#so you can rip my long paragraphs out of my cold dead hands.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

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“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier. 

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears. 

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock. 

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway. 

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser. 

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you. 

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information. 

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him. 

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you. 

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground. 

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor. 

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too. 

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice. 

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed. 

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours. 

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit. 

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat. 

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules. 

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock. 

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you. 

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine. 

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag. 

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all. 

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss. 

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched. 

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality. 

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you. 

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms. 

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room. 

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima. 

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him. 

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming. 

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want. 

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move. 

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Investigations (Part 3): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

synopsis: when things are uncovered, can you handle the truth? Or are you doomed to make a mistake you can't rectify?

wc: 2.1k

tw: violence

masterlist

song recommendation:

Ran's past was a lie.

When you met him at the country club five years ago, your pasts had been explained in hushed tones and excited flurries of memories; sharing photos of the time before he was an executive of the communications company he worked in and the time before you were a journalist.

Ran said he had gone to jail twice, both for crimes he had been an accessory to as a delinquent kid, but that he'd cleaned up his act after and made his way up the corporate ladder. Nothing about gangs or being a Heavenly King in Tenjiku made it past his lips.

You had been honest, too. Your tales included the time you'd accidentally happened upon a massive gang fight, and that's how your investigative journalism skills began to bloom.

Who was fighting?

What were they going to do after?

Where did these gangs come from?

When did this argument start?

Why were they fighting?

How did gangs form in the first place?

Those were all the questions you sought out answers for that night and the next five years after, devoting your time and effort to finding the truth about everything.

"Babe?" You freeze, hands hovering over the keys at the sound of Ran's voice. You don't turn around - you can't even look at him the same these days - but he fixes that by walking over to you and turning you around in your chair. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Just doing some writing." His violet eyes search yours for the truth, but you know he won't be able to find it. Not while you're still trying to unravel his past. Ran kisses your eyelids sweetly, cupping your face in his large palms and littering his love across your face as you try your best to remain still and not confess about your research.

"Come to bed. It's late."

"I've got a few more paragraphs," you explain, motioning to the small print on your screen. "I'll be in bed soon."

But your lie is discovered shortly thereafter. It's five a.m. when Ran returns, seeing you slumped against your desk, arms cushioning your head, laptop screen blank. Instinctively, Ran pulls you out of your seat - making your notebook fall to the ground - grunting softly as he scoops you up into his arms and cradles you against his chest.

You willingly allow your husband to carry you to bed, where your two-year-old is also nestled among the sheets and pillows, thumb tucked into his mouth. And for a moment, Ran appreciates the view, seeing the two people he loved the most - besides his younger brother - laying in the bed he paid for, in the house he built, in the city he owns.

But then he remembers the slight disarray you left your things in at the desk and returns, picking up your pencil and notebook before laying them beside the laptop. Then his eyes catch "Ran's past?" written in bold, red letters, along with the words: "Tenjiku" and "Tandai" also written in the web of other words surrounding his name. "South Terano" is also on that web.

He'd have to take care of that in the morning.

And for the first time in a long time, worry bubbles to the surface of his mind, and Ran rips the sheet of paper from your notebook, tossing it into the kitchen trashcan and considering his deed done. He concealed his past to protect his family. And he's concealing the present to achieve the same goal; all for the future to be revealed later. That's how everything should be.

Right? _____________________________________________________________

"Ran," you whisper, lips running across his knuckles. His fingers cup your jaw, and his own lips press against your forehead, violet eyes darkening slightly. "It's six am. Where are you going this early?"

"I have to go into the office for a little while," he murmurs, kissing your forehead again. "I'll be back around lunchtime." Thoughts of Tandai and Tenjiku flash into your mind for a moment, but you smile at him sleepily anyway, absolutely sure these things are part of his past and not in the present.

"We'll be waiting for you, my love."

Despite all of your best intentions, though, you can't help but be consumed by the idea of Ran out, fighting, stealing, maiming... You consider asking him about these things, these concerns, but you decide against it as you're helping Kai with his lunch. If he wanted to leave it in the past, there's a good reason for it. He would have told you if it would be a problem later. Right?

Ran wouldn't jeopardize your family, your home, your life for something so... juvenile.

Right?

The clatter of keys on the counter in the living room brings you back to the present, and you perk up, your two-year-old mimicking your expression.

"Daddy!" Kai slides down from his seat and runs to greet Ran, clutching his father's legs with all his little might.

"Hey, buddy," Ran laughs, stooping to pick up his son with excitement. "How are you doing?" As son and father have a very stimulating conversation about playtime, you watch them in wonder, observing the way Ran makes his child a priority, just like he makes you a priority. But your countenance falls as soon as you see the blood spot on the bottom of Ran's lavender suit jacket. You know its blood because of the way it dried - that's no ketchup stain.

You fake a smile anyway, giving Ran a kiss on the cheek and tugging his jacket off after he sits Kai back on the tile floor.

"Hard day?"

"Kind of," Ran mumbles, and you catch the sight of a long scratch down the side of his neck. "But I made it through." You hum, taking the pin-striped jacket to the laundry room and slinging it over the side of the washer. You'd need that later.

"Need to relax?" you wonder, and Ran grins at you mischievously.

"Maybe later, after bedtime?"

_____________________________________________________________

But "later" never came.

Instead, Ran and Kai fell asleep on the sofa, watching a kid's movie, and you retreated to the office, powering up your laptop and pulling your notebook closer.

You immediately notice something's wrong, as the notes you had before were missing. Everything is gone. Not even a word of all the research you had done was there. Hadn't you written meticulous notes and names and things about Ran's past that could be interconnected? You break out in a sweat and search in every drawer of the desk, every place it could possibly be. You come up with nothing, and let out a frustrated sigh before slumping down in your seat and pulling up the computer history from yesterday. If you had to rewrite every single thing, that's fine. You'd just need more time to gather your evidence for the meeting on Saturday.

You're knee-deep in articles and police reports when you stumble across a more recent - actually as recent as this morning - article titled: "Ex-gangster found dead in meat factory". The picture of South Terano startles you, and you click on it, feeling a sense of dread as the article details how he was found hanging upside-down in the warehouse with a bullet hole in his head. And just like that, your newest lead has fizzled out. You groan, writing down "South Terano, deceased" on your notepad, then exiting the tab.

There had to be someone else you could ask. Shuji Hanma only provided you with Ran and Rindou's names, no one else.

"What's this?"

The door to the office shuts softly, and you look over your shoulder at Ran, who is walking toward you with measured steps, his eyes taking in your exhausted expression and the way you're hunched over that notepad. Again.

"What are you doing? You look tired, babe. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

Suddenly, pieces begin to click as Ran leans his hip against the desk, staring down at you in the chair with squinted violet eyes. "You threw away my notes... Didn't you?"

"What are you doing in my business, y/n?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you were in two gangs?" you counter, fingers shaking slightly. "Ran, this is something I needed to know before--"

"You wouldn't have married me if I told you." Ran's tone is cold, almost as if he's turned into the past version of himself without batting an eye.

"You don't know that." Ran leans forward, coming to eye level with you a smirking.

"I know you. And that's all I need." Ran reaches out a hand to close the laptop, still smiling and maintaining eye contact. "Now here's what you're going to do. First, you're going to stop digging into my past. There's nothing there that you need to find. Second, you're going to come to bed. It's late, you're tired. Finally," Ran cups your chin like he did this morning, except his fingers aren't so tender this time. "You're going to cut off contact with both Shuji Hanma and Taiju Shiba. I'm not really fond of either of them, and I'm not a fan of having them tell my business to my wife."

"They were only doing it because I asked."

"Taiju, maybe. Shuji isn't so eager to fuck you. I doubt he did it out of the kindness of his heart." You can't say anything to refute his claims. Ran is probably right. But you can't get one question out of your mind.

"Why are you trying to hide your past? What's there that I won't like?"

"What isn't there is the real question."

"What can you tell me about the gang that's just surfaced in Tokyo?" Ran's face slackens, transforming into a half-surprised, half-blank look that you realize is one that means he's been caught. "Oh, my fucking god," you breathe, tears stinging your eyes. "South, the fish, the murders, the crime... It's you. It's been you this whole time. I've been chasing my own husband down." Panic begins to set in, and your mind whirls around as you shake in your seat, bringing your hands up to your head. "Just tell me Rindou isn't in this," you breathe, but Ran doesn't answer you, still wearing that dumb look on his face. You let out a cry of shock, covering your mouth and trying to back away from Ran as much as you can.

The source is a lot closer than you think.

You slide down the wall, shocked into stillness as your sobs quiet, and Ran straightens up, placing his hands in his sweatpant pockets. The long nights, the early mornings, the bloodstains, the damn suits... It all led to this. Ran had never really left his old lifestyle behind. He'd gotten caught up in it, and brought you and Kai into it unknowingly.

"I never meant for it to get this... unhinged." You can't reply, tucking your knees into your chest as you stare past Ran and at the opposite wall, wondering how you'd missed the signs, the obvious signs that Ran was up to no good. "I know this is a lot to take in, but we can--"

"I can't stay here."

The words fall from your mouth and Ran flinches, shaking his head.

"No. You can't leave."

"Yes, I can," you mumble, standing and wiping your tears. "I can do whatever I need to do to keep Kai safe, and--"

"Kai is safer here than out there," Ran snaps, pointing at the window. "I'm not letting my son out of my sight. Your snooping has caused enough trouble as it is; I wouldn't have had to go and clean up this morning if you hadn't--"

"Don't blame this on me," you retort, pointing at Ran accusatorially. "You're the one who joined a gang and is still in one! What kind of role model are you for our son now?"

"I provide the best way I can," Ran grits out, clenching his fists. "You've never gone hungry, cold, or ill-clothed a day in your life while you were with me."

"I would rather die than enjoy a life paid for with blood money."

"Blood money? You really think--" You try to push past Ran, but he grabs your shoulders, yanking you back in front of him. "You're not going anywhere except to our bed."

"Let me go, Ran Haitani," you mutter, hands balling up into little fists. "Or I'll scream."

"Who will hear you? Kai?"

How had you been so foolish? Ran's lips press together momentarily as his violet eyes run over your figure, taking stock of all your five-foot-six stature. You're no match for Ran. Not mentally, and certainly not physically. Ran notices your defeat and his hands slide down to your wrists, tugging your delicate hands up to his chest.

"Everything will be fine," he whispers, drawing you close. "I'm taking care of us. Just trust me."

Just trust me.

#ran haitani x reader #ran haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers

[riddlecrux]

Why rejection leads to the endgame: Rowaelin and Elriel comparison.

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR and TOG series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. This post is going to be about two very prominent scenes that occur to the main characters and how they are played in the books, setting-wise but also plot-wise. Of course, a small warning: this is strictly pro-Elriel meta, so if it isn't your cup of tea you are in the wrong place. Also: SPOILERS FOR TOG!

I would like to start this meta with a short preface about how I am going to approach the subject. The things I will be looking into are setting, wording, and emotional attachments. (With a sprinkle of speculations).

We will begin with Rowaelin and how the rejection scene developed. The plotline setting is after a very tense situation, which was confronting Arobynn.

Queen of Shadows, pg. 321

Rowan was done waiting. (...) The lamplight glinted off the combs in her hair and along the golden dragon on the dress.

Emphasis on: - hair - light, and how it glides across combs of Aelin hair - "glinted"

Also worth mentioning is how Rowan finally overcame his inner battle. He became impatient.

Azriel POV, pg. 1

Azriel couldn't stop it. (...) he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. (...) and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

Emphasis on: - hair - light, and how it lightens Elain hair - "gilded"

Again, we have a male who is questioning his inner feelings and after an imminent mind battle, he decides to move and goes towards a place when he meets up with a female.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 321-322

She half turned toward him. (...) The look in her eyes—guilt, anger, agony—hit him like a blow to the gut.

