#fanfic organizer

[sugar-plum-senpai]

Fanfic Writer Notion Template | Notion Template for Fanfiction Writers | Writing Notion Template | WIP Organizer Template

Hello! I'm very excited to finally share the Notion template I've created for fanfic writers!

Admittedly, I am more of a fanfiction reader than a fanfiction writer, but I wanted to try my hand at creating this Notion template. That being said, I'm not sure if I've organized the template in a way that is super helpful or makes sense for a writer, so any advice/suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated! I am definitely planning on revising the template - this is a very early iteration.

Feel free to contact me if you have any suggestions! :)

[sanyu-thewitch05]

I certainly didn’t see this being on my 2023 bingo card.

Edit: Ya’ll this meme above isn’t accurate anymore since other messages from the group came out. I made this meme when the first initial message came out.

The meme down below is more correct as to what’s probably happening with Ao3. Also wanted to say that despite the name of group, the people behind it are probably Russians.

Edit: July 11th, So Ao3 is back! Though the donation link is being attacked now. There’s also a second account on Twitter trying to impersonate Ao3.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight​ for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan. 

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.    

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character) 

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips. 

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry. 

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?” 

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

 “You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze. 

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL   

[hellsbeenbettersincehesplit]

au where the clown pageant that Fizz quits during is about a month after the end of Season 1, and Charlie and Vaggie were in the audience. They saw Fizz quitting, and Charlie definitely took notice of Ozzie protecting Fizz.

(“Why the fuck are you two dressed like clowns?” Angel asks when they got back.

“Everyone else had merch, so I picked the nicest shirt,” responded Vaggie in her Glitz and Glam t-shirt.

“He was so nice to this one kid, and then he had that song!” Charlie responded while wearing a Fizzarolli hat.

“Wait,” Angel said in disbelief. “You two went to a circus for your date?”

“It was Charlie’s turn to pick the place,” was Vaggie’s only defense.

“It was actually a clown pageant!” Charlie clarified. “Vaggie’s missed so much of hell because I thought she was stuck here in Pride. It’s been three years, and she hasn’t even been to the harvest moon festival in Wrath!”)

And. Well. Charlie sees it, and she immediately thinks of Angel Dust. And if Ozzie could get Fizz out of his deal, maybe he could get Angel out of his. She was… pretty sure Lucifer was on good terms with the other deadly sins? Maybe? And she remembers how badly interfering with Angel’s work life without him wanting her too went last time, but she doesn’t want to get Angel’s hopes up for nothing, so she jumps to calling Ozzie anyway.

(“Let me get this straight,” the king of lust said. “You want me to get involved in overlord politics? No. No way. I stay out of pride for a reason.”

“I can pay?” She really couldn’t, honestly.

“Look, I know I’m the sin of lust, but I have a boyfriend.” And wow, Ozzie looked really happy to be saying that last part.

“And I have a girlfriend. I meant money.”

Ozzie sighed. “Look. I don’t know shit about sinner contracts, ok? If he sold his soul, nobody can just overpower their way out of that. If anyone could, it would’ve been Lucifer, and you’d have gone to him if he could, wouldn’t you?”

Charlie nodded, trying fruitlessly not to let her disappointment show.

“That being said, if you can get a copy of the contract, I… know a guy who may be able to find a loophole.”)

And then, somehow, Stolas ends up agreeing to go to the hotel and reads over the contract. You guys remember when Fizz got captured and he thoroughly read all that legal stuff? It’s that scene again, but at the hotel.

He also brings Blitzø for security. Blitzø meets Cherri Bomb at the bar while she’s waiting for Angel to be done with all the contract stuff. This is the start of a ride-or-die and terrifying friendship.

Anyway, I’m not sure if Stolas would find a loophole or not yet, but I do kind of think he would bc this is Val we’re talking about.

[zenzenzence]

HEY! FELLOW AO3 AUTHORS! STOP DOING THIS!

idk how else to illustrate this than making a fake, unpublished example fanfic —

STOP DOING THIS! PLEASE!

POST YOUR ONE SHOTS SEPARATELY! ESPECIALLY IF THEYRE FOR DIFFERENT FANDOMS/SHIPS!

***Tags selected randomly for making a quick example***

Stop posting random one-shots into one work. Stop making Chapter 1 a Table of Contents. Stop tagging multiple pairings/fandoms/additional tags etc when you haven’t even POSTED the chapters they would apply to!

This spams tags and 9 times out of 10 I avoid these fics on sight and don’t even bother digging through the fic to see if the oneshot is something I won’t even want to read.

These fics should be reportable for spam if they aren’t already.

I’ve started completely muting authors on sight for this now because I’ve personally had enough.

[oofthwoods]

── ˙ ̟ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

🎙️ say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

meet agent 591, codename: supernova. a skilled operative working within an elite espionage unit, you are renowned for your ability to blend in effortlessly while gathering vital intelligence. with a sharp mind and an even sharper wit, you navigate the dangerous world of espionage with ease, never letting emotions cloud your judgment – especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

meet charles leclerc – a celebrated formula one driver, he commands the racetrack with precision and finesse, capturing the attention of fans worldwide with his undeniable talent behind the wheel. charismatic and charming, he's accustomed to the spotlight, effortlessly winning over crowds with his infectious smile and undeniable charisma.

when a high-stakes mission requires you to go undercover as charles's girlfriend, your worlds collide in unexpected ways. tasked with infiltrating a secretive organization with ties to international crime, you must navigate the complexities of your fake relationship while keeping your true identity hidden.

amidst the chaos of your mission, sparks fly between you, igniting a passion neither could have anticipated. but with the stakes higher than ever, the two of you must rely on each other to survive, even as the lines between reality and fiction begin to blur.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) :: charles leclerc x spy!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :: cursing, sexual themes, mention of death, violence, crime, etc. will be updated if necessary.

𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 :: on going

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: based on the novel "stars and smoke" by marie lu.

˒ ⌕ — CHAPTERS

ᯓ★ :: prologue

©️ oofthwoods — 2024.

[cemeterything]

got a callback from one of the mortuary/funeral service jobs i applied to interested in taking me on :D but i live just a little bit outside their ideal commute time so i probably won't get it :( it was still cool to get a positive response though so i'm taking it is a win

[sugar-plum-senpai]

The green version of my Fanfic Writer Notion Template!

[laurbiek]

HEY! If you're still taking requests, could you write something with tipsy Andrew and him being all amused and clingy and handsy with his lover? 🥺🥺

do you guys know the feeling when its 11:30 on a Sunday and you have class tomorrow morning but your suddenly inspired to start writing again after like 9 months so you have to start immediately even though you should maybe go to bed or study for any of the tests you have this week

anyway here's wonderwall

Now that it was socially acceptable to be out in public again, Andy frequented local bars and pubs with his friends. He would go out with Alex, meet his brother for drinks, sometimes even invite Aisling out into the country to hang out for the night. Sometimes you joined him, sometimes you didn't.

He liked it better when you joined them, getting to watch you relax and laugh at some dumb joke. Watching your blush get deeper and deeper, and peeling off a jacket or a sweater as the heat of the alcohol consumed you.

Occasionally you two would split something more illicit, something rolled or baked that Andrew's brother would obtain for him. Your whole party laughing together at the fire pit in your backyard, talking about ordering food but ever actually doing it.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Work was getting busy, and you felt too tired for a night out, even if it was just a local pub in the small hamlet you two chose to live in. You knew you were just too wired up, too stressed to meet friends without passing the bad feelings on, without snapping at someone or getting sad-drunk and killing the vibe. So you opted to stay home, watching some bad TV with a large glass of wine, and throwing tennis balls around the house for Elwood to retrieve.

Externally, Andrew didn't mind. He knew everyone needed 'me time', he knew he would have fun anyway. He knew he didn't want to be the kind of couple that were inseparable, that cant exist without the other person, like two stars that orbit each other and ignore the rest.

But sometimes it feels impossible to talk about anything else, sometimes he felt the need to tattoo your name on his forehead just to be able to bring you up in conversation. Love is almost a form of obsession, and for Andrew it can be occasionally difficult to hide.

Especially after a pint or two, and some glasses of whisky if he's being honest.

Andrew reached into his pocket for his keys, feeling around for the sharp metal he hoped and prayed he remembered to bring that night. He heard a slightly more sober Alex lock his car behind him, deciding that he could spend the night in one of the guest rooms instead of slugging it back to Dublin at one in the morning. He finally shoves the key into the lock, tuning it in a way so domestic and familiar it makes his heart leap.

The two trudge into the warm house, and toe their shoes off in the hallway before stomping into the living room with heavy, reckless feet. You tilt your head back on the sectional armrest, seeing them coming closer upside down.

"Hey guys, have enough fun?" you just, Alex flopping down on the other side of the couch, and Andrew leaning down farther than usual to peck you on the lips.

"It was grand love, lots of mischief made", He walks around, sitting in between his fried and his lover, looking up to see some reality TV nonsense playing with the captions on. He turns his body towards yours, leaning his head on his arm and staring down at you like you hung the stars, "I missed you though"

"Andy you were ten minutes away, I don't know how you managed to miss me"

He grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer, almost in his lap. His large hands feel slightly cold as they hold your skin under the borrowed t-shirt you wore to relax in that night. He leans up to kiss your neck, and his facial hair, as always, tickles slightly.

"You must have some kind of spell on me, something sinister and ugly to keep me enamored" he says, voice muffled by your body.

You roll your eyes at Alex, who is barely paying attention to his very whipped friend, instead leaning towards the coffee table to pick at the snacks you brought out for yourself. You share a look of agreement, silently saying 'this guy is a fool'. You grab Andrew's face and pull it up to make eye contact with yourself,

"Yeah I couldn't possibly get this ring without outside help", you say. Andrew makes a light laugh at that, simply breathing out and smiling. You notice his eyes starting to flutter a bit more, obviously getting tired. You pull away from Andrew and get yourself up, "Ok Loverboy, its time for bed, Alex you know where everything is help yourself", he nods and gives a thumbs up as a response, wrist deep in a bag of Cheese and Onion Taytos.

You grab Andrew's hand and pull on it, urging him to get his ass to bed. He groans slightly as he rises, jokingly adding an "Ok mistress" as he grabs your hand back and follows you up the stairs.

Once you both reach your shared bedroom, Andrew sits on the bed and takes his socks off, forgetting what he wanted to do next. He watches as Elwood does his little circles in his dog bed, he thinks that humans should be able to do something similar. You pop out of the attached bathroom, having washed your face and tied your hair up. Andrew reaches his arms out like a child towards you, silently asking for some physical contact. You slip in between them, holding his head against your chest and placing a kiss on top of it. His hands wrap around you tightly. He wishes he could've stayed here all night. You pull away and he makes a complaining groan,

"Calm down we can cuddle all night, let me help you with your hair."

You kneel behind his seated form, becoming just tall enough to gather his hair into a uniform pony and secure it away so he doesn't mess it up during the night. He thoroughly enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, he recalls the feeling of you pulling it tighter, in a different context of course. He smiles slightly at the memory. You kiss the top of his head again, letting him know you were done.

Against his desires, he plods into the bathroom to brush his teeth, accident leaving the balled up socks from earlier on the counter. He, as quickly as he can, puts on something more comfortable, with way fewer buttons, and dramatically flops into bed.

You lay facing each other, first just holding hands, but as the minutes progress he pulls you closer and closer until your legs are wrapped around his hips and his arms are keeping you there, your foreheads are touching. You couldn't possibly be closer if you tried.

"What if we were conjoined and had to be like this forever"

"Andrew I cannot do this right now go to sleep"

"No seriously what if?!"

After a few more tipsy comments from Andrew, and lightly chastising him for his wandering hands, you finally turn over. If he is known for anything other than music, it should be his ability to be the big spoon. He completely envelops you, and you've never felt safer.

His hands wander under your shirt, not in a sexual way, but in a familiar one. He just wants to feel close to you, feel skin on skin like a baby looking for comfort. You can feel his nose poking into the back of your neck, and you're glad his feet are so far away because you just know they're cold.

You relish in the feeling of his touch, how in his most vulnerable and uncaring moments the most he ever wants to do is feel your warmth, know that you're there.

The last thing he remembers is the smell of your shampoo before he falls into sleep.

[nevertheless-moving]

Stormlight AU Number Three Chapter One, Part One

"Captain? May I speak with you? I had one more thing that I was hoping to discuss. At your convenience, sir."

He turned to see Renarin, still lingering at the edge of the now mostly quiet campfire, stack of clean bowls beside him.

Kaladin barely restrained a sigh of annoyance. He had been planning on checking on the other barrack fires, then maybe getting some actual sleep.

"Of course, Brightlord," he said, stuffing down any irritation.

The prince jumped to his feet, looking nervously at the handful of men, some of whom had pulled out a deck of cards and were either genuinely no longer paying attention to the Brightlord among them, or were doing a very good impression of nonchalance.

Seriously? Kaladin thought, curious despite himself. He just begged to join a darkeyed spear crew, practically in public. Called a shashbranded man 'Sir' in front of a dozen witnesses and the open air. I didn't think he even knew what discretion was.

Kaladin tilted his head to the side, and they moved away from the group, well out of earshot, but Renarin still glanced at the other men in fear.

Talat's sword, the kid was tense as a bowstring again, hands shaking even as they clenched his sides, though they still didn't go for that box of his. A few twisting black spren trailed him. If Kaladin had thought he had been anxious before, then this was a whole other level.

