Prompt: “That’s my name, please wear it out.”
Characters: All NRC
Masterlist: (1) (2)
A/N: Freeing this nonsense from my older drafts :p
They learn your name isn’t ‘Yuu’ — which is a mistake made by the dark mirror and nickname Crowley endorsed on the day you arrived. You’ve just been rolling with it since.
Until now.
You’ve applied for citizenship in their home country post-graduation and it hits them that…they don’t know your last name. Trying not to seem like a bad boyfriend, they sneak a peak at your official documents issued by Night Raven’s guardianship.
Only to learn that they apparently didn’t know your first name either. Wow. *low whistle* that is just….yeah. That’s something alright.
—
Riddle is floored. Considering he is a man of details, how on earth could he go four years without knowing your last name? While simultaneously misusing your first? He isn’t sure how to proceed. Should he be angry with himself for overlooking such an important matter, or angry at you for being so flippant? Both. The answer is both. He is going to be thinking about this for years.
“...Four years, and not once did you think to correct me?" He exhales, measured but tense. "That is either a remarkable lapse in judgment, or an astonishing lack of consideration. Do you have any idea how improper that is—on both our parts?!”
Cater makes a joke, insisting that this was your plan all along, huh? To assume a new identity the moment you weren’t tied to the Isle of Sages anymore? When you dock in the Queedom, will you disappear into the night? Good luck with that, sweetie. Under the jokes he is in mourning. He really liked the nickname YuuYuu. Even if you tell him it’s okay to use, he just can’t.
“Aww, babe, that is so shady of you but kind of iconic, not gonna lie." He laughs, then winces. "I cannot believe you really pulled the whole identity swap trope on me. AH! I've been hashtagging the wrong name for years! My brand is about to be in shambles.”
Trey thinks of all the times you’ve called him a pushover (affectionate). As if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. How could you look him in the eye for four years and tell him to be more open, when you’ve been allowing an entire campus call you by the wrong name? Is he really the laid back one in this relationship here? God it’s ‘the girl with the green ribbon’ story all over again. When was he going to find out, when you’re both senile in a nursing home?
“Your name is … nice?" He adjusts his glasses slightly, if not a bit awkward. "I don’t know how I’m supposed to react in this situation. Just give me a second. Maybe sixty.”
Deuce is stuck remembering all the times he’s doodled your name in the margines of his notebook. He feels a bit slighted, did you not trust him? Did you think he wouldn’t believe you if you told him the truth? What’s he going to tell his mom? It already took a hour to convince her that ‘Yuu’ was your actual name and not some sick joke. You made him a liar! Dylla is not going to let him live this down. It’s 100% being mentioned to every party guest at your wedding and in her speech too.
“I already told my mom your name was Yuu!" He groans loudly, genuinely distressed "Do you know how hard that was to explain? Stop — stop laughing damn it! She is never going to forget this!”
Ace. Who doesn’t care. You’re ‘Yuu’. It’s what he’s called you these past four years and what he’ll keep calling you until the day you die. If you had a problem with it, you should’ve correct him before. Sorry, not sorry (secretly a bit miffed). Jokes aside — he takes absolutely no time getting over it and just mashes the names together into a nickname that sounds new levels of wrong. That becomes your permanent title.
“You just let me look stupid all this time, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s messed up. So…do I get to pick now, or are we pitching names in magnets on the fridge like you’re a newborn? ‘Cause I’m cool with either.”
Leona is drifting through every thought he has ever had about you for the past for years. Your name spoken in his dreams, stuck on his tongue each time he watched you walk away. Etched in his eyelids and written in the red glow when sun blinds him awake in the morning. Spoken from his chest during moments of binding intimacy. All those moments now tainted by that damned Crow. He’s pissed you never once corrected him. Out of spite, you lose name privileges for an entire day. That old title of ‘herbivore’ coming back after a three year drought. In truth, he’s just buying a bit of time to figure himself out. Even though you’re the one who let him, calling you by the wrong name is a disrespect he cannot believe you allowed an entire campus get away with.
“Tch. So all this time, you let everyone get your name wrong and just sat there. If it bothered you, you should’ve said something.” He clicks his tongue, looking away. “You know what? Fine. Don’t make me out as the idiot for taking you at your word, herbivore.”
Ruggie writes your name on a piece of notebook paper and clips it to your collar. Makes sure to do it in the biggest red marker he can find too, so people know exactly what they’re seeing. He’s got secrets, yeah. Sure. Not from you though. Did you seriously expect him to take one look at that file and let it go? Do you have any idea how important it is to have your documents right (or at least convincing forgeries)? Never-mind that you’ve had him write home to his Grandma about you with the wrong name. For four years. She’s actually going to kill him for this. You are aware that hyena households are matriarchal, right?
“You know how hard it is to keep paperwork straight?” He taps the file against your head like it is obvious. “If you were gonna be all mysterious, you could’ve picked a better time. Sheesh. Gran's gonna have my tail for this...”
Jack can’t stop staring. His whole body went stiff and he forgot that it was just supposed to be a subtle glance over your shoulder. Now there’s this hunk of meat breathing down your neck, looming there like the words will change if he stares hard enough — because how. How do you go four years with someone and not tell them your real name? He feels even worse once you tell him the reason why you let everyone call you ‘Yuu’.
“…Oh.” His ears twitch, and his terse expression softens when you explain why you didn’t correct anyone. “So that’s why, huh.” A pause. “I get why you did it, but I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner. We could've set the record straight together. as a team.”
Azul dumps all your name-tags out on his desk for prime viewing. Mostro Lounge. Sams. Student ID. Newspaper Club ID. He does the same for all your old documentations. Train tickets, movie stubs, class schedules, etc. Don’t ask why he has these. Definitely not because they’re the only proof that you exist. Anyways. What do they all say? Oh, ‘Yuu’? And what is your name? Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Never-mind that you could’ve used this to cheese him out of a contract. He can’t believe you’ve held such an Ace up your sleeve and did not use it once.
“Fascinating. You had the perfect loophole and chose not to exploit it.” He exhales, somewhere between impressed and irritated. “I don’t know whether to applaud your restraint or question your judgment.”
Jade just found out your dirty little secret. He always had an inkling that you were hiding something from him. Yet the sense he got was unlike that of debtors intentionally fabricating stories. To him, a name is but a string of letters. Although this is good to know for when binding matters are concerned.
“I had wondered what you were withholding.” Jade chuckles into his closed fist. “But I must admit, I did not expect it to be something so straightforward.”
Floyd gets your last name and then instantly forgets it. Kidding! Does it really matter, when your last name is going to be ‘Leech’ anyway? For a long time he assumed you didn’t have one and was already content with sharing. Your first name is interesting. He thinks Crowley sucks for making an entire campus call you by somethin’ you’re not…but to Floyd, you’re always going to be ‘Shrimpy’. (He uses your given name often later on. Azul is Azul. Jade is Jade. When the time comes, you will be yourself too.)
“Hehe, that’s so weird. I thought you just didn’t have one, like a stray or somethin’.” Floyd grins, leaning closer. “Your last name’s gonna be Leech soon anyway, so who cares?”
Kalim feels guilty. Like the kind of guilt that gets passed down six generations. Despite his large family, he's made an effort to learn the names of all his siblings and cousins. Yet he's been addressing the literal love of his life as a pronoun?! You might think it's hilarious but this sweet summer child has an existential crisis. Naturally he'll laugh it off if you do, but it's like he's 16 again and there are important things about the people he cares about flying over his head. For the next week, expect him to overuse your name. Although, he is a bit sad. He's called you 'Yuu' for so long and he can't exactly forget how much love was poured into each time he spoke it. He still calls you Yuu sometimes out of habit, catches himself, then laughs it off, switching back and forth without much care.
“Wait—so I’ve just been calling you the wrong name this whole time?!” He laughs, a little too loud to sound natural. “No way — say it again, we can start over! Hi, I'm Kalim 'Al Asim. It's nice to meet you!”
Jamil is wondering how you've managed to survive this long. He knows for a fact that you've been to the doctor. Mainly because it was his butt seated in the waiting room with the same six shoddy pop-songs stuck on loop for two hours. Pure torture but necessary since you apparently had to be forced there. So just...why didn't you correct him when filling out forms back then? Better yet, why didn't you correct him at literally any point in time? It's been four years. Even if you were apprehensive at first for very valid reasons....seriously? This is how he finds out? He's honestly impressed you can keep a secret, considering you text him about eggshells in your cake or when someone sneezed a fart during class. Someone...help him.
“Four years.” He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll tell me every minor detail of your life, but this is what you decide to keep to yourself?”
Epel does a spit take. You’ll need to request a new, laminated copy, alongside a change of shirt. This one’s been drenched in apple juice and crumpled from when he all but snatched the papers from your hands. Subtly be damned — you mean to tell him he’s been simpering and whimpering over the wrong name for four long years? What if he got it tattooed on his blastcycle?! Or carved into a ring box, huh?! Ah. No. He wasn’t going to do that. Forget everything he just said! Hells…if he wasn’t close to graduating too, he’d take the detention just to tell Crowley off. How the heck could you let this sort of thing go!
“What do you mean that ain’t your real name?!” He coughs, then wipes at the mess on his shirt with a horrified look. “Hells, I knew Crowley was negligent, but this is ridiculous. You’re lucky I’m tryin’ not to get detention, else I ought to go have a word with 'im myself."
Rook cannot believe there was something about you that he did not know. He resigned the knowledge of your last name to time and convenience — but to mistake your first? The revelation is both a thrilling miracle and an utter travesty! The mere thought that you haven’t spoken your own name in four years? Oh, you know his heart is shattered when not a word of purple prose escapes him. Yet he cannot sulk. No. The name ‘Yuu’ is still so special. It is the name that dots every love letter, every thought, every passion that has consumed him for four years. He welcomes your birth name as the dawn of a new era, seeing you as a vibrant blossom finally in bloom within Twisted Wonderland.
"Je te vois, mon cher, and yet there was still a part of you I had not known.” He closes his eyes for a moment, almost savoring the revelation. “A secret so intimate, so tenderly kept, and now at last revealed to the one who adores every facet of you.”
Vil loses his decorum for a brief moment. The documents are plucked from your hands, his unoccupied one grasps your bicep so that you don’t just run off on him. He points to the nearest chair and makes you sit while he skims through all of NRC’s paperwork. Your personal details are not his business and Vil is all for privacy…but he honestly has no idea what you were thinking. You do understand that you have the right to stand up for yourself, yes? Even if you wished to keep being called ‘Yuu’ — which based on your story, he assumes is false, did you not think to tell your lover? It seems a discussion about confidence is due…and an aspirin. Maybe two.
“Even if you tolerated it, why would you not correct me?” His eyes narrow slightly. “Confidence is not optional, especially when it concerns your own identity.”
Idia short circuits. His palms are moister than they get after a 24hr code jam. Not even the time crunch of a same-day deadline can get him like this. He really is the worst boyfriend in existence. Not only did it take years for you to receive proper documentation — y’know, proof of your existence so you can’t just go ‘poof’ on him someday? But to be called something like ‘Yuu’ which he is realizing in real time is just ‘You’. Wow. That’s so messed up. Why are you with him? Why didn’t you correct him? Why didn’t he think to check your stats before? Holy shit. Keyboard smash in his chest and everything.
“W-Wait—so ‘Yuu’ is literally just… ‘you’?” He stares at you like his brain just blue-screened. “How did I not catch that? I’ve min-maxed entire RPGs but couldn’t fact-check my own relationship? — god, what is wrong with me?!”
Malleus wanes as if his entire world has been flipped upside down. You were his first friend. His first and last love. Yet he cannot be remiss with you for holding your name close to your heart. He did the same when you first met, after all. Except Malleus’ ruse lasted some months while yours has held strong this entire relationship. Malleus cannot believe he’s been completely in the dark for four years. What bothers him most is that you may have gone forever without sharing this with him. Names are bonding for fae. Did you intend to bind yourself to his one day, but not allow him to do the same? Don’t bother checking the weather forecast. A monsoon is on the way with three days of heavy rain.
“Ah… I see.” He studies you with a look steady, almost aching. “Your name is not a small thing, child of man. It is a part of you, and I wish I had been worthy of cherishing it sooner.. You need not fear giving it to me now. Whether you are called by the name this world gave you or the one you were born with, I will always know exactly who stands before me.”
Lilia plays it in good fun. Anytime someone asks after ‘Yuu’, he plays dumb. Even if you’re right there. One of his little students asks about his partner? Oh, sorry dearie. They’re not around anymore but have you met my new sweetheart? Then he introduces you by your given name, and suddenly you have to explain to a class of five year olds that their teacher is a jerk who will not be getting the lunch you’ve come to drop off. Lilia’s another one who doesn’t hold himself too harshly for not knowing. Names hold power, yes. Although he’s begun to accept that one such as ‘Vanrouge’ can be desired, even though it is stained in unfathomable amounts of blood. He is just waiting for you to accept it.
“If it makes you feel better, I shall pretend to be scandalized for your sake.” He grins, utterly delighted. “But between us, dearie? I rather like that I can get to know you all over again.”
Sebek deems this as a betrayal. You could point out to him that for the first year you both spent together, he hardly used your name at all. You corrected him for calling you ‘human’ countless times back then and yet he never listened until reality slapped him in the face. Even now he still relapses on occasion, to which he apologizes. Except that reminder would only serve to upset him further. Sebek expects you to hold him at the highest regard. Even if the entire world calls you ‘Yuu’ and you were okay with it, as your partner it is his responsibility to ensure you are not just satisfied, but comfortable. Uplifted. Your name is your legacy. Wear it with pride.
“You should have corrected everyone immediately!” He’s already halfway to pacing. “No, do not look at me like that. This is a matter of honor, as your true name is part of your dignity. You will not be forced to wear a name that is not yours if I have anything to say about it."
Silver is overcome with a deep sense of melancholy. For most of his life, he went without a last name. Which is why seeing ‘Vanrougue’ written next to his person is still an adjustment. A fond one, but an adjustment nonetheless. Yet this overwhelming sensation is actually attributed to the fact that with the name ‘Vanrouge,’ it was like the world finally recognized him. He wonders how you must have felt to be given a new name in a new place and thrust into this new life. ‘Yuu’ is just one piece of who you are. He wants to know the person behind your true name. To see all of you.
“I see.” His expression turns thoughtful, a little sad around the edges. “Then you have been carrying a name that was never fully yours while building a life around it. I understand a little of that feeling. Having my name finally given to me is what made the world feel real. I wonder if it feels the same for you now."
not in the embarrassing way. not in the clingy, overbearing way people always assume when they see you wrapped around him with your cheek pressed into his shoulder while he scrolls through his phone.
just openly.
like loving him is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
at the beginning of your relationship, you used to ask before every touch.
“can i hold your hand?”
“is this okay?”
“do you want space?”
sae remembers the first time you asked if you could hug him.
you stood outside your apartment after your third date, fingers hooked behind your back, swaying slightly on your heels while looking at him with careful eyes.
not nervous.
considerate.
like you were trying to learn the shape of him before touching anything fragile.
“you can say no,” you told him quickly. “i just like hugging you.”
sae stared at you for a second. then said yes.
and you hugged him like it meant something.
not casually. not absentmindedly.
you wrapped your arms around him with this quiet sort of sincerity that made his chest feel oddly tight.
he remembers standing there thinking:
oh.
so this is what it feels like to be wanted gently.
months later, you’re practically melted across him on the couch while he rewatches match footage.
one of your legs thrown over his lap. your cheek against his shoulder. fingers playing lazily with the ends of his hair while he scrolls through clips on his tablet.
“you’re staring again,” he says without looking away from the screen.
“i know.”
“why.”
you hum thoughtfully, like this requires genuine analysis.
“i like your face.”
“that’s vague.”
“okay,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you can look at him properly. “you also have very delicate eyelashes.”
“. . .”
“they look soft.”
“they are eyelashes.”
“mhm. pretty ones." your thumb smooths against his temple. “they curl at the ends when you’re tired.”
sae finally glances at you then.
you’re looking at him with unbearable fondness. soft-eyed and completely serious.
like this is important information.
you smile a little when he looks back. “there you are.”
“what does that mean.”
“you disappear into your head sometimes.” another gentle stroke through his hair. “i like when you come back.”
something in his chest shifts quietly at that.
you always notice things.
small things.
the difference between his exhausted silences and his irritated ones. the way his shoulders loosen after a shower. how he taps his fingers against his leg when he’s thinking too hard about something.
you notice all of it like memorising him is instinctive.
and somehow, instead of making him feel watched, it only makes him feel known.
you’re always touching him when you’re alone together.
your hand in his hair. your face pressed into his neck. your fingers tracing slow shapes against his arm while you talk to him about whatever strange thought has crossed your mind that night.
you ask him questions at one in the morning while half asleep against his chest.
“do you think people stay the same forever underneath everything, or do they become entirely different versions of themselves every few years?”
or,
“if soccer never existed, what kind of person do you think you would’ve become?”
sometimes the conversations last for hours. sometimes they fade naturally into silence while your fingertips drift absentmindedly against his skin.
sae likes both equally.
especially because you never seem uncomfortable with quiet. you just like being near him.
and you love him so visibly.
that’s probably the part that unsettled him most in the beginning.
you never acted embarrassed by how much you adored him.
you looked happy when he walked into a room.
your entire face softened whenever you looked at him for too long.
you called him cute constantly, which had genuinely annoyed him at first.
the first time you said it, he thought you were joking.
“you’re cute when you’re irritated,” you told him one evening while he stared at you flatly from across the kitchen.
“that’s not a compliment.”
“to you maybe,” you’d replied easily.
the problem was that you always sounded so sincere.
you never called him handsome or hot. never used the kind of compliments he was used to hearing from other people.
only cute.
but when you said it, it sounded strangely precious. like you were calling attention to parts of him nobody else noticed.
sae gets home late most nights.
between training, media appearances, travel, and sponsorship obligations, exhaustion settles deep into his bones more often than not. there are days where he barely feels like speaking by the time he reaches the apartment.
and then he opens the front door.
there’s usually about two seconds of silence before he hears your voice from somewhere inside.
“sae?”
then the sound of quick footsteps.
the first time you slid around the hallway corner in socks, you nearly slammed directly into the wall trying to get to him faster. now he expects it.
“you’re going to hurt yourself one day,” he says automatically as you hurry toward him.
“probably,” you admit easily before wrapping your arms around his waist anyway.
you always hug him immediately after he gets home. like you’ve been waiting to do it all day.
your cheek presses against his chest while you mumble a quiet, “welcome home.”
it does something strange to him every time.
because nobody has ever said those words to him like they truly meant it.
like home was a person instead of a place.
his hand settles instinctively at the back of your head. “were you waiting long?”
“not really.”
he knows that’s a lie immediately.
there’s a blanket tangled on the couch and a book lying open beside it. one of the lamps is still on. you probably fell asleep trying to wait for him again.
when he points it out, you only shrug sheepishly.
“i wanted to see you first.”
you always say things like that so simply.
never expecting anything in return.
never making him feel guilty for being busy.
you have your own life. your own friends and routines and responsibilities. but somehow you still make space for him so naturally that being loved by you never feels heavy.
there are nights where you climb directly into his lap halfway through a conversation and bury your face into his shoulder without warning.
“hi,” you mumble against his neck.
“. . . hi?”
“pick me up.”
“you’re already on top of me.”
“properly.”
he sighs like you’re inconveniencing him, but his hands are already moving to your waist before he even finishes speaking.
you grin victoriously when he stands with you clinging to him like a koala.
“you’re needy.”
“and you adore me," you tell him with complete certainty.
sae looks at you for a long moment before answering.
“. . . obviously.”
your expression softens every single time he says things like that, no matter how casually.
like part of you still can’t fully believe he means it.
truthfully, sae doesn’t think he fully understands it either sometimes.
that someone can know him this well and still love him this gently.
sometimes he comes home and finds you asleep on the couch waiting for him.
those nights affect him more than he likes admitting.
he’ll walk into the apartment quietly and see you curled beneath a blanket with a book slipping from your lap, glasses slightly crooked from sleep while the lamp beside you casts warm light across your face.
you always try so hard to stay awake for him.
and always fail eventually.
he stands there for a moment just looking at you before setting his bag down.
“baby,” he murmurs softly.
you wake slowly every time, blinking at him with sleepy confusion before your entire expression changes the second you recognise him.
“sae . . .”
your voice is rough with sleep.
warm.
you sit up right away despite still looking half unconscious, reaching for him on instinct alone.
“you’re home,” you mumble, like you’d been thinking about that fact all evening.
he leans down automatically when your hands cup his face.
you stare at him for a second, eyes heavy-lidded as you look over his features carefully, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes.
“you look tired,” you whisper.
“long day.”
a small frown appears on your face for exactly two seconds before you lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead.
then another to his cheek.
then one to the corner of his mouth.
and then suddenly you’re kissing him everywhere with sleepy determination. gentle little kisses scattered across his face while your fingers slide into his hair.
his jaw.
his cheekbone.
the bridge of his nose.
back to his jaw again because you seem particularly attached to kissing him there.
“missed you,” you mumble between soft kisses.
sae’s hands settle around your waist as he lets you pull him closer. “you should’ve gone to bed.”
“i wanted to wait for you.”
“you fell asleep.”
“emotionally i was awake.”
he stares at you for a second while you smile sleepily against his face.
“. . . that doesn’t make any sense.”
“it does to me.”
you only continue kissing him afterward, warm and sleepy and impossibly affectionate while your fingers slide through his hair.
“you’re very clingy when you’re tired,” he murmurs quietly.
“mhm.” you admit. then you look at him carefully again, your expression softening almost painfully. “and you’re very cute when you’re tired.”
“there it is again.”
you hum sleepily against his face, smiling a little when his fingers slide beneath the blanket pooled around your legs.
“can’t help it,” you mumble. “you come home looking all worn out and pretty.”
sae gives you a look at that. “pretty?”