(...) and though she tried to hide it, he could see the fear in her gaze, and the guilt.

Rowan can read Aelin without words. Just one look and he knows exactly what she feels or what hides behind her words - which often are laced with lies. Yet, he, Rowan was able to always see beneath the false facade - even before they were told about them being true mates.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face.

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

Azriel, just as Rowan can easily deduct lies underneath Elain's words. Him being a shadowsinger and spymaster could help him in knowing the truth, yet we have an emphasis on the fact that he didn't need his powers to realize and catch Elain's lie based on her tone and facial expressions.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

He watched her swallow.

The same imagery, similar wording. Both males are focused on the females' emotions and their nervousness/trepidation.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

She rested her head against his chest, the tips of the bat-wing combs digging into him enough that he eased them one at a time from her hair. The gold was slick and cold in his hands (...)

Emphasis on: - Aelin initiating physical contact - piece of jewelry - golden color - Aelin's hair

Azriel POV, pg. 2-3

"Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable.

Emphasis on: - Elain initiating physical contact - piece of jewelry - golden color - Elain's hair

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

She huffed a laugh that might have been a sob and wrapped her arms around his waist as if trying to steal his warmth.

He flattened his hand against her waist, his fingers contracting once as if debating letting her go.

We have Aelin seeking Rowan's touch, she is the one who pushes on the physical line between them. It's important to note that it's her constantly assessing Rowan, trying to close the distance between them. She's acting on her feelings and a need for closure.

Emphasis on the wording used by SJM: - "flattened his hand (...)"

Azriel POV pg. 3

Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

Emphasis on: - "until his palm lay flat (...)"

In this setting, we have Elain who, once again, closes on the distance between her and Azriel. Just like Aelin she chooses to move along her feelings - which are obstructed from the reader's point of view due to the text being singular POV. It is her who slowly builds up the courage and makes Azriel touch her. Settle on her skin.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

She waited for him to pull back, but he just stared at her—stared into her in that way he always did. Friends, but more. So much more, and she’d known it longer than she wanted to admit.

Carefully, she stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, his face slick with the rain.

Aelin realizes her feelings. She comes with the terms of their friendship and its possible development - both she and Rowan started out on the wrong foot, yet they formed an amazing friendship. They built their relation slowly, surely with many heartful moments that bordered on the line of friendship and something more.

Emphasis on: - Aelin "stroking" Rowan's face

Azriel POV pg. 3

It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.

Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine.

Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.

As in the Rowaelin case, Elain and Azriel also built their relationship from a friendship. It was formed during the very dark period of time on Elain's behalf - just like it was for Aelin's. Both Azriel and Elain found comfort with each other, they both started to enjoy the company of the other - sitting in comfortable silence. Yet, we have an idea that this friendship slowly started to bloom into something riskier, more emotional. Both, Azriel and Elain already had their first love ripped away, never fulfilled, and ending in a painful manner. And for the first time when we are inside Azriel POV, it confirms that they balanced on this thin line for a while.

Emphasis on: - Azriel "brushing" Elain's throat and nape

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 323

It hit her like a stone—the wanting. She was a fool to have dodged it, denied it, even when a part of her had screamed it every morning that she’d blindly reached for the empty half of the bed.

Emphasis on: - realization of desire - mornings in the bed - desperate search for Rowan in the sheets

Azriel POV, pg. 2-3

Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night.

(...) a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Emphasis on: - desire - night and bed - looking at the gift from Elain on his nightstand

Both scenes and paragraphs signalize that both Aelin and Azriel fought with their newfound feelings. They were realizing that the friendship was slowly turning into something more - a feeling of desire to not only be close to the other person but also a desire to close the distance between friends and lovers.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

She lifted her other hand to his face and his eyes locked onto hers, his breathing ragged as she traced the lines of the tattoo along his temple.

His hands tightened slightly on her waist, his thumbs grazing the bottom of her ribcage. It was an effort not to arch into his touch.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

(...) his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

But Azriel just stroked her neck again. Elain shuddered, drifting closer.

Emphasis on: - constant engaging in physical contact - touching vulnerable parts of the other person - answering to the touch

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

“Rowan,” she breathed, his name a plea and a prayer. She slid her fingers down the side of his tattooed cheek, and—

Azriel POV pg. 4

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.

Emphasis on: - how the last word before the almost kiss is breathed - "religious" themes such as comparison to Rowan's name to the prayer - Mother (a "religious" figure) being present during this intimate scene between Elain and Azriel

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

Faster than she could see, he grabbed one wrist and then the other, yanking them away from his face and snarling softly. The world yawned open around her, cold and still.

He dropped her hands as if they were on fire, stepping away, those green eyes flat and dull in a way she hadn’t seen for some time now. Her throat closed up even before he said, “Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”

Rowan rejected Aelin in a brusque manner - and it wasn't necessarily because he didn't want to engage in expanding their relationship past the friendship. Rowan at this moment still lacks self-reassurance about how he should feel after Lyria. He is scared. It is something different than the feelings that restrained him from the kiss.

Azriel POV, pg. 4

Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth.

His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.”

We have Azriel who rejects the kiss because of Rhysand. It was not on his own terms. It was an order of his High Lord that involuntarily stopped him from kissing Elain.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

There was a roaring in her ears, a burning in her face, and she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean—” She backed away a step, toward the door on the other side of the roof. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It was nothing.”

Azriel POV pg. 4

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I’m sorry."

He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression.

In both scenes, it's the female that apologizes. The one who initiated physical contact. Aelin apologizes twice, meanwhile, Elain is rendered speechless and hurt - and it's Azriel who assures her that it is she doesn't need to apologize. However, Elain is left alone without an explanation and Azriel can't stand seeing her like that.

Both scenes are built in a similar manner - we have friendships border lining on a thin line of something more. Both Elain and Aelin are the ones who initiate physical contact and are the ones who are "rejected", left hurt, and confused. Rowan and Azriel are battling their self-hatred and feeling of unworthiness that is very sound in both of their POVS. There is a lot of things that contribute to the rejection - especially their feelings. Rowan and Azriel feel the romantic pull towards their loved ones - they know that desire and their feelings are reciprocated. Yet, their inner struggles are in the way of fully accepting the fact that the female they yearn for is able to accept them.

More parallels:

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 322

He’d almost fallen to his knees when he’d first seen her earlier tonight.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.

Both males are on the verge of falling to their knees in front of Aelin/Elain. They are ready to submit to their loved ones.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 324

(...) understood that though she’d seen his eyes shine with hunger—hunger for her—it didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. Didn’t mean he might not hate himself for it.

In this chapter in Queen Of Shadows, we are presented with dual POV, both from Rowan and Aelin so it's easier to see what Aelin had felt when she was rejected. She tells the audience that she was aware of the fact that Rowan exhibited a desire for her. Furthermore, we have another instance of Aelin being able to understand Rowan without words. She knows that Rowan feeling lust for her might have resulted in him hating himself for that because of what had happened with Lyria.

Azriel POV, pg. 2

Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

We are obstructed from Elain's point of view and her understanding is explained by Azriel. He knows that Elain understands him. It's an important thing to remember since their friendship was built on the comfortable silence in which both of them bask. Elain and Azriel, just like Aelin and Rowan understand each other without words.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 337

He hated it. Hated that he couldn’t reach her when she was that person. Hated that he’d snapped at her last night, had panicked at the touch of her hands. Now she’d shut him out entirely. This person she’d become today had no kindness, no joy.

Azriel POV, pg. 2-4

(...) Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression.

Both Rowan and Azriel don't want to hurt their significant other. They battle their inner demons, their inner self-worth problems while trying not to put the weight of it on Aelin and Elain. Rowan has his mind troubled because he, at this moment in the books, is still burdened with what had happened to his "mate". On the other hand, we have Azriel who can't bring himself to be in the same room as Elain and Lucien due to their bond. A mate that Elain doesn't want. Azriel's reaction to the mating bond is also very strange - he can see it and scent it. Which I believe should be very telling if we're taking true mate/second mate theories into consideration. So, overall the problem of both males stems from the notion of "mate".

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 345

Even now, he honestly couldn’t decide if he was amused or enraged by Rowan’s words—Don’t touch me like that—when it was obvious the warrior-prince felt quite the opposite.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

Rowan and Azriel want to indulge in their desire for Aelin and Elain. Both of them weren't able to do so because of the "rejection", yet we are presented with the fact that even the rejection doesn't mean anything as long as both males feel completely opposite to what they had told during the refusal scenes.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

Her scent hit him as she unbound her hair and nestled into the pile of pillows. That scent had always struck him, had always been a call and a challenge. It had shaken him so thoroughly from centuries encased in ice that he’d hated her at first. And now … now that scent drove him out of his mind.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.

Emphasis on: - the scent - how it affects the male

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

They were both really damn lucky that she currently couldn’t shift into her Fae form and smell what was pounding through his blood. It had been hard enough to conceal it from her until now.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent.

Both males explain to the audience that their desire and lust were and are something they are battling as well. Rowan and Azriel are anxious because of their own problems with self-worth that they are struggling to keep as a secret.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

He’d seen her naked before—a few times. And gods, yes, there had been moments when he’d considered it, but he’d mastered himself. He’d learned to keep those useless thoughts on a short, short leash. Like that time she’d moaned at the breeze he sent her way on Beltane—the arch of her neck, the parting of that mouth of hers, the sound that came out of her—

Azriel POV, pg. 3

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make.

Emphasis on: - keeping the desire to himself - imagery of the female body - the sounds/moans

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 348

She was now lying on her side, her back to him. “About last night,” he said through his teeth. “It’s fine. It was a mistake.”

Azriel POV, pg. 4

His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.”

I think this is self-explanatory. The same words, similar situation. Rejection followed by a declaration of it being a mistake when the truth is that both couples are yearning for each other and want to be with one another.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 349

The desire hadn’t been what shook him at all. It was just … Aelin had driven him insane these past few weeks, and yet he hadn’t considered what it would be like to have her look at him with interest.

Azriel POV, pg. 3

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent.

So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open (...)

Rowan and Azriel didn't even think about the fact that their desire could be reciprocated- and more than lust they were shocked that Aelin/Elain would look at them with interest, longing, hope. They weren't ready to acknowledge the fact that they weren't alone in this spiral of emotions and feelings.

Moving forward we have the acceptance stage and romantic moments for Rowaelin in Queen Of Shadows. Of course in the case of Elriel we are limited to an extra chapter, however, there are still very prominent similarities in setting and wording.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 378

“Aelin,” he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but … a plea. It sounded like a plea. He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a hair’s breadth away. She arched her neck farther, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against her skin.

He let out another low groan, answer and confirmation and request, and the rumble echoed inside her

Azriel POV, pg. 4

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision.

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Both couples operate without words. In the case of Rowaelin we have: - a plea - a silent invitation - an answer - a confirmation - a request

In the case of Elriel we have: - an offer - a permission - a decision - a relief - a need

The same setting, very similar description, and usage of words. As I was saying, in the case of Elain and Azriel relationship we are obstructed from Elain's point of view due to the content being a bonus chapter. Yet, we can draw a comparison between both couples. Why? Because SJM structured both rejections in the same way. Rowaeiln's rejection leads to a relationship, later to a discovery of being true mates. Is it a coincidence? From a writer's point of view and an avid reader - I don't believe so. She structured both rejections, in the same manner, using very similar vocabulary and even the familiar setting. In the case of Elriel - Azriel's "rejection" is what essentially builds a start for their relationship in the next book. We also have to remember that in Elain and Azriel situation we have:

- a mate - political background - forbidden romance - compatible powers - blood duel - connection to Koschei SJM gave us a setup for the premise of the next book which we know is Elain's. Azriel and Feyre's POV focus on her, but we know that it's one couple per book. Which perfectly aligns with Elriel and their rejection and pining. In SJM universe such rejections as the ones presented are used to further develop a couple, not to bring it down. The parallels are evident and if you are thinking that she doesn't use foreshadowing and she doesn't focus on details I would recommend rereading both series and see that SJM is an expert in foreshadowing - even the tiniest bits of it come out through the series.