"What do you think it is?" Syl asked, passing overhead, ruffling black and yellow hair. Renarin twitched at the breeze.

"I know some of the other bridgemen were whispering mean stuff about him," she said, examining the prince, "But I don't think he heard, and you said soldiers don't come to their commanding officers about that sort of thing, right? And he looks too scared for that, anyway. Unless they were really being cruel."

With another narrowly repressed sigh, Kaladin led them further away, to an alley between a storage building and an unused barrack, out of both sight and sound.

Something more about his Epilepsy, maybe?

Renarin pulled a sapphire mark out as they left the glow of firelight behind, blue light making the visible tremble of his fingers more obvious. The prince went even further, to the dead center of the alleyway. Even if someone skulking around the corner abandoned all pretenses and pressed an ear to the wall, they would be hard pressed to hear a quiet conversation.

And still, Renarin looked nervously to both of the alley's exits.

Kaladin's heart started to pick up in sympathetic dread. "Soldier?" he finally asked. "You wanted to speak with me?"

The youth flinched, before bowing his head and leaning forward.

"I need your help," he said, staring at the ground.

Kaladin furrowed his brow. "With...?"

"I need your help with—" he cut himself off, seeming to choke on the words. He let out a frustrated sounding grunt.

"We..." The prince opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands also opened and closed at his sides. "You..."

"How— his jaw snapped shut again and even in the low light, Kaladin could see him swallowing several times, before taking a deep breath and setting his jaw.

"You... survived a highstorm. You... healed from that."

Kaladin started at the unexpected line of conversation. Syl crossed her arms in the air, staring Renarin down.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "Not a pleasant experience."

"And you fought off the Parshendi army. When you charged the tower. By yourself."

"My whole bridge fought," Kaladin retorted, slightly offended on their behalf.

Renarin shook his head. "Yes, but you cleared the landing for them. You went ahead. And you won."

Kaladin's heart picked up a bit more.

"Briefly," he said with forced calm. "My men—"

"And you saved my father. From the Parshendi Shardbarer. By yourself... Adolin is still resentful of that, I think."

This time Kaladin said nothing. He hadn't done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Nothing to give away his advantages. His achievements had been unusual, yes. But that was common knowledge. Nothing to panic about when confronted, even by a prince with an unnerving tendency to watch people.

"I wondered... I suspected. But then I saw..."

Renarin looked up, but not at Kaladin. He stared into space, eyes unfocused, then shook his head.

"I saw you breathing in Stormlight," he whispered.

"Oh!" Syl said. "Oh!" She looked at Kaladin, but he wasn't listening to her right now.

A chill ran down Kaladin's spine, and it took everything he had not to move back in the narrow space.

"Breathing in stormlight?" he repeated after a moment, trying to sound confused. Trying, at least, not to sound afraid.

Brightlord Renarin's eyes snapped to his and now he found it very easy to hold himself in place. He didn't think he could move, chill down his back having hardened to ice.

"I saw you. And then I saw it — and I saw it again. A faint glow...you're a surgebinder. I know it. I saw it." The Brightlord's stare, somehow, grew even more intense.

Oh. It's over. It's all over.

"Kaladin! Kaladin!" Syl floated before his face, between Renarin and himself. "It's going to be okay! We like Renarin, remember? Try and calm down — just, just listen to him, alright? I have a good feeling about this."

"I..." Kaladin cleared the sudden dryness from his throat, clenching his hands into fists to try and control his abrupt, almost painful shivers. When had the night grown so storming cold? Why was the cold making it hard to breathe? "Who else knows?"

"No one!" the prince assured him quickly. "I wouldn't — I know it's a secret."

That softened a fraction of the crushing tightness in his chest. But only a small amount.

"What do you want?" Kaladin managed to get out. "What do you want from me?"

"I need help," Brightlord Renarin said, hands coming together in front of him, thumbs shifting end over end. "Please... I. Please. You have a spren. The assassin didn't, but you do. She looks like a windspren, but she's something else, right? Something more."

The weight, impossibly, redoubled on his chest. He sucked down a breath, then struggled to take in another.

I knew it. I knew it.

"Kaladin! Kaladin can you hear me?" Syl said, from very far away.

I knew they'd try and take her from me.

He saw the Brightlord 's terrible blue eyes as if from the end of a tunnel, looming above him. At some point he had stumbled back, the soulcast stone wall frigid behind him.

He couldn't fight. If he killed a third dahn, even if he could bring himself to kill Dalinar's son, he'd never know peace again. Bridge four would never know peace. He couldn't attack the prince, who was under Kaladin's protection, possibly twice.

He couldn't run. His men were here. He wouldn't be able to get to them all, not before they came after him.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run.

He couldn't — he couldn't — he looked desperately for Syl.

She hovered over him, tears in her eyes, mouth moving silently.

He couldn't protect her.

The tunnel closed in around him.

...

"...says this weird shade of orange is the next big color—"

Kaladin blinked in bewilderment. He turned to see Prince Renarin next to him, talking nonsense.

"—but honestly the fabric swatches give me a headache..."

He glanced towards Syl, searching for an explanation, but she seemed enthralled, laying on her front in the air, heels kicked up behind her.

"I hope he moves on as fast from this as he did yellow. He still can't make up his mind about Takamas, though he pretends that..."

There was about two week's worth of pay between them. Two weeks worth of pay for him now, as head of the cobalt guard. A small fortune. Pocket change to a prince.

"Why," Kaladin said, too confused to be anything but blunt, "are you sitting on the ground next to me, talking about fashion?"

The prince startled, scrambling halfway up before kneeling back down, level with Kaladin.

They were on the ground. Why were they on the ground...in an alley?

"I'm sorry!" the youth said. "It's what Adolin does when I... when the world is too much and I leave my head. I wasn't sure what else to do."

Kaladin felt slightly dizzy. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself involuntarily. Hazy dread started creeping back towards him, like fronds after a storm.

"I'm sorry," Renarin whispered again. "I've done this all wrong. I should have started by showing you, but I was too scared. I'll show you now."

He fumbled with the sphere, in his hand, bringing it close to his face. Then he took a deep breath.

And the light from the sphere went alongside.

Kaladin gaped as the prince glowed in the dark alley.

"I'm a surgebinder too," he said, light escaping quickly as he spoke. "I'm not trying to take your spren, I swear. I'm came to ask your help with mine, and for your help controlling my abilities." He glanced down, and it occurred to Kaladin he might be looking at something, someone, Kaladin couldn't see.

"Glys says that he thinks there's something wrong with him, that my powers are manifesting differently then he thinks he was expecting. I've told him that it's probably me, that I tend to mess things up, but he seemed sure that something happened to him, even if he can't quite remember...and I realized that you..."

He turned watery blue eyes towards Kaladin. "I'm sorry to bother you. There's not a lot of people I can ask for help with this. Please...if you can help him. Help us."

"Oh," Kaladin said, feeling strange. "You're like me."

Renarin blushed, staring at his lap, face illuminated by the last wisps of light escaping his skin. "I'm really not. I'm not a warrior, I can't even wield a Shardblade without..."

Syl hissed beside him.

"I don't like Shardblades," Kaladin said innanely. "I mean, I thought it was because of the death I had seen them deal, but Syl hates them worse than anything."

"I... hear something when I hold mine. Screaming. It hurts. It hurts Glys too, I'm pretty sure, though he won't admit it. I thought it was hallucinations at first, but..."

"I don't — Hm. Actually, I couldn't actually bring myself to touch one, when I had a chance," Kaladin said quietly. "If you want, I suppose, you could summon yours, and I could try to touch it, and if I hear something too, then..."

He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it but...there was someone like him. A lighteyes, but still.

Renarin sat back, closing his eyes. He reached his hand out to the side, turning away as if braced for blow. He winced when the blade finally dropped into his hands, gritting his teeth.

"It's terrible," Syl whispered. "It's...it makes me angry, so angry, but also...sad?"

Kaladin forced himself to reach forward, not wanting to prolong Renarin's obvious pain. He felt the same as he did every time he saw one of the things, no matter from how far away — that same sense of wrongness, of concentrated injustice. He carefully touched the flat of the blade, and...

Screaming.

He could hear screaming. Inside his head. Syl! She was dying!

It reverberated through Kaladin. His muscles spasmed as that horrible, awful screech shook through him. He pulled back, gasping, looking frantically for Syl. She was crying, and he reached for her with trembling hands, even though he knew they wouldn't be able to touch. She stumbled towards him.

Renarin dismissed the blade, slumping in relief. "So you hear it too."

"Storms! What was that? How did you stand bonding with it?" He cradled Syl in both hands, almost able to feel her, soft as a breeze on his palms.

"It...was a really bad week."

Kaladin barked out a laugh, then pulled himself together.

"Well, either we're both crazy, or...it's a Radiant thing. Something to do with the Recreance, I'd guess."

The corners of Renarin's lips twitched up slightly as he nodded. "That's...I'm truly sorry, I know that was terrible, but it's such a relief —"

"No, I get it —" The cold, the earlier misplaced terror was ebbing in away. Even that horrible scream. In its place, was a feeling that he could best describe as relief. "It's — it feels good to not be alone."

Renarin hummed softly, nodding vigorously in agreement, then tucked his chin to his chest.

If he had to pick a lighteyes to become a surgebinder... well, Renarin was probably the best choice, the least likely to misuse his power of anyone of his class that Kaladin had met. Bizarrely humble, despite his proximity to the throne. It could be a lie of, course, but he didn't seem to have the...entitlement that led other lighteyes into casually committing horrors.

Kaladin studied the prince. At some point he had pulled out that box of his, and was turning it end over end in shifting patterns. Renarin looked up, met Kaladin's eyes, then quickly looked back down, blushing.

Storms, had he really been scared off this man?

Dalinar, an honorable lighteyes if one existed, could be frightening, exuding the sense that he expected the world to move to suit his needs. Zahel may have had a point about Renarin's character, not to mention his willingness to come here the way he did, rather than demand answers on his own turf...

And a radiant Spren chose him, too. Surely, that had to be a good sign, if nothing else? Then again, Syl chose me, so who knows.

"I also forgot a lot," Syl said, and Renarin turned to look at her, eyes wide.

"Oh! You're —"

"Slyphrena," she said, smiling, standing proud on Kaladin's hand. "Honorspren, though I didn't remember that part until kind of recently. I just thought I was a weird windspren, that is when I could string two thoughts together!"

She turned into mist, sneaking up Renarin's arm like clouds over a mountain range.

"Where's your spren? What type are they anyway? They're not a cryptic, are they? Come on, it's been ages since I had someone intelligent to talk to who wasn't a windspren."

Kaladin rolled his eyes.

"Glys?" Renarin asked softly. There was a long pause. "He — uh. He's too nervous to come out right now."

The syl cloud paused at Renarin's shoulder, then shifted back into her female form.

"Huh!" she said. "So he's like you!"

Renarin let out a bemused huff of air. "Yes, yes he is. I thought that might also be a radiant thing, since we're bonded, but..." He looked out of the side of his eyes at Syl who was sitting on nothing, swinging her legs, then back at Kaladin, who quickly tried to school his resting features into something not a scowl.

"This... this is exactly the type of thing I wanted to talk to you about," Renarin said. "There's books on Radiants, but I don't think I could have them all read to me without word spreading. I've been mixing them in with other random subjects, but I don't know what would happen if this got out. The ardents already mutter about my cousin and my father committing heresy, and I'm not nearly as, uh, established as them."

Kaladin nodded, eagerness surprising himself. But damn it, Renarin had asked for his help, and it would be good to talk with someone who knew how Stormlight felt in their veins, maybe spar, if he could get Renarin a different weapon.

Renarin might not be as stocky as his brother and father, but he must exercise, as he clearly had some amount of lithe muscle, now that Kaladin looked closer. He wasn't as young as Kaladin had first thought, and his height would give him reach. How much of his perceived frailness was just because of his family's shadow? How much of his martial ability had been held back by his Epilepsy, now no longer a problem? How much had that sword held him back, once he had the chance to actually fight?

"I train with stormlight sometimes, in the chasms," Kaladin said. "When I can get away. Sigzil, Rock, and Lopen help. If you can convince your father to actually serve on a spear crew, then next time I'll have you join us — the other men might mutter about you getting special training, but well..."

"I'll live. Though I was being honest when I said I wanted to be a soldier, or something close to one."

"I believe you. We'll figure something out — it's not as though my duties allow me to get away often. Most of the time you'll be cleaning boots and drilling spear forms, don't worry."

Renarin nodded, hands turning the box over. "So... those three, they know about you? Who else?"

"All of bridge four," Kaladin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or the ones who were there when I charged the tower, anyway...there wasn't really away to keep it secret after that. I was terrified that someone in your army would see. Plus Shen, he was there when I talked more about more powers around the first stew in this camp. Not any of Lopen's cousin's, I don't think. Or the injured recruits. Just the original bridge four, and... now you."

"Oh..."

They sat in silence, Renarin twisting his box around. Kaladin grew briefly distracted following the lines.

"I'm sorry," the prince finally said. "I know you wouldn't have wanted any lighteyes to know. It's one of the reasons I didn't say anything to you when I just had suspicions. I'm truly sorry to have alarmed you like that, I wasn't expecting..." Renarin continued twisting pieces about in an oddly soothing way. "But if I thought someone was coming after Glys... Brightlords have taken a lot from you, haven't they?"