“very.” your thumb brushes slowly beneath his eye. “especially right now.”
your expression softens even further the longer you look at him.
it always does.
like every time you see him after being apart for a while, you still need a second to process that he’s actually there.
it used to make him uncomfortable.
now he thinks he’d notice immediately if you ever stopped.
you suddenly narrow your eyes slightly, head tilting as you study him with sleepy seriousness. “did you eat properly today?”
“yes.”
“protein and everything?”
“. . . yes.”
“good.” a tiny approving nod before you kiss his cheek again. “good boy.”
sae actually blinks.
slowly.
you don’t even realise what you’ve said at first because you’re too busy smoothing his hair back from his forehead.
then your eyes widen slightly.
“oh my god,” you groan. “pretend i didn’t say that.”
he stares at you flatly. “that’s difficult.”
you bury your face into his shoulder immediately, muffling a horrified laugh. “i didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“. . . right.”
“that was supposed to stay in my head.”
“you have concerning thoughts.”
“you’re literally sitting here letting me kiss you forty times in a row.”
“that’s unrelated.”
you laugh into his shoulder while he feels your face heating against his neck.
the worst part was that he could tell from the immediate horror on your face that it had genuinely slipped out by accident.
you peek up at him eventually, smiling sheepishly.
“you secretly liked it.”
sae doesn’t answer straight away.
because the annoying thing is ─ you’re right again.
he likes your hands in his hair.
likes the way your face lights up when he walks through the door.
likes being loved by someone who never makes him question it.
your fingers drift lazily along the back of his neck while your eyelids begin drooping again.
“sorry,” you mumble suddenly. “i know you’re probably exhausted.”
“i’m fine.”
“still.” your gaze flickers over his face carefully. “you work so hard.”
something in his chest twists quietly at the softness in your voice.
you say things so gently sometimes it catches him completely off guard.
before he can respond, you lean in again and press three tiny kisses to his jaw in quick succession.
it was affectionate enough to make his chest ache with it.
“cute,” you whisper against his skin.
another kiss.
“cute.”
another.
“very cute.”
sae exhales quietly through his nose while you smile against him. “you’re obsessed with me.”
“why wouldn't i be?”
sae looks at you for a long second after that.
then he finally sits properly beside you, letting you curl against his chest beneath the blanket. the moment he settles, you tuck yourself into him with a sleepy sigh, arms wrapping loosely around his middle.
comfortable. instinctive.
like your body already knows exactly where it belongs.
“there,” you mumble contently. “better.”
his hand moves instinctively to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair carefully as you tug lightly on his sleeve.
“sorry again,” you mumble drowsily. “you want quiet after practice.”
sae’s hand moves to the back of your head automatically, smoothing your hair down.
“this is quiet.”
you smile against him at that.
a few minutes later your breathing evens out again, sleep finally pulling you under for real this time.
the room falls quiet for a while.
just the soft sound of your breathing and the occasional sleepy kiss you press against whatever part of him is closest.
but right before you drift off completely, sae hears one last sleepy mumble against his shoulder.
it’s always a candid. like you don’t even realize he took it. you’re mid-laugh, head tilted slightly, eyes crinkled, and he’s just standing there like… yeah. this is it. this is my favorite view in the whole wide world.
posts it at some ungodly hour like 1:17 AM after rewatching it 5 times in his camera roll because he “wasn’t sure” if he should post (he absolutely was).
the song choice is just lowkey yearning. like he’s not even hiding it.
“only my girl, you’re mine girl.”
his fans are used to soccer analysis, not emotional damage on a hands-and-knees level. now they’re staring at this soft, golden-lit photo of you like HE WON.
the replies are instantly something unhinged like “bro fell in love fr 😭”
isagi does not respond to anyone. he just stares at the views and likes going up and feels weirdly… proud? like yeah. that’s my person. stay mad.
itoshi rin – “intro (end of the world)” – ariana grande
this man fights demons before posting. like he’s hovering over the upload button for a solid 10 minutes debating if he’s “that kind of guy” now.
the photo is simple. you smiling softly at something off camera. probably him.
no caption. just the song. because apparently he wants the entire world to feel something and suffer.
it’s all so painfully intimate it feels illegal to look at.
fans are in SHAMBLES because rin?? posting someone??? smiling??? with THAT song???
“and if it all ended tomorrow, would i be the one on your mind?”
comments are like “he’s gone” “who healed him” “is this canon???”
sae sees it and immediately texts him something like “you’re embarrassing bro.”
rin leaves him on read, but doesn’t take the story down so really… who’s winning here?
itoshi sae – “baby came home 2 / valentines” – the neighbourhood
this one is intentional and curated.
the photo is aesthetic perfection – lighting, composition, your smile? effortless, yet cinematic.
you’re probably sitting across from him at a restaurant or café, sunlight hitting just right, and he caught that small, genuine smile you only give when you’re comfortable.
no caption. he doesn’t need one. the song choice says enough.
“you can call me up, the phone works two ways, you know?”
his followers are losing their minds because sae does NOT post like this. ever.
brands are probably screaming, fans are zooming in like detectives, and sae is just… unbothered.
when you ask why he posted it, he just shrugs like “you looked good.”
um, millions of people just saw that. what do you MEAN “you looked good.” (you’re taking it tho.)
nagi seishiro – “video games” – lana del rey
he didn’t overthink it. he just liked the picture a lot and posted it immediately.
it’s you sitting next to him, smiling while he’s mid-game, controller in hand, and he snapped it without even looking properly.
it’s slightly blurry. a little messy. but that’s what makes it feel real.
the song??? so soft, so “i like you more than i let on.”
“it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you. everything i do.”
fans are confused because nagi barely posts anything and suddenly it’s THIS??? out of nowhere, too…
reo is in the comments like “you could’ve told me you were posting this?” (he’s jealous.)
nagi just replies “why.”
and then goes back to his game while the internet collapses over how boyfriend-coded he actually is.
mikage reo – “lovers rock” – tv girl
he’s romantic romantic. like this is a soft/hard launch, but also a full-on declaration of his love.
the photo is you smiling directly at him, maybe mid-laugh, maybe teasing him, and you can tell he took it because of the angle – slightly close, slightly personal.
the color grading is warm, dreamy, almost nostalgic.
“you like a pretty boy, with a pretty voice, who is trying to sell you something… something that you already have.”
he might even add a tiny caption like “mine.” or just a heart. because he knows EXACTLY what he’s doing.
his followers are screaming, reposting, making edits within minutes.
nagi sees it and is like “oh so we’re posting her now?”
reo ignores him because he’s too busy rereading your texts and smiling like an idiot.
he 100% has that photo saved as your caller ID picture too. like he is GONE. never coming back i fear.
bachira meguru – “weak” – SWV
he’s giggling when he posts it. like actually kicking his feet a little.
the photo is bright. messy. alive. you’re probably laughing at something dumb he said, eyes squinting, maybe slightly leaning into him without realizing.
he didn’t even frame it properly – half of it is your face, half is motion blur, but the happiness? overwhelming.
the song choice is LOUD. he is not hiding how down bad he is. at all.
“i get so weak in the knees, i can hardly speak.”
captions it something like “look at her!!! 😭💛” because self-control? never heard of them.
his comments are just chaos. “WHO IS THAT” “BACHIRA EXPLAIN” “BRO IS DOWN BAD” “MAY THIS LOVE FIND ME NOW.”
he’s replying to people, too. like “she’s so cute right???” his notifications are blowing up even more.
you ask him later why he posted that and he just grins like “because i like you. duh.” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
shidou ryusei – “no role modelz (intro instrumental)” – j. cole
it’s not even a public launch on social media, it’s a “yeah that’s mine” with zero explanation.
the photo is you smiling, but it’s closer than it should be. like he’s in your space when he took it, probably right before or after saying something wild.
there’s this energy like you’re mid-laugh, but also slightly flustered and he KNOWS it.
the instrumental playing over it? holy audio pull.
it makes it feel more cinematic. dramatic. like a moment.
no caption. because of course not. he wants people to TALK.
comments are unhinged. half of them are thirsting, half are concerned.
he’s just watching it all unfold like a villain who orchestrated this entire thing.
when you confront him, he’s like “what? you looked cute. should i post another?”
this is why people fear him… but it all goes away when they see him in love with you.
karasu tabito – “bye” – altare
he’s slick with it. too slick.
the photo is understated, but deliberate – you smiling off to the side, maybe walking ahead of him, sunlight catching your face just enough.
it feels like a memory he kept for himself… except now it’s on instagram for millions.
the song? omg. it makes you look like you were a night drive through the city, but as a person.
“this ain’t the first time i’ve been hostage to these tears, i can’t believe i’m finally movin’ through my fears.”
no caption, just the track, because he knows the type of people who understand will understand.
his comments are more chill, but still curious. “karasu???” “since when???”
he’s not responding to ANYONE. just watching.
if you ask him about it, he’ll shrug like “what, can’t post something nice?”
but internally? yeah, he rewatched that story more times than he’d ever admit.
kaiser michael – “want you” – clara la san
this is a performance. a production. a STATEMENT.
the photo is insanely high quality, like borderline editorial. you smiling softly, looking expensive, like you belong next to him.
and he’s definitely in the reflection or shadow somewhere. subtle. annoying.
the song choice is seductive. possessive. yet… floaty. he knows exactly what narrative he’s pushing.
“i’m in need of love, let’s dip up out of here.”
caption is something minimal, but loaded. like “.” or your initial. because he wants people to speculate.
his followers are LOSING IT. edits are being made within seconds. people are analyzing pixels.
ness is probably in the comments spiraling (we’ll get to that).
kaiser just grins at his phone like yeah. look all you want.
when you question him, he tilts his head like “you don’t like it? i thought you looked perfect.”
and now YOU’RE flustered. he wins.
ness alexis – “no. 1 party anthem” – arctic monkeys
ugh, his inner yearner is everything.
the photo is you smiling, but it’s quieter. more… intimate. like a moment in between moments.
maybe you’re looking down, maybe you just finished laughing, and he caught that soft after-smile.
the song choice is so telling. like he didn’t even realize how much it exposed him.
“the look of love, the rush of blood. the ‘she’s with me’ is the gallic shrug.”
no caption. he couldn’t think of one that didn’t feel too obvious.
his followers are confused because ness is usually loud about kaiser, not… this.
kaiser definitely sees it and raises an eyebrow.
ness is NOT checking the comments. he posted it and immediately put his phone down.
when you bring it up, he gets flustered, stuttering like “i just– i– i liked the photo, that’s all.”
but he saved it to his “favorites <3” highlight. obviously.
warning(s): this mf got me looking up technological jargon which may or may not be correct, headcannon-short scenario format, 'baba' means 'dad' lmk if I missed anything
a/n: hehehe my second ever request! Btw I don't mind if you request is detailed, it makes writing so much easier for me bc I don't have to think of what the plots gonna be like. Hope you enjoy this!
>og ask< × >part. 2<
You aren’t trying to hide your parentage from Idia. It’s just that your background rarely comes up in casual conversation. Whether you were crafted from the Underworld's blue ember flames or officially adopted into the chthonic royal family, you’ve always just viewed your baba as, well, baba. A bit dramatic, prone to fiery outbursts, and incredibly busy, but just a parent.
Idia, however, is on the verge of a total system crash.
You had casually mentioned that your father was coming to Twisted Wonderland for a "quick parent-teacher check-in" and wanted to grab dinner with the two of you. Idia assumed your family was normal. He spent three days straight researching "How to simulate normal NPC dialogue with potential in-laws" and customized a relatively plain, non-fandom hoodie for the occasion.
Then, you walk him not to a restaurant in the Sage's Island commercial district, but to a heavily warded, shadowy tear in the fabric of reality just outside the Ramshackle Dorm.
˙.꒷🔥.𖦹˙——————————
"Uh... (Name)?" Idia’s voice cracks, his blue hair flickering into a nervous, frantic pink at the tips. He clutches his tablet like a shield. "My map data is glitching. This looks less like a family-friendly bistro and more like a high-level raid dungeon. Is your dad a dark mage or something? Because my social battery is already at 2% and I didn't pack any anti-curse potions—"
"Relax," you say, completely unfazed as you step through the shadowy portal. "He just likes privacy."
You lead a trembling Idia into a grand, obsidian-walled parlor that looks suspiciously like the descriptions in the old legends of the Great Seven. Sitting at a massive desk, reviewing glowing parchment, is the Lord of the Dead himself.
Idia immediately freezes. His internal operating system completely bluescreens. He knows that silhouette. Every Shroud knows that silhouette.
Oh my Sevens, your dad is the King of the Underworld.
OH MY SEVENS HE'S DATING THE CHILD OF THE KING OF THE UNDERWORLD!
He's not gonna fumble, Idia swears he's not gonna fumble.
He drops to a perfect, 90-degree bow so fast his spine pops. His voice drops three octaves into his formal, terrified "House Shroud Heir" register. "L-Lord of the Underworld! Ortho didn't scan any subterranean spatial anomalies today, I swear! If the Island's magical barrier was breached, it wasn't my fault, I was just doing my daily log-ins—"
Not paying any mind to your boyfriend's rambling, you casually walk past the god of the dead, grab an underworld-grown apple from a bowl on his desk, and take a bite. "Hey, baba. This is Idia. Try not to scare him, his stats are terrible."
He looks up, sighs a plume of gray smoke, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Kid, I told you to give me a fifteen-minute heads-up. I'm drowning in paperwork here." He turns his sharp, glowing eyes onto Idia. "So. You're the Shroud kid my kid keeps talking about. Stand up straight. You're burning through my floorboards with that hair."
(That might've been a joke but Idia still checks the floors for any burn marks nonetheless.)
The dynamic settles into a contrast between your complete lack of anxiety, the Lord of the Dead's surprisingly casual corporate-boss attitude, and Idia’s pure, unadulterated terror.
˙.꒷🔥.𖦹˙——————————
Instead of asking about Idia's career prospects or hobbies, the King of the Underworld treats the conversation like a performance review.
"I hear you're a shut-in. Look, I get it. Managing a massive underground domain takes time, and people are exhausting. But if you're dating my kid, you can't just ghost them for a limited-time gacha event. I see everything that crosses the River Styx, Shroud. Don't make me pull your search history."
Idia is sweating bullets, nodding so fast his hair looks like a strobe light. "Y-Yes, sir! Understood, sir! High-priority daily quests will be deprioritized in favor of (Name)'s companion route! I will optimize my schedule!"
˙.꒷🔥.𖦹˙——————————
Every time your dad tries to drop a heavy, intimidating god-like line, you casually diffuse it, much to Idia's relief and a tiny bit of horror.
"If you break their heart, there isn't a corner of the cosmos where you can hide from my wrath."
"Baba, stop. You said the same thing to the delivery guy when he forgot the extra dipping sauce. Idia, ignore him, he's just hangry."
(NAME) PLEASE, YOU ARE SPEECH-CHECKING A RAID BOSS WITH ZERO CHARISMA POINTS, WE ARE GOING TO GET WIPED.
˙.꒷🔥.𖦹˙——————————
Eventually, the tension breaks when your dad notices the tech Idia is carrying. It turns out, running an entire afterlife requires an immense amount of data management and soul-tracking infrastructure.
"Is that a custom OS?" the King asks, leaning forward, gesturing to Idia’s tablet. "The Cerberus system we use downstairs keeps lagging every time a massive historical battle happens and we get a influx of souls."
Suddenly, Idia's inner tech-geek overrides his survival instinct. "A-A bottleneck in the underworld registry? That’s probably a database indexing issue! If you're still using ancient clay-tablet arrays or standard magical parchment firewalls, your throughput is going to choke on high-volume days! I could... uh... write a script to automate the soul-sorting algorithm?"
By the end of the night, the Lord of the Dead is nodding approvingly, and Idia is frantically sketching out a digital upgrade for the underworld's intake system on his tablet.
˙.꒷🔥.𖦹˙——————————
As the portal closes and you're back on the quiet grounds of Night Raven College, Idia slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down to the floor like a deflated balloon. His hair is a faint, pale blue.
You walk over, offer him a hand, and smile. "See? I told you it wouldn't be that bad. He actually really liked you. He said you have 'good middle-management potential.'"
"I met a god," he whispers, staring blankly into space. "I just gave tech support to one of the Great Seven. My stress levels reached 999%. I think I unlocked a new psychological trauma achievement."
Idia buries his face in his knees. "Please tell me your mom is just a normal schoolteacher. Please. My squishy mage build cannot handle a pantheon."
You merely gave him a soft smile. For Idia's sake, you won't tell him that your whole family is comprised of divinity. Although... It'll be really funny to see his reaction when you bring him along to your family gatherings.
warning(s): gn!reader but can be read as fem!reader, stressed out Idia x low cortisol reader, ooc (I'm sorry mama and papa Shroud, I don't think I've done you enough justice</3), technical jargon that may or may not be correct, lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: the long awaited part 2! This can be a stand-alone read but you can check out part 1 if you wanna
>part. 1<
The automated transport pod glided silently through the underwater tunnels of S.T.Y.X., the deep, bioluminescent glow of the ocean floor pressing against the glass.
Idia was currently vibrating at a frequency that you were pretty sure could shatter glass. His hair was a frantic, pink tinted flames, flicking around as if it has a mind of its own, and his thumbs were moving across his tablet so fast they were a literal blur.
"Okay, okay, logic check, system diagnostic," Idia muttered, his voice hitting that hyper-fast, breathless register he got when he was entirely out of his comfort zone. "Meeting the in-laws... usually a standard social quest line. Low-level stakes. Except my parents aren't standard NPCs. They are the actual raid bosses of the Island of Woe. They run a global technomantic containment facility. If they find out your dad is the literal Lord of the Dead, it’s not just a bad dinner, (Name)—it’s a massive server-wide security breach! We’re talking a total conflict of interest! S.T.Y.X. logs Phantoms, and your dad owns the source code for the afterlife!"
You raised your brows, "fufu... 'in-laws'? Are you trying to marry me, Shroud?" Idia's face bloomed a deep shade of red. "Well it's not like I mind, but now is not the right time. You see, since we're still students, we'll have to focus on our studies and upcoming internships. Plus, we still have to get baba's permission as well as-" "IT WAS JUST SLIP OF THE TONGUE!" Idia stammers hiding his face in his hands, only daring to look at you through the spaces between his fingers.
"Please, please, please don't mention this to my parents, it'll just be an instant K.O.!! You don't want your boyfriend to meet your dad again so soon do you?!"
"Idia, breathe," you said, reaching over to gently catch his twitching hands. "You're going to glitch your own system before we even arrive."
"And who's fault is that?!"
"Admittedly, mine... Ahem, anyways, they don't know anything, your parents, I mean. I promised I'd play the role of an ordinary, completely un-extraordinary Night Raven College student."
"You say that like you didn't call the King of Tartarus 'baba' while eating his desk fruit!" Idia squeaked, his hair flaring a violent crimson for a split second. "My parents have sensors for everything! If they scan your magical signature and detect even a single percent of chthonic divinity, we are going to get quarantined!"
"They won't," you assured him with a calm, lazy grin. "I'm running a stealth build today. Trust me."
The Shroud family private quarters looked less like a cozy dining room and more like a high-tech tactical briefing pavilion. Sleek, obsidian-and-neon-blue consoles lined the walls, and floating holographic monitors displayed live data streams of global magical density.
Standing near a polished, metallic dining table were the heads of House Shroud.
The Director—Idia's father—stood with his hands resting on a cane, his posture stiff. His blue flame hair was dark, almost smoky, and his expression was a masterpiece of pure, unadulterated pessimism.
Next to him stood the Chief Engineer—Idia's mother. Her eyes gleamed with an sharp, eccentric brilliance, her fingers tapping a rhythmic, restless beat against a digital datapad.
"You are precisely forty-seven seconds late, Idia," the Director spoke first, his voice dripping with a heavy, gloomy drone. "I knew we should have factored in the atmospheric drag of the lower sea levels. The universe inherently trends toward failure and delays. It is a fundamental law."
"M-Mom, Dad! Sorry! Latency issues! Just a standard user lag!" Idia practically choked on his own spit, dropping into his rigid, terrifyingly formal "House Shroud Heir" register. He stood so stiffly he looked like a cardboard cutout.
The Chief Engineer ignored her son's panic, her sharp gaze snapping directly onto you. She stepped forward, her eyes scanning you up and down like a piece of high-tier hardware fresh off the assembly line.
"Fascinating," she murmured, a bright, eccentric smile breaking across her face. "No elevated heart rate? No immediate drop in skin temperature despite the localized atmospheric pressure of the S.T.Y.X. core? Most ordinary students from the surface exhibit at least a 35% spike in cortisol levels when entering our proximity."
"Oh, I'm pretty used to high-pressure environments," you said cheerfully, offering a polite bow. "My dad’s office is basically a giant, pressurized cauldron of stress. Lots of screaming, fire, and a never-ending administrative backlog. Compared to that, this place is incredibly peaceful. It’s a pleasure to meet you both."
Idia let out a high-pitched, strangled wheeze. 'PLEASE STOP COMPARING THE UNDERWORLD TO A CORPORATE OFFICE,' his eyes desperately pleaded.
Dinner was served by automated floating drones. The food was perfectly calculated for nutritional optimization, which honestly felt a bit like eating rations, but you didn't mind. The real challenge was the conversation, which felt less like casual small talk and more like a rigorous data-mining operation.
"So, (Name)," the Director sighed heavily, staring down at his plate as if the protein synthesis had personally offended him. "Idia's academic performance has stabilized, but his external server engagement has seen a steep decline. He has been... leaving the facility's localized network to spend time with you. A massive risk. The world is full of volatile variables. Relationships usually end in systemic collapse."
"Dad! Please! Do not drop your pessimistic doom-posting at the dinner table!" Idia whimpered, pulling his customized hoodie over his face until only his glowing, terrified eyes were visible.