That's why in the cases of her HEA couples rejection means endgame.

Queen Of Shadows, pg. 379

“This changes things,” she said, hardly able to get the words out. “Things have been changing for a while already. We’ll deal with it.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel meta #pro elain archeron #elain and azriel #azriel x elain #acotar meta #rowaelin #tog

[sylverstorms]

Mother Miranda x Lawyer!Oc ----Tilted Scales

Hello guys :) This is another commission I wrote for the amazing, wonderful @saltwatereulogies

Your support has been insane, I can't thank you enough. Hope you enjoy the story ❣

Three days.

That is how long you've been in the village, after years of studying abroad, before everything turns to shit.

As you slowly blink focus back into your eyes, you try to clear the haze from your mind. It feels as though you've collided with a truck. Your body hurts, your wrists protest in their iron cuffs, stuck to the wall as they are, having supported your weight while you were unconscious.

Desperately, you try to recollect the events that led you here...

A grey sky. A bleak day. One moment you were making coffee for your mother, excited to be able to sit down with her in the mornings again... and the next you heard the echo of screams.

Overcome by adrenaline, you bolted out of your house, only to witness a scene straight from a nightmare; humanoid monsters ripping villagers apart, cries and blood and animalistic growls all blending together into one mad mix.

And before you could even warn your mother...

Damn it all, what the fuck happened!

You suddenly struggle against your bonds, hard enough to rattle your whole frame. Your wrists burn from the grind against metal, but you don't care–

“Stop that. It is pointless and you will only injure yourself.” A cold voice, strangely familiar, says from far to your right.

You peer deep into the shadows, searching for the only other person in the empty room... until you see her. A mask advances on you, gold and shaped like a crow's visage, then wings folded into a cloak come into view.

You would be a fool to not recognize her. The local saint. The village's prophet. The very 'saint' your mother prayed to, for your safe return, all these years. Mother Miranda.

The sound of her heels bounces off the walls until she comes to stand directly in front of you. Looking past the openings of her mask now, you realize....

This isn't possible.

She hasn't aged a day. Not a single day, since you left the village. The years should show around her deadly blue eyes, somewhere, and yet they don't.

“I see you remember me...” she says, while you're still trying to find your voice. “Miss Warren.”

“What is going on? Mother Miranda, what happened to the village?!” you demand.

Her expression shows nothing. “The village is in need of... renovation.” she speaks, even, regal. “Repopulation, even.”

You stare at her with wide eyes.

“Now, don't give me that look. You would not be here if you weren't of the ones I chose to keep.” she continues. “You see, from now on, every single person in my domain will make themselves useful in some way, or they will be replaced. And you... you have been abroad studying law for a while now, yes?”

“I... yes.” you reply, still not fully having wrapped your mind around your situation.

“Excellent. What I need from you is simple. You will make the village independent from the state’s taxes as a religious organization... and you will keep foreign investors out from that point onward.”

What... what part of that is simple?!

“Do that for me and in return I guarantee your mother and you will go back to your house safe and sound. You will have no shortage of Lei for as long as you live, Miss Warren.” Miranda promises.

But it is not the sweet part of the deal your mind stays glued to. “And if...” you gulp. “If I can't work around the law to do that...?”

Miranda blinks slowly at you, like you shouldn't even ask such a basic question. Like the answer is obvious.

“Well. Then I have no further use for either of you.”

It is in this moment that it dawns on you.

This woman is no angel and no saint.

She is a devil.

-

-

You spend countless sleepless nights pouring over every single paragraph, every little opening or ambiguity in the law you can use to free the village of taxes.

To keep your mother in the dark about this, you work in the office Mother Miranda has provided for you, in her very stronghold.

Although technically it's her home, you don't see her nearly as much as you initially thought. She is gone throughout the day and returns late at night, not even sparing you a glance before heading for her chambers, at the upper sections of the building.

The days she does come into your office to inquire on your progress are few and far-between, your conversations always short and cold.

This evening is different.

“How is your work coming along, Miss Warren?” the prophetess asks with her aggravatingly nice accent, seating herself like a queen on the chair in front of your desk.

Your eyes are tired, but you force them on hers, through the mask obscuring her face. “I think I've got it. I'll be sending the necessary papers tomorrow and the answer shouldn't take longer than a month.”

“Very good.” she nods, a miniscule curve to her lips.

Icy eyes then drop to the wine in the whiskey glass at the corner of the desk. You think she will make a comment about drinking at work, but instead she says;

“Pour me a glass, will you?”

You will your hands steady as you comply, then carefully slide her drink over.

Miranda takes her mask with claw-shrouded fingers... and soundnessly sets it on the wooden surface. Then she pushes the veil at her hair back, shaking long, platinum locks free.

You do a double take you hope she doesn't notice. Because what the actual fuck.

You didn't think her hair was that long, or that straight, or that it would fall over her shoulders like she's staring in a shampoo ad. You didn't think her lips were shaped like a cupid's bow or that her skin was this flawless and radiant.

The helplessly lesbian part of you could begrudgingly admit she was beautiful before... but now you arrive to the painful realization she's drop-dead gorgeous.

“So. I've heard you won cases others would describe as impossible.” she begins.

“Nothing's impossible. You just need to know where to look.” you reply. Law is your comfort zone and she is not that far above you here. “But how do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

"Nobody truly leaves this village, huh.”

“Not without my consent, no. But I knew you'd come back.” At your slight frown, she elaborates, “You would never leave your mother behind.”

She's right. There was a whole world of opportunities waiting for you out there and yet... here you are.

“Good work, so far. You can take the next two days off. Your eyes could use the rest, Miss Warren.” Miranda speaks, finishing her wine.

“Sarah.” you say. 'Miss Warren' is for clients and she is your boss.

Miranda's lips give a slight quirk that may or may not be a trick of the light.

“I know.” she replies and exits the room, long hair billowing behind her back.

-

-

The taxes were only the first challenge. Now that the village is free of them, investors are flying in circles around it like vultures over meat.

In the meantime, Miranda comes to talk to you more frequently.

Lately, it seems she has more free time. You wish that was a good thing, but...

“So... are you like... going to stay here?” You ask after reading the same sentence five times to make sense of it, because her gaze on you is distracting as fuck.

“I'm not getting in the way of your work.” she says. You want to argue she is, but can't quite do that in a way that won't get you killed.

“I'm simply not used to working with company. Isn't this boring for you?”

“No, actually. I find it interesting, even though science is my field of expertise.” she answers. “And the way you take notes is… amusing.”

You try not to blush as you look down at your notebook, filled with different colored markers and post-it squares with tiny stick figures pointing to the more important paragraphs. You have been doing this for so long to sort out information you didn't even realize you were keeping it up in her presence.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asks with a small smile, the first of its kind you've seen.

To your horror, her clawed pointer aims at a particularly silly doodle, barely the size of a pencil's eraser.

“A... bird.” you grimace like you've been stabbed.

“Ah, of course.” Miranda holds back a chuckle but you can tell she's dying to make a comment.

Studying becomes hell for the rest of the time she's there with you, those sharp eyes picking apart every little move you make. At the same time, though, the hours you spend with her make you realize...

She's not a saint, though she may look like one. She's not completely a devil, either, even if she may act as one, at times.

She's human.

-

-

Miranda shares nothing about herself when you chat, but she seems to like it when you speak about your time abroad and all the things that left an impression on you there.

Your conversation over wine is cut short, however, when you receive a call from a number you learned means nothing but trouble, lately.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” you tell her.

The one calling you is none other than this month's rival lawyer, trying to dispute your claim over the land for his own boss. He's lost to you before, so it's also personal, but you are confident you have cornered them good with the latest papers you sent them...

And you are proven correct, when, a few seconds later, he is all faux polite on the other line, resorting to offering you money for you to withdraw your arguments.

Miranda comes to stand next to you, listening in to what he's saying.

The problem with that is, the second her arm brushes yours and you catch a whiff of her perfume –which always lingers in your office long after she's left— youare the one who stops listening to him.

Your attention flies to other things, like the inches she has on you, the exact color of her pale blonde hair, the little glint of victory in her stunning eyes.

Oh, no. God, no...

You know what this is, the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Alarm bells go off in the back of your head, as though your own mind is telling your body how foolish it's being.

There isn't a worse thing you can do to yourself than be attracted to Miranda.

-

-

Over time, familiarity with the prophetess brings higher levels of difficulty into your 'try to ignore your crush on her' game.

Miranda joins your side and leans over your shoulder, sometimes, to peer down at what you're doing. You don't move and don't breathe until she's within a safe distance again.

Then there are the wayward 'reward' touches, when you turn another investor away from the village. She may pat your back or leave her hand on your shoulder, or even scratch your nape with her claws as a job well done.

You hope your poker face hides the fact you feel her touch on you for far longer than you should, after she's gone.

Tonight, the situation is the toughest it's ever been for you.

There is a rainstorm going on outside; the waterdrops are tapping against the windows of your office as though they're trying to break it. Miranda has pulled her chair next to you so you can talk easier, without having to shout over the cacophony.

“And basically the judge's decision was that—”

You are interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, during which your mind lets you know the stronghold is easily the tallest structure in it's vicinity—

When thunder cracks down the sky and strikes the building, you nearly scream. Your body tenses and you jump; but Miranda's hands come to your biceps and hold you steady, against herself and your desk.

Another flash comes before you really have time to think about your proximity. She covers your ears with her palms before the thunderclap can send you into overdrive again.

“You are with me and you're scared of a little thunder?” she teases when things quiet down and your heartbeat eases.

It's true; Miranda is the more terrifying force of nature. At the same time, however...

You feel oddly safe to be this close to her.

“Well... I'm not scared right now...” you quietly admit.

Her pointer comes underneath your chin and lifts it so you are looking straight into her hypnotic blue eyes. How is this color even real...

“And why is that?” Miranda asks, her wings coming around you both. They're curtains of black, cutting out some of the storm's sounds.

You want nothing more in this moment than to run your fingers through each individual feather.

You lick your lips. That's...not a question you can answer if you want the balance in your arrangement with her to remain.

Perhaps, though, the scales have tilted for you long ago. You just haven't been brave enough to admit it.

You have the courage to face it now when she leans down and covers your lips with hers, warm in a manner you never imagined she could be.

Her wings pull tighter around you and your mouths slide more firmly together. Lipbalm and creamy lipstick mix, tongues brush, tasting of wine. You are shaking so bad on the inside from how much you want this, more of this, the rumbling of the thunder be damned.

Miranda's palm cups your flaming cheek when she pulls back, perfectly composed and staring at you with a little smirk in place.

You dare to turn a little, lay a tiny kiss on the inside of her wrist, beyond her rings and accessories.

You aren't very fond of storms, but...

You willingly walk right into the eye of this one.

#mother miranda x oc #mother miranda #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #creative writing #commission #thank you so much :')

[king-maven-calore]

5,6 or 7. Angst. Mareven

ok ok, so I had to be in the right state of mind to write this, sorry for the delay. This fits as part of a fic/request that I started writing and may never finish bc damn it hurts so much.