Kaladin grimaced but didn't say anything. He forced himself to look away from the box, he didn't want Renarin to think he was staring. The prince was very perceptive, sometimes.

They sat in silence for a longer time.

"Should I tell bridge four about me?" Renerin asked eventually.

"It's up to you. They're good men, but I understand if its a bit soon for you."

Another long silence. The men were probably wondering what had happened to them, the ones who hadn't gone out for drinks, anyway.

"I don't think I want to, not yet. My abilities... they frighten me." The prince's fingers tightened around the metal cube, knuckles growing white.

"What... what are your abilities? I know there were different orders, which could do different things..."

"Truthwatcher," Renarin whispered. "Or so Glys tells me."

"Windrunner."

A small red light pulsed beneath Renarin's shirt, quickly winking out, and the prince wrinkled his brow. "Huh. Glys is surprised by that for some reason."

"I'm the only Honorspren," Syl said quietly. "The only one who would come. The rest — I can't remember, but they're not here. There were...others. Other types of spren who came through, but not ones like me." She ran her fingers through her hair in an oddly human gesture of frustration.

Renarin forced his shoulders back, tension returning. Kaladin waited while he arranged his thoughts, in the mean time letting himself enjoy watching the shapes that Renarin unconsciously formed and dissolved out of the box's rows.

"I'm not completely sure what I can do. I can grow things. There were some seeds in one of my meals and — they grew, as if a weeping passed in a minute. Some rockbuds outside my window did too. Glys thinks I might be able to do that for people, but I haven't really had the chance to try."

Kaladin's jaw dropped and he couldn't help but reach for the prince, stopping himself just before he grabbed the man's shoulder's. "That's incredible! With stormlight — you could prevent famines with that! And people — you mean you think you could heal?"

Renarin nodded, a few shockspren breaking around him.

"That's incredible," he said, giving into the urge to shake the man's shoulders. "Renarin, that's amazing!"

The prince blinked rapidly, cheeks and ears darkening. "Really? I mean can't Windrunners — you can fly can't you?"

"I haven't... figured out flying. I assumed it was impossible, before I saw the Assassin. But I did figure out wall walking, just earlier today, and I think I can see how that would turn into — it wouldn't really be flying, just sort of...falling sideways. I think I could do it, with practice."

"Wow."

Kaladin shook his head. "People don't appreciate healing as much as they should. My father trained me as a surgeon —"

A wave of melancholy hit him, as it often did when he thought of home.

"That makes a lot more sense then field medicine training that would cover epilepsy."

Kaladin smiled. "Anyway. If you could heal like the Radiants from myths could...I can't express how incredible that would be. The growing crops by itself is..."

Renarin smiled shyly, looking pleased, and Kaladin pressed one last time on both shoulders before drawing back.

"That's not... the only thing I do." The prince looked down. "The other thing I do — well. It feels more like it happens to me, actually. I've been pretending it's my epileptic fits but those actually stopped around when I bonded with Glys."

"I stick rocks together," Kaladin offered. Renarin cocked his head, peeking up through his lashes, and Kaladin sighed. He breathed in a small amount of light, picking up a pebble, then pressed it to the wall.

"Oh!" Renarin said, scrambling to look. "Wow!" He reached for it, but the pebble fell almost immediately.

"Eh. I've tried using it sparring, and honestly its easier just to fight normally."

"But maybe with practice..."

"Maybe. I've gotten some use out of it, but it's not quite as exciting as walking on walls, or as useful as growing crops."

Renarin scrubbed a hand across his face. "My other thing. It's not boring... it's bad. It's. Pretty bad." He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes, and drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Do you ever... get highstorm visions? Like my father?" the prince asked, not opening his eyes.

"A few times," Kaladin said, just as quietly. "You?"

Renarin nodded, than shook his head. "Mine are...different," he said grimly. "And they don't always happen during storms." His hands picked at the cuffs of his pants, then worked to follow the seams of his shining leather boots.

Kaladin waited, but it didn't seem like the prince was going to keep going without Kaladin giving something.

"Mine aren't like your father's either. I understand those are of the past, mine...it's like I was the high storm, I could see the continent moving beneath me. The last was when the assassin came. I...the Stormfather, I think it was him, said 'he was coming.'

Renarin jerked to face him, his eyes opening wide, alight with...hope? "You mean you saw the future?"

Kaladin recoiled on instinct, and he could see the spark die in Renarin's eyes.

Oh. Oh.

"You could call it that," Kaladin said carefully. "Though I feel the Assassin was already, uh, fairly present. More like a warning from an ally, although I don't think the stormfather actually likes me."

He didn't want to talk about the Stormfather's accusations about killing Syl. He hadn't even talked to Syl about that.

"He said he was sorry about 'him' coming," Kaladin explained. "And I didn't see the assassin but – Um. Do you..."

Renarin nodded, shoulders slumping and head curling down. It was hard to see, shadowed as he was, but his eyes looked open now, watery and looking into nothingness.

"The images don't always make sense in the moment. At first I thought it was just...madness. The things I see...it would be better if it was just madness. But they always come true. Always."

An agony spren appeared from the ground, reaching for the hem of the prince's pants. Another followed close behind.

Kaladin sat thinking, not wanting to reply hastily and make things worse again.

"Can you guess what my men said, after they found out what I could do?" Kaladin asked slowly.

Renerin shook his head, but the agonyspren at least faded.

"I was terrified that they would think it was alarming. Unnatural. I thought I was cursed for a while...and Skar said, "If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it." And...that was that."

Renarin clutched his knees closer, starting to rock slightly. "I don't know if my powers can do that," he whispered. "It feels like the visions can't be changed. I don't know how to change them, I barely understand what half of them mean, not until it's too late."

"Maybe...that's part of why there are so many warnings about being wary of telling the future?" Kaladin said. "It would be easy to think they're guarantees, and set yourself up for failure, but if they're more like highstorm predictions..."

"You think?"

Kaladin shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know. But I realized that this — what I can do, what we can do — it's not evil, and its not a curse. So... maybe the legends of telling the future are like the stories of the radiants turning against mankind. Too much time has passed, and everything we know now is confused."

"Hm. I don't know," Syl said doubtfully. "I still feel like predicting the future is weird and dangerous."

"Syl!" Kaladin hissed, while Renarin curled in tighter, rocking staying the same speed.

"But," she said, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes, "I like you Renarin, and I'm a tiny piece of God with impeccable taste, so you can't be evil."

Kaladin slapped a hand to his face, but Renarin seemed to unfold at that, blinking rapidly.

"Really? Glys says as far a spren go, you're the ones that are pure Honor."

"Obviously," she said, sounding for all the world like a stuck up lighteyes.

"And you — you like me? You... think I have honor?"

She squinted at him, and he straightened like a soldier awaiting inspection.

"Yep!" She said finally. "You're not as good as my human obviously —"

"Syl," Kaladin hissed again, flushing, but Renarin just nodded.

"—But I like you, so you must be honorable. And my Kaladin can be weird and dangerous, too, so it's probably fine."

"That's—" Kaladin started to protest, but saw how inexplicably cheered Renarin looked and decided to let it go.

"We should probably get back to the others," Kaladin said finally. A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he stumbled to his feet. Storms, he felt like he had just run a marathon. He brushed off flakes of dried crem from the back of his uniform.

Renarin clambered up after him, and he looked...lighter. His hands twisted over the box, but they weren't shaking. He smiled widely at Kaladin, teeth showing, genuine relief and joy and hope crinkling the corners of his eyes. Kaladin couldn't help but pause and smile back.

"You — you won't tell anyone? About me?" Kaladin blurted out, before they fully left the alley. He just — he had to be sure.

Renarin nodded furiously.

"And I won't tell bridge four about you," Kaladin promised in return. "Not until you ready, but... they might guess, if we keep meeting."

"I understand," Renarin said, expression earnest. "And...I really want to talk more. This...just this meant a lot."

"And maybe..." Renarin looked at Syl, then his voice dropped to a hopeful whisper. "If Glys is willing to talk to Syl, they could try and work on the gaps in their memory together, about where they came from."

Kaladin nodded slowly. Storms, I didn't even think... if it could help Syl... maybe I can move the schedule around so I guard Renarin in the evenings, so we can have more time for them to figure it out.

"Thank you," Kaladin said, reaching out a hand and grasping Renarin's shoulder. "I know it wasn't easy coming to me like this."

Renarin ducked his head, tips of his ears red. "Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I... startled you."

Kaladin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Startled. That was one word for it. A few shamespren fell. Almighty, what would have happened if he had frozen up like that in a fight? He shook away the thought, he couldn't remember ever losing himself like that, it was likely a bizarre and unpleasant fluke.

Though some of his memories of being the wretch were a haze... Regardless, it was probably why he felt so tired now. That and perhaps the lack of sleep.

They left the alley to find Torfin waiting around the corner; Renarin and Kaladin both froze on seeing him.

He saluted, looking guilty. "Sir! Apologies for eavesdropping, Drehy and I were assigned to guard Prince Renarin tonight, and when you and he didn't return, we grew concerned. I moved away as soon as I could tell that...uh. A guard was not needed."

Kaladin crossed his arms, scowling, and Torfin fidgeted, not meeting his eyes.

"...What did you hear?"

"Very little Captain, I swear! The prince wanted to talk more, then mumbles, then you thanked him, then I left, I promise!"

Kaladin relaxed. "I believe you Torfin, and I'm not upset, you were doing your job."

"Of course, sir!"

"I can—" a wave of exhaustionspren fluttered up around him and he staggered; Renarin reached out to steady him.

"You've been working two, possibly three shifts in a row?" Renarin murmured. "Torfin and Drehy can escort me back. We can, uh —" He glanced nervously at Torfin, still standing at attention. "We can talk more another time."

Kaladin nodded, and Renarin let him go.

Getting to his bed was a blur; he was fairly sure he at least mumbled goodnight to the men still by the fire, but couldn't be certain.

"There's someone like me," he whispered to Syl, pulling his boots (not as nice as his old ones) off, barely mustering up the energy to trade his uniform for more comfortable sleep trousers. Storms, it felt good to change clothes at the end of the day. The little things bridgecrew makes you appreciate.

"And there's someone like me!" Syl said, twirling happily. He smiled at her, then was out before his head hit the pillow.

[ellssbellss]

(NEW!) 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!

here it is! so sorry it took so long, but unfortunately updates will be slow. but i will not abandon this story! i have too many plans :)

-> summary: Nodding, you pull your purse onto your shoulder, and Kyoya barely has time to react before you’re furiously brushing past him. 

“Let me make it less complicated for you, then. Since everything else is.” Your voice is cold as you push open the exit, still avoiding eye-contact. “You won’t have to save me anymore.”

-> tw! descriptions of drowning.

-> word count: (whole episode): 20k

-> legend:

(f/h/d) - favorite hot drink

(s/c) - suit color

see masterlist! masterlist

taglist! @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn @desert-fern @delievia @obeythemasters @luca-nightshade @sweetandsourwrites @wrzloyd @1234567890nono @inactivecrofters @katiebwalczak03 @reader3 @radical-bunny @stevexbucky404 @localgaytrainwreck @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @httpzace @wrzloyd @localgaytrainwreck @kawaii-onikuma113 @httpswilloww @pest-ill-ence @akumakitsune21 @britty-yk @daniels2003 @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @sadpotatoondrugs @name1nonexistent2 @jstanaxx @yikesarooni 

A Challenge for Lobelia Girl's Academy!

Your lungs have flattened as you float, and your heart rate has ceased its erratic beating, but somehow your brain is still conscious. The comfort of breathing has been robbed from you, and yet you're still awake, still suffering as the freezing water breaks into your skin and rips through your muscles, chilling your bones with a pursuit that had to be admired.

Your eyes are open, (e/c) irises staring blankly up through ripples of water, your eyelids only being held open by the force of the current. Cold water rushes past your skin and pushes you deeper into a black abyss, away from the sunbeams that pierce through the watery veil. 

It’s as if they're laughing at you, teasing your skin with their bright warmth. 

A crash comes from above you, and a body falls from the horizon that you so desperately longed for. The form is small and muscled, rounded into a ball as they plummet towards your limp form. 

Your eyelids widen, only from the force of the splash, as you see Honey’s body tumble towards you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. 

Your consciousness cries as you will your body to catch him, to move, to do anything. Honey whizzes past you, locking eyes with you as you outwardly stare into space. His mouth opens to make sound, but nothing comes out but bubbles of his precious oxygen. A sudden rush of a concentrated current pushes him down out of your view, out of your peripheral vision, and out of any hope you had of saving him. A sense of feeling comes back to you as you scream, unable to move as you feel his presence disappear, the red light of a tiki statue flashing behind you. 

And when your mouth opens, more water files in, hungry and selfish as it not only surrounds your body, but suffocates your insides. Your lungs inflate with the chilling liquid, making your body weightless in the pools of terror, and you start to rise. 

The surface tension of the water breaks as you lift out of the ocean. Water spills out of your mouth and nose as you are pulled up and up. Over the vast sea, over the jarring cliff that wasn’t in clear view before. 

But now it taunts you, its sharp edges barely missing you as you rise. 

As you ascend into the lighter blue of the sky, it begins to morph around you. The cerulean begins to darken into black, the crisp air becoming muddy and warped as the scene changes around you. For a moment, everything seems to pause and you are suspended in black. Then, gravity reminds you of your fragility, and you are sent slamming a firm surface. 