"I think it's an excellent variable," the Chief Engineer countered briskly, her fingers flying across a holographic menu. "In fact, our internal metrics show that Idia's efficiency spiked drastically last Thursday. He automated a completely new patch for our intake sorting system. Idy, you haven't shown that kind of proactive optimization in quarters. What prompted the script rewrite?"
Idia froze. His hair turned a stark, blinding pink.
"Ah, that!" you interjected smoothly, taking a sip of your perfectly chilled water. "That was actually my dad's doing. His estate handles a massive, high-volume influx of... let's call it 'incoming personnel.' The data bottleneck was terrible because they were practically using ancient clay-tablet logic arrays. Idia saw the outdated infrastructure, his inner tech-geek took physical damage, and he optimized the whole system overnight."
The Director paused, his gloomy eyes narrowing slightly. "A high-volume legacy estate? Managing an influx of personnel without modern cloud integration? Sounds like a logistical nightmare. A recipe for total structural failure."
"Exactly what Idia said!" you laughed, nudging your boyfriend's elbow. "But he fixed it. My dad was so impressed he said Idia had 'excellent middle-management potential' and might even let him look at the Cerberus firewall next time."
The Chief Engineer’s fork clattered against her plate. She stared at Idia, her eyes wide with sudden, immense pride but not much surprise, after all, Idia was her precious son. She knew what he was capable of; she was merely proud he took initiative. "Idy... you optimized a legacy database for a massive, unmapped external infrastructure? Without a manual? And you received a direct commendation for leadership potential?"
"I-I-It was just a basic database indexing issue!" Idia stammered, his defense mechanisms entirely failing him as his parents stared at him like he had just single-handedly coded a new universe. "The throughput was choking! Any respectable programmer would have written a patch! I didn't do it for a corporate promotion, I did it because the lag was triggering my fight-or-flight response!"
"Incredible," the Director muttered, a microscopic, almost imperceptible lift appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps... the world is not entirely doomed to failure. If you can manage the data-intake of a massive, archaic estate, you might actually survive taking over S.T.Y.X. one day."
By the time the dinner has ended (and Idia's social battery level has reached an all time low), the Chief Engineer was practically beaming, handing you a S.T.Y.X.-branded premium gift box filled with high-grade, limited-edition magical tech supplements.
"Feel free to visit anytime, (Name)," she said warmly. "Any companion who can force Idia to patch legacy systems and practice real-world networking is a high-tier asset to House Shroud."
As the automated transport pod doors finally closed, sealing the two of you back into the quiet safety of the transit tube, Idia instantly deflated. He slid down the sleek metal wall, burying his face directly into your lap like a melted blue popsicle.
"System crash... total battery drain..." he mumbled into your uniform, his hair a faint, pale, exhausted pastel blue. "I can't believe it. They didn't run a biometric scan. They didn't find out your dad rules the dead. They think I'm a... a giga-chad corporate networker."
You chuckled, gently running your fingers through his soft, warm blue flames. "See? I told you it would be fine. They love me. And they're proud of you."
"You speech-checked my parents with a 100% success rate using literal double-speak," Idia whispered, looking up at you with a mixture of profound awe and lingering terror. "You talked about Tartarus like it was a poorly managed shipping warehouse. You're a cheat code, (Name). A literal game-breaking exploit."
He let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes as your hands combed through his hair. "But... thanks. My squishy mage build actually survived. At least I don't have to worry about meeting any more hidden raid bosses."
You smiled down at him, your expression sweet, innocent, and entirely unbothered. You didn't have the heart to tell him that your uncle was the God of the Sea, your aunt was the Goddess of Agriculture, and the family reunion next spring was mandatory.
'One expansion pack at a time, Idia,' you thought.' One expansion pack at a time.'
A soft whirring sound echoed through the room, and Ortho floated down from the upper rafters, his thrusters humming a cheerful tune. His eyes whirled with bright, curious pixels as he landed right in front of you.
"Hi, (Name)!" Ortho beamed, his metallic face plates shifting into a wide grin. "My deep-scan diagnostics indicate that dinner was a 98.7% success! Brother’s vital signs peaked twice during the conversation, but his panic levels never reached the 'imminent fainting' threshold. You handled Mother and Father flawlessly!"
"Thanks, Ortho," you said, reaching out to high-five the younger Shroud brother. "It’s all about framing. Your parents like optimization, my dad likes efficiency. They speak the same language, honestly."
Ortho tilted his head, his optic lenses clicking as they zoomed in on your face. "Speaking of your father... I intercepted the structural data logs from Brother's tablet after his sudden excursion last week. The code patch he wrote was designed to bridge a gap between a modern S.T.Y.X. OS and a localized network labeled 'THE_UNDERWORLD_MAIN_FRAME'."
From the corner of the room, Idia let out a horrified, strangled shriek. "ORTHO! DELETE THAT DATA CACHE IMMEDIATELY! SECURE WIPEOUT PROTOCOL ALPHA, DO NOT READ THE FILE PATHS!"
Ortho giggled, a bright, synthesized sound, completely ignoring his older brother's frantic flailing. "Don't worry, Brother, I didn't share it with Mother or Father. But my background algorithms ran a cross-reference search on the magical density signatures recorded by your tablet's ambient sensors during that visit."
The little robot floated a bit closer to you, his chest monitor flickering with a playful, neon-green smiley face. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that easily carried across the quiet room.
"According to my calculations, the probability that your father is the mythological entity known as Lord Hades is 99.9%. Which means..." Ortho gasped, his digital eyes expanding into sparkling stars. "I have a chthonic deity for a sibling-in-law! That gives me a 50% stat boost to my mystical lore database! If we go to your house for holidays, do you think your dad would let me scan the River Styx? I want to see if the density of lost souls can be harnessed to power my mega-thrusters!"
"ORTHO, YOU CAN'T ASK A GOD OF THE DEAD TO USE THE DAMNED AS A BIO-FUEL SOURCE!" Idia wailed, pulling his hair down over his face. "We are going to get smited! We are actively speedrunning a divine execution!"
"I think he'd actually love that, Ortho," you winked, giving the little robot a pat on his shiny metal head. "He’s always complaining about soul-density management. If you can clear out some space and turn it into clean energy, he’ll probably give you a corporate promotion."
"Yay!" Ortho cheered, doing a backflip in mid-air. "Proactive environmental optimization! I'll start drafting the blueprint proposals for our next family gathering!"
This is part of mine and @lovely-riri's conversation about some headcanons and scenarios we had in mind
Which omega is the Prefect courting?
Scenario: When the housewardens became infatuated with the strange Prefect of Ramshackle, they ordered their underclassmen - the alpha's close friends - to become their wingmen. They didn't expect dating rumors to surface, furthermore, with the first years themselves.
gn!reader; omega!housewardens x alpha!reader; omega!RSA x alpha!reader; platonic omega!first years; sfw
You woke up with the weird feeling that something was entirely wrong.
As much as you tried, you couldn't place a finger on why, besides the erratic beating of your heart and the tingles on your spine, it was like the world was one centimeter out of place. The sensation slowly confirming itself as you made your way to the school's main hall, eyes following your steps.
NRC is no stranger to gossip, however, usually the students would do so openly, staring at their targets and talking loudly enough for them to hear - as a power play, because they wanted to be heard. But this, the frantic side glances and the whispering behind hands, was far from usual.
You wondered what was happening, maybe you upset someone of great influence and you'd be the last person to know, or you humiliated yourself without even noticing. Until a courageous soul stepped before you, fidgeting with their fingers and shyly looking at you.
“Hey… who are you dating?” the boy asked.
You had to pause at the question. Dating? Why would anyone think that? The big "What?” stamped in your face must be obvious, because he continued.
“Well, it's impossible for an alpha to just be part of a group of omegas- five omegas I must add, without dating any of them!” he voiced like it was the most obvious fact to exist. Which isn't true at all, yes, you only hang out with omegas, but it's because you are the honorary alpha of the group! You have scary omega privileges™ in the form of your five omega friends, but it always felt like “the divas and the dork that we allow to follow us".
The boy continued to ramble, somehow mentioning the school group chat in the middle of his stupor, and when you finally managed to exhaust his will to make you confess whatever crime he thought you guilty of, you immediately picked up your phone. To be honest, most students ignored the group chat, it was mostly used for announcements, from the headmage, teachers and housewardens. Sometimes students asked for materials necessary for their classes, but that was the extent of it.
But now, as you indignantly looked at your screen, you noticed a poll was created.
Which omega is the Prefect courting?
Epel 75%
Ace 10%
Deuce 10%
Jack 3%
Sebek 2%
2377 votes
Oh no.
–
The moment you reunite with your group, Epel is screaming bloody, you were sure his lungs must be begging for relieve “DUMBASS CITY FOLK, YER THINKIN’ AM DATIN’THE PREFECT ONLY ‘CAUSE A LOOK LIKE THIS.”
“Eh? At least you're first, dude, they didn't even let us compete.” Ace complained, solemnly looking at his number of votes.
“We're dead.” Deuce murmured in the distance, hand coming to his neck, almost like he feared his head would jump out of his body at any moment. Jack wasn't that far from him, looking more annoyed than ever as he looked at his phone, most likely also seeing the poll, and shaking his head.
“NRC students truly are superficial, I can't believe they created this rumour out of prejudice of friendship between omegas and alphas.”
“This is unbelievable!” Sebek proclaimed loudly, you sat back, knowing the emotional wreck your newest friend must be right now, “Me, last? I'm clearly a better option than all of you! No, forget that! I would never date the Prefect when my lord-” then Ace shoulder bumped him, stopping the discourse.
Ah, Sebek didn't know what to be offended about, either people thinking he would date you, or because he wasn't placed higher in the list.
“Would you guys like to know the exact number of votes each of you received?” Ortho asked with a malicious look, the situation entertaining the young Shroud more than anything else, “I must say I'm impressed, Ace and Deuce are perfectly tied.” This received a unanimous "shut up!”
Oh well, you shrugged, just your friends being your friends.
–
At Heartslabyul, all students were walking on eggshells. Everything was quieter than usual, as if expecting doom to befall the dorm.
Not far away from the dorm, Trey and Cater were rushing to find their dorm leader. They were counting on their luck, Riddle barely uses his phone, never having any use to the group chat when he received any announcements directly from the headmage himself.
But this time, they weren't lucky enough, someone got to Riddle first.
“Housewarden Rosehearts, is it Ace or Deuce being courted by the prefect?”
Riddle explodes.
–
When classes ended that day, and students returned to their dorms, heads began to roll.
“HOUSEWARDEN, PLEASE LISTEN TO US, IT WAS NOT OUR FAULT!”
Ace and Deuce begged for mercy, but Riddle barely listened to them. He was red with anger, protruding veins on his forehead, a perfect image of a Queen descending to the common folk seeking revenge.
“Rule 63, those who anger the Queen must run through a maze with card soldiers in pursuit.” His voice was rough and resolute, not giving a single chance for opposition.
In a single second, both omegas were collared and hunted down through the maze.
–
When Epel arrived at Pomefiore, he felt like he was walking in a horror movie scene. No students were in sight and the lights were off, making him wonder if he was missing any event. When he reached the main room, his housewarden was the only one present.
Vil sat on his throne, face only illuminated by the faint light coming through the window, eyes sharp like an eagle.
“Epel,” he began, voice clipped, “how could you mess this up?”
“Housewarden, please, don't believe the rumours.” Epel made sure to be extra formal, not wanting to anger the Queen more than he already had, fearing for the punishment that awaits him.
His queen never took lightly for people stealing what he deemed his.
“As if I would, I only wonder who was the source of it.”
–
Jack was not in the mood to return to Savannaclaw. If there was something he knew about his dorm leader, it is how possessive he can be, as well as how he takes offense when someone directly challenges him for his spot.
As it seemed, Leona was not in the mood to leave his room, and Jack celebrated this small victory, not wanting to face Leona when the alpha he wanted was the talk of the school, worst of all, when Jack was one of the suspects himself.
As such, he couldn't avoid Leona forever, and this came to light the next day, when Leona was acting like a prissy cat. The other omega had his lips pursed, showing fangs, growling and with his ears tucked behind, the most angered Jack had ever seen him.
Besides this uncommon behavior - and maybe Jack should've thanked his lucky stars that Leona didn't start a fight - the lion beastman merely turned his back and went back to his room.
Still, Jack felt like it was his duty to fix the situation.
–
When Sebek returns to Diasomnia, it feels like the air is charged, heavy, almost pressing him to the ground. And as he turns around the corner to meet Malleus and Lilia, he is met with the worst scene imaginable: Malleus is sulking.
“Sebek,” his lord calls out, “do you fancy them as well?”
“No!” the other boy immediately rectifies, “I would never interrupt your courting, my lord!”
“So, this Epel,” Malleus carelessly brushes him off, lips upturning as he mutters the small omega's name like it turns his stomach upside down, “it's quite widely agreed upon that the child of man is with him.”
“Foolish rumours! The prefect would never date any of us!”
“But the poll-”
“Malleus,” Lilia interrupts, placing a gentle hand on the shoulder of the future king, rubbing softly to dissuade the tension, “Sebek already gave you the answer you needed, the humans will forget soon enough, lets wait until the rumors die down.” But as Lilia raised his eyes to Sebek, he clearly tried to send him a message through his gaze, don't let this grow further.
–
Idia feels like he is a breath away from breaking down, this was not supposed to be happening! But the poll on his screen mocks him of any possibility of this being a dream.
Epel was the type of omega alphas would drool for, Idia knows that! He has a pretty face, big doe eyes to die for, and the softest voice ever, this is if any alpha was able to look past his behavior. Still, Idia didn't need this fact rubbed on his face like this. Is omegas like Epel your type? Wouldn't you rather go for the tall, nerdy omegas?
“Ortho, is this true?” he asked the moment his brother came into view, pointing at his offending screen.
“No, big brother, none of them are dating the prefect.” Ortho reassured, gently guiding the uneasy omega to his nest, “It was so entertaining to see the group infight,” he laughed, “but I can delete the poll if you want, and investigate who was the instigator!”
“Go look for who started the rumours,” Idia stood up again, looking more determined than ever, glaring at his computer as if it had personally cursed his entire bloodline, “I will deal with the poll myself.”
–
Not far from there, the VIP room from Mostro Lounge was in pure chaos, the wafting odor of stressed omega swallowing it whole. Azul couldn't believe this, he didn't trust any of the first year students in his dorm, which meant he didn't have a way to keep a close eye on you, unlike some of the other dorm leaders.
Right now, he regretted it, because he had no way to easily obtain inside information of your group.
Azul quickly sent Jade and Floyd to investigate, perhaps meaning they would eventually disturb you, but he had no face at this moment to ask you himself.
He would rather die than lose face in front of you.
–
“Jamil!” Kalim yelled for friend, rushing through the halls until he found who he was looking for. Jamil looked less than pleased, aware of the rumours and what this meant for the rest of his day, meaning he would spend it comforting Kalim, “Are they really dating one of them?”
Kalim was on the verge of tears, red rimmed eyes almost overflowing, he was barely containing himself. Jamil's only solution was to guide him back to his room and hope his nest would be enough to calm the other boy down.
“What do they have that I don't?” the omega lamented, falling face down in his nest.
–
At the other side of Sage Island, things were not faring better for the omegas the prefect had previously met with.
When the omegas from RSA met the mysterious, but kind, prefect from NRC, one who treated them equally and generously, they never assumed they could possibly be already spoken for. In hindsight, maybe it was a precipitate assumption, courteous alphas were hardly ever single.
Inside his room, Neige, who had thought he found his knight in shining armour, couldn't believe the rumours that grew more and more - at one point, some people even mentioned that maybe that alpha was actually dating the five omegas at once. For him, you both meeting was the universe moving to push soulmates together, fated to be with each other for eternity, until death do you part. So Neige thought this was all a big misunderstanding, one that you would fix before coming back to him, a challenge you must surpass as destiny laughs at your faces.
Minajael sighs in disappointment, because of who he is, his position as an heir, he'd assumed from a young age that he would never find love, settling for whatever arranged marriage his father found appropriate. When he met you, Minajael thought that it was finally time to properly fight for his freedom, decide who he wanted to marry… He couldn't simply accept this, he needed to confirm with you before making any hasty decision. With the skill of someone who had done this many times before, he sneaks out of RSA, making his way to NRC.
As for Rielle, the boy was heartbroken, refusing to speak with anyone. He had buried himself under his nest, playing with the little land trinkets he had collected mindlessly. Rielle had many dreams in mind, ones of freedom, travelling the world, and love, and though he was able to achieve most of them, it still hurt when something was suddenly ripped away from his hands.
The only person who could guarantee sneak into NRC without anyone noticing, Chenya, was nowhere to be found.
–
“So, you were the one who started this.” Vil was terribly annoyed, he couldn't believe the traitor was right by his side. However, he didn't know to what extent he was able to blame Rook.
It was supposed to be innocent, when Rook stopped your group when you were hanging out at the school's courtyard, proclaiming, “Ah, look the lovely image you make, truly, love can be found in any shape or form, I yearn for more people to be graced with this sincere bond you share!”
And passersby misunderstood his words for romantic love, wondering which omega had bagged the fine prefect.
“Still.. it seems unlikely that you're the only storm in this school.”
–
At Heartslabyul, Riddle felt all kinds of emotions, relief, confusion, surprise, anger. He couldn't believe Chenya was whispering these rumors around!
“Can you blame a guy? A seed was planted and perhaps someone needed to water it, nyan!” Was the last thing he said before disappearing.
Sagging his shoulders, Riddle released Ace and Deuce's head. At the very least, now he was sure both omegas weren't lying and backstabbing him. Riddle would like to say he would deal with Chenya the next time he saw him, but the catboy was more slippery than what his magic could reach.
–
Next day, as your group met up again, the same courtyard as always, they found you laughing at your phone, the problems of yesterday barely dampening your mood - unlike the omegas, who had to deal with the pettiness of their dorm leaders, two eels shaking them for answers, and a frustrated Jamil.
“Oh,” you look up, showing your phone screen in their direction, “Seems like it's widely agreed that I'm committed to someone.”
“Ugh, not again,” Ace complained, but snatched the phone from your hands either way, “Huh?!”
YUMI :3 I was reading Nao’s latest post and in the middle I was like I should send a request to you so HERE IT IS It’s kinda small and short but anyways
Scenario: reader comes over to characters dorm to hang out, and character is just lounging around in their nest so readers just awkwardly standing outside of it and character is just like “??? What are you doing get in” and readers like “can you invite me in…?” Because usually you have to ask to enter an omega’s nest
OH MY GOD THIS WITH LEONA LOWKEY ACTUALLY I NEED IT
:3
Thank you so much @prettyboystories for giving me the go ahead!
Can you invite me in?
With Leona, Idia, Silver and Deuce
gn!reader; stablished relationship; sfw
Recently, Leona has been feeling a nudging sensation behind his ear, like there's something wrong and he can't quite place his finger on it. This feeling comes anytime he looks at his nest.
At first, he was confused. And how could he not be? His nest is worthy of a prince like him, soft linens, warm and heavy blankets, velvety pillows. There's everything an omega could ever ask for, and that many wouldn't ever be able to get.
But as he dwelled in it, getting more and more frustrated being inside his nest, he became aware of why this feeling took root. His nest was empty.
It was missing you.
There's no origin of your scent, no warm body beside him, no smooth voice whispering what happened in the day and what had made you happy or annoyed. Truly, it's a pity, and must be remedied immediately.
Calling you to his room was not a problem. If you weren't busy, you always came to him straight away. While you hadn't read his message and took the path to his dorm, Leona began his preparations.
Because he was trying to figure out what was wrong with his nest, the base was already set and every material out of his drawers. However, since this was the first time you would see his nest, he began to fix the messy crumples, making the edges look neat. Leona would rather die than let you think less of him.
Though this was a one and only occurrence, next time, if his nest was messy, then it was messy, you knew what his nest could look like and that was what mattered.
He lies in his nest waiting, not even raising his head when you come inside. His ears twitch to capture your reactions, he hears how you almost cease breathing, and the loud thump of your feet on the ground when you stop in your tracks.
When he doesn't hear you moving closer, he starts to get frustrated again, it was like having a piece of gold in his grasp, but being unable to take it for himself.
“Herbivore, what are you doing?” Leona asks, you have your omega in his nest, looking as inviting as ever, and you would do nothing about it? Unfortunately for you, your prince doesn't have the patience today.
“Are you inviting me?” You ask, looking unbelievably stupefied.
“Of course, how could I forget that my alpha doesn't act anything short of proper?” He teases, turning to his stomach so his tail sways freely, “Get in.”
Leona waits for you to get comfortable, after many days, finally feeling like his nest was complete again. He couldn't believe how you affected him, making him miss you even in the little things. You truly make him weak.
“Just use my nest whenever you feel like it, you have my permission.”
Idia couldn't believe his luck, he must be the ultimate king of all introverts, the unbeatable boss who those other noobs wish to be. He almost never leaves his room, yet got the alpha that he desired knocking on his door with promises of love? He lost all his luck for the next 50 years!
Still, there's another challenge ahead, one that he must surpass if he wishes to keep his dream of being a voluntary atticwife - “voluntary” as if he is not forcing you to keep him inside, what do you mean he must touch grass, alpha? Do it yourself and bring him grass inside if that's what you want! If anything, you are the coerced part of this arrangement.
Get his alpha inside his nest, according to the internet, you already concluded all the steps needed before being allowed inside a nest. However, and Idia must emphasize this is a big problem, he needs to be the one that initiates it, instead of you, who initiated everything before.
What if you laugh at his nest? What if you think his nest is improper, that you deserve better and leave him?
Yet, if he wishes to complete the list of “Steps you must take for a healthy relationship, remastered” he needs to do this.
With hard intakes of breath and shaky hands, he waits for you, jumping out of his bed when you come in, standing in front of his nest as you quietly analyse the scene before you.