This is uhm... marecal fam y'all should keep your distance🚫🚫

Some days were easier than others. Wasn’t that the way of life? Some days Mare’s figure was a mere shadow at the corner of his eye, disappearing whenever he tried to focus on her. Others, she would linger, muttering snide comments at the Cygnet’s handle of political affairs. Needless to say, she had a great deal of disdain for them. Being married to Iris, he had a right to attend the meetings where such matters were discussed. He wasn’t trusted enough to have an opinion though.

Maven was a prisoner in all but name, in a foreign nation, doomed to roam the halls of The Royelle, chased at every minute of every hour by the ghost of the woman he loved. The dead woman he loved... because he had killed her. Tricky how that worked, that her ghost had chased away the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, and instead made it her task to torture him.

“You know that plan will only get silvers killed and red deserters for the Scarlet Guard,” Mare chirped with a bounce to her step.

‘Task’ wasn’t the right word, when she enjoyed torturing him so thoroughly. If this was his punishment, it was also her paradise.

“Acute observation,” he sneered, keeping his head down until he reached his chambers. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Word on the Lakelander court was that he was mad. A fallen king who often got caught talking to empty air and gazed at nothing, full of longing and loathing in equal measure.

“Obvious, and still you kept your mouth shut.” Her tone changed to scolding and she materialized right in front of him. “You could’ve stopped this.” Her eyes the color of trees in autumn, dead and cold, drilled holes in his.

He sidestepped her and kept walking at a brisk pace. Days such as these, when he could see her so clearly, he could also touch her. It was never a pleasant sensation. Today she looked the same way she had when he branded her in Harbor Bay; hair in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder the braid had come undone when she’d wriggled in pain on the floor when he used Cal’s torture device on her. She was wearing unassuming jeans and a shirt he’d moved out of the way so easily to burn the M on her skin. The spot was unscarred now. A pity. No matter how many times he re-branded the letter, she would just show up without it the next day.

Taunting him. Daring him to commit his sin all over again. Well, joke was on her. A tiny part of him would always sing at seeing her writhing on the ground beneath his hand, it was proof he could too, make her feel something.

“I couldn’t stop anything. They won’t listen to me.”

Maven closed the door of his chambers behind him and started yanking off the layers of heavy black clothes covering his frame until he was in his pants and shirt. It was getting hard to breathe.

“You can be pretty convincing when you want to be,” Mare spat in his face. “Do something, your highness.”

“Why should I?” He gripped her elbows with enough force to bruise. He hated how real, how warm she felt.

She’s not real. She isn’t here. Two sentences that held no weight by now. Not when his heart missed a beat and his skin prickled at the point of contact.

“I have no interest in my wife’s kingdom, or its citizens,” he gritted out pushing her until her back hit the wall, covered in scorch marks the palace staff didn’t bother to clean anymore. “Red or Silver. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

“Nothing ever mattered to you but your precious crown, right.” Mare laughed darkly; her eyes even darker as she glared at him. He loomed inches above her. “How miserable.”

She made it sound so small and simple. An existence reduced to a circle of iron... but it wasn’t true. Underneath the incomprehensible obsession with the power, there had been other things. Phantoms of things erased and squashed with surgical precision: curiosity for art and theatre, affection toward his father and brother, a taste for certain board games, love for two Reds.

The latter, rather than being squashed like the others, had morphed into this; staring into the fascinating, beautiful, horrible face of a phantom that felt more real than his own. He loved her so much he wanted to kill her all over again.

He didn’t realize his hands were burning until Mare’s shirt caught on fire. She remained unfazed, unharmed by his fire, still glowering.

“Not the only thing.” Maven’s voice was strained. “You mattered to me. I told you that.”

“And yet...” she added dryly, without feeling the need to complete the last part. The evident. The tragedy. His last, unforgivable crime. Ripping her away from the world and attaching her to him in return.

Forgive me, I beg of you. But some words could kill if spoken out loud, and he knew these ones would end him. And he was afraid of the darkness that followed, ironic as that may be for someone who had so comfortably inhabited darkness his entire life. One was a familiar comfort, while the other was the black dot at the end of a final paragraph. He refused to end it like this.

“I love you,” he gritted out through the noose tightening around his throat.

“No,” she whispered easily, without even pausing to consider his words. The flames were up to her collar now, licking at her neck. “You don’t. I believed you did, once, in your own way. But I was wrong because you don’t willingly murder the one you love, Maven.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, reflecting the orange light of the fire. “I loved you. I even chose you before you decided to throw it all away.”

Past tense. His gut recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, even though the ghost had no sparks. The room spun, the air scratched its way down to his lungs, his clothes asphyxiated him.

“Then leave me.” He pressed his face to her temple roughly, pushing her against the wall. “Go with him!” he growled like he was gurgling on venom. “Leave me! Leave me alone like all the rest!”

His screams would surely be heard across the palace but he did not care. Mare was all he had left... but not really. He’d made sure of it.

“LEAVE!” His throat hurt and the wallpaper behind Mare started raining down on them in hot embers that clung to their hair and clothes.

She shook him off and murmured in his ear, sweetly, as warmly as if she was pressing a knife to his neck and drawing out silver blood in rivers. “You thought you were the only one capable of hunting? I’ll haunt you even after your body is buried and left to rot.”

And then she was gone. He was left staring at the burning wall, carpet, and ceiling. Behind him, he heard the chandelier drop on the burning mattress. Maven fell to his knees grasping at the now empty air and screamed his throat raw for the first time, burning it all until the room was nothing but ashes, surrounding himself with fire to fight off the dark and the cold that permeated all things.

He let it all out because he did care, deep down he still cared. It was finally starting to push to the front of his consciousness and it was like a dam breaking, like birthing humanity, or himself, he did not know. The chaos and the pain were too great.

No one came to check on him.

When he woke up on the floor the next day, so tired not even 10 years of sleep could have helped, Mare was standing over him. Arms crossed and a quirked brow.

“Are you done?”

Leave it to the Little Lightning girl to shit on a perfectly good dramatic moment.

“Mare, dear,” he sighed, feeling slightly grateful for her presence. “I’m only getting started.”

#Mareven #my fics #red queen #RQ fanfic #don't mind silly things like coherence or grammar #this is pure vibes #fml #ask

[mego42]

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk. 

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

--

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if  the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.  

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again. 

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

#good lord when did i write so much fic????????? #imagine if i hadn't onlly stuck w/ ch 12 of song #it would've taken me weeks to do this #tag games #my fic #shut up meg #gg related

[yelenasdog]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝟏

   ♰ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔱

genre: fluff

summary: new school, new faces. or maybe not? part one to a series explaining the pictures of my college au moodboard “new faces”.

words: 2k

warnings: pining, cursing, kissing, lots of inaccuracies to the show, that’s all i can think of.

a/n: i haven’t done anything for cm in quite some time but i got this random poof of inspo so here take it LMAO roger fic coming really soon.

♀♀♀

It was their first kiss. First date, actually.

Emily was a senior at Georgetown, having just transferred from University of Pittsburgh for her last year. Both schools were an odd choice for the young woman, the former proving to be the wrong fit, as it turned out. It angered her mother that she had been transferring so close to graduation, and frankly Emily could care less, but for some reason, she felt her skin itch at any thought of staying at that horrid place just a semester longer.

She wasn’t quite sure as to why. Her questions might have been answered, though, her first day on the new campus. 

The fall air was chilly and crisp, her nose running ever so slightly as she would pull her burgundy jacket tighter around herself in a desperate grab at warmth, it all to no avail. She kept trying, though, pulling the tie around her waist so tight that it felt as if she was in a corset. 

(Not that she would know, she’d refused to ever get near one. The whole idea of them scared her.)

She watched the colorful leaves crunch under her boots, enjoying the sound and feeling a great deal, the texture reminding her fondly of moments from her youth, the few fond ones she had, anyway. She smiled softly, looking up to see the leaves swirl around a familiar looking blonde head of hair.

A few of the leaves got stuck in the hay colored (now) mess, and she only smiled at it, reaching up a gentle hand to pick them out. She grinned down at them and bit her pink lips, watching as they dropped to the cobblestone from her hand. She continued on with a pep in her step, and to put it lightly, Emily was infatuated.

She thought about the blue eyed beauty for the rest of the day, her elegance, her lips that somehow weren’t chapped in the horribly cold weather (which not that Emily knew yet, but was because of the cinnamon peppermint chapstick that the mystery girl kept in her right pocket), and her aura, so to say, as a whole. The voice in her head told her to simmer down, that it was unrealistic that someone as seemingly bright and sunny would even think about spending a flicker of precious time with someone like her. Emily should have been more confident, as she would learn, as mystery girl had been thinking of her, too.

Yes, Jennifer Jareau was thinking of the unknown girl with the wonderfully long eyelashes, and the shiny dark hair that was similar to the shade of black that graced the feather of the crows she would see down by the pond she passed on her morning runs. Her mind was otherwise occupied from all normal affairs, consumed by thoughts of her ripped and pale lips that the enticing other woman darted her tongue across mere seconds after the last time she had, every single time. 

Jennifer had wished to tell the girl that licking her lips only dried them out more, only wanting to help relieve her of any possible pain, as that’s what Jennifer always did. That’s why she told herself she was thinking of the drop dead gorgeous girl who she had sworn she’d seen before, and she promised to herself she would find her and let her know.

And apparently, she would.

It wouldn’t be for a few hours, though, not until they both ended up at the top floor of the library, the quietest one where there was a silent rule that speaking was forebode. Emily internally cursed herself for that, feeling damned that fate would put her in a position of such pining, yearning. It was an ironic situation, though, as Emily would like to believe that she would have the confidence in herself enough to actually go up to the blonde and make conversation, maybe ask her for a study date? But, she wouldn’t. Not today.

Jennifer would, though. Jennifer would catch notice of the brunette lurking behind the single bookshelf in the upper level, as it was only really there for storage and the shelves were sparse. So with her heart beating and her palms sweaty, she went down the flights of stairs, her feet silent against the carpet. They would sound out again when she reached the tile flooring of the second level, and she screwed her eyes shut, hoping that somehow the girl followed her and that JJ would hear her footprints.

She didn’t care how ridiculous she looked, all bundled up and standing in the middle of a group of tables with her eyes closed, almost like she was trying to turn invisible, hiding in plain sight. Honestly, she very well may have been.

A few beats passed, and Jennifer gave up on her non existent spidey senses, deciding to try to actually rid her mind of raven girl, as she had decided to call her until she knew her real name, and study for her upcoming exam that she her until she knew her real name, and study for her upcoming exam that she somehow had, despite it only being the sophomores first day.

So she sat quietly as she read through her criminology textbook, humming some tune that her friend had introduced her to, something by a new indie group. Her humming came to a cease, though, when she heard a thud. She looked up, a small gasp falling from her glossed lips at who was sitting across from her.

She looked right back down to the tanned wood of the table, as soon as she saw warm brown eyes boring into her. Then, it was quiet, just the bustle of those around her. Pages flipping, pencils scratching, and small groans escaping from tired students as they went.

“Why’d you stop?”

Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat, her perfectly manicured hand freezing on the paragraph she was reading. Raven girl's voice had caught her off guard, deep and smooth, like honey.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” The blonde stuttered out, still having a hard time meeting her eyes.

“Your humming, I liked it, it was nice. Don’t tell me you stopped because of me!” She leaned forward on her arm, quirking a perfect eyebrow. They both laughed, and Emily felt she hadn’t ever in her life heard such a golden and melodic sound before.

“Sorry, sorry, you just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Emily. I just transferred here from-”

“University of Pittsburgh?”

A look of bewilderment came across Emily's stark features, along with a sly smile. “How’d you know,”

“Jennifer. My name’s Jennifer. I came here for my grad studies a while back.”