The landing makes the wind rush out of your lungs, and white sheets billow around you. A comforter sculpts your back, and a large window shines into the room. You choke.

This is Kyoya’s bedroom at the beach home. 

Panic floods into your system. Why were you in his room? Where was he? You couldn’t see him, not now, not after everything that happened today. Cursing in your mind, you move to leave this godforsaken mattress, get out of here and curl in on yourself till your broken heart heals, but your arms feel heavy. 

Looking at your wrists, you see that they are pinned on either side of your head by an invisible force. Fighting against it, the force lifts for a second before your wrists are pushed down again, deeper into the mattress as it squeaks and wrinkles. And a red shirt appears in your vision. 

Gnarly, curled fingers grip your skin, and you bury yourself into the bed. Ren’s eyes flare back at you, closer than he ever was. His sneer is prominent as his long hair is in shambles over his shoulders, and it only grows wider as you thrash below him.

His voice echoes in the shadowed chamber, wrapping around your throat and squeezing. “Nowhere to jump now, sweetheart.”

Your words are lost on you as fear strikes your heart, making it beat to a wilder rhythm as your body writhes. But he continues.

“You could’ve died on that cliff, you know that, girl? Thrown into raging waters? Very dangerous.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Ren’s voice mixes with one that breaks through the shock, through the terror, and sends more panic into your veins.

In slow motion, gracefully long fingers dissolve into view. Your eyes follow as particles of pale skin form an arm that locks your wrist to the bed, and then a lithe torso comes into view as you look towards the ceiling. 

The smug face of your crush, your director, your best friend appears before you, smirking with a calculating glint in his eyes that used to feel warm. 

But as Kyoya pins you to the sheets, its like ice as he meets your gaze. 

The floor below the bed frame isn’t stable, the mattress below you rippling like evil water as you stare up at him. Shock and dizziness make everything around you hazy except for his distasteful gaze on yours.

“Do you know that? Please tell me you’re smart enough to see it, you idiot.” There’s somehow a sense of desperate anger as Kyoya keeps you underneath him. “You were wrong. You could’ve died, and you were wrong, and now look at what you did, (Y/n).”

Your nerves say your legs are kicking, but his own pin your knees, rendering them useless. Your arms feel like they’re thrashing, but you still feel the sting of cotton surrounding your skin. Apology after apology rushes through your mind, and you open your mouth to plead with him, to cry for him, to say anything. 

But you’re choking again, and a floral scent fills your lungs, causing you to freeze.

Kyoya’s cold eyes flick to your lips, and his raven brows furrow as he releases one of your wrists letting it fall heavily against the mattress. You willed it to move, but like you are drifting in the current of the ocean, you are not in control. 

Coughing, something works up your throat and lands on your tongue. Kyoya’s fingers reach past your parted lips and pluck it out, bringing it into your line of sight. 

A rose petal. A single, purple rose petal. 

Kyoya looks at it confused, his teeth barring. “What is this? What are you doing?” Distrust engulfs his tone. 

But his eyes widen as your coughing turns into wheezing, and your body is jolting as he holds you to his mattress, more petals coming up and filling your mouth, your lungs. 

You're drowning, and Kyoya lets you go fully as he sits back in horror. 

“Stop it. Stop it, (Y/n). Don’t do this to me.” He yells, the moonlight cascading over his sharp features that have twisted in betrayal and anger. “Don’t do this to me!”

Sitting up, you heave, the flower petals triggering an onslaught of spasming lungs as they bloom out of your mouth. Your eyes tear up, apologetic and sincere as you move to look at Kyoya again, only to scramble away in horror. 

The back of your skull hits the headboard as Kyoya’s face rapidly changes. Images of his gray eyes morph into the intimidating brown of Ren’s, then the lighter ones of Haruhi’s. Tamaki, the twins, Arai, your mother, all flash on Kyoya’s neck and torso at a destabilizing pace, screaming at you to stop, to think about what you did. Looking away, you force your body to convulse, reaching a hand up to your neck to soothe the burning of thorns and petals poking into your esophagus so that you could just say sorry.

And that’s how you wake up. 

Your hand around your throat, lungs burning, and Kyoya’s anger resonating through your chest.

The doors of Ouran Academy burst open, your shoes squeaking against the polished tiles and scuffing them much to the cleaning crew’s dismay. 

Sending an apologetic smile their way, you stuff paper upon paper into your backpack as you dodge students left and right, weaving through the crowd of the rich and the beautiful. However, with the addition of your hurried figure, you’ve created an ink spot on a white page. 

You would not describe yourself as the spitting image of beauty as you raced up the tall stairs and long, carpeted hallways of your school. You could see your peers’ eyes linger on the small shadows of purple underneath your eyes, and the untucked fabric of your uniform. Some of them bent down to pick up a few sheets of your assignments as they flew from your grasp, noting your heaving breath and panicked eyes. 

Unusually, you were late. 

You gave them a quick nod of gratitude before practically sprinting down the last hallway that led to Music Room #3. Your footsteps sank into the soft red carpet as you rounded a corner, but when you actually saw the sign hanging above the club room, you slowed. Stopping to rest on a pillar, you caught your breath, staring at the double doors as you heard bustling activity inside. 

Every day for a week, you’ve been stopping outside the room, tracing the painted wood grain and the pink designs with your eyes for what felt like forever. For a week, your heart has constricted into knots while your fingers dug into the stone of the pillar, debating in your mind if you should even walk in. 

And every day, for a week, you stepped in time with your anxious heart as a pair of purple eyes flashed behind your eyelids, begging you to just come in. And who could blame you when an image of devastating gray accompanied them.  

Swallowing, you pressed your palm against the door, opening it as unceremoniously as you can, before a petite body slams into you. 

“Oh, god, sorry, I just-,” Haruhi fumbles over her words as she meets your gaze before trailing off, the worry in her gaze followed by a little bit of awkwardness.

You sucked your cheek into your teeth as you made an effort to look anywhere but her, and settled on a vase of flowers poised near the entrance. 

“It’s okay.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head before moving to push past her. “No worries.”

You hear a small, sharp sigh behind you, and a hand wraps around your wrist, much gentler than your nightmares. “(Y/n), wait.”

Haruhi’s calm voice makes your tingling anxiety bloom to your throat as you come to a halt. Turning over your shoulder, your smile is practiced and pristine, the muscles stretching over your lips. “Yeah?”

Her brows furrow at your soft, bright tone, your voice contrasting with your rounded shoulders. “I just…I don’t understand what’s going on.” 

Your eyes freeze on hers, and your heart cracks even more. 

Since you saw Haruhi lying underneath Kyoya, emotions rattled inside you like a tennis ball ricocheting off the walls of your ribs. Your anger was a bright, fleeting blip. You laid in your bed and frankly abused your pillows. You punched them, screamed into them, or threw them across the room as you tried to process Haruhi’s betrayal. You two had grown so close in such a short amount of time, and she knew you were falling for Kyoya, only to keep it a secret that she had been secretly crushing on him. 

In the middle of another swing at your pillow, that thought in your mind, you froze. 

She kept it a secret. 

Why did she keep it a secret?

Shoulders shuddering with sandpaper breath, you sat back on your knees and faced the window looking out into the ocean. 

Haruhi must’ve been harboring her own feelings, keeping them locked away while you flirted and made eyes at the boy she wanted, and she did it so easily. You watch through her eyes as you play off of Kyoya’s banter, work with him late into the night, keep him for yourself as Haruhi is pushed onto the sidelines. 

A soft gust of air leaves your lips with a quiet whine, and your face curls into your palms as your spine bows. You're crying again, but for a different reason. 

You cry for the friendship you two had. You cry for what it must’ve felt like for her to see you steal all of Kyoya’s time and attention and say nothing. To keep it locked away. Tears rolled for what must’ve felt like the most one-sided sisterhood of the century, and all because of a stupid boy. 

Speaking of the boy.

Your anger had then reignited, and your cries turned frustrated. Digging your fingers into your next feathered victim, your punches resumed.

Now, guilt dripped into your chest, mixing with the anxiety and hurt as you stared back at her, but your smile remained true. “What do you mean?”

“Are you avoiding me?” Her voice is blunt, and you cringe internally. You loved Haruhi for being straightforward, it was refreshing from the usual antics of rich people to passively aggressively beat around a bush. But to be on the other end of it was jarring. 

Clearing your throat, you look to that same vase again, a lie locked and loaded behind your teeth. “No, no, I just saw that you were leaving, and wanted to get out of your way.”

Haruhi’s eyes deadpan. “If that’s the case, you’ve been getting out of my way all week.” She put air quotes around the words. “Did I do something, Senpai? I know you might be a little…shaken by what happened on the beach, but I feel like you’ve practically tripped over yourself to get away from me lately.”

When you look back at her, you can see the concern whirling through her irises, and the faucet of guilt breaks into a steady stream.

You’ve kept her in the dark, you’ve had too. There was no way you were going to out her relationship with Kyoya without her being ready, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of telling her that you saw them together. Empathy floats up in your sternum at her clear confusion, and you fight to make your smile a little more real. 

Sighing, you relax your arm, signaling that you weren’t going anywhere, and she releases you. “I’m not ignoring you.” You say gently. “And don’t call me Senpai, it’s weird.” 

Her confusion fades into relief as you turn to her, fixing your overflowing backpack onto your shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when you look at me like you don’t even know me, it’s hard to resist formalities.”

A lump forms in your throat when you realize that it was true. Since she has been hiding so much from you, you didn’t know her. Not as well as you thought you did. 

“I’m just tired, no big deal.” Desperate to change the topic, you gesture to her outerwear, the light spring breeze forcing students to wear their light jackets. “Where are you off too?”

“Hikaru and Kaoru asked me to get more instant coffee from the store.” She grumbled, and you almost laughed at the disdain that passed over her face. “I still don’t understand why they can’t go get it themselves.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to help them out.” Turning over your shoulder, you see the two red-haired boys talking jovially with some other guests, chests shaking with gentle laughter. “They seem to be having a good time, thanks to you.”

Haruhi curls an eyebrow. “Thanks to me?”

Sighing, you turn back to her, trying to force yourself through the conversation so that it doesn’t look like you’re avoiding her even though you are, and it’s very complicated and annoying and you hate it. 

But a softness comes to your face as you speak. “I haven’t known the twins for as long as some of the others, but I know that they weren’t always this warm and friendly.” A flashback of the boys in a corner reading the same book comes to your mind before you push it away.

“They were quiet, withdrawn, and didn’t have many friends. I worked for a long time to build the trust that we have together, but it was instant between the three of you. It really pulled them out of their shell, little by little.”

You watch Haruhi’s eyes pass behind you as she watches the twins, a thoughtful look on her face. A shot of adoration for her spikes through you instinctually at the fact that she truly didn’t know how much she has impacted the host club in the time she has been here. It makes you want to hug her with all your strength. Tamaki must be rubbing off on you. 

But then the image of her looking up at Kyoya as he straddles her replaces that warmth with chilling dread. 

“I never really noticed.” She said plainly, shrugging her shoulders. 

A reluctant smile formed on your features. “They can sneak up on you.”

Silence falls between you as the rumble of host club chatter fills the space, and the awkwardness rears its ugly head. 

“Are you sure we’re okay?” Sincerity spills through her, and it’s all you can do not to cry again.

“We’re fine. And if it seems like we’re not, it’s not you, it’s me.” Partly true, in a way. You jab a thumb over your shoulder, needing to leave the tense air. “I’ll see you in there.”

Turning over your shoulder, your eyes immediately fall onto a lithe waist dressed in a lavender jacket. Arms fold protectively around his blackbook as Kyoya’s attention floods into his calculations, but it’s as if you can feel your eyes on you as he meets your gaze out of the corner of his glasses. 

A whole switchboard of emotions alights in your body at the indifference in his eyes as he quickly retreats into his writing again. Blowing out a breath, you spin and walk right past Haruhi. “You know what? I’ll grab the coffee. Be right back.”

This time when you walk across your campus, it’s a slow, deliberate stroll. A paper grocery bag is pressed against your chest as you get lost in your thoughts.

You and Kyoya hadn’t spoken since that day on the beach. Anytime you were around each other, it was terrible and tense. You used to fidget, pacing back and forth in your mind on whether you should say something, anything to him to tell him how you feel, but eventually you didn’t have the energy to be anxious.

The betrayal you felt from Haruhi immediately changed into guilt when you realized what it must’ve been like to keep her true feelings from you. With him, your anger and heartbreak slightly dulled into a constant pressure, always reminding you that at the first sign of trouble between the two of you, Kyoya turned to someone else. 

Kyoya had once called you a child for ignoring him after the whole incident with Renge, and yet he has justified himself enough to do the same thing. He’s been quiet, cold, turned off from anything that you had to say that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

But he never made himself scarce. Kyoya wasn’t avoiding you by any means. In fact, he seemed to be anywhere you turned, always giving you ample opportunity to get on your knees and grovel for his forgiveness, as if he was above all this.

As if he hadn’t done anything to rip your heart in two. 

Now fuming internally, you decided to wait it out. The two of you were exceptionally stubborn people who were skilled at compacting your emotions into a tight star, ready to burst at any moment. 

You decided to see which one of you would be the first to set off a supernova. 

The whole situation felt off, and you had no idea why. You never pegged Kyoya as the kind of guy to be so physical with someone he had relatively just met. The glancing touches and the near-kiss instances that you two shared felt special to you, as if you had gained his trust enough to reach a level with him that almost no one else has. 