A Idia looking nervous and shy, if you had to make a bet, you would say he would rather be anywhere else - which feels wrong, Idia would never rather be elsewhere than his room. His body almost stretches to cover what is behind him, a tantalizing nest, piling up with countless pillows, the amount so grandiose you had no idea someone could own that many.
“What are you looking at? If you don't like it just say so.” Idia mutters grumply, feeling dejected all of the sudden.
“Hm?” You shake yourself, since Idia gave an implied permission for you to comment on his nest, that's what you'll do, “Your nest looks so comfy, I can see you chose carefully what types of blankets and pillows you use, it matches you well, you put a lot of effort into it, you did great.”
The sour sensation disappears instantly, Idia puffing up at the praise, he doesn't even try to hold back the smugness. “So, what are you going to do about it? You wanna try, right? You're so lucky that you have a VIP card to my nest, unlimited use.”
Idia walks behind you, pushing you until you fall into his nest with a squeak, not expecting your omega to be so thrilled to have you inside his nest. Inside himself, Idia forgets his previous insecurities, being replaced with the usual victorious mood when it comes to you.
Ha! Of course he is the best omega ever! No one would ever take you from him! You feed his ego so much!
Silver always feels guilty on how his dizzy spells can affect the people around him. It comes in the most inconvenient situations, but also when he feels too cozy. Silver, who already has a hard time waking up on time, feels like he is fighting with himself if he ever tries to wake up if he slept in his nest.
Lilia tells him he shouldn't worry too much, that Silver should sleep there if he's having a bad day and medicate his soul with his cushy nest. Sebek, on the other hand, looking out for him, tells him he should avoid as much as possible, just so Silver doesn't miss anything important and blames himself in the end.
This guilt also prevented him from inviting his alpha to his room, afraid of falling asleep and leaving them alone.
Yet, you never admonish him for his dizzy spells, take care of him whenever he unprompted falls asleep, you are sympathetic about his condition and try your best to protect him in his moments of vulnerability. It's unlike the usual, when he is often scolded for things out of his control.
So he trusted you to see his nest. Silver invites you to hang out when his roommate isn't present, taking the fabrics of his nest out of his closet, building it and laying inside, waiting until you arrive.
When you step into his room, Silver is almost falling asleep, not because of his dizzy spells, but because his nest is extremely comfortable, scented with Lilia, Sebek, Malleus and you, a safe space just for him, hardly used for anything else but sleep.
Silver raises his gaze tiredly, greeting you with a long humming sound and closing his eyes again, waiting for the moment his bed sinks under your weight, so he could wrap his arms around you, hold you in his embrace tightly and sleep on your chest.
But this never comes.
Instead, when he looks up at you again, he finds you frozen by the door, appearing like a deer caught in a headlight. “Do you need anything?” He remembers his manners.
“No.” Your voice is clipped, like just saying a single word took your breath away.
“So what are you waiting for?” Silver turns to his side, waiting patiently for you.
Always so patient and understanding, both of you never had a problem in meeting each other in the middle.
“Could you invite me in?” You wait for a beat, then add, “Feels wrong to just invade.”
Silver smiles lightly, and entirely unsurprised, he should have known his polite and proper alpha wouldn't be one to do things without permission, not one to push his boundaries. “Come in.” He taps his nest, eagerly anticipating for you to lie down with him.
When you do, he pushes you closer, embracing your form as he hides his head on your shoulder. “You don't need to ask, come and go as you please.” Silver continues, because it's important for you to be on the same page as him. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”
Since deciding to do a 180 in his life, Deuce also determined it would be great if he learned more about his omega side.
He let go of the scent patches, stopped buying perfumes to disguise his sweet omega scent with a strong alpha one, and more importantly, began looking for tutorials on how to make a nest. Truth is, Deuce was raised by alphas, his mother did her best to soothe his omega heart during his childhood, when he hadn't realized what being an omega stands for - especially in the Queendom of Roses, where tradition was rooted deep within its people.
Although his hometown was progressive compared to other cities, Deuce couldn't escape from judgement, as he was a hot-headed omega. Hiding his second gender was quite easy, as most residents and acquaintances assumed he was an alpha due to his behavior.
But now - after countless teasing from Ace in the lines of “you have been an omega for your whole life, too useless to even build a nest, dunce?” - he is determined to be the best omega ever! Riddle is the picture perfect honorary student, exactly what Deuce wishes to be, and he doesn't seem to bat an eye to his omega designation.
Alas, he still doesn't want to be teased by Ace or his roommates, his omega senses bristle just for thinking about his nest, his most personal item, being judged by onlookers, and being exposed to anyone who enters his dormroom. This leads Deuce to ask to use your den to protect his nest.
When you come back to your room, Deuce has taken possession of your bed, a mess of linens and cloth made of wool, and your pretty omega inside, fixing the edges of where fabric piled up with deep concentration, barely batting his eyes at your intrusion.
“Welcome back,” he greets, going back to arranging his nest.
You look at him, comfortably sitting in the middle of messy sheets, and then back at the door, wondering if you should leave him be, omegas are very territorial over their nests, and knowing how short-temperamented your omega can be…
Yet, Deuce raises his head confusedly at you. “Aren't you coming in?” he asks, Deuce knows his alpha is lenient, but if you can't even bear to look at his nest, this must mean that he is doing a terrible job, he panics “Is this too bad?”
“Oh, no, I heard that you can only enter omegas’ nests if you have an invite.” You reassure, cautiously stepping in the direction of the nest, but when Deuce doesn't show any sign of discomfort, you take a seat with confidence.
“Really? I'm still new to this,” There's no reality Deuce can think of turning you away from his nest, he's still learning, he still doesn't understand when other omegas say their nests are their most prized possessions, even though the process of building has been therapeutic, but you within his nest feels right, like a missing puzzle being put in its place, “I don't mind if it's you, though.”
“Thank you, this is a very good nest, you're doing great.”
“Don't patronize me, I know it's awful.” Deuce laughs, pushing your shoulder playfully until you fall flat on his nest, matching his laugh tenderly.
“Eh? I heard alphas need to compliment their omega's nest.”
“Stop doing things you heard!”
Deuce actually has no idea Riddle also struggles with being an omega and that he is also learning, Riddle's mother told him it was despicable for omegas to hide their scents so he doesn't use scent patches, but since it's told from Deuce's perspective there was no way I could write this in the scenario
Riddle - it simmers underneath his skin,and whenever you move near him, he can't seem to think straight. days go by and he still thinks about the small moments you two share when no one else is around and it makes him wonder if You think about them too. If he's in your mind as much as you are in his. If there's anyone else...but who? Riddle wonders who you'd prefer over him. It makes his blood boil and heart ache but... surely there isn't? He can't imagine pining over anyone other than You. It isn't fair if you get to have your peace of mind while he's trapped in his fixation. He needed you to be his. Needed to know you at least wanted him. Please,please,please. He's losing his mind over you.
Idia - How pathetic. How utterly hopeless. What is this sinking, wallowing, void inside him? Idia finds it hard to breath, hard to talk, he can't even put his mind to work. Everything just goes blank and he just wishes you were here with him. His throat dries up at the thought of talking to you though but his hands flexes over empty air while his mind wanders. What a deprived creature he was. How were you going to look at him now? Oh but even if this disgusted you, Idia would probably throw himself at your feet and hold onto your ankle until you begin to kick at him. He'd probably thank you for it, actually. Great Sevens, where were you? He needs you so bad, it's making his mind foggy.
Kalim - !! He wants to see you every second he gets and the more times you let him, the urge to steal you away keeps making a home inside of him. He has fantasies of having you by his side all the time, anywhere, everywhere. Oh, please, Kalim wishes he could somehow carry a small part of you with him so even when you can't, you are. He's heard people say being overly clingy is suffocating but being away and distant is what has Kalim so uncharacteristically anxious. He can't imagine nor does he want to be without you. No,no, that's a nightmare he simply wishes to never exist. He was yours after all. To have and to keep. And you,oh, well, you're his everything, to love and to please.
Azul - Oh. Why are you smiling at him like that? What are you scheming? Azul can't help but to scowl at the fact that your acts of earnest affection is making him restless. He can't deal with a price he can't reap from and what you have sown in him is ridiculous. He can't possibly be falling for you and yet....and yet, why are you smiling at other people? What do they have that could be the equivalent of his own value? Was he even of value to you? Did you actually see him the way he can't help but see you? Ah, what is this? What even is this? How unnecessary. And yet...and yet...Azul keeps taking notes of the people you acknowledge, he's remembering their names,already gauging at their hidden desires and what they would give in return for him to fulfill them...what he would gain from them. Just you wait. Azul will have you writhing from his hook line one way or another.
Vil - My,my,my. What a poisonous little bud you are. The audacity,the nerve to even have him vying for your attention? To have him steal glances at you while you go around dubiously charming everyone you meet? Who do you think you are? No, actually, don't you know who you are? To him? Of course,not. Even when you're already such a beloved figure, Vil knew you were far from reaching your true potential. After all, you are his own personal poison garden. His unruly little beastly. Yes,yes. That's what this is; the insatiable gnawing he's been suffering from. Vil had a hunch it was you. It is always you. No one else is worth the amount of affection and spite he has for you.
Leona - Where the hell were you? Who said you could go around acting like you're not the reason he's been losing sleep over? Leona feels like he's going to snap at the first person who comes his way and if that person happens to be you, then all the better. He hates it; this weighed down uncertainty he feels in his chest whenever he sees you or the way his stomach drops whenever you oh so easily put your guard down around him as if he's the he safest place for you. Did you forget he could quite literally turn you into dust? Even without that, he could effortlessly make you writhe about in pain...but then again, he was just agitated. Maybe he didn't want to hurt you. Not seriously anyway. No, definitely not seriously. Leona just needed something else to focus on aside from your constant bothering,aside from you. Right. He'll go and hunt and then later, he'll see where you ran off to.
Malleus - Days are longer without you. He didn't think that was possible until you spent your holidays with Asim and Malleus began counting the fallen leaves in your yard and realized he had made it to a thousand and it was still half a day. Everything just moves slower for him. He misses you but he doesn't know what to do with the absence in his heart. Should he confide in Lilia? No. He didn't like the thought of another peering into your life. There were already a few with such privileges anyway. Malleus wished he was one of them. He has sensed, within himself,this twisting ache which he knows is because of you and even when it does hurt him to feel it, he finds it endearing. He likes that he feels so much for you. He wonders if you feel the same. And if you don't, he wonders how he will make you feel like him.
Prompt: “That’s my name, please wear it out.”
Characters: All NRC
Masterlist: (1) (2)
A/N: Freeing this nonsense from my older drafts :p
They learn your name isn’t ‘Yuu’ — which is a mistake made by the dark mirror and nickname Crowley endorsed on the day you arrived. You’ve just been rolling with it since.
Until now.
You’ve applied for citizenship in their home country post-graduation and it hits them that…they don’t know your last name. Trying not to seem like a bad boyfriend, they sneak a peak at your official documents issued by Night Raven’s guardianship.
Only to learn that they apparently didn’t know your first name either. Wow. *low whistle* that is just….yeah. That’s something alright.
—
Riddle is floored. Considering he is a man of details, how on earth could he go four years without knowing your last name? While simultaneously misusing your first? He isn’t sure how to proceed. Should he be angry with himself for overlooking such an important matter, or angry at you for being so flippant? Both. The answer is both. He is going to be thinking about this for years.
“...Four years, and not once did you think to correct me?" He exhales, measured but tense. "That is either a remarkable lapse in judgment, or an astonishing lack of consideration. Do you have any idea how improper that is—on both our parts?!”
Cater makes a joke, insisting that this was your plan all along, huh? To assume a new identity the moment you weren’t tied to the Isle of Sages anymore? When you dock in the Queedom, will you disappear into the night? Good luck with that, sweetie. Under the jokes he is in mourning. He really liked the nickname YuuYuu. Even if you tell him it’s okay to use, he just can’t.
“Aww, babe, that is so shady of you but kind of iconic, not gonna lie." He laughs, then winces. "I cannot believe you really pulled the whole identity swap trope on me. AH! I've been hashtagging the wrong name for years! My brand is about to be in shambles.”
Trey thinks of all the times you’ve called him a pushover (affectionate). As if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. How could you look him in the eye for four years and tell him to be more open, when you’ve been allowing an entire campus call you by the wrong name? Is he really the laid back one in this relationship here? God it’s ‘the girl with the green ribbon’ story all over again. When was he going to find out, when you’re both senile in a nursing home?
“Your name is … nice?" He adjusts his glasses slightly, if not a bit awkward. "I don’t know how I’m supposed to react in this situation. Just give me a second. Maybe sixty.”
Deuce is stuck remembering all the times he’s doodled your name in the margines of his notebook. He feels a bit slighted, did you not trust him? Did you think he wouldn’t believe you if you told him the truth? What’s he going to tell his mom? It already took a hour to convince her that ‘Yuu’ was your actual name and not some sick joke. You made him a liar! Dylla is not going to let him live this down. It’s 100% being mentioned to every party guest at your wedding and in her speech too.
“I already told my mom your name was Yuu!" He groans loudly, genuinely distressed "Do you know how hard that was to explain? Stop — stop laughing damn it! She is never going to forget this!”
Ace. Who doesn’t care. You’re ‘Yuu’. It’s what he’s called you these past four years and what he’ll keep calling you until the day you die. If you had a problem with it, you should’ve correct him before. Sorry, not sorry (secretly a bit miffed). Jokes aside — he takes absolutely no time getting over it and just mashes the names together into a nickname that sounds new levels of wrong. That becomes your permanent title.
“You just let me look stupid all this time, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s messed up. So…do I get to pick now, or are we pitching names in magnets on the fridge like you’re a newborn? ‘Cause I’m cool with either.”
Leona is drifting through every thought he has ever had about you for the past for years. Your name spoken in his dreams, stuck on his tongue each time he watched you walk away. Etched in his eyelids and written in the red glow when sun blinds him awake in the morning. Spoken from his chest during moments of binding intimacy. All those moments now tainted by that damned Crow. He’s pissed you never once corrected him. Out of spite, you lose name privileges for an entire day. That old title of ‘herbivore’ coming back after a three year drought. In truth, he’s just buying a bit of time to figure himself out. Even though you’re the one who let him, calling you by the wrong name is a disrespect he cannot believe you allowed an entire campus get away with.
“Tch. So all this time, you let everyone get your name wrong and just sat there. If it bothered you, you should’ve said something.” He clicks his tongue, looking away. “You know what? Fine. Don’t make me out as the idiot for taking you at your word, herbivore.”
Ruggie writes your name on a piece of notebook paper and clips it to your collar. Makes sure to do it in the biggest red marker he can find too, so people know exactly what they’re seeing. He’s got secrets, yeah. Sure. Not from you though. Did you seriously expect him to take one look at that file and let it go? Do you have any idea how important it is to have your documents right (or at least convincing forgeries)? Never-mind that you’ve had him write home to his Grandma about you with the wrong name. For four years. She’s actually going to kill him for this. You are aware that hyena households are matriarchal, right?
“You know how hard it is to keep paperwork straight?” He taps the file against your head like it is obvious. “If you were gonna be all mysterious, you could’ve picked a better time. Sheesh. Gran's gonna have my tail for this...”
Jack can’t stop staring. His whole body went stiff and he forgot that it was just supposed to be a subtle glance over your shoulder. Now there’s this hunk of meat breathing down your neck, looming there like the words will change if he stares hard enough — because how. How do you go four years with someone and not tell them your real name? He feels even worse once you tell him the reason why you let everyone call you ‘Yuu’.
“…Oh.” His ears twitch, and his terse expression softens when you explain why you didn’t correct anyone. “So that’s why, huh.” A pause. “I get why you did it, but I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner. We could've set the record straight together. as a team.”
Azul dumps all your name-tags out on his desk for prime viewing. Mostro Lounge. Sams. Student ID. Newspaper Club ID. He does the same for all your old documentations. Train tickets, movie stubs, class schedules, etc. Don’t ask why he has these. Definitely not because they’re the only proof that you exist. Anyways. What do they all say? Oh, ‘Yuu’? And what is your name? Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Never-mind that you could’ve used this to cheese him out of a contract. He can’t believe you’ve held such an Ace up your sleeve and did not use it once.
“Fascinating. You had the perfect loophole and chose not to exploit it.” He exhales, somewhere between impressed and irritated. “I don’t know whether to applaud your restraint or question your judgment.”
Jade just found out your dirty little secret. He always had an inkling that you were hiding something from him. Yet the sense he got was unlike that of debtors intentionally fabricating stories. To him, a name is but a string of letters. Although this is good to know for when binding matters are concerned.
“I had wondered what you were withholding.” Jade chuckles into his closed fist. “But I must admit, I did not expect it to be something so straightforward.”
Floyd gets your last name and then instantly forgets it. Kidding! Does it really matter, when your last name is going to be ‘Leech’ anyway? For a long time he assumed you didn’t have one and was already content with sharing. Your first name is interesting. He thinks Crowley sucks for making an entire campus call you by somethin’ you’re not…but to Floyd, you’re always going to be ‘Shrimpy’. (He uses your given name often later on. Azul is Azul. Jade is Jade. When the time comes, you will be yourself too.)
“Hehe, that’s so weird. I thought you just didn’t have one, like a stray or somethin’.” Floyd grins, leaning closer. “Your last name’s gonna be Leech soon anyway, so who cares?”
Kalim feels guilty. Like the kind of guilt that gets passed down six generations. Despite his large family, he's made an effort to learn the names of all his siblings and cousins. Yet he's been addressing the literal love of his life as a pronoun?! You might think it's hilarious but this sweet summer child has an existential crisis. Naturally he'll laugh it off if you do, but it's like he's 16 again and there are important things about the people he cares about flying over his head. For the next week, expect him to overuse your name. Although, he is a bit sad. He's called you 'Yuu' for so long and he can't exactly forget how much love was poured into each time he spoke it. He still calls you Yuu sometimes out of habit, catches himself, then laughs it off, switching back and forth without much care.
“Wait—so I’ve just been calling you the wrong name this whole time?!” He laughs, a little too loud to sound natural. “No way — say it again, we can start over! Hi, I'm Kalim 'Al Asim. It's nice to meet you!”
Jamil is wondering how you've managed to survive this long. He knows for a fact that you've been to the doctor. Mainly because it was his butt seated in the waiting room with the same six shoddy pop-songs stuck on loop for two hours. Pure torture but necessary since you apparently had to be forced there. So just...why didn't you correct him when filling out forms back then? Better yet, why didn't you correct him at literally any point in time? It's been four years. Even if you were apprehensive at first for very valid reasons....seriously? This is how he finds out? He's honestly impressed you can keep a secret, considering you text him about eggshells in your cake or when someone sneezed a fart during class. Someone...help him.
“Four years.” He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll tell me every minor detail of your life, but this is what you decide to keep to yourself?”
Epel does a spit take. You’ll need to request a new, laminated copy, alongside a change of shirt. This one’s been drenched in apple juice and crumpled from when he all but snatched the papers from your hands. Subtly be damned — you mean to tell him he’s been simpering and whimpering over the wrong name for four long years? What if he got it tattooed on his blastcycle?! Or carved into a ring box, huh?! Ah. No. He wasn’t going to do that. Forget everything he just said! Hells…if he wasn’t close to graduating too, he’d take the detention just to tell Crowley off. How the heck could you let this sort of thing go!
“What do you mean that ain’t your real name?!” He coughs, then wipes at the mess on his shirt with a horrified look. “Hells, I knew Crowley was negligent, but this is ridiculous. You’re lucky I’m tryin’ not to get detention, else I ought to go have a word with 'im myself."
Rook cannot believe there was something about you that he did not know. He resigned the knowledge of your last name to time and convenience — but to mistake your first? The revelation is both a thrilling miracle and an utter travesty! The mere thought that you haven’t spoken your own name in four years? Oh, you know his heart is shattered when not a word of purple prose escapes him. Yet he cannot sulk. No. The name ‘Yuu’ is still so special. It is the name that dots every love letter, every thought, every passion that has consumed him for four years. He welcomes your birth name as the dawn of a new era, seeing you as a vibrant blossom finally in bloom within Twisted Wonderland.
"Je te vois, mon cher, and yet there was still a part of you I had not known.” He closes his eyes for a moment, almost savoring the revelation. “A secret so intimate, so tenderly kept, and now at last revealed to the one who adores every facet of you.”
Vil loses his decorum for a brief moment. The documents are plucked from your hands, his unoccupied one grasps your bicep so that you don’t just run off on him. He points to the nearest chair and makes you sit while he skims through all of NRC’s paperwork. Your personal details are not his business and Vil is all for privacy…but he honestly has no idea what you were thinking. You do understand that you have the right to stand up for yourself, yes? Even if you wished to keep being called ‘Yuu’ — which based on your story, he assumes is false, did you not think to tell your lover? It seems a discussion about confidence is due…and an aspirin. Maybe two.
“Even if you tolerated it, why would you not correct me?” His eyes narrow slightly. “Confidence is not optional, especially when it concerns your own identity.”
Idia short circuits. His palms are moister than they get after a 24hr code jam. Not even the time crunch of a same-day deadline can get him like this. He really is the worst boyfriend in existence. Not only did it take years for you to receive proper documentation — y’know, proof of your existence so you can’t just go ‘poof’ on him someday? But to be called something like ‘Yuu’ which he is realizing in real time is just ‘You’. Wow. That’s so messed up. Why are you with him? Why didn’t you correct him? Why didn’t he think to check your stats before? Holy shit. Keyboard smash in his chest and everything.
“W-Wait—so ‘Yuu’ is literally just… ‘you’?” He stares at you like his brain just blue-screened. “How did I not catch that? I’ve min-maxed entire RPGs but couldn’t fact-check my own relationship? — god, what is wrong with me?!”