Emily chuckled again, falling back to her chair. “God, I swore you looked so familiar.” She said, watching as Jennifer laughed and shook her head. Jennifer closed her book, observing that Emily never had even opened hers. She placed it in her bag slinging it over her shoulder. She stood, Emily following suite.

“Small world, right, Emily?”

She nodded immediately, tightening her own grip on her satchel. The leather was cool on her calloused fingers,

“Care to chat with me about it over a coffee?”

And that’s how they ended up sitting in the quaint cafe just down the road, watching as the sun started to sink, beverages in hand. Jennifer had found out that Emily preferred her coffee black, while Emily had found out that Jennifer liked hers with 2 hazelnut creams and 4 sugars. The thought made both girls smile, finding that both drinks fit their personalities perfectly.

Growing impatient, Emily ran her tongue over her lips again, feeling the peeling skin, the taste bitter and the sores burning. She leaned closer to Jennifer, like she had earlier in the library. Jennifer could feel her breath fanning over her neck, and it gave her butterflies, just like the ones she can remember being so obsessed with in her youth.

“What do you say we get outta here, find somewhere to watch the sunset?”

Jennifer only nodded bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and standing, taking Emily's hand as it had been offered to her, following her wherever she may go.

Now, they were sitting on the concrete of the rooftop to the freshman dorms, Emily somehow managing to get through, claiming she had some friends who would be happy to let her up. Apparently, she wasn’t bluffing.

“Sunset’s gorgeous, huh?” Jennifer spoke, her hands feeling the rough material beneath her, the wind blowing against her face. Her hair floated around her like a halo, and though Emily had lost much faith, if she had to spot an angel, her money was on them looking just like the girl next to her. Her eyes never left Jennifer’s silhouette as she spoke, her focus captured.

“Yeah. Breathtaking.”

Jennifer turned to meet her gaze, both of them fully understanding what breathtaking, really, truly meant in that moment. It was the windswept hair, breathtaking, really, truly meant in that moment. It was the windswept hair, watery eyes, red noses. Bright smiles, hands basically itching to reach for the other.

“Does everyone call you Jennifer?”

“I mean, my mom calls me Jen?”

Emily shook her head, saying “No, that won’t work. How about a last name?”

“Jareau.”

She took a second, using this as an opportunity to stall, decide her next move.

“I’ve got it! How about JJ? Yeah?”

Jennifer or JJ, smiled again, looking to her hands. She loved it, God, why did she love it? She knew the answer to that, because Emily had given it to her, it was new, exciting. Just like her.

“It’s that, or J squared. Which one?” She tilted her head, and then both laughed and smiled, something they found they would be doing a lot of together.

“Yeah, you’re right. JJ is good, it’s good.” She whispered, lifting her head. She was met with Emily, who had some troubled look upon her face. She was conflicted, that much JJ could tell, her few profiling classes she’d had serving her well.

They were close, now, and JJ could finally see the folds and cracks of the other girls lips, wanting nothing more than to just lean in and kiss them, once and for all.

“Y’know, uh, licking your lips makes dryness even worse.”

Emily's mouth made an “o”, a smile coming soon after.

“Really? Well then you’ve got to spill, what on Earth do you do to keep yours so damn perfect?”

“I- Fuck.”

Not waiting a second more, JJ rushed forward, connected their lips in what felt so long awaited, though they had only formally known each other for a few hours. The contrast of their skin was so enticing, so addicting, they couldn’t help but smile, teeth clashing and breaths mixing. They only separated to catch their breaths, chests heaving.

“It’s chapstick. I never leave home without it.” JJ commented, said chapstick having left remnants on Emily's lips. She nodded, opening her eyes.

“Yeah, I got that. Peppermint and,” She quickly flicked her tongue again, recognition becoming prevalent in her features. “cinnamon?”

JJ’s smile widened, as it had never left her face, and she nodded slowly, pulling the tube out from her right pocket. She popped off the lid, shifting positions so that she was straddling Emily's lap, her hair dangling in her eyes.

“Is this okay?” She questioned, the chapstick still in her shaky hand. Emily nodded vigorously, her heart beating quite fast, her mind repeating all the possibilities that could go wrong like some sort of mantra.

“Yeah, this is more than okay.” She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. JJ did the same, putting on another round of the solution before leaning down and placing a long kiss on Emily's lips. She pulled away, running the tube over them again, “just for good measure” she had said.

When they finally had left the cold rooftop, hand in hand, the sky had turned into an indigo sheet, the stars in it shimmering as bright as ever.

“Em?” JJ had questioned, stopping in her tracks. Emily looked over, raising her brows and tilting her head, resembling a puppy.

“Hmm?”

“Can we do this again?”

The question hung in the air, and Emily savoured it, letting it sink in deeply, as deep as it could go. They started walking again, their heels echoing loudly against the wet stone.

“Yeah, JJ. I’d like that.”

♀♀♀

hmmmmmmm interesting ANYWAY i’ll make a pt two prolly idk peace ily go drink water and eat protein 

edit: i just reread this this is so horrible what the FAWK im so sorry never let me write when im pulling an all nighter ever again

xx hj

#jemily #jj jareau #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jemily fic #jennifer jareau x emily prentiss #jj x emily #wlw fic #jj jareau fic #emily prentiss fic #idk what to tag this #cm #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #we will rock queue

[lemon-trap]

Hayley Irwin bio

Author’s note: If any of y’all (not many) wanted to know more about my oc Hayley that has showed up before in some of my writing then this is the place for you! (I’m sorry that it’s so long and also about the long paragraphs because tumblr is stupid) I also dedicate this post to @sisi-halloway (I’m so sorry this took so long hun). And there are some parts that are not really accurate but dramatized.

Name: Hayley Irwin

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 22

Birthday: November 3rd

Love interest: Muriel or Asra but it would be very interesting to see her with the others.

Familiar: Snow leopard

Appearance: Hayley is just a few inches shorter than Julian. Her skin tone is almond. She has dark brown hair that drops down to the middle of her back but she usually keeps it in a high ponytail. Her eyes are amber and I love them, they are usually the first things that people notice about her. Her body is fit and flexible. She has many scars on her body including the one on her face but we’ll get to that one in a bit.

Favorite colors: black, green, and sometimes yellow

Favorite flower: gladiolus

Favorite drink: tea

Favorite food: soup or dumplings

Favorite hobbies: she likes to dance

Skills: fighting, dancing, sword fighting, gymnastics, and knows many languages

Place of birth: somewhere really cold and full of mountains

Father: Noah Irwin

Mother: Viktoria Irwin

Sister: Alice Irwin

Backstory:

Hayley was born into a wealthy and happy family. Her earliest memories are of a happy childhood full of laughter and loving parents, little did she know. Noah and Viktoria Irwin were apart of a community of rich old people who thought it was their right to control the world around them. They did this by creating a school decades before Hayley was born, a school for Elite Girls, but this wasn’t a normal boarding school. It was a school for highly trained assassins.

Hayley was too young to know any of this but every family who was apart of this wealthy group had to ‘donate’ their first daughter to the Elite School for Girls. Hayley was a first child and her happy childhood abruptly ended when she was thirteen. In the middle of a dark moonless night Hayley was grabbed from her bed and dragged kicking and screaming out of her house with her parents basically waving her off. The next day was Hayley’s first day of hell. Hayley was scared and confused. She didn’t know where she was or why. Everyone was so mean.

Hayley soon adapted and her grades were high from the fear of what would happen to her if they weren’t. Eventually the classes got tougher and stranger like survival tactics and gymnastics. She was top of her class in each one still. She was aware that the school had their eyes on her. They would stand in the back of the room as she did her flips and stretches. Then she was given fighting classes and there was no room for failure there. Everyday she would return to her room beaten and exhausted but she never gave up and the bruises lessened with each day. Now she was giving her punches to someone else. By this point she knew what the school was really about, she wasn’t dumb. She noticed how some of the older girls would go missing for days then return with bullet wounds or they would never return at all. One day the principal of the school came up to her, she was an old woman that had seen many things and she smiled like she was going to hurt you, she said that Hayley was special and could go on a secret mission that required her help. The principal made Hayley feel special and worthless at the same time.

Hayley agreed, believing that she was ready to face a mission. Boy was she wrong. At first everything was okay, no alarms were triggered and no guards had seen her. Then when she got cocky, Hayley tripped and yelped which caught the guards attention and they chased her out of the building, shooting at her. Miraculously, Hayley survived and was able to get back to the school. She went to the nurses office immediately because she was bleeding heavily. While she was giving the principal her mission report, the principal got angrier with every word Hayley said until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The principal shoved the nurse out of the way just as she was stitching up a wound and the principal pushed Hayley against the medical table. The principal called for more people as she grabbed a pair of giant scissors. Hayley struggled, fearing the worse, but she couldn’t get away from the hands covering her body. She was so surrounded, covered by suffocating hands, and terrified. Hayley screamed but nothing could stop them from cutting her lips off. Her struggling was her worst enemy at that moment because it caused the cuts to be worse and more rough. Hayley fainted from loss of blood and fear.

When she woke up she thought they’d only take her lips but her throat hurt, badly. She struggled to stand but she got out of her bed and walked to the mirror in her bathroom. Hayley almost fainted again from the sight she saw in the mirror. Her lips, now replaced by many stitches and her front teeth were visible from the disappearance of her lips. She continued to look at herself and saw a bandage around her neck, she ripped it off desperately trying to find out what happened. Underneath that bandage was a newly stitched scar that crossed her neck. She tried to scream but nothing came out, not even a peep. Hayley then let herself cry, I’d been so long since she let herself cry.

It wasn’t long before the school told her to get back to work. She was given permission to wear a face mask but only sometimes. Sometimes she would be used by the teachers as an example of failure, as the center of attention. She hated when everyone’s eyes were on her. After what happened, she was determined to never make another mistake again. Hayley focused solely on her skills and her job. She became top of her classes once again. She gave her all to her missions and the missions took pieces of her. All she was was her job. All that mattered was her mission and she was just replaceable figure.

Years later, she was given a mission like any other. Kill a ruthless count? As if she hasn’t done that before. Many people wanted this count dead and that included the rich people who funded Hayley’s school. She slipped through the crowds as soon as she landed in Vesuvia, everyone in the city were too busy talking about the masquerade to notice her.

The masquerade was her perfect cover. It was too crowded inside so she decided to wait outside for this perfect moment. Once she got into position, she heard the most heart wrenching scream she’d ever heard. It echoed throughout the castle. Hayley rushed in her full sneak gear to see what had happened. Then she saw it. The fire.

Hayley had never seen a brighter fire but then she recognized the room it came from. It came from the count’s room. Hayley’s head began to fill with thoughts, thoughts of what would happen if she were to return to her school. She had failed her mission and she wasn’t able to kill him and the school would have her head if they knew what happened.

Then the only thought she had was to run and she did. She didn’t know what she was running from but she felt like running from her mistakes. She ran across rooftops in Vesuvia even after her legs began to ache. Hayley didn’t see the loose roof and it was too late when she did because once she stepped on it, she fell right through the weak wood. Falling three stories down and landing on her leg.

Thankfully she was alive but her leg was definitely broken. She tried to walk on it but couldn’t so she just sat there hoping no one would find her, a small voice inside her even hoping she would die from the blood loss. Then a figure started walking down the dark alley, Hayley tried to stand up desperately and she did right before passing out from the pain. The last thing she saw was a head full of white hair.

When she woke up, she was in a strange place. There were colorful tapestries covering the walls, weird pillows beneath her, and the room smelled like flowers. She then remembered her injury and looked down at her leg, seeing that it was rapped in bandages and had two pieces of wood on each side to keep it together. Hayley heard movement in the other room and tried to grab one of her knifes but they were all gone so she grabbed a pair of scissors and pointed it at the person coming in the room.