You sighed, blinking back the image of him straddling her waist. Guess it was just another testament to how hard they had fallen for one another. 

In your pity party, you didn’t see a rogue banana peel being thrown into your path, and soon the ground is yanked out from under you as you fall backwards. 

Limber, strong arms wrap around your shoulders as you tip backwards, and after closing your eyes expecting an impact, you open them to see green eyes staring back at you.

Chest heaving in surprise, you freeze in the strangers arms. Their presence is familiar in a way. 

The stranger gets closer, and you realize that despite her more masculine facial structure, it’s a girl that has saved you from falling on your ass. 

She poses, dipping you more into her embrace as her smooth, timber voice rolls over your ears. “It’d be a shame for any harm to come to that cute face of yours young lady.”

The startled look in your eye plateaus as you bite your cheek, and you groan internally. This new student steadies you and offers gallantly to walk you back to your glass, and you realize why her energy was so recognizable. 

She’s exactly like Tamaki. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Benibara says, keeping her arm firm around your shoulders as she escorts you through the halls of your school. 

Wiggling in her hold, your jaw ticked as you tried to force a polite smile. “Really, I am. You don’t have to walk me to class, I’m sure your school is dying to get set up for the cultural exposition.”

Benibara, who confidently introduced herself as the president of the Zuka Club as Lobelia Girls’ Academy, tsks and looks at you with a sultry gleam. “Don’t be silly, (Y/n). Let me make sure you get there safely.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but follow her anyway. If Kyoya didn’t already want to kill you, he certainly would if you were rude to a student from another school. Not to mention you were in uniform, so they would know exactly where the rude girl belonged.

Her red skirt and white blouse flowed gently around the corner, and you unintentionally froze again as Music Room #3 came into view. Tall, gorgeous Benio turned over her shoulder, her gaze becoming sharp. 

“You know, (Y/n), when I asked if you were alright, I wasn’t necessarily talking about your fall.”

You suck in a sharp breath and flick your gaze right back to hers, her eyes looking at you with a deep understanding that almost knocks you off your feet. 

And then it annoys you. “I’m fine.” The words are practiced. This is what you’ve been telling yourself on repeat, after all. 

“Are you, now? Think you’re above a hard day here and there?” Benio chuckles deeply in her chest before reaching a hand out to graze your cheekbones. “Come now, little sakura, tell me.”

But you pull your face away from her touch, rolling your eyes again as your irritation motivates you to push past her. You almost make it to the club’s door, hearing voices from inside. 

“...a little harsh? Fine then, what do you think women want to hear?” Tamaki’s muffled voice floats out into the hallway. Another sigh rolls through you as the topic of their current conversation already feels too intense for your emotional state. 

But you don’t have time to open the door yourself as Benibara pulls you back against her from your waist. You feel a bony chest at your back as she seems to levitate towards the club door, her arm firmly wrapped around you as she bursts through it. 

Her feminine baritone fills the air of the Music Room. “Maybe something like…” You squeak as you feel her breath on your ear. “I would never leave my lover alone.”

“What the f–?” Your confusion is cut off but also flamed when the arm around your waist pulls, spinning your 360 degrees before you're caught in a dip by her toned arms. 

Benio’s lips curl into a smirk as her voice holds a fantastical tone that causes your mind to fog a little. “If we fight, it will be together. If we fail, we fail together.”

Again, you’re whisked to another position. This time your arm is stretched out and Benio is on one knee before you, your palm in hers as she brings it to touch her lips. “Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side, my love.”

Your eyebrow twitches for a moment, a blush deepening on your cheeks. Looking to the side, you see your host club dressed as knights, armor shining dramatically in the natural light from the windows, and you sigh, eyeing their protective costumes. 

You could’ve been wearing armor against this girl too if you hadn’t left to go run errands. 

The idiotic trio’s mouths fall open as you are spun and held against another student, and Tamaki’s eyes seem to bloom to twice their size. You see two other girls in uniforms similar to Benibara’s run up to her with large, adoring smiles on their faces. 

“Benibara! We thought you’d never show!” One of them says, her short hair bouncing with her movements. 

Another taller girl with a deeper voice and longer hair strides to Benio’s otherside, giving you a long look. “What’re we going to do with you? So, tell us where you found this lovely lady.”

All three women are looking at you with an interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, and you feel a headache coming on. Not just because they were staring at you with a protective interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, but also because they were so goddamn beautiful. 

What kind of blood oath did you have to make to get their bone structure?

Benio’s chuckle rang close to your ears as she stood, still holding your hand. “I just met her outside of the school. She may look plain, but I knew the truth to her beauty. She has such gorgeous eyes.” The taller woman leans in, her lithe finger gracing your cheekbones as she stares deeply into your irises. 

Wincing, you turn your face away from her as you back up, only to run into the shorter, peppier one. 

Her high voice exclaims an excited gasp as her fingers dip under your sleeve, forcing the fabric of your lavender coat up to feel the soft skin underneath. 

Your jaw clenches as she forcefully takes your hand, your annoyance building. “Wow, her skin is incredibly soft!”  

“Could you not?” You ask softly yet firmly, but it’s overshadowed as the third student kneels in front of you, running her hand over your bare thigh and calf with amazement. 

Her hand runs over your healing cut, the band aid with hearts still attached to your skin. “Isn’t it though?” She marvels as her fingers prod over your leg. “I think we found a diamond in the rough!”

Seeing her hand pass over your cut ignites a sharp reaction from you, and you push all three women off, ripping your limbs away from their grasp. “Would you all stop? God, ever heard of personal space?”

Your shoulders heave in the middle of the club room as the women stare you down, their eyes wide in amazement. Looking past them, you see the boys watching you tentatively, knowing where your outburst is coming from.

But then Benio’s mouth curves down, not from disappointment, but in sympathy. Her long legs make their way over to you slowly, and her hand reaches towards you, an olive branch. 

“You’ve been hurt, yes?”

Her words spill over you like ice water, and a shot of embarrassment pierces through your chest. Was it that obvious?

“What?”

“Someone hasn’t treated you well. Someone hurt you.” That same understanding from before shades into her pupils, and it takes everything in you not to retreat from her form. She studies the way that you roll your shoulders with a conjured formidability that had to have been practiced and reconsiders her words. “Or maybe, people hurt you.”

Her bluntness is laced with caramel-like kindness that completely blows the wind out of you. You just stare at her for a long minute, not knowing what to say as she comes closer and closer, cautiously stepping towards the deer in the headlights. 

This time when her hand finds your face, you don’t pull away. She hums in pity, tapping her finger under your chin. “Ladies, this princess is suffering. Trapped in a place where she is underappreciated and lost.”

Their eyes swim with tears with the grace of a celebrity on screen, gorgeous eyes glistening with the moisture. They whine to you as they immediately embrace you again, two pairs of arms coming around your waist. 

“It’s such a shame!” Leaning their heads into your shoulder, their cries dampen the intensity of the moment, and your annoyance rises again to a dull buzz.

Your face falls flat as they fret over you, but you let them. If it’ll get them to leave faster, so be it. 

But Tamaki couldn’t stand it for another second. 

The host club has stood back long enough and watched you run yourself into the ground. Most of them have done all they could think of. Hikaru and Kaoru try to make you laugh, and sometimes it works. Sometimes you’re doubled over, clutching your sides while trying to catch your breath and the twins think that the storm has finally passed. But the next day, you’ll kindly shake your head and walk away, leaving them lost on what to do next. 

Mori and Honey have been feeding you, making sure that you’ve eaten lunch when you are scheduled too, and sending you with plenty of sweet treats and things they know you enjoy before you leave school for the day. Even after Mori had offered their dojo to you, you still had yet to show up, and that was worrying. The cousins thought it was because it was hard to bring yourself out of bed in the morning. 

Tamaki and Haruhi showered you with attention when you allowed it. You did sometimes, but mostly from Tamaki. His heart sputtered in confusion when you would turn your gaze away from his brunette honor student, but he figured it was just because she reminded you of that day on the cliff. The blonde was constantly at your side. During class, club hours, any time you didn’t completely shove him off gave him an opportunity to show him that he was there for you. 

As his purple eyes watched your blank expression while foreign hands touched you, his eyes shot to Kyoya, a dramatic glare in his gaze. Kyoya felt his best friend’s eyes on him and met his stare before rolling his eyes behind his glasses. 

The blonde saw Kyoya’s Adam's apple bob for a second, and he knew that the Ootori son was holding himself back. Tamaki groaned internally as Kyoya kept up the same facade he’s been portraying for the past week. The facade of disinterest. 

And frankly, Tamaki had had enough. 

Another flare of irritation fired into the prince’s chest as Kyoya simply shook his head slightly, stubbornly folding his arms across his waist. But when Tamaki studied him closely, he caught the sharp way Kyoya’s eyes narrowed at the way this tall woman was cradling your face. 

Tamaki huffed when he realized Kyoya still wasn’t going to do anything and immediately rushed forward, wanting to save you like he always does.  

“Don’t you go touching mon ami without asking my permission!” He yelled, reaching towards your form with a protective urge. 

But you watched as a fist connected to Tamaki’s pristine features, and your jaw dropped as Benio sent him flying, the other two women wrapping their arms tighter around you. Your prince’s blonde hair whips with the force as he is sent flying back towards the other hosts. 

He lands on his butt with a whine, and his hand comes up to his cheek. “She punched me! So violent!”

Honey-senpai scolds him as Tamaki sprawls on the ground, holding Usa-chan in his grasp. “Pull yourself together!”

Finally, the female trio lets go of you as they put themselves between you and the host club. A sigh rolled out of your lungs, and you watched two dramatic forces clash together like swords. Beni stands, her long form towering over Tamaki after knocking him to his feet. 

“Guess the rumors we heard are true.” She speaks, utter confidence lacing her tone. “You guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you.”

A distinct sigh passes over the host club, one that topples another rock onto the stone pile in your stomach. 

“These uniforms.” Kyoya’s voice is cold, precise as he pushes his glasses onto his nose. “I assume you ladies are from Lobelia Girls’ Academy?”

Benibara’s hair swishes as she twirls, her attention completely lost to you. Another smug grin traces her lips as she strikes another pose, her hand poised just so. “That’s correct.”

Flashes of color and cloth pass by your vision as the three girls rip off their uniforms, revealing extravagant costumes underneath. Bouncy skirts fall to the pink tiles from the waist of the taller girl, the shorter one sporting something pink that went to mid-thigh. Beni rises in a tux, perfectly tailored to her slim figure. It seems like spotlights shine down on them as they pop up from their poses one by one, glitter in their irises. 

“Lobelia~” Benibara stands, a baritone note rising from her lips. 

“Lobelia~” An alto sound follows as the middle-height blonde rises, her toes pointed and chin lifted in the air. 

“Lobelia~” Soprano fills your ears as the last one sings, her arms stretched out as she picks one leg up. 

You stared at them incredulously, confusion and a little bit of admiration in your thoughts as they harmonized. How many times had they rehearsed this? When did they rehearse this?

…Did the host club need a theme song too?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Benibara pulled out a flower and you realized, Oh…it wasn’t over. 

“St. Lobelia Academy, high school 2nd year, Benio Amakuska.” She said as she passed in front of you, placing a lily in your hands before posing again. “Lady of the Crimson Rose, A.K.A Benibara.”

You stopped the rude scoff bubbling into your throat. God, they even had nicknames? The blonde steered toward you, her walk graceful as the blue dress flowed at her ankles. “2nd year student, Chizuru Maihara.” Chizuru’s right hand unfurls a small fan as her left places another lily in your hands. 

Lastly, the shortest one twirls, placing the last lilly into your hand before posing next to her friends. “1st year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki!”

“We are the members of the St. Lobelia Academy’s White Lilly League.” Beni said, posing her top hat in front of her face with a flirtatious grace. “Also known as…!” Sending her hat into the air with pizazz, the three girls twirl, the arms opening so wide that you have to make your way over next to Hikaru and Kaoru to give them more room. 

They spin with so much force that the petals on their lilies fall off the flower and are sent around the room, twisting in a flurry as they cover the girls. When the flowers dissipate, the Lobelia students have somehow changed outfits again, poofy dresses and intricate fanned headdresses adorning their heads. Their hands are outstretched, large smiles on their faces as they fall into a final pose. 

“The Zuka Club!”

Blinking slowly, you close your agape mouth. The silence in the club room lengthens, before you and your twins could no longer hold it in anymore. 

Deep chuckles expel from your chest as you wheeze, tears quickly filling your eyes as you drop to the floor. Hikaru and Kaoru are quick behind you, their backs arching as Hikaru slaps the floor with each bellow of his laughter, trying to catch his breath. 

“The Zuka Club?! Oh man, what a stupid name! My stomach hurts!”

Kaoru can barely agree with his brother, his voice cracking with an effort to breathe. “The Zuka Club?! That’s priceless!”

“They-They had those get ups under their uniforms!” You shout, clutching your side as you lean on Kaoru’s shoulder.

You three continue to bellow, and it feels like old times for a moment. The ease of being around the host club returns into your bones like muscle memory, and it felt like nothing had changed for you. 

But then the ground begins to tremble, machine’s whirring in a dark, unknown place. Your laughter halts, and as your gaze follows the tiered platform as it rises from the polished tiles of Music Room #3, you sigh, your mood rotting the peacefulness you felt. 

“You shouldn’t underestimate the Zuka Club!”

