grasp it tighter.

You took a deep breath as your heart began to race. Everything suddenly felt wrong.

Sensing the serious tone, the ravenet lifted an eyebrow, still waiting through your hesitation.

Your head dipped as the floor spun, and you were discreetly aware of how many people were around you, even if they weren’t paying that much attention to you. The realization that you were about to maybe lose the best person in your life struck you like a bad note, interrupting the perfect feeling you had just seconds ago.

The notes on the piano began to bang, Tamaki reaching the end of the piece with the dramatism that was expected from him, and you felt rushed. Like if you didn’t do it now, then the moment would be over.

Were you supposed to feel rushed?

The hand that you weren’t holding felt cool against your chin as Kyoya brought your gaze back to him, and the spinning world came to a halt.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?” To him, your hands had gone tense on top of his, and the sweet look in your eye had turned a little wild.

He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how.

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.”

Cool air rushed through your lungs as you took another deep breath in the space of peace that Kyoya gave you. The wild look in your eye dimmed into a determined look, accented with a bit of nervousness.

Your lips parted, and your voice was breathy as you muscled out the words you had kept hidden for all these months, maybe even years.

“Kyoya…I-”

“That was awesome, Tama-chan!”

The moment shattered like glass, your confidence breaking with it as you realized that Tamaki had stopped playing, and was rising to get out of his seat.

Both you and Kyoya panicked slightly, firmly aware of your proximity to each other, and jumped away, unclasping your hands and holding them back at your side.

As Tamaki detaches himself from the piano, you fight the blush that lingers on your cheeks, trying to cope with the whiplash of being so close to expressing how you felt in front of everyone, just because of some motivational words and good piano playing?

It all happened so quickly. What were you thinking?

But Tamaki's voice filters back into your focus. “For the next week,” he speaks to Shiro, “you will spend your mornings, lunches, and free time after school in piano lessons with me.”

Shiro scrunched his brows, looking as confused as you were. “But why?”

The prince laughs softly. “You wanted to be my apprentice, didn’t you? Besides, that young lady looked like she wanted nothing more than to play the piano with you.”

He begins to play again, and you sneak a look over to Kyoya, with his jaw tense and pulsing.

You hung your head back down. He didn’t look happy.

Everyone knows Kyoya is one of the most observant people in the room. His entire life, his mind was sharpened to process even the tiniest of details. Surely, he already knew what you were going to say to him.

And he looked angry and sad because of it.

Of course he did.

When piano notes filled the air, you couldn’t stand the emotion of it all. Turning on your heel, you silently left without another word.

sorry it took so long! here is a long chapter to tide you over till the second part! please comment if you can, i love reading them :)