The person threw his hands up in the air, he had white poofy hair that reminded Hayley of cotton.

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that,” he said calmly, “So if you could just put the scissors down we can talk.”

Hayley continued to point the knife at him, clearly not in the right mindset. She stared at this strange person and he stared back then she slowly lowered the scissors but didn’t let go of them.

“Okay, that’s good, we’re improving,” his smile was bright, “I brought you tea and new bandages. Can I give them to you?”

This was odd for Hayley, no one ever asked her anything like that. She nodded. The person approached slowly, “This is for you,” he lifted a cup of liquid to Hayley, “It’s a tea that will help your wounds heal.”

Hayley grabbed the cup but didn’t drink it.

“Maybe you’re not a tea person, I get it,” he waved his hands, “Oh, yeah, my name is Asra.” He lifted his hand for her to shake but she didn’t. That didn’t seem to bother him.

“Could you tell me your name?” Asra asked and Hayley shook her head. “Can I put new bandages on you?”

Hayley had never met anyone that asked this many questions. She looked down at her broken leg then looked back at Asra and shook her head. She couldn’t trust this man, she couldn’t trust anyone.

“Are you going to do them yourself?” Asra asked as he laughed nervously but stopped when Hayley nodded, “You can’t be serious.”

Hayley nodded once again and grabbed the bandages and began to take off the bloody ones. Asra stood in the back of the room and watched as Hayley replaced her bandages, amazed and worried how she could do that without making a noise from the pain. When she was done he grabbed the bloody bandages and threw them away.

“I don’t know who you are or how you turned up in an alleyway with a broken leg but I want you to get better,” Asra confused Hayley, what game was he playing?

“I promise you, with my whole heart, that I will not harm you nor will you be harmed in this house.” Asra placed his hand over his heart and smiled kindly, “As long as you don’t harm me.”

Hayley’s whole body stopped.......what? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. He wanted to.....help her? Who is this person?

They stared into each other’s eyes, Asra waiting for her answer. Hayley nodded slowly, believing that she would regret this decision someday.

“Great, you can stay in my bed. I’ll take the couch, don’t worry, it’s more comfortable than it looks.” Asra grinned before heading out the room.

Hayley was still shocked and....hopeful. She hadn’t felt that in a while. For the first time in years, Hayley relaxed her shoulders and fell back on the fluffy pillows, she felt safe.

Overtime, Asra gained her trust by acts of kindness that one by one broke down Hayley’s steel walls that she was trained to keep around her at all times. Hayley didn’t speak anything for the longest time before giving Asra a quiet ‘thank you’ in sign language, Asra had smiled back and signed ‘you’re welcome’. Hayley learned more about Asra by the way he lived and talked. She liked to watch him move around the kitchen as he brewed up some interesting things, he’d hum to himself a tune Hayley didn’t recognize and his movements were loose unlike Hayley’s.

Asra taught her a thing about magic too, she’d never gotten into it as her school thought it was too ‘unpredictable’ but Hayley was happy to know a spell or two. Asra taught her many other things than magic or how to make tea, he taught her how to live her own life. Hayley told Asra vaguely of what happened to her and she told him about how they took her voice away but she didn’t go into detail. He would look sad and give Hayley a hug if she wanted one.

The first time Hayley cried in front of Asra was when a spell went wrong. She’d been working hard to perfect this spell and Asra believed she could do it but something went wrong and the spell almost blew up the house. Thankfully, no one was harmed except maybe the ceiling. Hayley still couldn’t handle that she got it wrong and started freaking out, crying immediately no matter how much she tried not to. Asra was quick to tell her that it was okay but it didn’t help as all her pushed down emotions just came out as soon as the first tear fell down, like a dam that burst from a little rain. Asra sat with Hayley for the longest time, comforting her as she cried her heart out. Hayley had never been so open with someone and when the tears died down, Asra smiled and told her that she had nothing to worry about in his home. He didn’t care about her mistakes or if she wasn’t perfect. He’d even told her about some of his mistakes, like not being there for the people he loved or some doctor that he used to love. Somehow, that made Hayley feel better. Even made her feel amusement when he told her about how stupid he was when he was younger. Asra taught her that people can make mistakes, even Hayley, because we’re all human.

Hayley became very close with Asra, even one day she showed him what was under her mask.

It was late, Asra and Hayley just got done making a very late dinner. As Hayley watched Asra move around the kitchen, humming to himself once again, a thought that had been bothering her for quite some time came back to her. She waited until he came over and sat down next to her as they waited for the food to cool down. Hayley tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention then she had began to sign, his small smile dropping only a little from her words.

“I want to show you what is under my mask.” Hayley signed.

Asra shook his head, “You don’t need to.” He signed back.

“I want to.” Hayley was quiet after that.

Asra sat up, “Are you sure?” He signed.

Hayley nodded, “I trust you.” She said before raising her hand to the back of her ears where the straps of her mask stayed. Hayley hesitated but pulled them off slowly anyway.

Asra’s body tensed and his face immediately fell into worry. He continued to say nothing, Hayley felt the most vulnerable under his eyes.

“Oh, Hayley.” Asra actually spoke, his voice so sincere and barely a whisper.

She then felt her eyes water and break loose, she dropped her head on Asra’s shoulders and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. She cried into his shoulders, feeling like a monster. A weak and ugly monster. But she still trusted Asra to understand her pain and suffering. This person that she would have probably killed if they had met on different circumstances. His silence worried her. He had leaned his head against her head, she found his silent company to be very comforting but at this moment all she really wanted was to know was his thoughts.

“Thank you, for trusting me. I know it’s hard,” Asra said into her hair, “To be so honest.”

Hayley almost shook her head, she should be thanking him for everything. Safety, comfort, and love. All the things he taught her were okay to have.

She continued to wet his shirt with her tears, unknowingly gripping his sleeve.

Asra rubbed her arm, soothing her through this tough moment.

“I’m always here for you.” Asra whispered as if it was a secret.

Hayley loosened her grip on his sleeve and sat up, embarrassed by the wet stain she left in his shirt. Asra didn’t care about that because he continued to look at Hayley but he wasn’t looking at her scar but instead her eyes. She had never seen him so serious.

“They’ll never be able to hurt you again,” he smiled, “Not as long as I’m here.”

Hayley believed him and put her mask back on.

Hayley was never sure of how to think outside of her school. She was never given much freedom of thought, this was all new to her. What outfit to wear that day? Whatever she wanted. What to eat? Anything her heart desires. The freedom of choice was so thrilling. Being able to say yes or no was amazing. Asra was all about freedom of choice. He didn’t care if she walked around in a jesters outfit, as long as she was being herself but she never really knew what “herself” was.

One day, Hayley and Asra were walking through a rough part of Vesuvia. Hayley had asked previously if he could show her around, knowing that someone who had lived there their whole life was a good guide. She wanted to see every part of Vesuvia.

Suddenly they heard a scared scream from not too far. Hayley’s instinct took over her and she ran to the noise, Asra not far behind. She turned and turned, looking for who screamed then she glanced down one alley to see two figures. One of which was pointing a knife at the other who was a woman that Hayley had guessed was the one that screamed.

What upset Hayley the most was the way this thug’s hands were on the woman. His hand pressed up against her mouth as the other hand held the knife right in front of her stomach all while he was pushing her against a brick wall. Hayley saw the desperation in the woman’s eyes, how she kept looking around for someone to help her. Hayley needed to help her.

She grabbed the man by the shoulder and slammed him against another wall, it wasn’t enough to knock him out but she got his attention. The thug was angry, he spat curses at Hayley before lunging at her with his knife. She dodged it easily, the guy’s movements were slow and sloppy. She thought about how her school would have punished him for his movements but she shook those thoughts out of her head and hit the knife out of his hand. He stopped, surprised, giving Hayley a perfect opportunity to hit him square in the jaw, knocking him cold before he even hit the ground.

The alleyway was quiet as Asra and the woman from before stared at Hayley in amazement. Shit. She didn’t think about this. She hadn’t wanted anybody to learn about her skills.

“Thank you.....” Hayley looked up to the woman after she said that. The woman was smiling wide, most likely from relief, but her eyes were still cautious of what happened to her.

Hayley shrugged it off and turned to Asra.

“Can you ask her where she lives so we can take her home?” She signed to him.

Asra nodded and made his way to the woman, calming her while also asking where she lived. Hayley leaned her body against the dirty wall, her adrenaline still making its waves over her. She hadn’t had a rush like that since before she met Asra, she felt different now. She was confused, this new feeling was weird.

They returned the woman home safely. On their way home, Asra didn’t say a word. Not until they got home.

“You led quite the life before me.” He said as he dropped his bag on their kitchen table.

Hayley was silent. She didn’t know what to say. ‘Yeah, I’m a very good assassin. I could kill you and no one would find out.’ She shook that thought out of her head, she didn’t wanna think about that.

“You did a good thing protecting that woman today,” Asra’s voice lowered, “You have a good heart.” Asra finally looked at Hayley, seeing her staring right at him. For a moment, it was just them. Quietly standing apart and understanding each other.

Asra smiled, “Goodnight, Hayley,” he said right before heading to his room, leaving Hayley to stand alone.

That day stayed on her mind, she thought about it a lot. The way the woman was so happy, something about that look on her face wanted Hayley to make everyone happy. She couldn’t leave the thought alone. It plagued her. One day, she decided to do something. Something that she wanted to keep a secret.

Hayley had dug through her closet to the very back where her assassin outfit and her weapons sat. She had doubts the entire time she was putting it on. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she stopped. It still fit. After all this time. Her heart felt heavy when she looked at herself. She didn’t feel like herself, she felt like a silent assassin whose only purpose was to kill.

You aren’t what you’re school made you.

Asra’s words crossed her head. Suddenly she gained some confidence, realizing that Asra was right. She wasn’t a byproduct of her school. She was Hayley. A girl who likes playing the piano and making jokes with her friend. A girl who was eager to help people. She walked out her bedroom that used to be a storage room before Asra cleaned it out for her. Hayley glided across the floor, careful not to make any noise. Passing by Asra’s room, she saw the lights from his crystals underneath his door. Those were the lights he put on to sleep to.

She hesitated at his door. Should she tell him? Would he understand? She didn’t know but she did know that she had to test her theory tonight. Hayley slipped out the back door and into the street. It was basically midnight and even now the city was alive but not as much as it was in the day.

The shadows were her friends, letting her hide in the darkness. She glided through the shadows. She was looking for trouble, to simplify it. She definitely found it. A group of thugs were stealing supplies from a store that Hayley knew was controlled by a small business. That’s what made her want to do this even more.

She started with the ones farther from the group just like she was taught to do but this wasn’t for whatever pleased her old school, this was for the better.

Everything was going well until one of the ones she thought she knocked out, shouted for his friends. Hayley thought of how living with Asra had softened her punches.

The rest of them came over to her, surrounding her. She cracked her knuckles right before kicking all their asses.

They landed their punches here and there but in the end Hayley was alright even if she was exhausted.

She had tied them up for the palace knights to find them on their morning runs then she jumped on a roof and went looking for more danger.

Once she got home she was tired and the sun had just touched the edge of the horizon. She went through the back door again feeling sore all over.

As soon as she closed the door to her room, she heard Asra opening his.

She took off her outfit and shoved it back at the bottom of her closet. Wrapping her injuries right before falling onto her bed. She felt thankful for such a soft bed and felt good about herself which didn’t happen often.

One of the other reasons she started her vigilante get up was because of the justice system. Ever since the Count’s death, the city of Vesuvia had gone even more down hill. The countess hadn’t been seen outside of the palace since the count’s death and the court was left to rule Vesuvia in her absence.

They were incredibly corrupt, letting off anyone who was caught committing a crime with just a slap on the wrist if they had enough money.