A certain brunette sits atop this tier, a tea cup perfectly placed in her hand, her fingers bringing it to her lips. She seemed almost serene atop a patio chair and table, an umbrella shading her from the artificial ceiling light. 

And then she spoke.

“I may not know much about instant coffee, but I am fascinated with girls’ schools.” Renge’s voice fills the club room, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. You wonder who else will come into this room and play with the frayed edges of your patience? 

She takes a sip out of her cup before spitting it out immediately, instant coffee splattering down onto the second tier of her platform. “St. Lobelia Academy! It is truly a woman’s world there!” Renge stands, and she gets that distant, dreamy look in her eye you’ve seen too many times before. Despite the perfectly good table in front of her, Renge discards her tea cup and saucer to the floor, the porcelain crashing with an annoying clang. 

“The Zuka Club is a group of young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way! The club prides itself on it’s 30 year history. It’s a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens! Their activities include maiden tea parties, debate forums, and the musical reviews performed by their top members.”

Glancing over to Benibara, you see a satisfied smile on her face, pride gleaming in her green irises as she watches Renge recount her successes. You can see how people follow her so easily. She makes you want to be apart of that feeling of comfort, of accomplishment. 

“Well.” A clang of armor sounds against a desk, and you tense your shoulders. Slowly following the gaze of the crowd, you watch as Kyoya fixes his tie onto his button down. During Renge’s speech, the men had switched out of the knight costumes with a speed that is only achieved through years of practice. Or in this case, weeks. 

You let your eyes catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline before you direct them to the floor again. It was too hard. 

Kyoya cleared his throat, his voice resonating. “You sure have a vast world of knowledge, Renge.”

The brunette laughs, flicking a hand at the director. “Well, I’ve always admired Lobelia Academy. I just couldn’t go to school there, though.” She put her hands on her cheeks as if she was facing her worst nightmare. “Just what would I do without any boys?”

With that, she descended into the floor, waiting like a jack in the box under the tile; to spring up when least expected. 

Chizuru places her hands together, the tips of her delicate fingers tracing her lips. “A maiden’s beauty.” Her voice was soft but determined, as if passing on a valuable piece of information. “It means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or to lust.”

Hinako’s bobbed hair bounces up to the side of her friend as they face the host club together. “As a girl, you…for a girl, you…! We’ve had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womenkind. 

“And our pride,” Beni’s baritone floats through the room, vibrating lightly against the host’s club’s windows. “It comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality.” Beni holds her hands out to the two other girls, and they cuddle into her side. It would’ve been sweet if there wasn’t a migraine blossoming it’s way to the front of your skull. 

“Because we are the same sex, and yes, that means relationships of love.” A mischievous sparkle floats in her eye that confuses you. Does this woman think she invented lesbianism?

Shrugging, you sigh, turning your back and stepping away from the chaos, mumbling a small ‘whatever floats your boat’ as you cross the ever spacious club room. 

You catch a glimpse of blonde hair and a hunched lavender form at one of the windowsills, and you make your appearance at Tamaki’s side. 

“Tamaki?” You ask, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder, only to find it shaking. “What’s going on with you?”

He looks to you, eyes wide, his purple pupils shrunken to violet dots. “Th-these girls! They’re talking nonsense!” 

You laugh slightly, putting both of your hands on his shoulders and massaging them. “I think they are just trying to scare you.”

“Well, it’s working!” His voice carries, but you turn to find that the host club is too preoccupied with the Zuka Club to notice. “Who does this girl think she is anyway, huh? Touching you like that? Saying these…these…words that I can’t bear to hear!”

“Tamaki, Tamaki…” You say softly, a fond amusement warming your smile. “Just chill for a second, okay? I think you might be having a bit of a culture shock.” 

“Culture shock?!” His wide-eyed attention locks on you, and he brings his voice down to a hiss. “What’s that?”

“How about we just lay down, yeah?” You suggest through a giggle. Putting his arm through yours, you lead him to the bed that Honey-senpai uses for his naps. Pulling back the baby blue comforter, you sit him on the edge of the bed. You flip the pillow over onto it’s cool side, and Tamaki immediately realizes how much his outburst took out of him. Sleepy, violet gems become hooded as he looks up at you from his restful cloud. 

“This is not how it’s supposed to go.”

Still humored, you tilt your head, playing along. “And how is it supposed to go, exactly?”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

Your heart drops, your chest heaving with a sigh. Flashes of Tamaki greeting you at the door of the music room, a little bit too eager and standing a little too close play in your mind. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pat him on the head, turning on your heel to leave him to rest. “We can take care of each other.”

Rejoining the rest of the club, you sink into the red couch as the Zuka Club continues to brag about their progressive ways, making you swallow another scoff.

The host club wasn’t listening to them either. Honey and Usa-chan watched Mori practice his sword skills, while Kaoru fiddles with the groceries you had brought back. Your eyes travel over Hikaru’s shoulder as he plays on his DS, Mario bouncing across the screen. 

A shadow casts on the other side of the couch, Kyoya’s spine curled around his book. Your curiosity catches a page that was filled with writing, but blank in the edges. No spirals. 

Hikaru interrupts the Zuka Club’s ramblings, his bored tone piercing their flirty air. “Whatever. Honestly, we are so over it.” He leans back, his shoulder brushing with yours as he props his feet up on the table, his gaze never leaving the game.

Kaoru examines another thing of instant coffee from the brown paper bag, his tone, like most of his mannerisms, mirroring his brother’s. “What don’t you gals just scram?”

The Zuka Club stands there stuttering at their rudeness, and your gaze flicks to Benibara’s, her eyes suspiciously watching the six of you. 

But Hinako huffs, a haughty tone lacing her words. “I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love.” 

But Hikaru just leaned towards you, speaking out of the side of his mouth without breaking his attention from his game. “What the hell is she even talking about?”

A giggle caught behind your lips, and Kaoru continued to show disinterest, facing towards you and showing you the label. “I’ve never seen this brand before, it’s clear (Y/n) bought the groceries this time around.”

This time, a scoff left your lips, and you picked up a throw pillow and chucked it at his head. 

The blonde Zuka member rolled her eyes, pitifully sighing as she caressed Beni’s cheek. “You should feel sorry for them, Benio. Now they are all flustered, and they don’t know what to do with themselves!”

Benibara just nodded gravely before another smirk lit up her lips. “True, though I must say that I’m glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious host club.”

Honey perked up at that, swinging his legs off the edge of the couch as he looked at his cousin. “Hey, are we really notorious?”

Mori swings his sword before gracefully setting it onto his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Someone yawned. 

Benibara huffed, the lack of attention drawing irritation from her gut as she quickly scooped forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards her again. She holds your arm up around her shoulders, her other hand lightly cradling her chin. Your jaw sets. 

“And to think, they’re dragging this sweet, young girl down with them.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” You argued, your voice steely and taut.

But she ignores you, pushing you away. As you stumble out of her grasp, you straighten your uniform, watching as she basks at the hosts’ attention once again now that she had grabbed you. You were only a means to an end. 

“Well, the host club’s president may be a pretty little halfer, but he shouldn’t be using his looks to create a fictitious romance!”

Another flare of annoyance sparks at her words, and you take a step toward her. “Don’t call him that.”

But she ignores you, relishing in the rising of emotion. Much better than the clear, piercing boredom. “Oh, attempting to fool the heart of a poor maiden is demeaning! Your so-called club activities are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies! I promise you, we will bring you guys down, the Ouran Host club will be abolished!”

You stopped in your tracks, the tiles on the floor almost seeming like glue traps, your black dress shoes wanting to sink and never budge. 

Abolish the host club? For what, creating fun little scenes?

You had never thought that your club was playing with the hearts of the boys and girls at this school. You thought they relished in the attention, the fantasy. But your mind rushed to the sweet girl who had kissed your cheek, hope in her eyes.

And now you were one of the maidens, your foolish heart in the hands of a raven-haired puppeteer. 

Is this what you made your guests feel like? 

“I see.” As if someone had whispered your thoughts in his ear, Kyoya closed his book, the leather-bound pages snapping closed as he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose.  His voice fell into a practiced politeness, but his eyes flared. “I understand your concern. But do you think that maybe we could finish this later?”

Beni’s chest puffed, her voice challenging the words of the megane, twisting them. “Are you saying that you’re not going to face us?”

The edge of Kyoya’s lips twitched, and he met her gaze. “Not at all.”

His pale hand gestures to where Tamaki still slept, his face exhausted and weary as he mumbles in his dreams. 

“It’s just that our president is still bed-ridden from his initial culture-shock.”

You wanted to ask him how he knew that, but you knew the answer. Kyoya was always observing. 

Honey giggles, having no problem with his nap spot being used. “You see, Tama-chan is having his nappy right now.”

Benibara clenches her fist at her sides. “Then wake him up!” She yells, and you fume. No matter how much she has shaken your day today, no one needed to interfere with Tamaki. 

Your feet unstuck themselves, but before you could give her a piece of your mind, Haruhi appeared in front of you, a full tray in her hands. The honor student shot a glance back at you, a look telling you she could handle this, and placed a sweet smile on her lips. 

“‘Scuse me, I just made some coffee.” She offers, her face calming and nurturing. “Would you ladies like to have some?”

The tall, handsome girl looked like she was about to faint with gratitude, and her sour mood lightened immediately. “Why yes, aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

The three of them smile at Haruhi as they take their respective tea cups, complimenting her whole-heartedly. 

“You know, coffee made by a maiden always has a more fragrant aroma.”

Haruhi’s hands tighten on the tray, her surprise mirroring the rest of the host club’s when Benibara confirms Haruhi’s sex. 

“What? Wait a minute…” You begin to stutter, the other hosts frozen instantly without knowing what to say. 

The flirty Lobelia student just scoffs, soaking in the scent of the coffee as she dismisses you immediately. “Oh please, don’t try to hide it. She may be dressed as one of these boys, but I knew the truth. What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t appreciate and recognize the beauty of my own sex? And the way they make their coffee.” She serenades, winking at Haruhi over the edge of her tea cup.

“But, uh…” Haruhi starts, her brain reconnecting its wires. “This stuff’s just instant.”

Hinako just coos, walking towards Haruhi and twirling her hair. “How about we all have a tea party?” She asks, smiling your way.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” The entire room jolts when Tamaki bursts out of his bed, his teeth baring as his eyes zero in on Hinako’s finger tangled in Haruhi’s locks. “Don’t you see that our host club isn’t what you think it is? We give them hope! Love! Fantasy from their daily routine!” He stomped over, almost running as he crossed the pink floor. 

“If we really were stooping as low as you believe, then why do people keep coming back?!” He cries, his arm jutting out to rip Hinako away from his precious honor student, but his momentum didn’t carry him that far. Instead, somehow, with impressive accuracy, his bare finger lands smack dab in the center of Hinako’s tea cup, dipping into the boiling coffee. 

“Hot! Hot, hot, hot!” Tamaki staggers backwards, wagging his finger before he trips over himself and falls, ungracefully, to the floor. 

Haruhi’s eyes widen, and she quickly hands the tray over to you before crossing the room. Before you can blink, Haruhi is kneeling in front of Tamaki, rummaging through her school jacket before she is taking a thing of bandages from her coat. 

“You have to be more careful, Senpai.” She sighs, her eyebrow creasing slightly as she holds out her hand for his. 

Tamaki blinks slightly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Slowly, he places his hands in hers. Her fingers work gently, spiraling the bandage around his finger, her brown eyes concentrated on healing the burn. 

So she may not notice, but you do when Tamaki’s gaze trails over her soft features for a millisecond longer than you might expect him too. 

You swallow, focusing on the shining porcelain on your tray, your reflection warped against the tea kettle. There was a time when you looked at someone like that, and had thought they had seen you similarly. 

“Thanks, Haruhi.” Tamaki says, his voice soft. You look up to see him staring at his finger, the pair kneeling next to each other. “Do you always carry bandages around with you?”

Haruhi just shakes her head, simpering at him with a smile that makes his eyes drop to her lips before flicking back to her gaze. “Nah, the supermarket gives them out for free with the purchase of instant coffee. I got them when I went yesterday.” She tilts her head just so, and you watch the blush darken on Tamaki’s cheeks. “You always get free stuff at the supermarket.”

“Free stuff?” His voice is drifting, clearly lost in some other thought that didn’t include any bandages. 

A deeper voice ruins their moment, and your hands grasp tightly on the tray. “Well, this conversation isn’t going anywhere.”

With gusto, Beni raises Haruhi to her feet, making Tamaki gasp and almost reach out for her. 

Almost. 

Two arms encircle your waist as another pair relieves the tray from your grasp, and you are tugged into a group hug with the Lobelia girls and Haruhi. Their arms drape over your shoulders as you're pressed into the blonde’s chest, Hinako leaning against your arm. 

“Now that we know what is going on,” Beni announces, her hand wrapped neatly over Haruhi’s waist as she presses the honor student to her chest, “We can’t allow these maidens to stay here! We will prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once! And, we’ll welcome them to the Zuka Club!”

You gasp against Chizuru’s chest, before breaking away from the group. Stumbling, you shake your head. 

Keeping your composure was trying, your voice shaking as you reminded yourself to keep up appearances. Your wits were already worn, your headache growing exponentially at these girls’ antics. But you swallowed, shaking your head and willing the social training you had experienced your entire life. 