Malleus wanes as if his entire world has been flipped upside down. You were his first friend. His first and last love. Yet he cannot be remiss with you for holding your name close to your heart. He did the same when you first met, after all. Except Malleus’ ruse lasted some months while yours has held strong this entire relationship. Malleus cannot believe he’s been completely in the dark for four years. What bothers him most is that you may have gone forever without sharing this with him. Names are bonding for fae. Did you intend to bind yourself to his one day, but not allow him to do the same? Don’t bother checking the weather forecast. A monsoon is on the way with three days of heavy rain.
“Ah… I see.” He studies you with a look steady, almost aching. “Your name is not a small thing, child of man. It is a part of you, and I wish I had been worthy of cherishing it sooner.. You need not fear giving it to me now. Whether you are called by the name this world gave you or the one you were born with, I will always know exactly who stands before me.”
Lilia plays it in good fun. Anytime someone asks after ‘Yuu’, he plays dumb. Even if you’re right there. One of his little students asks about his partner? Oh, sorry dearie. They’re not around anymore but have you met my new sweetheart? Then he introduces you by your given name, and suddenly you have to explain to a class of five year olds that their teacher is a jerk who will not be getting the lunch you’ve come to drop off. Lilia’s another one who doesn’t hold himself too harshly for not knowing. Names hold power, yes. Although he’s begun to accept that one such as ‘Vanrouge’ can be desired, even though it is stained in unfathomable amounts of blood. He is just waiting for you to accept it.
“If it makes you feel better, I shall pretend to be scandalized for your sake.” He grins, utterly delighted. “But between us, dearie? I rather like that I can get to know you all over again.”
Sebek deems this as a betrayal. You could point out to him that for the first year you both spent together, he hardly used your name at all. You corrected him for calling you ‘human’ countless times back then and yet he never listened until reality slapped him in the face. Even now he still relapses on occasion, to which he apologizes. Except that reminder would only serve to upset him further. Sebek expects you to hold him at the highest regard. Even if the entire world calls you ‘Yuu’ and you were okay with it, as your partner it is his responsibility to ensure you are not just satisfied, but comfortable. Uplifted. Your name is your legacy. Wear it with pride.
“You should have corrected everyone immediately!” He’s already halfway to pacing. “No, do not look at me like that. This is a matter of honor, as your true name is part of your dignity. You will not be forced to wear a name that is not yours if I have anything to say about it."
Silver is overcome with a deep sense of melancholy. For most of his life, he went without a last name. Which is why seeing ‘Vanrougue’ written next to his person is still an adjustment. A fond one, but an adjustment nonetheless. Yet this overwhelming sensation is actually attributed to the fact that with the name ‘Vanrouge,’ it was like the world finally recognized him. He wonders how you must have felt to be given a new name in a new place and thrust into this new life. ‘Yuu’ is just one piece of who you are. He wants to know the person behind your true name. To see all of you.
“I see.” His expression turns thoughtful, a little sad around the edges. “Then you have been carrying a name that was never fully yours while building a life around it. I understand a little of that feeling. Having my name finally given to me is what made the world feel real. I wonder if it feels the same for you now."
a/n: fluff.. aka reader try to touch his ears and he keeps teasing reader abt how he’ll charge them but he’s the one who keeps getting caught off guard… no proof read
“That’ll cost you.”
You had barely touched his ears. One pat. The lightest graze of your fingers against the soft fur of them and he was already tilting his head away with that usual grin.
"Will it," you hum pleasantly. After you started dating, these kinds of banters had become more of a routine.
"Mm." He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, looking at you and letting out his signature laugh. "How about dinner three times a week? You cook."
"Okay."
He paused, "For a month."
"Sure."
"And…” he was clearly improvising now, "packed lunches with those little—"
"The triangle sandwiches?"
“Those."
"Done."
Ruggie looked at you. His ear twitched, you couldn’t help but grin. The thing about beast men is that their beast features are often more honest than their human ones and that often made things more convenient for you.
You never pushed back. That was the thing about you. He'd built his whole life around the push and pull of negotiation, around the moment when the other person is caught off guard and he could work with that. But you just agreed every single time like you'd already done the math and decided he was worth it. He should be pleased. Unlimited food, packed lunches, someone cooking for him, objectively a win.
Somehow he still felt like the one losing because truthfully you’ve made your way into his heart. He’s weak when it comes to you. He was so used to taking but you made him want to give. It made his whole strategy completely useless and he wasn’t sure how he felt about this.
"Y’know most people would argue a little.” he said.
"About sandwiches?" You tilted your head. "No, not my thing."
"Well more food for me.” He lets out his signature laugh.
You smiled and reached for his ears again. He let you this time —that had taken a while, not that either of you had said so out loud. There'd been a time when being treated gently had made him go wary. Waiting for the catch. People didn't do things without wanting something back, that was just how it was. Even after becoming lovers, he still didn't fully understand that there wasn't anything in the world you wouldn’t trade to see him happy and content.
Your fingers moved slowly, scratching lightly at the base of them, and Ruggie felt the exact moment his brain stopped cooperating with the rest of him.
His ears drooped just slightly. Folding under your touch which he absolutely had no control over. Your hands were warm and you smelled familiar and he wanted nothing but to bury himself in your scent.
He heard you giggle.
"It’s not really nice to tease." he said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You giggled."
“I just want to take care of you.”
His ears drooped lower at your words and he looked at you like he was about to protest. You noticed his tail swaying like it was restless. “If you offer a hyena too much, he might just take them all.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem” you smile “Now come here.”
You opened your arms. He sighs on defeat, moving without making a thing of it and tucked himself against your chest with his face buried in you and his arms finding their usual place like they already knew where to go. Despite all the banter, he was hugging you rather possessively. You noticed. His hugs were always rather possessive.
You closed your arms around him and pressed a small kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears. He went very still.
"That wasn't in the agreement," he said, muffled.
"Sue me then.” You muttered out jokingly.
"I’ll take a kiss instead."
It was your turn to be caught off guard. You blushed, “Where did that come from?”
“You said I could take anything.” He grins, his tail brushing rather excitedly against your leg.
“You’re twisting my words!” You frown.
“You can’t take back what you said.”
“I’ll kiss you if you kiss me back.” You had to bite back the silly grin almost forming on your lips.
“Sounds like a good trade.”
You didn’t have one second before he leaned in and claimed his end of the bargain.
Ace Trappola's terrible life choices include: trespassing for views, agreeing to be a vampire's juice box, and falling in love with said vampire. At least the pay is good and the employer is hot.
wc ~17.8k
Ace Trappola is going to die doing something stupid, and he has accepted this as an inevitable fact of his existence, which is why he finds himself standing in front of the town's allegedly haunted manor at eleven thirty with his phone camera pointed at his own face and a grin that looks significantly more confident than he feels.
The manor looms behind him in a way that would be cinematically perfect if he were not actively wondering whether his next video is going to be titled "I EXPLORED A HAUNTED MANSION AT MIDNIGHT" or "LOCAL IDIOT GETS ARRESTED FOR TRESPASSING AND CRIES IN FRONT OF POLICE OFFICERS: PART ONE."
He is deeply in debt to the student loan system, which is a beast far more terrifying than any ghost and significantly less likely to be defeated by a crucifix or holy water, and this is how he justifies the series of increasingly questionable life choices that have led him to this exact moment where he is about to commit a crime for internet clout.
"What's up, Trapolla Troop!" he announces to the camera with an enthusiasm that only comes from practice and the certain knowledge that his seventeen subscribers are probably not even going to watch this video.
"Your boy Ace is back with another INSANE challenge, and tonight we're going where no one has DARED to go before, mainly because it is illegal and also probably structurally unsound!" This is what passes for a disclaimer in his content creation career.
"This mansion has been abandoned for YEARS, and rumor has it that it's haunted by the ghost of a Victorian noble who died of, like, sadness or consumption or maybe they choked on a fancy cracker, the lore is unclear." He has no idea if this is true. He made it up in the car on the way here while eating gas station wings, which was possibly a worse decision than the breaking and entering he is about to commit.
"We're talking full-on spectral activity, unexplained phenomena, doors that open by themselves probably because of foundation issues but we're going to say ghosts. So let's get IN there and see if I can get actual evidence or at least enough footage to hit the eight-minute mark for ad revenue that I will definitely not receive because of my view count!"
The front door is unlocked, which is either extremely convenient or the setup to a horror movie that ends with him being found in pieces, and Ace is choosing to interpret it as the former because he has already committed to this and turning back now would mean he wasted gas money and the emotional energy of hyping himself up.
He pushes it open with a theatrical slowness that he hopes will translate well to the final edit, assuming there is a final edit and not just a news report about his mysterious disappearance. The door swings inward without even a creak, which is almost disappointing because a good creak would have been excellent for the atmosphere and also would have given him something to make jokes about for at least thirty seconds of runtime.
The interior of the manor is exactly as grand and elaborate as the exterior suggested it would be, all sweeping staircases and crystalline chandeliers that look like they cost more than his internal organs would fetch on the black market, and the kind of ornate furniture that makes him afraid to breathe too hard in case he breaks something and has to sell his kidney to pay for it.
Ace pans the camera around to capture it all while maintaining a running commentary that is approximately sixty percent "whoa" and forty percent nervous laughter. "Okay, okay, so this is either the fanciest abandoned building in the entire country or I have made a huge mistake, but we're going to keep going because that's what champions do, and also because I already told my roommate I'd be back with either ghosts or a criminal record!"
Except here is the thing that is beginning to gnaw at the back of his brain with the persistence of a dog that has found a particularly interesting bone: this place does not look abandoned at all. There is no dust, which there absolutely should be if no one has lived here in years, unless the ghost is really committed to cleanliness and spends its afterlife with a broom.
The floors are so polished that he can see his own reflection in them looking back at him with an expression that clearly says "you have made poor choices," and the chandelier above his head is sparkling like it has been recently cleaned by someone with opposable thumbs and a functioning concept of property maintenance.
The furniture is arranged with a care that speaks to someone actively living here and caring about feng shui, and there are fresh flowers in a vase on a side table that have absolutely no business being fresh unless someone has been here within the last few days, which completely contradicts the entire premise of this video.
Ace keeps his commentary light and jokey because that is his brand and also because acknowledging the creeping sense of wrongness out loud would make it real and would probably trigger his anxiety, which is already on standby like a dog waiting for the mailman. "So either the ghost has really taken pride in home ownership, or I'm currently committing a felony, but let's not think about that too hard because I'm on a journey of discovery here and also I need the content!" His voice echoes slightly in the cavernous space, which would be creepy if he were not already thoroughly creeped out by the fact that everything is so aggressively clean.
The footsteps, when he hears them, are so perfectly timed that for a moment he wonders if he has somehow triggered a speaker system designed to scare off intruders, but then he remembers that he is in real life and not a theme park haunted house, and the footsteps are getting closer with the steady rhythm of someone who is very much real and very much about to discover him trespassing.
His brain is screaming at him in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his brother's, the one that usually says things like "I told you so" and "this is why mom worries about you," and the voice is currently informing him that he is about to get arrested for breaking and entering and possibly also for the crime of being an idiot with a camera.
He spins around with the phone still recording because if he is going down, he might as well have footage that his lawyer can use to argue temporary insanity or maybe use as evidence that he clearly has no survival instincts and should be pitied rather than prosecuted.
That is when he sees you, and his brain immediately flatlines.
You appear in the viewfinder of his camera first, which is the only thing that prevents him from dropping the phone entirely because his hands have temporarily forgotten how to perform their basic evolutionary function of gripping objects.
You are walking down the staircase with an effortless grace that makes it look like you are gliding rather than stepping, as if gravity is a suggestion rather than a law you are obligated to follow, and you are dressed in what can only be described as full Victorian vampire regalia.
The outfit is all dark fabrics that look like they cost more than his car and intricate embroidery that probably required someone to go blind stitching it, and there is a cape that billows behind you in a way that should be physically impossible because there is no draft in here to justify that kind of dramatic movement. You look like you have just stepped out of a high-budget period drama, except those actors never look this good because they are constrained by things like realistic lighting and the unfortunate reality of being human.
Ace's brain, which has been operating on a combination of adrenaline and the fumes of poor decision-making, comes to a screeching halt and then reboots. The single thought that manages to load is that holy fucking sky daddy, you are the most attractive person he has ever seen in his entire life, and he has seen a lot of people because he works in customer service and is forced to interact with the general public.
Your skin is so smooth that it almost seems to glow in the chandelier light, as if you are being personally illuminated by a benevolent deity who wants to make sure everyone can appreciate your bone structure. Your features are arranged in a way that makes him wonder if there is a specific god responsible for facial symmetry and whether they were having an exceptionally good day when they made you, possibly after winning the lottery or receiving good news.
The vampire costume, which should look absolutely ridiculous because who just wears a full vampire costume in their own house on a random night like some kind of method actor who has lost the plot, looks completely natural on you. It looks like you were born to wear dramatic capes and brood aesthetically in old manors while looking like a painting that would be displayed in a museum under a placard that says "unknown artist, but holy shit look at that face."
Ace's brain is trying to process this information while simultaneously trying to remember how to perform basic functions like breathing and blinking, and it is failing at both.
He stops filming before he says anything because his survival instincts, which have been notably absent for most of the evening and possibly for most of his life, have suddenly kicked in with the reminder that he is currently trespassing and should probably not immortalize this interaction on video in case it needs to be used as evidence in court.
His hands are shaking slightly as he lowers the phone, and he tries to arrange his face into something apologetic and non-threatening, which is difficult when his brain is still stuck on the loop of wow, wow, holy shit, wow, is this what a religious experience feels like, wow.
"I am so sorry," he blurts out, and his voice cracks slightly on the last word in a way that makes him sound like he is going through puberty again, which is mortifying but probably appropriate given that he is currently having what can only be described as a crisis. "I know I shouldn't be here, I'm really super sorry for just walking in, but in my defense, the door was unlocked? Which I feel like is maybe something you should look into if you don't want random people wandering in, because that's kind of a security issue and also maybe a liability thing. Like, what if I had been a real criminal and not just a broke college student? You should really consider getting a lock or maybe a sign that says 'no trespassing' or possibly a moat with alligators, but also I'm really, really sorry and I'll leave right now and we can pretend this never happened and you never saw me and I will take this secret to my grave."
He is rambling, which is what he does when he is nervous, and he cannot seem to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth even though he is aware that he sounds like a chihuahua that has been given espresso.
You tilt your head to the side, and the motion is oddly fluid in a way that reminds him of a cat examining something it has not quite decided whether to pounce on or ignore entirely.
Your expression is somewhere between amused and curious, as if he is a raccoon that you have found raiding your house and are now evaluating for entertainment value. "Who can actually harm a vampire?" you ask, and your voice is smooth and slightly amused, and it takes Ace's brain approximately three seconds to process this statement and another five to formulate a response that is not just keyboard smashing.
He laughs, and it comes out shaky and a little too high-pitched, like a kettle that is about to start whistling. "Right, yeah, the whole vampire aesthetic, I get it!" he says, gesturing vaguely at your outfit in a way that he hopes conveys appreciation and not the internal screaming currently happening in his head. "Very committed to the bit, I respect that immensely!"
You move closer to him, and Ace has the sudden realization that you are not walking so much as drifting, as if your feet are making contact with the ground purely as a courtesy and not because physics demands it. You come to a stop directly in front of him, close enough that he can see the details of your face and also close enough that he is now having to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact because apparently in addition to being unreasonably attractive, you also have the audacity to have good posture.
Your eyes are red, which he had noticed before but had assumed were contacts because what else would they be, but now that you are this close, he cannot see the telltale ring of a contact lens edge or the slight discoloration that happens when colored contacts sit on top of a natural iris. The red seems to go all the way through, as if your irises are made of garnet or blood or some other substance that has no business being in a human eye, and Ace's brain is starting to send up warning flares that he is determinedly ignoring.
Before he can formulate a coherent thought about this or make another attempt at apologizing properly and fleeing the scene of his crime, you step forward and wrap your arms around him in a hug. The hug is surprisingly nice given how cold you look, and for a moment Ace's brain blue-screens entirely because he was not prepared for physical contact and also because you smell really good, which seems like an irrelevant detail but his brain is clinging to it anyway.
"Thank you so much for taking the offer," you say, and you sound genuinely delighted, the way someone sounds when their food delivery arrives early, and Ace's brain is trying to figure out what offer you are talking about and also why you are hugging him when he feels a sharp, sudden pressure against his neck.
The pain is brief and bright, like a needle piercing skin, and then it dissolves into something that feels disturbingly good in a way that makes Ace wonder if he has been drugged or if this is just what dying feels like.
You are biting him.
Your teeth, which he is now forced to acknowledge are probably real fangs and not cosmetic dentistry, have punctured his skin and you are drinking his blood, which means that either you are a real actual vampire or you are the world's most dedicated method actor with filed canines and a deeply concerning hobby. Honestly, the former seems more plausible at this point, and Ace's brain is attempting to process this information while also dealing with the fact that his body has apparently decided that this is fine.
He should push you away. He should be screaming or fighting or doing literally anything other than standing here and letting this happen like a blood bag with a pulse and no survival instincts. His brain is sending urgent messages to his limbs that they are completely ignoring, as if his body has unionized against him and decided to go on strike at the worst possible moment.
There is warmth spreading through his veins that has nothing to do with blood loss and everything to do with the way your mouth is pressed against his neck, and his knees have gone slightly weak in a way that is both humiliating and entirely beyond his control.
His hands, which should be pushing you away, are just hanging limply at his sides like sad noodles, and he is making a concentrated effort not to think about how nice this feels because that way lies madness and also probably some revelations about himself that he would prefer to avoid.
When you pull away, he makes a sound that is absolutely, undeniably, mortifyingly a whine. It is breathy and involuntary and the kind of noise that he will probably think about at three in the morning for the rest of his life, and he watches in mounting horror as you look at him with an expression that can only be described as deeply judgmental.
Your eyebrows are raised in a way that suggests you have just learned something about him that you find both surprising and vaguely concerning, as if you have opened a box expecting cookies and found something significantly weirder.
"Oh," you say, and you sound like his roommate when he saw Ace's embarrassing browser history. "You have those tastes."
Ace's brain comes crashing back online with the force of a freight train that has lost its brakes and is now careening directly into a wall of humiliation. "Wait a minute," he says, and his voice is strangled and slightly too loud, echoing in the cavernous space in a way that makes him want to sink directly into the floor.
"Why are YOU judging ME right now? You're the one who just bit me! You are the one currently covered in my blood, which I notice you are not apologizing for, and yet somehow I'M the weird one in this scenario?" His hands are gesturing wildly now, as if he can physically swat away the embarrassment. "And also, isn't it a thing that vampires make their prey feel good? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere, probably in a book or maybe a very educational movie, so this is not on me, this is just, like, standard vampire procedure! This is vampire biology! Don't try to make this weird when it's clearly a normal physiological response to vampire venom or pheromones or whatever!"
You blink at him with a gentleness seen only in adults dealing with small children who have just said something incredibly stupid. "I have no idea where you got that information, but no," you say, and you sound almost apologetic, which somehow makes it worse. "That is not a thing that happens. There is no vampire venom. There are no pheromones. You are just a masochist." You pause, and then add with what sounds like genuine sympathy, "I am sorry that you had to find out like this. This is probably not how you wanted to find out."
Ace opens his mouth and then closes it again, and then opens it once more before closing it a second time, doing a very good impression of a fish that has just been told some devastating news about the ocean.
He does not have a response to that. His brain is currently trying to process the idea that he might have just discovered something about himself that he would have vastly preferred to remain ignorant of, possibly forever.
"Okay," he says slowly, and his voice sounds distant and strained. "Okay, we're going to put a pin in that and come back to it never. We're going to put that in a box and bury it in the backyard of my psyche and never speak of it again. What do you mean I showed up? I didn't even know you existed until like five minutes ago when I broke into your house, which I am still very sorry about by the way!"
You reach into the folds of your elaborate cape, which apparently has pockets because of course it does, and pull out a stack of bills that is so thick it looks like a prop from a movie about bank robbers. The money is bound with one of those paper bands that banks use, and Ace can see that the bills are hundreds, which means he is currently looking at more money than he has seen in one place since he opened his student loan statement and had a small crisis.
"I advertised money in exchange for blood, and you showed up," you explain, as if this is a perfectly reasonable chain of events and not completely insane. "I assume you saw the posting? It has been up for three weeks now and you are the first person to respond, which is surprising because I am offering quite a lot of money. I was starting to think I would have to increase the amount."
Ace stares at the money in your hands and then at your face and then back at the money, and his brain is attempting to do some very rapid calculations about his current financial situation.
He makes approximately nine dollars an hour at his customer service job, where he is verbally abused by people who are angry about things that are not his fault and are determined to make it his problem. He has three of these jobs. He is in debt to the amount of a small house. The stack of money you are holding is more than he makes in two months, and you are offering it to him in exchange for something his body is apparently producing for free.
The math is mathing in a way that is deeply tempting and also probably a sign that he needs to reevaluate his life choices, but then again his life choices are what got him here in the first place.
He cannot tell you that he was trespassing for no other reason than that he is an idiot who breaks into people's houses for YouTube content that gets seventeen views, so he just nods dumbly and takes the money when you thrust it into his hands. He's gonna pretend he was striking two birds with one stone. The bills are crisp and real, and they feel substantial in a way that makes his palms sweat slightly. There are so many of them that he could quit at least two of his part-time jobs and still make rent, and possibly even have enough left over to buy groceries that are not instant noodles.
"Yeah," he hears himself say, and his voice sounds distant and strange, as if it is coming from outside his body. "Yeah, same time next week works. This is fine. This is a normal thing that is happening. People do this all the time, probably. This is basically just a slightly weird part-time job."
You look absolutely delighted by this response, and your entire face lights up in a way that he finds endearing against all odds. You reach out to pat his shoulder in a gesture that might be meant to be comforting but mostly just reminds him that your hand is cold and also that you have superhuman strength and could probably snap him like a glow stick if the mood struck you.