This had angered many of the city folk but no one could change anything. Hayley took action, beating the criminals to a bloody pulp but she never killed any of them.

It had been a month since Hayley had started fighting in disguise. The people of Vesuvia spread rumors about her or who she might be, all of them very different from the last.

She didn’t really like the names they gave her but the most popular one was “The Shadow”. It was okay, she wasn’t doing this from the fame. She thought it was her right to help the people and to maybe even make up for all the people she hurt in her past.

She didn’t like keeping it from Asra either. Hayley could tell that he knew that something was up but he never asked.

He would find out her truth eventually.

It was a night like any other, Hayley was out scouting the city for any assholes that needed to be taken down. It was almost time for her to return home but then she saw a group of thugs smashing a building that was now unrecognizable.

What really angered her about this group was that she had just beat them up the other day and they were already out on the streets wrecking havoc.

She didn’t think straight as she left her hiding spot and revealed herself to the group.

They all smiled when they saw her and Hayley then realized that they were trying to get her attention.

Well, they had it and they were gonna regret it.

Even though the group was bigger than any other she’d faced, she had no problem getting most of them down but after a while no matter how many she downed, she was still getting hit like crazy.

Then, when there were only a few left, Hayley was kicked through a window, getting stabbed with glass all over her back. It ripped through her clothing and pierced her skin, digging deep into her flesh.

Through the pain, she knocked out the rest of them and didn’t even bother tying them up as she immediately headed for home.

Hayley left a trail of blood as her back bled from the sharp glass digging into her skin. She held her arm against the walls of buildings as she headed home. She didn’t even bother going through the back door as she stumbled through the front, the sun was almost fully above the horizon.

She slumped against the door as soon as she shut it, careful not to touch her injuries. Her hands were covered with dry blood.

“Hayley?” Asra called from upstairs and a wave of relief washed over her.

The stairs creaked under his weight, “Where have you- Oh my gods!” Asra’s face immediately turned to worry as he ran up to Hayley, “What happened?”

Hayley tried to shrug but she immediately regretted it as pain filled her every nerve.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs,” Asra said draping her arm over his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist.

They moved up the stairs, Asra basically dragging her up them since she could barely hold herself up, saying a quiet ‘sorry’ every time she hissed in pain.

Once they reached the second floor, Asra placed Hayley gently onto the couch.

“I’m going to get some things to help with this, just....please don’t die on me.” He said that last part quietly as he left the room.

It took everything in Hayley to not shut her eyes and fall asleep against the soft cushions.

Asra returned before she could convince herself and in his hands were many different things, most noticeable was the alcohol.

He knelt down beside Hayley, with hesitation on his face, “I think you need a doctor.”

Hayley shook her head, doctors asked too many questions.

Asra sighed and under his breath whispered, “If only Ilya was here.”

She tried to think of who that was but her thoughts were interrupted by Asra.

“I need to cut your shirt, is that okay?” He asked, understanding her need for privacy.

After a moment, Hayley nodded.

Her body went completely still as she heard the snipping of fabric.

“You might wanna get something to bite on,” Asra said quietly.

Hayley lifted herself up with one of her arms and with the other she ripped off her face mask, not caring about her insecurities at the moment.

She gripped her teeth against the thick fabric of the pillow that was underneath her.

“Here we go.....” Asra’s warm hand set itself on a part of Hayley’s back, she could feel the magic run through his hand and into her skin, suddenly she felt much better but the pain was still there.

She felt little pinches at her skin, what she assumed to be Asra taking out the smaller pieces.

Asra’s face was stern and focused as he gently pulled out the individual shards of glass, each one of them sticking to Hayley’s skin as it was pulled out. Her flesh gripped each piece of glass as it was pulled out of her skin.

A short time past in painful silence as Asra pulled out every single piece of glass.

“Okay, I think that’s all of them.” Asra’s voice was quiet, he sounded tired.

Hayley nodded against the pillow but knew that this was only the beginning, the alcohol still needed to be put on her skin.

Asra grabbed the liquor, knowing exactly what was next. He then hesitated again. Hayley knew that he was staring at her back, maybe at the fresh wounds or the old scars.

She moved her body enough to face Asra, taking him out of his trance. Hayley looked into his eyes, face mask off, she was completely vulnerable to him and she didn’t think for one second that he would betray her trust.

Asra sat back in thought then gave Hayley a small grin, “You owe me.” He joked.

Hayley rolled her eyes in amusement than lied back down on the couch.

His hand was still on her skin, it was nice to feel a comforting warmth for once while she was getting healed. This was so different from when she came back to her school after a mission, every time she was hurt she would fear that the school would do something to her and some times they did and sometimes they didn’t.

“Are you ready?” Asra interrupted her thoughts that she usually got caught up in.

Hayley poked her hand out and gave him a thumbs up before she tucked it back and around lifeline pillow.

She heard the bottle open, a part of her nervous but she shoved that back down with the rest of her hidden emotions.

“I’m sorry.” Asra says right before pouring the liquor on Hayley’s wounds.

White hot pain shot through Hayley’s nerves as the cold liquid interacted with her open skin, it felt as if her skin was burning.

Instinctively, Hayley opened her mouth to scream but, just like other times, nothing came out. She tried to push the pain back and think about something else but the harshness of the alcohol wouldn’t let her think of anything else.

All she could focus on was the warmth radiating from Asra’s hand, that kept her grounded.

Asra continued to drop the alcohol on her skin, careful not to add too much. He soon stopped after a tense moment, sat back down on his legs and said that he was done.

Hayley was still gripping the pillow, her skin feeling as if tiny burning knifes were stabbing into her flesh.

Asra sighed, clearly he was tired and Hayley didn’t know if it was from the early morning or from helping Hayley. She watched as he grabbed the bandages and prepared them for use.

“You’re staring.” He said quietly then looked up into Hayley’s eyes.

Hayley felt a pang of guilt from the face Asra gave her, his lips set in a tight line and his eyebrows knit closely together as if in thought. She must have shown her guilt in her face because he smiled slightly.

“You could have told me,” Asra said, “Sit up please.”

With Asra’s help, Hayley sat up as gently as she could. Her shirt was basically in shreds so she tore off the rest of it, Asra looking away respectively. She turned her back to him and made sure to keep it straight when he would apply the bandages.

Asra set his hands on her back, telling her that he was there. He then started wrapping her back and began to talk.

“I figured it out after the first week,” Asra’s voice was calm, no anger or disappointment, “A mysterious yellow-eyed woman with incredible fighting skills? How could I not know?”

Hayley tensed but then realized how obvious it was.

“Also it was very unusual that I got up before you.” His hands were so gentle as if she would break if he pressed too hard, “I just wish you would have told me instead of falling through the front door with blood on your hands.”

Suddenly he stopped, “Can you help me with this part?” Hayley glanced down to see that the bandages and his hands had stopped just below her breast.

Hayley’s face grew warm and she nodded, grabbing the roll in his hand to wrap it around herself then handed it back to him so can wrap it around her back. They did this in silence until they had completely covered her injury.

“I’ll get you a shirt,” Asra said before standing and walking out of the room.

Hayley carefully got up from the couch to stumble towards the nearest mirror. A pang of familiarity shot through her when she saw her mission outfit covering half of her body while bandages covered the other half but she knew that there was something different about her.

Her face, her mask was still off. She lifted her shaking hand to where her lips used to be, now there were pale scars. She looked down at her hand, dry blood still covering it.

Asra then walked in with a new shirt, seeing Hayley staring at herself in the mirror made him frown lightly.

“I still think you are beautiful,” He stood beside Hayley in the mirror, “Arms up please.”

Hayley’s face warmed up and she lifted her arms despite how much it hurt. Asra slid the shirt through her arms and across her torso.

The shirt was too big for Hayley’s size but it was comfortable that way.

Hayley looked into Asra’s eyes and signed, “You’re wrong.”

He shook his head and spoke, “I’m not.” He turns to the mirror and Hayley follows, “I think it’s beautiful that you want to help people even enough to get yourself hurt over it.”

Hayley heart hurt from the way his voice said that last part quietly.

“But I get it,” he forced a smile, “You want to help and for that you are beautiful.”

Hayley stayed quiet staring at Asra’s face in the mirror as he spoke.

The room was now brighter from the morning sun, now higher in the sky. Hayley fought back a yawn.

“I think it’s time for you to get some rest,” Asra smiled as he gestured towards her room.

Hayley nodded, feeling her body grow heavier with exhaustion.

They walked to her room together and with Asra’s help, they got her into bed. Hayley lied on her chest, the comfortable mattress and pillows made it feel like she was on a cloud.

She felt Asra lift a blanket over her body, Hayley trying not to fall asleep immediately.

“Sleep well, Hayley.” Asra said before quietly shutting the door behind him.

Hayley had slept for hours and when she woke Asra was there to care for her despite her complaints.

It wasn’t long before Hayley was ready to go back out on the streets and Asra seemed to know as well.

He walked into the living room with his hands behind his back one day while Hayley was reading something.

She closed the book, already not happy that he was keeping something from her.

“I know you don’t like surprises but...” Asra couldn’t keep in his smile, “I couldn’t help myself.”

He slowly brought his hands to his front, revealing neatly folded clothes.

Hayley stood, recognizing the dark clothes.

“I thought maybe it could use some stitching,” He unfolded the clothes to show them off, Hayley noticing the sudden change of color in some parts.

“I may have also added a bit of color to your outfit to make you seem less scary even though that might not be what you’re after,” Asra pointed to a small stripes of green that glided down the sides.

If Hayley could smile normally, she’d be all grin at that second. She settled for giving Asra a big hug which surprised him but he was happy to receive one.

Finally they pulled away, Asra suddenly getting serious, “Don’t get hurt out there, you hear me?”

Hayley nodded.

“Pinky promise.” He pulled out his pinky.

She rolled her eyes playfully and made a pinky promise with Asra not to get hurt.

Hayley continued to be a badass crime fighter, wanted by criminals and even the guards themselves wanted her stopped.

She has yet to be caught though a trick of fate might change that....

Only in the future will we know.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana oc #the arcana MC #arcana oc #arcana mc #my mc hayley #my oc hayley #hayley #asra the arcana

[thinkyoureholy]

Fragile Figure [22]

[A/N : I lied. The next chapter will be the last]

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Paring : Choi San/ [Fem] Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Language, Fluff, Smut, Character Death?, Mafia!AU

Words : 3.1k

Previous Chapter. - Next Chapter.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

[idk if y’all noticed but in chapter 19 I put these few paragraphs in before switching to Y/N’s p.o.v an hour earlier. so everything that happened at the end of 19 and all of 20 and 21 was before....so it all lead up to this moment]

-San’s P.O.V; present time-

I let out a loud cry of pain, being dragged out of the memory I was reliving. I clenched my teeth as I raised my head off the table. Mei had dug her scalpel into the still tender flesh of my leg, carving around the new scar had begun to form. I squirmed around on the table, pulling at the restraints harder than before. If she agitated it even more then the small chance I had of walking around without a limp could disappear forever. I knew her well enough to know that she’d completely mutilate me to get what he wanted, not like she hadn’t done so before. All the scars I had on my body were given to me by her at one time or another.

“Stop! Please! Mei, I--I can’t-” I cut myself off with another cry, this one louder than before.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll stop,” She said calmly, digging the scalpel further into my leg, ignoring my pleas, “You have the power to stop this. Tell me their weaknesses! Tell me all I need to know to completely crush them! Tell me how I can take the control she has over the city!”

I shook my head violently, slamming it back onto the table to distract me from the searing pain shooting up my leg. She let out a grunt of displease before pulling away, throwing the scalpel down onto the table. She ran her blood stained fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots in frustration.