“Listen, I understand that you are trying to help here, I do. But the way you are going about it is abrasive, assuming, and quite frankly, ignorant.” The three girls tensed at your tone, Beni folding her arms. Your anger from the past few days simmers into an urge to put yourself on a pedestal, to stand as if you’re better than them in every way.

Your posture straightens, but right before you are about to give them a piece of your mind, Haruhi interrupts, standing in front of you. 

“Just, everyone wait a second, okay?” Haruhi reconciles, her hands waving in a peaceful gesture. “I think there may be some misunderstandings here. I mean, first of all, you called Senpai a halfer!” She says, giggling.

You step forward, peeking out from behind her shoulder. “Cause he is. Even though the term is outdated,” You spit, sharply looking at Benibara, “Tamaki is half-french and half-japanese.”

Haruhi stutters, trying to correct herself. “Well, uh, I don’t think it’s fair to pick on the host club just because they might not have the same history as you!” She claims innocently, and you deadpan.

“Actually,” You wince. “We barely have any history, we were just founded two years ago when Tamaki started the club when he started high school.” 

The honor student’s shoulder’s slump, and her head lolls to the side. “Be that as it may, saying their club activities are just held to satisfy their appetites is wrong. I mean, we don’t even charge them.”

You plant your face in your hands. “Oh no, Haruhi…”

“While I wouldn’t call it a charge, we do have a point system.” You all turn to see Kyoya leaning casually against one of the tables of the Music Room, his laptop sat on top as he pulls up a website. 

Haruhi’s eyebrow creases, and you lead her to the laptop. “We offer a kind of priority service,” you explain, moving to the other side of the laptop and presenting it. “They are based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website.”

Kyoya hums. “Check this out, Haruhi. Your mechanical pencil just sold for a winning bid of 30,000 yen.” He smiles back at her, the fake one that stretches his thin lips. “Good for you.”

You nod curtly, trying to read Haruhi’s shocked expression as you move to close out of the window on the laptop, but Kyoya had the same plan. Your fingers brush his on the same button, and both of your gazes sharply meet, snapping like a rubber band. 

And suddenly, you’re back.

Back to when you were Kyoya’s right-hand man, back to the study sessions in your room, the moments on moonlit piano benches. The dances, the cherry blossom trees, late-night phone calls, and the sunset-colored glances and grazes. It takes everything in you to swallow the ball of sunshine that engulfs your sternum, and remind yourself of the darkness you had seen. And the shapes in that darkness. 

He’s the one that breaks eye contact first, and that’s when that darkness turns to ice, settling deep into your stomach. 

Before you could take your own hand off the keyboard, Haruhi rushed forward, rattling off complaints. 

“I thought I had lost that pencil!” She whines as she scrolls through the items up for sale. She looks up at you. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I didn’t know you were collecting money.”

“To be fair”, You shrug, putting on your best ‘I-swear-I’m-more-innocent-than-you-think-I-am’ face, “I don’t choose what goes on the site. That is the director’s job.”

Kyoya scoffs, fixing his glasses with a sharper shove than normal when Haruhi’s accusing gaze lands on him. “What, you expect us all to work as volunteers?”

More gently, you try to explain. “While it’s not much, our club makes a small profit off of these auctions.”

“Oh, really? You’re okay with this?” Haruhi asks, huffing as she continues scrolling. 

“Okay with it is a stretch, but it isn’t the worst thing-”

“Then look at this.” Her finger freezes on the mouse pad and flips it around, shoving the computer in your direction before folding her arms across her chest. 

Leaning in, you gasp, the pixelated image forming the last thing you thought you would see on that site. 

Four pictures were being sold as a bundle, two you had unfortunately seen before, and two others that shoved your heart into your throat. 

Two of them were the pictures that had been offered as the prize for the Scare Challenge on the beach, your drool and your middle-school Ice Bucket fail had been put up for the world to see. 

But the other two were more intimate. A sparkling blue dress dressed your figure as the twins hurried around you, sparkles in their eyes. And another where you had lifted the camera with a cheesy smile, catching Kyoya off guard after being enlisted as the club’s private photographer. 

Only one person had access to these photos anymore, since you had wiped them from all other accounts. 

“Kyoya…” Your voice was chilled and rough, this was the first time you had said his name in days. “What…why are these on here?”

There was silence on his end, causing you to flick your eyelids up to see him completely ignoring you and writing something in his notebook. 

“Kyoya.” You try again, more firmly. Spinning the computer his way, you enhance the image. “What the hell are these doing here?”

Still no response. He instead flips a page and begins walking around the table the computer is perched on and out of your path. 

But you stop him.

Your frustration flames and you’re in front of him in minutes, ripping his book from his fingers. That gets his attention. 

His eyes meet yours for the first time in what feels like centuries, and apparently that time had erased any warmth those eyes once held for you. Now, his gaze is piercing, the gray that used to represent a calm fog sculpted into a thunderstorm. 

“Give it back, (Y/n).” Even the way he said your name was strained, every syllable stretched and unnatural. 

“Not until I get an answer.” With his journal tucked neatly to your side, you harshly point to the computer screen. “Why are those pictures on there? You know those are not meant to be public. They were just for you.”

“They’re optimal items to sell. Anything that can humanize our hosts is extremely valuable to our guests, which I shouldn’t have to explain to you.” The muscles in jaw pulses, and you heave a breath at the superiority in his voice. 

“You were the only person with those copies, and I asked you to never share those with anyone. You knew how embarrassing, how personal my life can be, and you said you would keep them to yourself. You promised-”

“I never promised anything.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “You were so proud to have those pictures, and you just gave them away like that? What were you thinking?”

“I no longer have a reason to keep those pictures in my possession. They were taking up space in my books, and I needed to make room.”

You scoffed, emotion blocking your larynx. “For what?”

“For more important matters.”

The room was so quiet, you were sure everyone heard your heart break. 

Your grip on the leather material of his black booklet tightened, and your chest stuttered. But you held your ground. Once again, you knew that if you let your emotions take over, they would never stop, and you just had to get yourself together. Yanking the booklet from under your arm, you slammed it so hard into his chest as you walked past him, you heard him grunt as he caught his balance. 

“Hope it was worth it.” You breathed, willing your voice not to crack. 

You stormed towards the entrance, only to be blocked by glowing blonde hair. 

“Oh, you poor thing. I can’t believe they’ve been deceiving you.” Chizuru whines, sympathy potent in her voice as she wraps her form around you. 

Before you can snap at her, Beniobara comes around and pulls her off of you, her strong hands on the younger one’s shoulders. “Give her a moment, Chizuru, both of these young maidens have had quite a day.”

Benio leads the three of her girls towards the doors, which blow open dramatically on their own somehow. “We will give you both some time to think about it, and will be back tomorrow for your answer. Adieu, Host Club.” Waving with the grace of a queen, the Zuka Club disappears around the corner, leaving the aftermath of their intrusion unattended. 

The safety of the hallway is too tempting this time, and your feet make their way towards your exit before you can even think twice. 

“Wait, (N/n)-chan-” Honey’s voice calls for you, but you just call over your shoulder. 

“I have to go. I have some thinking to do.” You say, voice low but reinforced as it echoes across the pink walls of the host club. 

The host's watch with concerned gazes as your figure disappears, Haruhi’s lips settling into a line. 

“Yeah, I better head out too.” She says, but Tamaki’s hand shoots out to grab her shoulder. 

“Wait, Haruhi, we’re sorry! It’s not like we were hiding it from you, you can have my pencil!” He whines, and he holds out his own mechanical pencil, a small teddy bear taking the place of the eraser. 

“I don’t want your pencil, Senpai. You boys can’t just go doing whatever you want, whenever you feel like it.” She says, turning around and taking a turn out of the Music Room. 

Suddenly, Tamaki’s sad whimper turned into a growl as he whipped around, his gaze targeting a certain megane. 

“What have you done, you stupid man! You just added fuel to the fire!”

“Facts are the facts, Tamaki.” Kyoya breathes, boredom flowing into his tone as he perches his glasses on his nose. “If they can’t handle a few inconveniences, then they’ll have to deal with it themselves. They’re smart.”

“But they’re not made of steel.” Hikaru said, folding his arms as he went to Tamaki’s side. “How could you do that to (Y/n)?”

“Please, she’s fine. She just needs to blow off some steam-”

“She is not fine.” Kaoru explains, less aggressive than his brother but still fiery. “She hasn’t been for days.”

“And Haruhi is already indifferent, but we know she tends to favor men’s clothing, and she said that getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad.” Honey said, worry etching into his features. 

“And we know (Y/n) loves us, but how long is she supposed to deal with Kyoya icing her out?” Tamaki expresses, jabbing a finger into his best friend’s chest. 

“I am not icing her out. We are simply not speaking until she apologizes for what happened on the beach. She knows this.”

“She already apologized, you dimwit! She came crying to me with a cut on her leg about how bad she was feeling!” 

“Yeah!” The twins agreed. “At dinner, she said she felt bad…”

“I haven’t heard any of this from her.” Kyoya stated, feeling a pit grow in his chest. You had apologized to everyone but him? That thought shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. 

“No, no, I pushed her out of the room and she was definitely on her way to you.” Tamaki insisted, his anger diffusing into hot confusion. “She didn’t talk to you?”

“No, she didn’t.” His words were a lot shorter than he had meant them to be, but Kyoya was done hearing about how little you thought of your relationship with him. How you had put him so low on your list of priorities, pushed him aside like everyone else in his life. 

“You should talk to her.” Mori’s voice added a base to the confused mumbles that rumbled through the club room. 

“I will not.” Kyoya almost scoffed. “She is the one who needs to apologize, as she is the one in the wrong.”

“You both are!” Hikaru emphasized, getting into Kyoya’s face. “You’re both so fucking stubborn, neither of you see how much you’re affecting the other.”

“Her behavior has not affected me in the slightest-”

“Oh, give us a break!” Hikaru was about to give Kyoya a piece of his mind before Kaoru took over, pulling his brother back to his side and shushing him. 

“Give it up, Hikaru, he won’t listen to us.”

Tamaki leveled his gaze with the Ootori son. “Do you want Haruhi to leave the club, Kyoya?”

“She can’t. Her debt is too substantial to pay back within such a small time frame-”

“Lobelia academy could easily pay her debt off, Kyoya-senpai.” Kaoru said, both brothers seething at him. 

“Well, it would be…unfortunate, if she was to go, but if that was what she wanted-”

“What about (Y/n), then?” Tamaki interrupted him. “Do you want her to leave this club? This school?”

Kyoya paused, his gaze snapping to Tamaki. “She isn’t going to leave over something as little as this. She loves the Host Club.”

“She loves this club because of us. Because of you.” Hikaru says, his voice grumbly. 

“What happens if that goes away?” Kaoru adds. “Does (Y/n) think so little of herself that she would just take the rude comments and invasions of privacy?” 

“That is not what I-”

“Stop being mean, Kyo-chan.” Honey warns, his face crumpled into a scary pout. “It’s hurting her feelings.” 

“She’s thinking of leaving the club, Kyoya. I can tell.” Tamaki’s mouth twists, as if he is so uncomfortable with that fact, that it makes him squirm inside his own skin. 

The megane stops talking, and the boys can tell that he is registering their words. Slowly, he takes off his glasses and wipes them with the tail of his shirt, taking a deep breath. 

“I won’t be apologizing. This kind of thing needs to be worked out between the two of us, without any interference from any of you. It will be resolved within its own time.” The hosts deflate as Kyoya works on a stubborn smudge within his lens, and Hikaru is about to step forward and give him another piece of his mind before Kyoya speaks up again. 

“However, you’re right. (Y/n)’s services have brought in a great number of guests, and therefore income, to this club, and it would be a loss to let her leave without some effort.”

Kyoya picks up his glasses and gently places them back on the ridge of his nose, the light catching onto the frames. “What can I do to help?”

Tamaki just sighs, rolling his violet eyes. “It’s not enough, but I’ll take it.” Clapping his palms, he brings his friends into a huddle, his leadership skills beginning to shine. 

“Listen up gentlemen, we will keep our ladies no matter what! It will be alright. If you listen to me, I have come up with a plan!”

Bunkyo’s city streets bustled with noise. Footsteps falling on the sidewalk, voices calling over car horns and barking dogs. But nothing was louder than your thoughts. You had long dried your tears, and after sitting in the rose maze for a little while, you were able to collect your thoughts. 

You picked yourself from that gazebo, feeling lonely in the absence of someone beside you, and decided to treat yourself to a pastry from a favorite cafe. You need support from yourself now more than ever. 

Everything had become clear at that moment. You didn’t mean anything to Kyoya anymore. You were simply one of his acquaintances that he kept arm’s length, offering them fake smiles and short words. And how were you supposed to work in the club like that? Without the warm glances and small touches? Without the words of encouragement, the quiet nights of working in each other’s space?

How could you sit back and watch as Haruhi took your place?

You cursed your lip as it trembled, and you looked up at the sky to keep your tears at bay. You didn’t want to cry anymore, you just wanted it to be over. 

But just as you were about to walk into the cafe, you collided with a torso longer than your entire body, and you gasped as hot, hot coffee drenched your school uniform. Flinging back, you peeled the wet fabric off your torso, cringing at how the brown color stained the pristine, white cotton. Dropping your shoulders, you were about to confront this long torso, or at least whine at them while you suppress your second breakdown of the day, before you see the head attached to it. 