"Oh, wonderful! I am so glad we could come to this arrangement! Please make sure to eat iron-rich foods and drink plenty of water. Spinach is excellent, and red meat if you are not vegetarian. I would hate for you to become anemic, as that would be bad for both of us. Also, please try to get adequate sleep and avoid excessive alcohol consumption, as that affects the blood quality."
Ace is now being given nutritional advice by a vampire, which is somehow the most surreal part of this entire evening.
You are lecturing him about his health with the same tone his mother uses when she calls to ask if he is eating vegetables, and he feels a surge of bitterness about the fact that even supernatural creatures are apparently concerned about his poor life choices. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he mutters, and he shoves the money into his jacket pocket before you can change your mind about giving it to him or before he can fully process what he has just agreed to. "I'll eat a steak or something. Maybe some spinach. I'll drink water. I'll be the healthiest blood bag you've ever had, congratulations."
His neck is starting to sting where you bit him, and he can feel the wet warmth of blood starting to trickle down toward his collar, which is going to be a fun thing to explain if anyone sees him. He reaches up to press his hand against the wound, and his fingers come away red, which confirms that this is real and not some kind of elaborate stress dream brought on by too much student debt and not enough sleep.
He is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to be literally anywhere else, preferably somewhere he can have a private crisis about the fact that vampires are real and he has apparently agreed to be a recurring juice box for one of them.
"I'll see you next week, I guess," he says, and he is already backing toward the door in a way that probably looks deeply undignified but he is beyond caring at this point. "Try not to bite any other random intruders in the meantime. And maybe consider locking your door, seriously, the security situation here is really concerning."
He stumbles toward the exit, and his legs are not quite working the way they should, as if someone has replaced his bones with pool noodles when he was not paying attention.
He is still buzzing with the aftereffects of whatever the hell just happened to him, and his brain is trying to compile a list of what he needs to do when he gets home, which currently includes: have a crisis, question his life choices, wonder if he needs to get a tetanus shot, and possibly google whether vampire bites can give you rabies.
The cool night air hits his face when he makes it outside, and he gulps it down like a drowning man breaching the surface, and his hands are shaking when he pulls out his phone to check the time. It is somehow only midnight, which means this entire experience has taken less than thirty minutes, and he has no idea how he is supposed to go back to his normal life after this when his normal life now includes being a vampire's personal capri sun.
He makes it to his car on autopilot, and he sits in the driver's seat for a long moment just staring at the steering wheel and trying to convince himself that what just happened was real and not some kind of elaborate hallucination brought on by the questionable gas station food.
The money in his pocket is real and substantial and slightly uncomfortable to sit on. The sting on his neck is real and getting more insistent. The memory of your red eyes and the way your mouth felt against his skin is real and probably going to haunt him for the foreseeable future. He is going to have to live with all of that, and also with the knowledge that apparently he is a masochist, which is information he could have gone his entire life without confirming.
He starts the engine and pulls away from the manor, and he tries very hard not to think about the fact that he has apparently agreed to come back next week to let a vampire drink his blood for money, because if he thinks about it too hard, he is going to have to confront the fact that this is somehow not the worst financial decision he has ever made.
The drive home is a blur of streetlights and mounting hysteria, and when he finally makes it back to his apartment, he collapses onto his bed without bothering to change out of his blood-stained clothes.
He stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out how he is going to explain this to literally anyone, decides that he absolutely cannot, and then stares at the ceiling some more until sleep finally drags him under.
Ace wakes up the next morning with a headache that suggests his brain is actively punishing him for the decisions he made last night, and for a blissful moment he thinks maybe it was all a dream brought on by too much stress.
Then he sits up and immediately regrets it because his neck hurts in a very specific way that confirms that no, it was not a dream, and yes, he did get bitten by a vampire and then took money for it like some kind of supernatural freelancer.
He stumbles out of his bedroom and into the kitchen where his roommate Deuce is making breakfast, and Deuce takes one look at him and his expression immediately shifts into concern, which is never a good sign.
"Dude, you look terrible," Deuce says, which is rich coming from someone who once showed up to class with his shirt on backwards and did not notice until lunch. "Did you sleep at all? Also, what happened to your neck?"
Ace reaches up to touch the bite mark, which he had completely forgotten about in his haste to pass out last night, and realizes that he did not bother to clean it or put a bandage on it or do anything that a reasonable person would do after being bitten by a supernatural creature.
"Oh, this? Funny story actually," he says, and his voice sounds strained even to his own ears. "So I went to that abandoned manor last night for a video, except it turns out it is not abandoned at all, and there is a vampire living there, and they bit me and gave me a bunch of money in exchange for my blood. So that happened."
Deuce stops what he is doing and turns to look at Ace with an expression that is somewhere between concern and the kind of pity that people have for small animals that have been hit by cars. He walks over and pats Ace on the back in a way that is clearly meant to be comforting but mostly just feels condescending.
"Hey, man, have you been taking something? Or like, have you been sleeping enough? Because I know finals are coming up and you have been working a lot, and sometimes when people get really stressed they start seeing things that are not there. It is okay, we can get you help, there is no shame in talking to someone."
Ace stares at him in mounting horror because Deuce thinks he is having a mental breakdown, which is almost worse than the actual vampire situation. "I am not hallucinating!" he insists, and he pulls out his phone with shaking hands. "I have footage, I filmed the whole thing, well not the whole thing because I stopped filming before the biting part, but I have video of the manor and I can show you!"
He pulls up the video with a frantic energy that probably does not help his case, and he holds the phone out to Deuce with a triumphant expression that dies immediately when he watches the footage.
The manor is there. The grand staircase is there. The chandelier is there. He is there, talking to his camera like an idiot. But you are not there. In the video, he is very clearly talking to empty air, gesturing at nothing, and then he stops filming abruptly for no apparent reason. There is no dramatic vampire descent down the staircase, no billowing cape, no red eyes, nothing. It's just Ace having what appears to be a very animated conversation with absolutely no one, looking like someone who has finally snapped under the pressure of capitalism and student debt.
Deuce watches the video with an expression that is growing increasingly concerned, and when it ends he looks at Ace with the kind of pity that people reserve for abandoned puppies or people who have clearly lost their grip on reality. "Ace," he says gently, as if speaking to someone who might startle easily, "there is nobody there. You are just talking to yourself. Maybe you should take the day off and get some rest? I can call your jobs and tell them you are sick."
Ace feels something close to hysteria bubbling up in his chest because this is somehow worse than just being bitten by a vampire. This means you really are a vampire, the kind that does not show up on cameras or recordings, which he would have known if he had ever watched a vampire movie that was not Twilight.
He forces a laugh that sounds absolutely deranged even to his own ears. "Oh man, I totally got you!" he says, and his voice is too high and too loud. "It was a joke! I was just messing with you, seeing if you would believe me. The neck thing is just a hickey, super embarrassing, do not wanna to talk about it. I am going to go take a shower now and maybe reevaluate my sense of humor!"
He retreats to his room before Deuce can ask any more questions, and he closes the door and leans against it while his brain goes into full panic mode. You are real. You are a real vampire who does not show up on video, which means everything you said last night was true, which means he has agreed to be a recurring blood donor for an actual supernatural creature.
He should be terrified. He should be running to the nearest church or buying garlic in bulk or doing literally anything other than what he is about to do, which is apparently lean into this completely insane situation because the money is too good to pass up.
He goes to the bank later that morning, and he deposits the stack of bills while trying very hard not to think about where they came from. The teller does not ask questions, which is good because Ace does not have answers that would make sense to anyone operating in normal reality.
He pays off a chunk of his credit card debt and watches his balance go from "crying in the shower" to "merely concerning," and then he goes to the grocery store and buys actual food. He gets spinach because you specifically mentioned spinach, and he gets red meat because apparently he needs to be iron-rich to be a good blood bag, and he is determined to be the best blood bag you have ever had because if he is going to do this, he might as well commit to it entirely.
The logic, as he stands in the grocery store holding a bag of spinach and having what can only be described as a crisis, is that if he makes himself invaluable, then you will not need to find other people to donate blood. This will be his exclusive gig, his weird supernatural side hustle that pays better than all of his customer service jobs combined. He can be your personal capri sun, your designated juice box, your go-to source for type O negative or whatever he is.
The thought of you biting someone else and them feeling what he felt bothers him in a way that he is choosing not to examine too closely, so he shoves it into the same mental box where he put the revelation about his newly discovered masochism.
He quits two of his three part-time jobs that afternoon, and it feels better than anything has felt in months. He sends the resignation emails with glee, and he does not even feel bad about leaving them short-staffed because they were paying him nine dollars an hour to be verbally abused by people who think yelling at a minimum wage employee will fix their problems.
He keeps the food delivery job because the pay is decent and he can do it on his own schedule, and also because he is not quite ready to explain to his parents that his primary source of income is now being a vampire's snack.
He gets a delivery request later, and when he checks the address, his heart does something complicated in his chest because it is your address. The manor that is definitely not abandoned, where a vampire definitely lives, and where he is apparently going to be returning as a doordash driver before he returns as a blood bag. The universe has a sense of humor, and that sense of humor is deeply cruel.
He accepts the order because he is professionally obligated to and also because he is morbidly curious about what a vampire orders for delivery, and he makes the drive with his brain running through approximately seven hundred questions that he did not think to ask during the whole being-bitten situation.
He walks up to the front door with a bag of Indian food, and he knocks with the confidence that only comes from knowing that you have already been inside this house and survived.
You open the door after a moment, and you are dressed significantly more casually than you were during the biting incident, in normal clothes that make you look like a regular person and not like someone who has stepped out of a gothic novel. You still look unfairly attractive, which Ace is trying very hard not to think about because he has enough complications in his life without adding a crush on a vampire to the list.
"Oh, hi!" you say, and you sound genuinely pleased to see him, as if he is a friend who has stopped by for a visit and not your food delivery person. "Thank you so much for the food!" You take the bag from him and then immediately hand him a tip that is so generous it borders on absurd, and Ace stares at the money in his hand and wonders if you just tip everyone like this or if he is special because you have already bitten him.
He is flabbergasted, standing there with what is probably two hundred dollars in his hand for a delivery that took fifteen minutes, and his brain finally manages to form words. "Why do you need regular food?" he blurts out, because apparently his filter has completely abandoned him. "I thought vampires only drank blood? Is the food just for show? Are you ordering it to maintain the illusion of normalcy for the delivery drivers?"
You blink at him and then laugh, and the sound is bright and genuine. "I like the taste of it," you explain, as if this is obvious. "Blood is nutritionally necessary, but food is enjoyable. I can eat whatever I want, I just do not get any sustenance from it. It would be terribly boring to give up samosas just because I am technically undead."
Ace is processing this information when he notices something that makes his brain screech to a halt. You are standing in a patch of sunlight that is streaming through the window, and you are not on fire. You are not sparkling either, which is somehow almost disappointing, and you are certainly not bursting into flames or crumbling into ash.
You are just standing there, completely fine, in direct sunlight, which contradicts everything he thought he knew about vampires. "Why are you not sparkling?" he asks, and he gestures at the sunlight as if you might not have noticed it. "I thought vampires could not go in the sun? Is that not a thing? Have I been lied to by every piece of vampire media I have ever consumed?"
You give him a look that is so profoundly disappointed that he feels like he has just failed a test he did not know he was taking. "Is your only source of vampire information Twilight?" you ask, and your tone is full of judgement. "My skin is not that of a killer, Ace."
He laughs despite himself, because that is a direct quote from the worst line in cinematic history, and the fact that you are a vampire makes it funnier. "Okay, that is fair," he concedes, and he is grinning now in a way that feels genuine for the first time in days. "So sunlight is fine, good to know. I will cross that off my list of vampire weaknesses."
You tilt your head in that way you did when he first met you, and there is something curious in your expression. "Do you want to come in?" you ask, and you step aside to make room for him to enter. "You seem to have questions, and I have food that I am willing to share if you are interested in joining me for lunch."
Ace should say no. He should go back to his car and finish his delivery shift and maintain some semblance of professional boundaries, but he has already thrown professional boundaries out the window when he agreed to be a vampire's blood bag, so he might as well commit to the bit. "Sure, why not," he says, and he steps inside and follows you to what turns out to be an incredibly nice dining room with a table that looks like it costs more than his education.
You set out the food with care that suggests you are genuinely excited about it, and Ace sits down across from you and watches as you start eating with obvious enjoyment. He pulls out his phone and opens the notes app because if he is going to do this, he might as well get all the information he can. "Okay, so sunlight is fine," he says, typing as he talks. "What about garlic? Are you allergic to garlic? Do I need to avoid Italian food before our appointments?"
"I love garlic," you say, and you sound almost offended by the question. "Garlic bread is one of the great joys of existence, I would never give that up. Whoever started that rumor clearly never had good garlic bread."
Ace makes a note of this and continues. "Can you be seen in mirrors?"
"No, actually," you say, and you sound almost apologetic about it. "That one is true. It makes getting dressed somewhat complicated, I have to use my phone camera to check my outfit. Very inconvenient."
"But you can be seen on cameras?" Ace asks, remembering the video footage from last night where you were conspicuously absent.
"I can be seen on cameras in real-time, like video calls or live feeds," you clarify, taking a bite of your food. "But I will not appear in photos or recordings. Something about the way the image is captured and stored, I do not fully understand the metaphysics of it. It is very annoying for social media purposes."
Ace is furiously taking notes now because this is absolutely fascinating in a way that his brain is treating like a research project rather than an existential crisis. "What about dying? What can actually kill you? Stakes through the heart?"
"Stakes through the heart would do it," you confirm, and your tone is very matter-of-fact, as if you are discussing the weather. "Also complete starvation of blood, but that takes a very long time. Those are really the only two ways. Everything else will hurt but it will not kill me permanently. I am very durable otherwise."
"How old are you?" Ace asks, and he realizes this might be rude but he has already committed to the question. "Like, are you ancient? Have you lived through multiple centuries? Do you have stories about historical events that you witnessed firsthand?"
You laugh and shake your head. "I was turned about three years ago. The vampire who turned me gave me this house and a substantial amount of money and then left to go on an adventure across Europe or something. Very much a 'here is a house, good luck, figure it out' situation. I have been managing on my own since then, hence the advertisements for blood donors."
Ace stares at you and tries to reconcile the image of an ancient supernatural creature with what is apparently a college-aged vampire who got turned and then immediately abandoned by their maker. "That seems incredibly irresponsible of them," he says, and he means it. "Did they at least leave you an instruction manual? A list of vampire rules? Anything?"
"I got a note that said 'do not go crazy with the mind control powers' and that was about it," you say, and you sound amused by his outrage. "I have been figuring most of it out as I go. The internet has been surprisingly helpful, although you have to sort through a lot of misinformation."
You push a container of rice toward him, and Ace takes it without thinking because apparently they are sharing food now, which feels oddly domestic for a vampire and their blood bag.
The rice is good, and he eats while processing the fact that you are basically in the same situation as him, just trying to figure out life after having it completely upended by circumstances beyond your control. You are not some ancient evil creature of the night, you are just a person who happens to be undead and needs blood to survive, and you are sharing your lunch with him while answering his increasingly ridiculous questions.
"You are a lot nicer than I thought a vampire would be," Ace says, and he means it as a compliment even though it comes out sounding vaguely like an insult. "I was expecting, I do not know, more menacing? More threatening? Maybe some villainous monologuing?"
You smile at him, and it is a genuine smile that makes you look even more unfairly attractive. "I am just trying to survive and enjoy my very long life," you say. "Being menacing seems exhausting, and I have enough to deal with already. Plus, you are helping me out significantly, so the least I can do is be pleasant about it."
Ace finishes his rice and stands up to leave, and he feels oddly content in a way that he has not felt in a very long time. He has a vampire who is paying him generously for his blood, he has quit his terrible customer service jobs, and he has just had lunch with someone who is genuinely nice to him and also happens to be undead. "See you in five days?" he asks, and you nod enthusiastically.
"See you in five days," you confirm. "Remember to eat your spinach."
He drives back to his apartment with a container of leftover food that you insisted he take, and when he gets home, he collapses onto his bed with the satisfaction that he does not have to go wait on rude people anymore.
His life has taken a turn into the absolutely bizarre, but for the first time in months, he is not drowning in anxiety about money or work or the crushing weight of his responsibilities. He has a vampire benefactor who tips well and shares their food, and honestly, he has had worse gigs.
Ace shows up five days later at exactly the time you both agreed upon, and he has spent those five days eating spinach like his life depends on it. He has also been trying very hard not to think about the fact that he is weirdly excited about this, which is a problem he is shoving into the same mental box where he keeps all his other issues that he refuses to acknowledge.
He knocks on the door with his heart doing something complicated in his chest, and when you open it, you look so genuinely giddy that it catches him off guard.
Your entire face is lit up with the kind of excitement that's seen on Christmas morning or finding out their favorite show got renewed, and you usher him inside with an enthusiasm that would be endearing if it were not directed at the prospect of drinking his blood.
"Come in, come in!" you say, and you are practically vibrating with energy. "I have everything set up in the living room, I got juice this time and I found these really nice bandages that have little patterns on them, do you have a preference for stars or dinosaurs?"
Ace follows you into a living room that looks like it was decorated by someone with unlimited funds and a subscription to an interior design magazine, and he sees that you have indeed set up what can only be described as a blood donation station on the very expensive-looking couch.
There are antiseptic wipes arranged neatly on the coffee table, multiple juice boxes in various flavors, and a box of bandages that do actually have patterns on them. You have put genuine thought into this, which is somehow more concerning than if you had just lunged at him the moment he walked in.
"You really went all out," he says, and he sits down on the couch because apparently this is happening and he might as well be comfortable. "This is very organized. Do you do this for all your blood bags or am I special?"
"You are the only one," you say cheerfully, and you sit down next to him with the wipes in hand. "I have been managing on animal blood for the past three years, but human blood is significantly better. Animal blood is like eating plain rice when you could be having a gourmet meal, it is technically sustaining but deeply unsatisfying."
Ace's brain latches onto this information with the kind of curiosity that has gotten him into trouble before. "Wait, you can go weeks without human blood?" he asks, because this seems like important information that he should have been told earlier. "How long can you actually survive like that? Is there a limit? Do you start getting weak or do you just get really cranky?"
"I can survive indefinitely on animal blood, but I would not say it is living," you explain, and you are opening one of the antiseptic wipes with the kind of focus that suggests you are taking this very seriously. "It keeps me functional but I do not feel great, and it takes significantly more animal blood to equal the nutritional value of human blood. Also, it tastes worse, which is a factor. I could hunt humans the traditional way, but lurking in alleyways and ambushing people seems terribly outdated and also extremely rude. This arrangement is much more civilized."
"Very modern of you," Ace says, and he tilts his head to give you better access to his neck, which has become a thing he does now apparently. "Really bringing vampirism into the twenty-first century with your craigslist ads and consensual blood donation setup."
You laugh and start cleaning the spot on his neck where you bit him last time, and your hands are cold but gentle. "I do try to keep up with the times," you say, and there is a smile in your voice. "My senior would be so proud of how I have adapted to modern society."
"Your senior?" Ace asks, because this is new information and he is collecting vampire facts like they are pokémon cards. "Do you mean the vampire who turned you and then abandoned you?"
"Oh no, not them," you say, and your tone suggests you do not have fond feelings about your maker. "I mean my senior in the vampire community. Count Dracula has been very supportive of my transition into undead life, he sends me letters with advice and everything."
Ace's brain short-circuits so hard that he is surprised smoke is not coming out of his ears. "COUNT DRACULA IS REAL?" he practically shouts, and his voice cracks in a way that would be embarrassing if he were not currently having a crisis about the existence of literary figures. "As in THE Count Dracula? Transylvania? The book? Nosferatu? That is a real person who exists and sends you letters?"
You stare at him for a moment, and then you burst out laughing so hard that you have to put down the antiseptic wipe because your hands are shaking. You laugh with your whole body, doubled over on the couch, and it takes you a solid thirty seconds to compose yourself enough to speak. "Oh my god, your face," you gasp out between giggles. "I am so sorry, I could not help myself. No, Count Dracula is not real, that was a joke. I was pulling your leg."
Ace feels his face go hot with embarrassment, and he glares at you with the kind of indignation that only comes from being thoroughly fooled. "Wow, you're the worst," he says, but there is no real heat in it because you look so delighted with yourself that he cannot actually be mad. "Here I am, being vulnerable and asking genuine questions about your undead existence, and you're using that trust to commit psychological warfare against me. This is betrayal of the highest order."
"I really am sorry," you say, and you are still grinning in a way that suggests you are not actually sorry at all. "But you should have seen your face, it was absolutely worth it. I promise to be more honest from now on, no more fictional vampire references."
You pick up the wipe again and finish cleaning his neck, and then you look at him with an expression that has gone from playful to focused. "Okay, brace yourself," you say, and your voice has dropped into something more serious. "Same as last time."
Ace nods and tries to prepare himself for what is about to happen, but there is absolutely no way to prepare for the sensation of your fangs piercing his skin. The pain is sharp and brief, and then it melts into that same disturbing pleasure that he experienced last time, warmth spreading through his body in waves that make his head feel fuzzy and his limbs feel heavy.
His hands, which had been gripping the couch cushions, move of their own accord, and he finds himself putting one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head, holding you close in a way that is definitely not necessary for the blood donation process.
He can feel your hair under his fingers, soft and cool, and he can feel the way you are pressed against him, close enough that he can sense the absence of a heartbeat in your chest. The thought drifts through his mind that this is deeply intimate in a way that has nothing to do with the blood and everything to do with the trust required to let someone this close, to let someone take something from you that you can never get back.
His brain is getting philosophical about vampire feeding, which is a sign that he is probably losing too much blood, but he cannot bring himself to care because this feels good in a way that he is definitely going to have a crisis about later.
When you pull away, he makes that same embarrassing whining sound that he made last time, breathy and desperate and completely involuntary. He watches through half-lidded eyes as you smile at him, and there is something knowing in that smile, something that suggests you are fully aware of what you are doing to him and find it amusing.
You reach for the wipes with one hand while your other hand stays on his shoulder, steadying him, and you clean the bite mark with gentle efficiency before applying a bandage that does indeed have little dinosaurs on it.
"There we go," you say softly, and you are still smiling at him in that way that makes his heart do acrobatics. "All done. You did very well."
Ace hates that this is how he is discovering a new kink, sitting on a vampire's couch with a dinosaur bandage on his neck and the taste of copper in the back of his throat.
He hates that he liked it, that he is already thinking about next week, that the feeling of your mouth on his skin is going to be living rent-free in his brain for the foreseeable future. He is having revelations about himself at an alarming rate, and he is choosing to deal with this by not dealing with it at all and hoping it goes away, which has always been his preferred coping mechanism.
You hand him a juice box, and he takes it with hands that are shaking slightly from the blood loss and possibly from other factors that he is refusing to examine. The juice is orange, which is his favorite, and he wonders if you remembered that from last time's conversation or if it is just a coincidence. The sweetness hits his tongue and helps clear some of the fog from his head, but it does nothing for the wooziness that is making the room tilt gently around him.
The wooziness from the blood loss is making him feel reckless in a way that is dangerous, and he looks at you as you hold the juice box to his mouth to make sure he keeps drinking, and he thinks about how he would never admit this out loud because he has a reputation to maintain as someone who is cool and collected and definitely not developing feelings for a vampire.
You were gorgeous the first day he saw you, descending that staircase like something out of a dream, and you are gorgeous now as you sit next to him with concern in your red eyes and your cold fingers brushing against his as you help him hold the juice box steady.
You are ethereal in a way that seems fundamentally unfair, as if someone designed you specifically to ruin his life and his ability to make reasonable decisions. The late afternoon light is coming through the windows and hitting you at an angle that makes you look like a painting, all sharp lines and soft edges and an otherworldly quality that reminds him that you are not human, that you are something else entirely.
And you have a sense of humor, which might be the worst part, because it would be so much easier if you were just attractive and leaving it at that, but no, you have to be funny and kind and willing to share food.
He wants to kiss you, which is possibly the worst idea he has ever had, and he has had many bad ideas in his life so that is saying something.
The thought drifts through his blood-loss-addled brain that your lips would probably be cold and taste like copper, and he wonders if you would kiss him back or if you would laugh at him, and he cannot decide which option would be worse.
So he closes his eyes instead, squeezing them shut and physically restraining himself from doing something he will regret. He focuses on the taste of juice and the feeling of the couch beneath him and the sound of his own breathing, anything to distract himself from the fact that you are still sitting close enough that he can feel the cold radiating off your skin.
He keeps his eyes closed until the wooziness passes and his brain comes back online enough to remember that developing a crush on the vampire who pays him for his blood is a complication he absolutely does not need in his life right now.
"Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is soft with genuine concern. "You can lie down if you need to, I have blankets. I did not take too much, did I?"
"No, I'm good," Ace lies, and he opens his eyes to find you looking at him with an expression that is far too caring for someone who just drank his blood. "Just a little dizzy, happens every time I stand up too fast anyway. This is normal. I am completely normal and fine and not having any kind of crisis whatsoever."
You look unconvinced, but you do not push it, and Ace is grateful for that because he does not think he could handle explaining what is actually going through his head right now. He finishes the juice box and stands up on legs that are only slightly unsteady, and he makes his way to the door with you hovering nearby like you think he might collapse at any moment.
You hand him an envelope that he knows contains more money than he makes in three jobs, and you remind him again to eat iron-rich foods and get plenty of rest, and he nods and agrees and tries not to think about how much he is already looking forward to next week.
He makes it to his car and sits in the driver's seat for a long moment, staring at the steering wheel and trying to figure out how his life has become this. He has a vampire who he is definitely developing feelings for, he is getting paid to be bitten, and he is apparently discovering kinks at a rate that would require a spreadsheet to keep track of.
He starts the engine and drives home, and he spends the entire drive trying to convince himself that this is fine and sustainable and definitely not going to end in some kind of emotional disaster.
When he gets back to his apartment, Deuce takes one look at the dinosaur bandage on his neck and wisely does not ask questions.
Weeks go by in this arrangement, and Ace finds himself settling into a routine that would seem absolutely insane to anyone looking in from the outside but has become his new normal. Every seven days, he shows up at your manor with his iron levels optimized and his hydration on point, and every seven days you bite him and pay him generously and send him home with leftover food and reminders to take care of himself.
What strikes him, in the quiet moments when he allows himself to think about it, is how careful you are with him.
You barely drink from him, taking just enough to sustain yourself but never enough to make him truly weak or put him in any danger. He has done the research, because of course he has, and he knows that vampires can drink significantly more than you take from him. He knows that you have the strength to overpin him, to hold him down and drain him dry if you wanted to, and the fact that you do not makes something complicated happen in his chest.
The fact that you stop the moment he shows any sign of distress, that you are so conscientious about his wellbeing, makes him feel warm and fuzzy in a way that he absolutely refuses to examine too closely.
There is also the part of his brain, the part that he is actively trying to ignore, that wonders what it would be like if you did not stop. If you used that supernatural strength to hold him in place, if you took what you wanted without the careful consideration you always show.
The thought makes his face go hot and his heart rate pick up, and he shoves it into the rapidly overflowing mental box labeled "kinks I am discovering that I wish I was not discovering."
Finals week descends upon him like a natural disaster, and Ace finds himself operating on a truly inadvisable amount of caffeine and virtually no sleep. He has three exams and two final projects due, and he is studying with desperate intensity, knowing his entire academic future hangs in the balance.
He has not slept more than three hours a night in the past week, and his diet has consisted primarily of energy drinks and whatever food he can grab between study sessions. The only reason he is eating actual meals is because he needs to maintain his blood quality for you, and he refuses to examine why that has become his primary motivation for self-care.
Deuce has noticed the improvement in their grocery situation and is taking full advantage of it, which means their fridge is now stocked with actual vegetables and proteins instead of the usual collection of condiments and beer. Deuce has been thriving on the spillover from Ace's new nutritional regime, and he keeps making comments about how Ace's new "situation" is working out great for both of them, which Ace chooses to interpret as support rather than the judgment it probably is.
The bite marks have become harder to hide, and Deuce finally asks about them one evening when Ace is stress-eating spinach at midnight while reviewing his notes. "Hey, is your partner hurting you?" Deuce asks, and his tone is genuinely concerned in a way that makes Ace feel guilty for all the lying he has been doing. "Because those marks on your neck are pretty intense, and I just want to make sure you are okay and everything is consensual."
Ace nearly chokes on his spinach because the assumption that he has a partner is so far from the truth that it is almost funny. "It is not my partner," he says, once he has finished coughing. "I do not have a partner. This is a completely different situation that does not involve romance or dating or anything like that."
Deuce's expression shifts into something that can only be described as kink-shaming, his eyes wide with a mixture of concern and judgment. "You are letting a fling bite you like that?" he asks, and his voice has gone up several octaves. "Ace, that is extremely intense for something casual, are you sure you know what you are doing?"
"It's just a bloodsucker," Ace says, which is technically not a lie, and he watches as Deuce's face goes through several expressions before settling on disgust.
"Oh my god, mosquitos?" Deuce says, and he sounds horrified. "You have a mosquito problem that bad? We need to call an exterminator, that is a health hazard!"
Ace does not correct him because explaining the actual situation would require admitting that he is being paid to donate blood to a vampire, and he has already decided that Deuce does not need that kind of information in his life.
He just nods and makes a noncommittal sound and goes back to his studying, and Deuce wanders off muttering about pest control.
He shows up at your manor on schedule despite the fact that he is running on approximately four hours of sleep over the past three days and enough caffeine to fuel a small vehicle. He has an exam tomorrow morning, and he should probably be sleeping, but he has made a commitment and he is going to honor it even if his body is actively staging a rebellion against his life choices.
You open the door and immediately your expression shifts into concern, which Ace has learned to recognize as your "you look terrible" face.
"Are you alright?" you ask, and you usher him inside with more urgency than usual. "You look exhausted. Are you sick? Do you have a fever?" You press your cold hand against his forehead in a gesture that would be sweet if it were not completely ineffective given that your hands are always cold.
"Yeah, totally," Ace lies, and he follows you into the living room where you have already set up the usual blood donation station. "Just finals week, nothing I can't handle."
You do not look convinced, and you guide him to sit on the couch with a gentleness that makes his chest ache. You have your conversation like you always do, talking about your week and his week and whatever random topics come up, and Ace tries to focus but his brain is running on fumes and his thoughts keep drifting.
When you finally lean in to bite him, the familiar sharp pain followed by the wave of pleasure, he feels his head swim in a way that is distinctly different from the usual pleasant wooziness.
The dizziness hits him hard and fast, and the world tilts sideways in a way that suggests his body has finally had enough of his nonsense. You seem to sense it immediately because you pull away far sooner than you normally would, and your hands are on his shoulders, steadying him. "What is going on?" you demand, and your voice is sharp with concern. "Are you sick? Did something happen? You feel different, your blood tastes off."
"I'm not sick," Ace says, and his voice sounds distant even to his own ears. "I have just been running on caffeine for the past week because of finals. The blood quality should be fine."
Your expression shifts into something that can only be described as deeply disapproving. "Ace," you say, and your tone suggests you are physically restraining yourself desperately from lecturing him. "You need to sleep. This is not sustainable. You are going to make yourself sick."
Before Ace can formulate a response or assure you that he is fine and this is just how college works, you do something that makes his brain completely short-circuit. You pull him onto your lap with the kind of easy strength that reminds him you are not human, maneuvering him so that his head is resting against your shoulder and his body is curled against yours.
Your arms wrap around him in a way that is both secure and gentle, and then you press your cold hand over his eyes, blocking out the light.
"Sleep," you command, and your voice has gone soft in a way that makes something in his chest crack open. "You can take a nap here, and then I will drive you home. You are not going anywhere in this condition."
Ace should protest. He should tell you that he has studying to do and an exam tomorrow and he cannot afford to waste time sleeping, but your hand is blessedly cold against his burning eyelids and your body is surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of warmth. The exhaustion that he has been fighting off for days comes crashing down on him all at once, and he can feel himself starting to drift despite his best efforts to stay awake.
Your other hand is running through his hair in a soothing repetitive motion, and he can hear you humming something soft and melodic that he does not recognize. The combination of the cold hand on his eyes and the gentle touch in his hair and the total security of being held is more effective than any sleep aid he has ever tried.
His last coherent thought before he drifts off completely is a very eloquent and articulate "fuck, I am screwed," because he has just realized that this has gone far beyond a simple business arrangement.
He is screwed because he is falling for you, the vampire who pays him for his blood and feeds him and is now holding him while he sleeps because he is too stupid to take care of himself. He is screwed because you are careful with him in a way that no one else has ever been, because you pull away when he gets dizzy and scold him for not sleeping and run your fingers through his hair like he is something precious.
He is screwed because he wants this, wants more of this, wants to wake up in your arms and fall asleep in your lap and have you look at him the way you are looking at him now with such open concern.
The thought drifts through his fading consciousness that he is in so much trouble, and then he is asleep, dead to the world and dreaming of cold hands and red eyes and the feeling of being held by someone who could break him but chooses not to.
Ace wakes up slowly, dragged back to consciousness by the persistent awareness that something cold and soothing is resting against his eyelids. For a moment, he is disoriented, his sleep-addled brain trying to piece together where he is and why he feels so comfortable despite the distinct lack of warmth surrounding him. T
hen it all comes rushing back, and he realizes that your hand is still on his face, still providing that blessed coolness against his exhausted eyes.
He sits up slowly, reluctantly, because part of him wants to stay exactly where he was for the foreseeable future, but he is aware that he has already imposed on you enough by passing out in your living room. You remove your hand from his face as he moves, and he immediately misses the contact in a way that he is trying very hard not to think about.
His head feels clearer than it has in days, and he realizes with some surprise that he actually feels rested, which is a novel sensation given his recent lifestyle choices.
"Wait here," you say, and you stand up with that fluid grace that reminds him you are not bound by normal human limitations. You disappear into another room, and Ace sits on the couch trying to collect himself and figure out what time it is and whether he has missed his exam.
His phone tells him he has been asleep for three hours, which means it is now early evening and he still has time to study before tomorrow, although the thought of studying makes his brain want to shut down again.
You return with a thermometer, the kind that you point at someone's forehead, and you check his temperature with the kind of efficiency that suggests you have done this before.
Ace watches you and feels something uncomfortable twist in his chest because why do you have a thermometer? Do you have other humans you take care of? The thought surfaces before he can stop it, and it brings with it a wave of jealousy that he has absolutely no right to feel.
Of course you have other people in your life. You are a gorgeous vampire with money and a sense of humor and apparently a caring personality, and who would not want a piece of that? You probably have multiple people you feed from, multiple people who come to your manor and sit on your couch and get paid for their blood.
He is probably not special at all, just one of many, and why would he be anything more than that? What is he compared to whoever else you might have? He is just a broke college student with too much debt and not enough sense, and you are literally a vampire who could have anyone you wanted.
Who is he to feel jealousy anyway? He is literally just a blood bank to you, a convenient source of nutrition that happens to show up on schedule and make conversation. The arrangement is purely transactional, money for blood, and the fact that you are nice to him does not mean anything beyond basic human decency, which you are extending to him despite not being human yourself.
He is spiraling, sitting on your couch and having a complete internal crisis about his place in your life while you are standing there with a thermometer looking concerned about his wellbeing.
By the time he manages to pull himself out of the spiral, you have disappeared again and returned with food. You press a container into his hands, with an urgency that communicates that he needs to eat right now. He opens the container and starts eating because arguing with you seems pointless and also because the food is good and he is actually hungry now that he has slept.
His heart and brain are screaming at him to ask you out, to say something about how he feels, to acknowledge that this has become more than just a business arrangement for him even if it has not for you.
The words are sitting in his throat, fighting to get out, but he swallows them down along with the food because confessing feelings to the vampire who pays him for his blood seems like a spectacularly bad idea that would only result in humiliation and the loss of his primary income source.
"I'll drive you home," you say, once he has finished eating and you seem satisfied that he is not going to collapse again. "You should rest properly tonight, in an actual bed, and make sure you eat breakfast before your exam tomorrow."
Ace nods dumbly because the prospect of spending more time with you, even if it is just a car ride, is too appealing to turn down. "You sure you gonna be okay without my blood this week?" he asks, and the concern in his voice is more genuine than he intended it to be. "I can come back in a few days if you need me to."
You reach out and ruffle his hair, and your smile is bright and teasing. "Awww, are you worried about little old me?" you coo, and your tone is so deliberately saccharine that it makes him want to combust from embarrassment.
He swats at your hand and glares at you without any real heat. "I'm just being practical," he mutters, even though you both know that is not entirely true. "You pay me good money, and I'd hate for my income source to suffer. This is purely financial concern, nothing more."
You laugh, and the sound makes his chest feel warm. "I will be fine," you assure him. "I can manage for a week on what I have. You need to focus on your finals and your health, and then we can resume our normal schedule."
He watches as you excuse yourself to change into what you call "normal clothes," and he sits on the couch trying not to think about the fact that you are somewhere in this house taking off the elaborate Victorian outfits that you seem to favor.
When you return, you are wearing jeans and a sweater that looks soft and expensive, and somehow you still look ethereal despite the casual clothing. The otherworldly quality that clings to you is not diminished by modern fashion, and Ace thinks that you could probably wear a garbage bag and still look like you stepped out of a painting.
You put in colored contacts, and he watches as your distinctive red eyes are covered by a more conventional brown that makes you look almost human. Almost, but not quite, because there is something about the way you move and the way you hold yourself that will always give away the fact that you are something else.
You drive him home in a car that is predictably nice, and the ride is filled with comfortable conversation about nothing in particular, and Ace is trying very hard to memorize every moment because he is greedy for your time in a way that he knows is pathetic.
When you pull up outside his apartment building, he makes a decision that is either very brave or very stupid. "Do you wanna come in?" he asks, and his heart is pounding so hard that he is certain you can hear it with your supernatural senses.
You look genuinely taken aback, your eyes widening slightly in surprise, and then you smile in a way that makes his stomach flip. "Are you inviting a vampire into your home, Ace?" you tease, and your tone is playful. "That is generally considered to be a bad idea in most folklore. Are you sure you have thought this through?"
He groans and resists the urge to hide his face in his hands. "Just come inside," he says, and he gets out of the car before you can make any more jokes at his expense. You follow him, and he can hear you laughing quietly behind him as he leads you up to his apartment.
Deuce is in the living room when tge two of you walk in, and he takes one look at you and then at Ace and then back at you, and Ace can see the exact moment when Deuce connects the dots. This is Ace's supposed fling, the person who has been biting him and leaving marks on his neck, and Deuce's expression shifts into something that is equal parts impressed and slightly concerned.
"Respect," Deuce says with a solemn nod, and then he stands up and grabs his jacket. "I'm gonna be at the library for the next few hours, so take your time."
He leaves before Ace can correct him or explain that this is not what it looks like, and then the door closes and Ace is alone with you in his apartment. He does not correct the assumption that Deuce has made because honestly, he wishes you were at least friends with benefits. Technically you are friends with benefits, but the benefits are blood and money rather than anything that would justify the knowing look that Deuce just gave him.
He takes you to his room, which is significantly less impressive than any room in your manor but is at least clean because he has been too busy with finals to make a mess. You settle onto his bed without any apparent concern for the fact that you are in a strange man's bedroom, and Ace puts on a show on Netflix because that seems like a normal thing to do when you have a guest and not something that will reveal how desperately he wants to spend time with you.
You watch the screen for a few minutes, and then you turn to him with an expression that is more vulnerable than he has seen from you before. "It has been a while since I was able to have social interaction like this," you say, and your voice is soft. "The whole vampire thing makes it difficult to maintain friendships or go out to normal places. I was worried that people would notice something was off and try to burn me at the stake or something equally dramatic, so I have been fairly isolated. I am really glad that you are so cool about all of this, it means more to me than you probably realize."
Ace feels something crack in his chest at the sincerity in your voice, and he tries to deflect because earnest emotion makes him uncomfortable and he does not know how to handle the fact that you are being genuine with him. "Don't get so sentimental on me," he says, and his tone is light and teasing. "You're gonna ruin your mysterious vampire reputation if you keep admitting to having feelings."
You pounce on him before he can say anything else, and suddenly he is flat on his back on the bed with you on top of him, your hands pinning his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. "I was being real and you ruined it!" you whine, and you are pouting at him in a way that should look ridiculous but instead just makes you look unfairly cute.
Ace forgets whatever words he was going to say because his brain has completely shut down. His deepest fantasy, the one that he has been shoving into the mental box and refusing to acknowledge, is happening right now. You are holding him down, your supernatural strength keeping him pinned in place, and even though this is not happening in the context he has been imagining, his body does not seem to care about the distinction.
You are so close that he can see the individual lashes around your eyes, can see the faint pattern in the colored contacts you are wearing, can see the way your lips are curved in a playful smile.
His heart is racing, and he knows you can probably hear it or feel it or sense it in whatever way vampires sense these things. He should say something witty or push you off or do literally anything other than what he does, which is close the gap between you and kiss you.
The moment his lips touch yours, his brain registers several things at once. Your lips are cold, exactly as he imagined they would be, and they taste faintly of the tea you were drinking earlier. You have gone completely still above him, frozen in surprise, and Ace realizes with mounting horror that he has just kissed you without asking and you have not kissed him back and this is going to be the most humiliating moment of his entire life.
But then you kiss him back, and Ace's brain promptly explodes into confetti and fireworks and every other celebratory metaphor he can think of. Your lips are moving against his with an urgency that matches the desperation that has been building in his chest for weeks, and your hands are still pinning his wrists to the mattress in a way that makes his heart race for reasons that he is done pretending to ignore.
He wants more, needs more, and he tries to press closer to you despite the fact that you are literally on top of him and there is no closer to get. When you pull away, he finds himself breathing hard, almost heaving, like he has just run a marathon or experienced some kind of life-altering event, which he supposes he has.
You sit up, and he follows suit because his body apparently cannot stand to be separated from you by any significant distance now that this has started. He has never seen you like this before, and it catches him off guard in a way that makes his chest ache.
Your eyes are wide and uncertain, stripped of the confidence and composure that you usually carry like armor, and you look almost vulnerable in a way that makes him want to wrap you in blankets and protect you from the world despite the fact that you are a supernatural creature who could snap him like a twig.
He tries to say something, to make a joke or deflect or do any of the things he normally does when emotions get too real, but his voice cracks embarrassingly on the first syllable and whatever clever quip he was planning dies in his throat.
You seem to snap out of whatever internal spiral you were having, and then you are kissing him again, your cold hands cupping his face with a gentleness that contradicts the intensity of your mouth on his. He is giddy, absolutely flooded with an emotion that he can only describe as joy, even if he would rather genuinely get staked through the heart than admit that out loud to anyone including himself.
When you pull away again, you are smiling, and it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. "Do you want to date?" you ask, and your voice is soft and hopeful in a way that makes him want to say yes to anything you might ask him. "Like go on dates and hold hands and do all the normal relationship things?"
He is too overwhelmed to posture or play it cool or do any of the things he would normally do to protect his dignity. He just nods, enthusiastic and immediate, because apparently his brain has decided that honesty is the best policy when faced with the most attractive person he has ever met asking him out. The words are stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth, so he just keeps nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls until you start to look amused.
"Are you sure?" you ask, and your expression has shifted into something more serious. "I am a vampire, you know. That comes with complications. I have dietary restrictions that involve drinking blood, I do not show up in photographs which makes social media very difficult, and I will outlive you by centuries unless something goes very wrong. This is not a normal relationship, and I need you to understand what you are agreeing to."