“Oh my god, oh no, (L/n)? God, I am so sorry!” Brown eyes scan over your form in worry, and before you can protest, Arai is shoving his long brown jacket off his shoulders and shoving it into your arms. “Clean it with this! They’re the same color anyway. Dab the stain, don’t rub it in, it will just make it worse.”

He tries to do it himself as he scrambles out more apologies, but then he realizes that he is dabbing too close to your chest and immediately throws the jacket at you. “Oh god, sorry! I didn’t mean-I mean, I was just trying to help, because I didn’t see you! So I thought-”

“Dear god, Arai, calm down.” You clutch the jacket with one hand, the other extending to rest on his shoulder. And then you’re seeing his wild expression, worry and horror clear as day on his freckled face, and you’re laughing. 

The noise lifts into the air, above the commotion of the city, and it feels good. You try to remember the last time you laughed like this, but it’s been too long, so you just decide to relish in the moment. And it feels even better when you hear a lower, quirky laugh join yours, and you see Arai’s shoulder’s bouncing in your peripheral vision.

“You’re okay.” You say, giggles still shuffling out of you as you grab the coat to wrap around your torso. “Although I don’t think the shirt can say the same.”

“I’m sorry, those shirts are so expensive.” Arai says, another wince rolling through his body. “You can keep the jacket until you get home. I know how bad your father can get with stains.”

“Oh my god, remember that time you came over when we were little? You tracked mud all over our floor and-”

“-and your dad nearly cussed out an eleven year-old? Yes, I remember. Unfortunately.” He smiles, and it’s big and wide and a little crooked, and his image solidifies a little more into the friend you had made way back when. 

You both chuckle again before a silence falls over the two of you. Arai raises his eyes to yours, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’ve been crying all afternoon when his brown irises flood with concern. 

You try to stop him from asking. “Oh no, I’m fi-”

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve been…” His arm reaches out for you, but you meet his hand half way and put it back by his side. 

“I’m okay. I’ve had some time to think, so I’m alright now.” You reassure him, and he nods, thankfully dropping it. 

“Okay, I’m glad.” There’s that smile again. “Were you heading inside?” The farmer asks, pointing a thumb at the door to the cafe. 

“Yeah, actually. This place is my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” His whole face almost lights up, and he opens the door, waving you inside. “Wanna grab that cup of coffee you promised me earlier?” He raises his empty coffee cup. “Mine is empty for some reason.”

Another laugh bubbles out of you, and even if you are drenched, Arai’s energy is refreshing, and you don’t want to leave it just yet. “Sure. My treat.”

He shakes his head. “No can do. Not only will I pay for your dry-cleaning, but also your coffee- I mean, tea. Or something else. Whatever you want, because you just like the atmosphere.” He playfully mocks, and you roll your eyes, surprised he remembered that part of your conversation from a week ago. 

Brushing past him, you walk into the cafe, Arai close on your heels. The door closes, muffling the chaotic rumblings of the outside world as whiffs of coffee grounds meet you. Warm, sparkling fairy lights swathed the ceilings, reflecting the natural sunlight streaming through the windows. 

Soon, you both have ordered, your (f/h/d) in front of you as Arai’s lavender latte steams in front of him. 

“Thank you for paying, you really didn’t have too.” You say, relishing the hot liquid that warms your throat. 

“I really did, though. Your poor shirt.” Arai whines, his fingers running through his brown hair anxiously. 

You laugh again, shaking your head to calm his nerves. 

“It’s fine, god knows we have the money to replace it.” 

“Especially if this deal goes through.” Arai says. “How have you been adjusting to the whole idea?”

You shrug, tracing the rim of your mug with your finger. “Fine. My parents have roped me into business deals before, but this is the first time they want me to be so…involved. No offense, but I think they might be using our friendship to get a better deal.”

The delivery boy just laughs. “I absolutely agree. But I’m not surprised. It seems to be my father’s tactic to get into business with my rich friend’s parents.”

“Really?” You scoff. “He’s done this before?”

“Mhmm. Twice actually. Your mom hasn’t pulled this act before?”

“Never forcefully. But I was always encouraged.” 

“You know, that’s what I always liked about our friendship, way back when.” Arai noted, a sincere look in his eye. “Nothing forced us together, we just were.”

“Yeah.” Your breath catches in your throat when you think of the contrasting relationship you had with a certain Ootori. How it had all started with the proposal that merged Ootori Hospitals and (L/n) Tech. Would he even have talked to you if the proposal hadn’t been accepted? Would he have noticed you at all?

Something must’ve shown on your face, because you felt a slight pressure on your palm as Arai grasped your hand from across the table, that sweet look of worry creasing his brow. 

“I, uh…” He pauses, the farmer sifting through his mind to find the right words. “I know you said that you were okay, but you don’t seem okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, no.” You squeeze his hand before pulling it away, choosing to warm your fingers with your drink. “I’m okay, really.”

“Sure.” He says, but you can tell that he isn’t going to give up because his brown eyes are still piercing through yours. “But, hypothetically, if there was something bothering you, you could talk to me. If you want to.”

You simper at him, sighing deeply. “Yeah, I appreciate that. I will if something comes up.”

But he wasn’t satisfied. “Because I know, hypothetically, if there was something bothering me-, I would definitely feel better talkin–”

“Arai.” You say, cutting him off a little harshly. Taking a breath, you lean forward a little, placing your cheek in your hand. “I’m good, I swear.”

“Right. Sorry, I just–” His hands wave around before they settle back onto his coffee cup. “I want to make sure you’re actually good.”

And that warms your heart to levels that your (f/h/d) couldn’t reach, and you tilt your head, studying the sincerity of his gaze. Maybe you could open up a little bit, just so he wouldn’t have that wounded puppy dog look on his face. 

“Well, I guess there is one thing.” You say, picking at your fingernails. “I have a big presentation tomorrow that I’ve been working towards for a while.”

“Yeah? For what class?”

“Foundations of Marketing.” A nervous sigh escapes you as you realize just how close your deadline is. “We have to present an original product to a panel of mock-investors, and it’s an idea that I’ve had from the start of my highschool career.”

“If all goes well,” You continue, swallowing the butterflies in your throat. “These fake investors could take it to real investors. Which could mean the start of my own product launch.”

“Which would be…good, right?” Arai asks. “Why does it not sound good?”

“I’ve…been working on it with a partner.” You say, looking out the window to catch a couple holding hands strolling by. “We were on good terms at first, and we even worked well together. But, now, it’s not working out so well.”

“We’ve been in a fight recently, and, I don’t know. It’s making me question things.” 

“What kind of things?” 

You shrug, playing with the end of a sugar packet. You want to tell him, but you’re just not ready to be that open with someone you’ve just met. Instead, you skirt around it a little. 

“Was it hard? Moving schools?” 

Arai quirks an eyebrow up, but takes your change of subject in stride. He just leans back in his chair and blows out a breath. 

“Yeah, I’d say it was rough at first. But it worked out in the end. Things always do.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, he met your gaze again. “Why? You want to change schools?” 

“I don’t know what I want.” You groan, exasperated at the war going on in your head. “I’m just conflicted, I guess. So conflicted that…” A sigh breezes past your lips. “I talked to my mother earlier today, about finding a transfer application to Lobelia.” 

An image runs across your mind of you in a Lobelia uniform, performing for the Zuka Club. 

“Maybe I just need a fresh start.” 

“(L/n).” You don’t look at him, but you show him your listening. “You’re happy at Ouran, aren’t you?” 

“Well, yeah, but things feel…different now. Ouran is the best high school in the area, but this project has just shown me that people who I thought cared about me might not anymore.” 

You hear Arai tap his fingers on the table before he draws a breath. “You’re not going to let that stop you, though. Right?”

Your gaze whips back to him as he looks at you with so much apparent trust in your abilities, that it almost makes you double over. 

“What do you mean?”

“(L/n), you have to be one of the most capable people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I mean, even when we were kids, you still had more raw, immeasurable talent in your eyelashes than most people do in their whole body.”

You shake your head. “That’s sweet, but–”

“But nothing. Anyone who is worth their salt will see that you are the true passion behind your project, no matter what this dimwit of a partner does.”

“Thank you, Arai. But you’ve only known me for a short amount of time, so-“

“Then it makes it even more obvious when I can already see that you deserve to feel happy in the high school you fought to be in.” 

Shaking your head, you do your best to fight your smile, but you can’t. Instead, you’re almost glowing at him, and you bite the inside of your lip, trying to shove your blush down from your cheeks.  Looking out the window, you try to think of something to say that could possibly match that, but Arai interrupts your thoughts again. 

“You’re still doing that?” 

Blinking, you turn back to look at him. “Doing what?”

“You used to bite your lip when you were anxious in school.” He says, taking a sip of his latte. “Looks like you didn’t grow out of it.” 

Your lip falls from your teeth on instinct, a small blush running to your cheeks at being caught. “I’m surprised you noticed that, I barely even notice it myself half the time.” You chuckle sheepishly, looking into your mug. “I should probably break it, but-”

“No, don’t.” He says, shaking his head with that crooked smile of his. “It’s cute.” 

Your lashes flick up to meet his, surprise evident on your features, and Arai blubbers when he realizes what he said. 

“No, not like cute cute, you know? I mean, you-you are-wait, I meant, it’s not like you’re not–god! What I meant was that it’s sweet, and nothing’s wrong with it, and I should shut up before I say shit I regret.”

Arai groaned, letting his forehead fall onto the table. But your giggles made him pick his head back up. 

“You think it’s funny?”

“I do.” You say, silencing your laughter with a sip of your drink. “I really do.”

“I’m glad my embarrassment is funny to you.” 

“I promise, I have my fair share of embarrassing stories to share, if you stick around long enough.”

He gave you a long look then, his smirk growing wider. “I think I will.”

go on ahead to part 2 :)

this isn't proof read btw, haha

[cherubshert]

a/n: i have an imagination, and i realized idk how to put them down in a smart manner

waking up with sunghoon next to you was sadly quite rare. but moments like these meant so much to you, his skin glistening in the light that seeps through the curtains, his hair falling into his face, his eyebrows knitted slightly it was extremely cute. his hands resting heavily on your waist was extremely comforting but it also cause your heart to race.

you both lay like this for a minute his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, cause yours to shut quickly. "i know you're awake y/n" he grips you tighter pulling you close. he pauses for a minute before capturing your ear between his teeth, you screech pushing him away. sitting up and rubbing your ear, watching him in disgust as he rolls around in a fit of laughter.

your frown blurs to a smile, you hover over him, pressing wet kisses all over his face, the vibration from his laughter causing you to giggle. you pull away, running your hand through his hair, you could tell he was still very much exhausted, his laughter has quieted down now, his hands rubbing shapes into your thigh.

"i love you " he says, his voice lower than a whisper, it's a small phrase your still not used to, you're heart pounding in your chest in response, but nothing leaves your lips. he pulls you in again, his hand rubbing your back gently, his chest rising and falling gently. his heart beating at the same pace as yours...

"i love you too." you answer anxiously, the silence heavy. you raise your head, his eyes are closed, he is very slightly snoring, he's gone back to sleep.

[gallus-rising]

hey so an OTW (aka the org that runs Ao3) volunteer has been kicked for having the phrase "from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free" in their Slack status [link 1] [link 2]

if i see a single person bring the Discourse™ into this (ie: oh so they let people post underage/r*pe/incest/etc but not this?) i will fucking turbo block you. idgaf what your stance is on Problematic fic is, if i see someone bring up that shit even in a jokey way you are gone. you are dead to me. this is not a gotcha moment. get off the internet for 2 seconds and realize that some things in life are more important than fanfic

message them [OTW contact form] [Ao3 feedback form] and do NOT bring up any fiction discourse or discourse adjacent bs. please stay focused on the actual problem at hand here

personally i'll be uploading my fics elsewhere until further notice (this includes new chapters to WiPs) and will keep up what i have up for the sake of people's bookmarks. EDIT: people have pointed out that choosing to not use Ao3 will likely not have an impact, they run off donations, not ads and user engagement. do not harasses anyone over whether or not they continue using the site, that's a personal choice. do message Ao3/OTW with your concerns, withdraw financial support and tell them why. do not just stop using the site and end things there. i made this post in a bit of a rage last night and overlooked those things, very sorry about that

i hate to beg like this, but i'd really appreciate rbs

(if you want to "debate" about Palestine with me, consider, instead of pissing both of us off, doing some basic researched)

[ikeromantic]

Gilbert von Obsidian

Gilbert, Your Room, Hot Cocoa - Gil being caring and sweet

Gilbert, Library, Red Hots - some teasing Gilbert

Gilbert, Rooftop, Honey Cake - sweetness from Gil

Gilbert, Tavern, Gingerbread - Gil teases MC and himself

Gilbert, Kitchen, Red Hots - teasing and spiciness

[litany-writes]

just my type [ch. 1]

a landoscar vampire au

Oscar leans in to read the label on the bloodpack. “Anyways, that one’s rabbit,” he says, matter-of-factly, before standing up from the couch and stretching. “How the fuck did you-” “Oryctolagus. European rabbit genus.” Nerd, Lando thinks. “Nerd,” Lando says, and he stands up too, binning the Monster can as Oscar returns the bloodpack to the fridge. In which Oscar is a vampire, is crushing on his teammate, and is attempting at all costs to avoid Carlos Sainz. In which Lando is aware of none of these things.

aka i'm back to longform writing (...and RPF writing...) for the first time in 2-3 years! this is what i did last week instead of my psychology homework. that probably say something about me. enjoy!!