Ace stares at you for a moment, and then he lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. "Buddy," he says, and his voice is fond despite the absurdity of what he is about to say, "you have none of the vampiric limitations that would actually make this difficult. You can go out in sunlight, you're not allergic to garlic, you can eat regular food even if you don't need to, and nothing can actually harm you except for very specific circumstances that I can easily avoid. You're pretty, you're wealthy, you have a sense of humor, and you are literally indestructible. This honestly feels a little unfair if I’m being honest, because what do I bring to this relationship other than my sparkling personality and my apparently delicious blood?"
Your smile grows wider, and there is something almost sad in your eyes despite the happiness in your expression. "The only thing is that I am lonely," you say, and your voice has gone quiet. "I have been lonely since I was turned and my maker left me alone in that house with no guidance and no connections to the vampire world. I have all these things that you mentioned, but none of it matters when I spend most of my time by myself because I am too afraid to let people get close enough to discover what I am."
Before he can think it through, before his brain can catch up to his mouth and stop him from saying something that might be too much too soon, Ace points at himself with both thumbs like he is in a comedy sketch. "I can fix that," he says, and he means it with an intensity that surprises even him. "I am extremely social and have no sense of self-preservation, and I will drag you to every social event I can think of until you are sick of people. You will never be lonely again if I have anything to say about it, and I have a lot to say about most things, so get ready for that."
He sees your smile wobble, and then you are hiding your face in his neck, and he can feel the coldness of your skin against his throat where you bit him earlier. Your arms wrap around him in a hug that is tight enough to make breathing slightly difficult, but he does not care because you are holding him like he is something precious and he wants to live in this moment forever. "No takesies backsies," you mumble into his neck, and your voice is muffled but he can hear the emotion in it.
He leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you just as tightly. "You're stuck with me now, and I'm extremely annoying to get rid of, just ask my brother. I'm like glitter or a song that gets stuck in your head, persistent and impossible to ignore."
You laugh against his neck, and the sound vibrates through him in a way that makes him feel warm despite your lack of body heat. You pull back just enough to look at him, and your eyes are slightly wet in a way that suggests you are capable of crying even as a vampire, which is information that he is filing away for later. "I think I can live with that," you say, and then you kiss him again, soft and sweet and full of promise.
Ace kisses you back and thinks that this is the best terrible decision he has ever made, and he has made a lot of terrible decisions in his life. He is dating a vampire, he is going to have to explain this to his friends and family eventually, and his life has become something that would be rejected as too unrealistic if he tried to pitch it as a story. But you are smiling at him like he has given you something invaluable, and he realizes that he would make this choice again and again if it meant getting to see that expression on your face.
"So," he says, when you finally pull away and he can breathe again, "does this mean I still get paid for the blood donations, or is that considered weird now that we are dating? I need to know for tax purposes."
You laugh so hard that you fall backwards onto his bed, and Ace thinks that he could get used to this, to making you laugh and seeing you happy and being the person who gets to hold you. He lies down next to you, and you immediately curl into his side despite the fact that you are cold enough to make him shiver, and he decides that he is going to need to invest in more blankets if this is going to be a regular thing.
You rest your head on his chest, and he runs his fingers through your hair, and everything feels right in a way that it has not felt in a very long time.
"We can negotiate the financial arrangements later," you say, and your voice is drowsy in a way that he has never heard from you before. "Right now I just want to stay here and enjoy the fact that I am dating the most ridiculous human I have ever met."
"I prefer the term charmingly chaotic," Ace says, but he is smiling as he says it, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head because he can do that now. He can kiss you whenever he wants, and you will kiss him back, and this is real and happening and not just something he has been desperately wishing for while pretending he was not wishing for it at all.
His phone buzzes with a text from Deuce asking if the coast is clear, and Ace responds with a thumbs up emoji. Deuce responds with a string of emojis that are deeply inappropriate and make Ace's face go red, but he cannot even be annoyed because he is too busy being happy.
He puts his phone away and focuses on you, on the weight of you against his chest and the sound of your unnecessary breathing and the fact that you chose him out of all the people you could have chosen.
"Hey," he says softly, and you hum in acknowledgment. "Thank you for not draining me dry that first night when I broke into your house. This worked out pretty well for me, all things considered."
You laugh again, and the sound fills his small room and makes it feel like home. "Thank you for being weird enough to come back after I bit you," you reply. "Most people would have run away screaming, but you just showed up again with your blood all optimized."
You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him, and your expression is soft and fond. "I think this is going to work out," you say, and you sound certain in a way that makes his heart stutter.
"Yeah," Ace agrees, and he pulls you down for another kiss because he can, because you want him to, because this is his life now and he is going to enjoy every single moment of it. "I think it is.”
Five years have passed since that night when Ace kissed you in his tiny apartment bedroom and accidentally stumbled into the best relationship of his life, and he has survived not only those finals but also graduation, the transition into actual adulthood, and the bizarre experience of moving into a manor with his vampire partner.
His YouTube channel has absolutely exploded in popularity ever since you suggested that you could help with his content by making objects move and creating "unexplained phenomena" that would never show you on camera, and he has gone from seventeen subscribers to several million.
He is happy, genuinely and completely happy in a way that he never thought possible back when he was working three customer service jobs and contemplating if he could survive on ramen alone.
He wakes up next to you every evening when you rise, he makes content that people actually enjoy, he has more money than he knows what to do with between his YouTube revenue and your apparently infinite wealth, and he gets to spend his existence with someone who makes him laugh and looks unfairly hot doing literally anything.
His life is objectively perfect, which is why it is so frustrating that there is one thing that you absolutely refuse to give him no matter how many times he asks.
He wants to be turned, has wanted it for years now, and you will not do it. Every time he brings it up, you find some excuse to deflect, usually by kissing him until his brain stops working and he forgets what he was asking for in the first place.
It is embarrassing to admit that this tactic works as well as it does, but he is a simple guy with simple needs, and when his partner kisses him with that particular intensity, his higher reasoning functions tend to shut down entirely. But he has been working on his resistance, building up his immunity to your diversionary tactics through sheer stubborn determination.
Today he corners you in the library, which has become his favorite room in the manor because it has the comfy chairs and also because you look particularly good when you are reading by the window. You look up when he enters, and he can see the exact moment when you recognize the expression on his face and realize that you are about to have the conversation that you have been avoiding for half a decade.
"Nope," you say immediately, and you are already closing your book. "We are not doing this again, Ace. I already told you no like fifty times."
"Yeah, well, I'm asking for the fifty-first time," Ace says, and he positions himself between you and the door because he has learned that you will absolutely bail if given the chance. "And you're gonna actually give me a real answer instead of distracting me, because I've let you distract me with kisses and other activities that I won't mention because we are in the library and I have some sense of decorum. But now, I'm onto your tricks now and they're not gonna work."
You look at him with an expression that suggests you are already planning your escape route. "Is this because you think I will lose access to your blood if I turn you?" you ask, and there is something hurt in your voice that makes him immediately panic.
"What? No!" Ace says, and he waves his hands frantically because that came out so wrong. "That's not what I meant at all! I know you're not keeping me around like some kind of juice box subscription service, that would be insane and also you're way too nice for that. I'm just trying to figure out why you keep saying no when I'm clearly super serious about this!"
You look down, and your expression shifts into something vulnerable that makes his chest feel weird. "Do you want me to be honest?"
"Uh, yeah? That's kind of the whole point of this conversation," Ace says, and he sits down on the arm of your chair because standing is too formal for whatever this is about to be.
You take an unnecessary breath, and when you look up at him your eyes are wet in a way that makes him want to fix whatever is wrong immediately. "I do not want you to struggle with blood ethics the way I did when I was first turned," you say, and the words tumble out fast.
"When I woke up as a vampire, I was alone and confused and desperately hungry, and I did not know what was ethical or acceptable. I hurt people before I figured out a better way, and I have to live with that forever. I do not want that for you. I do not want you to wake up with this hunger and make choices that you will regret."
Ace listens to this and feels something twist in his chest because you have never talked about your early vampire days like this. "And what if you regret it?" you continue, quieter now. "What if I turn you and you hate it and you resent me for taking away your humanity? What if you miss your family and friends and decide immortality sucks actually? I would have to live with that forever, knowing I took something from you that you can never get back."
"Wait, hold on," Ace says, because he needs to address something immediately. "Do you not want me forever or something?"
"Of course I do!" you say, and you grab his hands like you are afraid he might vanish. "I want you forever, I want you for every century I exist, I want to wake up next to you for the next thousand years! But I want you to want it too, really want it, not just because you think the romance of immortality is cool!"
"Okay, first of all, rude," Ace says, and he squeezes your hands right back. "I've been asking you to turn me for three years straight, that's way past the 'sounds cool' phase and firmly into the 'I've actually thought about this' territory. Second, you're not some Nosferatu situation coercing me into eternal damnation or whatever. You're my partner who I love and who I wanna spend forever annoying. I'm sure about this!"
He does not give you time to interrupt because he is on a roll now. "And the blood ethics thing? I'll have you to teach me, which is way more than you had when you got turned and ditched by your maker, who I still think we should track down just so I can yell at them. You can show me how to do the donor thing, we can set up the same arrangements you have, and I won't have to figure it out alone like some kind of disaster vampire. Plus, if I screw up, which I probably will because I'm not perfect, you'll be there to smack some sense into me. That's literally what partners do!"
You are staring at him with an intensity that makes him feel like you are trying to read his mind. "Are you absolutely sure?" you ask one more time, and your voice is barely audible. "Because once I do this, there is no going back. You will be a vampire forever, and that is a very long time."
"Yeah, I'm sure," Ace says, and he has never been more certain of anything in his entire life, which is saying something because he is normally terrible at making decisions. "Come on, turn me already! Make me a vampire so I can spend forever being annoying and making sure you're never lonely and stealing your hoodies even though we'll be the same temperature!"
You stare at him for a long moment, and then something in your expression cracks open into resignation and relief and something that looks a lot like love. "Okay," you say, and you smile at him through tears. "Okay, fine, you win. But if you change your mind in a hundred years, I am never letting you live it down."
"I'm not gonna change my mind," Ace says immediately. "I'm way too stubborn for that, ask literally anyone who knows me."
You pull him close and kiss him, and this kiss feels different somehow, heavier and more significant. When you pull back, your expression has gone serious. "You need to drink my blood," you say, already rolling up your sleeve. "That is how the turning works. You drink from me, enough that it changes your system, and then you will sleep and wake up like me."
"Do I just chomp down or is there like a technique to this?" Ace asks, because he has never bitten anyone before and he would hate to mess up something this important.
"Just bite," you say, and you offer your wrist with a smile that looks nervous and excited at the same time. "Your teeth are not as sharp as fangs but you will manage. Drink until I tell you to stop, and try not to overthink it."
Ace takes your wrist and looks at it for a second, thinking about how this is the moment everything changes. Then he stops thinking about it because overthinking has never helped him before, and he bites down. His human teeth break skin way less efficiently than your fangs ever did on him, and then his mouth fills with blood and okay, this is weird, but he forces himself to keep going because this is what he needs to do.
Something changes almost immediately, a warmth spreading through him that feels like power and energy and something completely foreign. His senses sharpen, sounds getting clearer and colors getting more vivid, and he can hear things he definitely should not be able to hear. He feels stronger, more alive than he has ever felt despite the fact that he is technically dying, and before he can get too caught up in the philosophical implications of that, he catches sight of your face.
You are watching him with so much anticipation and hope and something soft that it makes his heart do weird acrobatics, and he realizes you are just as nervous about this as he is.
He pulls away from your wrist and meets your eyes, grinning at you with blood on his teeth because he is absolutely not going to be normal about this. "I'm really never gonna leave you alone now," he says, and his voice already sounds different, richer somehow. "You're stuck with me for literal forever, no takesies backsies."
You laugh and pull him close, hiding your face in his neck. "Good," you say, muffled against his skin. "I would not want it any other way."
Ace wraps his arms around you as tiredness starts creeping in, his body shutting down to finish whatever supernatural transformation is happening. He smiles into your hair and thinks yeah, this is gonna be great, and then lets himself fall asleep knowing that when he wakes up, he is going to have forever to figure out how to be the most annoying vampire in existence.
So, Riddle's OB Groovy came out and I was talking to @avionvadion about it and I was going over why Riddle's OB Groovy looks like that and I realized something really cool.
The OB cards are the REVERSE of the OG Villain arcs.
Lemme explain!
Disney Villains usually in their story arcs have a massive high point where they seemingly get EVERYTHING they want before they lose all that carefully laid planning and composure that they've had for most of the movie. Usually that breakdown in the third act is what directly leads to their death because they've become so blinded by their emotions and pride and drive, they become so reckless that they get themselves trapped or killed.
That's what the overblot is for each of the OB boys. It's that reckless emotional breakdown that kills the villains and that's why the OB is fatal when someone overblots. That's also why Vil's Phantom looks like the Evil Queen's Hag form, Jamil's looks like Jafar's genie form, Azul's looks like Ursula's Ruler of the Ocean form, and Malleus's looks like Maleficent's dragon form. Those are the forms those villains DIED in (If you haven't seen the Return of Jafar, Jafar does die in that movie and he is in his genie/djinn form).
However, the GROOVIES are based on the HIGH POINTS where the Villain has seemingly gotten or is about to get everything they WANT.
And that's freaking clever because we know that, except for Malleus, these card images are after they've faced themselves in their personal Abyss and seen the worst parts of themselves. Malleus, meanwhile, had to face the worst of himself by what happened to Lilia and realizing he'd done that to Lilia. In short, by accepting all parts of themselves, including the parts they don't like or want to acknowledge, the OB boys are going to be able to one day achieve everything they want.
We know this because it's already started to happen for Idia. One of Idia's big dreams as a child was to be a hero. Thanks to Malleus's Overblot, Idia has achieved that. While Silver did most of the fighting against Malleus, he did technically lose. Idia's the one who magically directed the sword and broke Malleus's horn off, stopping Malleus's rampage. While he may not get the credit for it, he did stop Malleus when Silver got knocked down. It might not a big, flashy achievement full of accolades, but it was stepping up and being a hero when Silver and Sebek couldn't do it. So, he did reach that dream.
Idia's the first to start achieving his goals, but the OB Groovies are showing that the OB boys, while it may not be in the way they THOUGHT, will achieve their goals eventually. It's gonna come because they've already hit rock bottom by overblotting.
very bts-pilled rn and the hidden track has me doing cartwheels from the longing and yearning so woe short fic be upon ye
w.c ~1.9k
There was a time when Ace could not imagine his life without you in it, and the truly pathetic part is that he never thought to say so out loud.
You were there in the mornings when he overslept, shaking him awake with that exasperated fondness that made his chest feel too tight. You were there in the evenings when everything grew too loud and he needed somewhere quieter. You were there in the spaces between classes, at his side during meals, sprawled across his bed or yours depending on whose room was closer, talking about nothing and everything until the words blurred together and all that mattered was the sound of your voice.
He slept at your place more often than his own. You did the same. Never alone, though. Always with Deuce nearby, or Grim wedged between you both like a warm, indignant barrier. Because if it was just the two of you, in the dark, with nothing to distract from the fact that his hand was inches from yours and his heartbeat was too loud in his own ears, then maybe he would have had to admit what this was.
And Ace was very, very good at not admitting things.
You were his best friend. That was the word people used when they talked about the two of you, and Ace never corrected them because correcting them would mean finding a better word, and he did not have one. What do you call someone who knows the exact angle of your smile when you're faking confidence? Who can read the shift in your voice when you're about to deflect with a joke because the truth is too heavy to hold? Who fits into your life so seamlessly that you forget where you end and they begin?
He did not know. So he let the word "friend" sit there like a placeholder, as something he would deal with later, when he was braver or smarter or less of a coward.
Later never came.
Ace does not remember what he was doing before. He remembers the hallway, the way the light slanted through the windows and painted everything gold. He remembers the person—someone from his class, maybe, or the year above, he genuinely cannot recall—approaching him with a nervous kind of hope that made his stomach twist even before they opened her mouth.
"Ace," they said, and their voice was small and careful. "I was wondering if... if you'd want to go out sometime. With me."
For a moment, the words did not register. And then they did, and his brain did what it always did when faced with something that made him uncomfortable: it reached for humor, for deflection, for anything that would let him sidestep sincerity.
He opened his mouth to say no. To tell them, gently, that he was not interested. That he could not imagine falling for anyone else because he had already spent the better part of a year falling for someone who was standing few feet away, close enough to hear every word he was about to say.
But you were there and he saw the way your expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across your face, and panic seized him by the throat.
If he said no, if he explained why, then you would know. And if you knew, then everything would change. The easy closeness between you would fracture under the weight of his feelings, and he would lose you in a way that felt worse than never having you at all.
"Why not?" he said, shrugging, grinning in that way he had perfected over years of pretending nothing ever hurt him.
The person's face lit up. They said something else, something he did not hear because his attention was on you, on the way your jaw tightened, the way your eyes went distant and cold.
"Ace," you said, and your voice was quiet and he knew immediately that he had miscalculated.
"Yeah?" He turned toward you, still playing the part, because maybe if he kept pretending everything was fine then it would be.
"Don't talk to me again."
You looked at him like he was a stranger, like the past two years had been erased in the span of a single breath, and then you turned and walked away.
He stood there, frozen, as the person beside him stammered something about texting him later. He did not respond. Because his entire world had just walked away from him, and he did not understand why he couldn't hold on to the one thing he loved.
It took him three days to process how badly he fucked up.
By then, you would not answer his calls.
Ace has never been good at apologies.
He is good at jokes, at sleight of hand, at talking his way out of trouble with a grin and a shrug. He is good at pretending he does not care, at burying feelings so deep that even he forgets they are there. But saying sorry? Admitting he was wrong? That requires a kind of vulnerability he has spent his entire life avoiding.
Still, he tries.
He corners you after class, and you walk past him like he is invisible. He waits outside your building, and you take a different route. He sends texts that go unanswered, leaves voicemails that are never returned. He considers asking Deuce to intervene, but the look Deuce gives him—disappointed, angry, sad—tells him that even his oldest friend thinks he deserves this.
Maybe he does.
The days blur together. He goes to class, goes through the motions, laughs at the right moments and says the right things, but it all feels hollow. His room is too quiet. Meals taste like nothing. He finds himself reaching for his phone to text you about something stupid, something inconsequential, and then remembers that you are not there anymore.
You are everywhere and nowhere. He sees you in the cafeteria, surrounded by people who are not him. He hears your laugh in the hallway, bright and unforced, and it carves a deep ache in his chest because he is not the one making you smile.
At night, he picks up his phone and stares at your contact. His thumb hovers over the call button, and he tells himself he will not do it. That this is pathetic, that he needs to move on, that you have made it clear you do not want to hear from him.
But then he thinks about your voice. The way you used to say his name, exasperated and fond, like he was the most frustrating person alive and you would not have it any other way. And he needs to hear it again, just once, even if you do not know he is listening.
So he walks to the payphone near the school gates. He feeds it coins with trembling hands, dials your number, and waits.
You answer on the third ring.
"Hello?"
He does not speak. He cannot. He just stands there, the receiver pressed to his ear, listening to you breathe.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Your voice is tired and a little annoyed. But it is yours, and for a moment, he can close his eyes and pretend that nothing has changed. That he is still allowed to call you at midnight to complain about homework or tell you about something ridiculous Grim did like you are still his.
"If this is a prank, it's not funny," you say, and there is an edge to your tone now.
He hangs up before you can say anything else.
He does this six more times over the next two weeks. He tells himself he will stop because this is cruel and he is making things worse.
But he does not stop.
Because hearing you say "hello" is the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
Ace is not drunk, though he wishes he were. He is just tired. Tired of pretending he is fine. Tired of the weight in his chest that never goes away. Tired of living in a world where you exist but he is not allowed to be part of your life.
He is sitting on the floor of his dorm room, back against the bed, phone in his hand. He has been staring at your contact for the better part of an hour, his thumb hovering over the call button, and he knows this is a bad idea. He knows that if he does this, if he uses his own phone instead of the payphone, you will see his name. You will know it is him and probably hang up before he can say a single word.
But he is so, so tired of being a ghost in your life.
He presses call.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. He is about to hang up, to let the cowardice win again, when you answer.
"Ace?"
Your voice is cautious. But hearing you say his name after weeks of silence breaks something inside him that he did not know was still intact.
"Yeah," he says, and his voice cracks on the single syllable. "It's me."
There is a long pause. He can hear you breathing on the other end, and he wonders if you are about to hang up. If this is the moment you finally cut him out for good.
"What do you want?" you ask, and your tone is flat, guarded, and he deserves that.
"I—" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Silence.
"I know that's not enough," he continues, the words spilling out now, clumsy and unpolished. "I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. I hate that I laughed when I should have told her no. I hate that I made you think I didn't care. I hate that I've spent the last month calling you from a payphone like some kind of pathetic stalker because I couldn't handle not hearing your voice."
He hears you inhale sharply, and he knows you have put the pieces together.
"I'm lost," he says, and his voice is barely above a whisper now. "I don't know how to do this without you. I don't know how to be me without you. And I know I don't deserve another chance. I know you're probably doing fine without me. But I just... I needed you to know that I'm sorry. And that if you'll let me, I want to try again. I won't lose you this time. I swear."
"Where are you?"
"My dorm," he says, confused.
"Can you come over?"
His heart stops.
"What?"
"Can you come over?" you repeat, and there is something in your voice that he cannot name. Something fragile and hesitant, like you are offering him a lifeline but are not sure if he will take it.
"Yeah," he says, already on his feet, already reaching for his jacket. "Yeah, I'm coming. I'll be there in five minutes."
"Okay."
You hang up.
Ace stares at the phone in his hand, his chest tight, his hands shaking. He does not know if this is forgiveness or pity or just you being kind enough to let him say goodbye in person. But it does not matter.
You wanted him to come over.
And for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe.