“Kei! Bring the bitch in!” She yelled, the doors swinging open.

I watched with wide eyes, pulling at the restraint holding me down helplessly. Kei’s rough and bloodied fingers were gripping her hair harshly, dragging her seemingly lifeless body behind him. My heart sank at the sight of her, the fire that had died in my chest the moment I was brought here was re-lit. A rage I had never felt before filled my body, the chains keeping me in place rattled loudly. I almost growled when Kei threw her at Mei’s feet, Y/N’s head hitting the cold ground with a loud and unsettling thud.

“Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me! Y/N!” I called out to her without thinking.

I needed to make sure that she was still alive. If she really went up against Kei and was left like this I wouldn’t put it past him to actually kill her. But she can’t be dead, no, please, God no. She--she has to be alive, she just has to be. In my panic I heard Mei’s laughter, the sound of it making my blood churn. I’ll kill her, I’ll kill them all!

“Even when I have her like this those bastards refuse to turn on her! Just what is it about her that makes everyone so loyal to her!?” She yelled, unable to hide that desperate look in her eyes.

“I’ll kill you for this! I swear I’ll rip you all to shreds!” I shouted, pulling against my restraints. 

Just a moment ago I was too weak to even lift my arms up properly but after seeing the state they had Y/N in my strength seemed to grow, the adrenaline pumping through my veins the cause of it. Mei sneered down at me before tossing the scalpel she had in her hand aside, grabbing my chin forcefully to keep me in place, “You’re in no place to threaten me, Sannie.”

“As much as I enjoy watching you torture him I’m going to head out.” Kei said, speaking up for the first time since he walked into the room.

Mei shoved my face away from hers, my head hitting the table with a loud thud, “I didn’t excuse you, Kei.”

I watched silently through narrowed eyes, my head spinning from the blow to my head. I could barely make out Kei’s face as he glared over at Mei, his jaw clenched as he spoke, “I was thrown out of a window, had a dagger lodged into my arm, and had my face beaten to a fucking pulp...and you’re telling me I can’t leave to relax for one damn minute?”

I had never heard Kei talk back to Mei like this. He was always so obedient, never talking back or questioning her orders. I don’t know what happened to him while he was out but something in him had changed.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Kei.”

I watched him clench his hands into fists at his sides as he took a menacing step towards her, “I am covered in blood. I can’t even tell which blood is my own or hers. All I want to do is clean myself up and sit down for one fucking minute!” He growled low in his throat, looking like he was going to lose it any second now.

“And I’m saying no!”

“And why the hell not!? You don’t fucking need me anymore! I’ve done what you ordered me to do so let me rest! Please!” He cried out, begging her with tears in his eyes.

But I knew Mei, she wasn’t going to back down, she never backed down from anything. I tore my eyes away from the two who continued to argue, looking down at Y/N who had not moved an inch since Kei had dumped her on the cold hard ground. The only indication I had that she was even still alive was the slow rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. I called her name in a soft whisper, careful not to draw the attention of the two arguing. I knew that wasn’t going to be enough to wake her but I don’t know if I dared to risk speaking any louder. I glanced over at Kei and Mei to see they were still arguing and I noted they had gotten more intense about it. As I watched them continue to yell at each other I tried to think of a way to get out of my restraints. I had tried pulling on them before but that didn’t work. I looked around for anything to use to cut through the rope but again I found nothing. I was about to give up until I spotted the figure cowering in the corner of the room.

I furrowed my brows at the figure, how had I missed this? I squinted as I tried to make out the shape. They were small, below five feet, skinny but not malnourished...a child? I looked closer, getting a glimpse of his face when he glanced over his shoulder at us before hiding his face again. A boy...what was he doing here? Now that I think of it why does it feel like I know him? My eyes went wide in surprise as the memory replayed in my head. He’s that kid! The one Kiri and Kei had with them when Kanda handed me over! Was he Kanda’s son? No, Kanda is far too young to have a child that age...then...could it be his brother? It had to be that. Their hair and eye colors were the same, they even had the same mole under their lips, they must’ve inherited these traits from one of their parents. But why was he here? No, don’t tell me...has he been here this whole time while Mei- I couldn’t even bring myself to finish that thought. This kid had seen way too much than he needed to at his age. What the hell was she thinking having him in the same room? Mei truly was the devil incarnate. 

“Ugh…”

My ears perked up at the sound of the groan, already recognizing it. I looked down to the floor to see Y/N had begun to stir. I pulled on my restraints harder than ever, the rope digging into my skin hashly, new blood joining the blood that had dried from prior attempts to escape over the last few days

“Y/N!” I shouted before I could stop myself.

I froze the second I did, looking over to where I last saw the twins halfway through their screaming match but was surprised to see that they were no longer there. I scanned the room, thinking they had just moved when I wasn’t looking but they were nowhere in sight. I strained my ears to try and figure out if they had gone far and to my disappointment I was still able to hear their yelling but it was muffled and I wasn’t able to make out any of the words. They’re not far...probably just down the hall...I had to get out of these damn ropes and I had to do it now. 

I looked back down at Y/N only to see she had begun to push herself up off the floor but her arms gave out pretty quickly. I frowned when she cursed out in frustration, pounding a fist against the ground underneath her. My frown deepened when I heard her sniffling, squinting my eyes to see her tears fall on to the ground, mixing with her blood. Why was she crying? Just as I opened my mouth to say something I was rendered speechless by the look she was now giving me. She had raised her head up to look me in the eyes and what I saw in her eyes took my breath away, and not in a good way.

“This is all your fault.” She said in a voice barely above a whisper, a bitterness to her voice I had never heard before.

“W-What..?”

“This is all your fault!” She cried out, biting down on her trembling lower lip to keep herself from breaking down, “Hongjoong is dead because of you. Yun--Yunho is dead and it's all because of you! If you hadn't been so weak in the first place then you never would’ve been taken in the first place!”

I inhaled sharply at her words, feeling a painful burning sensation spread out from my chest but instead of feeling sad about it I turned to anger, “I allowed myself to be taken to save you! If I had done nothing then Kanda would’ve killed you!”

“And you should’ve let him! I would’ve gladly died protecting you! Me dying for you and my friends dying for you are two completely different things! I don’t care what happens to me so long as the people I care about are safe then I don’t care if I die! But I-I’m still here and they’re dead!” She paused to suck in a deep breath, her face twisting in sorrow as the tears fell from her eyes, “They’re dead...and I’ll never get them back.”

“You could’ve just left me to rot then.” I said, my tone flat as I stared down at her, “If you were just going to regret it then why..?”

“Because I love you! Nobody--Nobody told me that loving someone so much would end up costing me everything!” She cried out, the emotions heavy in her voice.

-Seonghwa’s P.O.V-

I heaved out a sigh, my legs buckling underneath me but I held myself up by resting my hand on the nearby wall. Yunho had helped me by knocking a few of them out but before he could continue to help I sent him out here to find Y/N. I didn’t think it would take so long to fight off the remaining four but it did. And when it ended I was slapped back into reality. The moment I had knocked out the last one I was met with the sight of Mingi propped up against the wall, his head hanging forward limply. I ran over to him only to find his eyes wide open, lifeless as they were glued to the floor. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and looked around for the other three. Wooyoung and Yeosang were helping Jongho up to his feet, holding on tight to him as he winced in pain. My eyes scanned their bodies to see them covered in injuries, blood staining their clothes. My eyes then went to Kiri and the pile of bodies that surrounded her. I felt nothing as I gazed down at her dead body, her face covered with blood, cuts all over her face. Jongho must’ve held nothing back and I didn’t blame him, not after what she did to Hongjoong.

“Are you alright?” I asked as soon as they got close.

Jongho nodded, wincing with every step he took. I glanced over Wooyoung who had stopped walking to look down at Mingi, a frown etched onto his face, “We need to get them out of here...we can’t just leave them.”

I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, “I’d never leave the behind. Dead or alive they’re coming home with us.” I gave him a reassuring smile but the smile vanished as soon as it appeared, “You think you can carry him on your own?”

Wooyoung nodded without hesitation. He left Jongho to Yeosang and bent down to pick up Mingi, slinging his body over his shoulder. He stumbled back at the added dead weight but when I reached out to help him he shook his head, refusing my help. I let my hand fall back to my side, watching him walk towards the stairs with a frown on my face. I signalled for Yeosang to get Jongho out of here. I watched them follow Wooyoung out, all of them walking around Hongjoong’s body that was still splayed out on the stairs. I heaved out a sigh, the second one in a span of five minutes. I looked down at Hongjoong body, staring directly into his lifeless eyes. Tears blurred my vision but I refused to let them fall. I could stop myself from crying but I couldn’t stop the pain I felt at seeing him like this. I grit my teeth and balled my hands into fists at my side as I continued to stare down at him. Hongjoong and I had joined at the same time and we had become friends almost instantly. I cared for all the guys and Y/N but Hongjoong...he was the brother I had always wanted. Even though we were the same age he was the only big brother figure I had in my life and now...he’s dead. I didn’t even get to repay him for saving my life all those years ago. I had always wanted to do something to show my gratitude but he always told me to forget about it and now, I’ll never get the chance to show him just how thankful I was for having him around.

I crouched down at his side and pulled out my knife. I cut away at a piece of my shirt and tied it around his head, covering his eyes. I would’ve liked to close them but it's been awhile since he died so rigor mortis has set in. Once I was done doing that I hoisted him up onto my shoulder and walked down the stairs, leaving all of this behind. When I walked outside I could see that the others were waiting around by the cars, looks of confusion on their faces. I waited to ask what was wrong until I set Hongjoong down in the back seat.

“What’s wrong?”

“We don’t see Yunho or Y/N anywhere…” Yeosang said, trailing off as he worriedly looked around.

I furrowed my brows as I took a look around myself, “Woo you go look over there, Yeosang check the back of the house. I’ll go check over here.” 

They both nodded before running off in the same direction, Yeosang going that way to the back of the house. I jogged over to the side of the house, a big oak tree in the distance. I called out their names but I never got an answer. I began to worry when I couldn’t find them, hearing the others’ shouts for them as well. I was only a few minutes into calling for them when I slipped on some mad. I flailed my arms out to keep me standing and looked down and the sight that greeted me had me falling to my knees. I reached out tentatively but pulled away. No...no, not him too. He had been hidden by the unkempt grass so I hadn’t seen him until now and the mud I had just slipped on was a mixture of his blood and the dirt that lay underneath him. The tears I had been holding back, that I had refused to let fall until everything was over gathered in my eyes once more. This can’t be happening. We’ve lost Mingi, Hongjoong, and now--now Yunho is dead too. 

“Fuck!” I wailed out as I reached over, clutching his blood stained shirt in my hands. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears finally escaping. I inhaled through trembling lips, feeling my whole world collapsing. Three people, three of our people are dead. Y/N could be dead too and San, we haven’t heard anything from him in weeks, he could be long dead for all we knew. Just like that we were reduced to almost nothing, our group falling apart. I could hear the other run over to where I was, their steps slowing as they took notice of Yunho’s body.

“Yunho…” Yeosang let out in a voice no louder than a whisper, kneeling down on the other side of Yunho.

“I-I couldn’t find Y/N…” Wooyoung trailed off, trying to keep it together, “ But I found--I found tire marks on the dirt. Kei... must’ve taken...her…”

I huffed out a huge breath of air as I looked at the two of them through my tears, “Yeosang take Yunho to the car and drive home, take a look of Jongho’s wounds when you get there. Wooyoung you’re with me, we’re going after them,” I ordered in a strangely calm voice, the two nodding their heads resolutely.

I won’t be able to follow any trial Kei lift but I didn’t need it. Before this whole thing started Y/N had installed something on my phone, telling me to use it if she somehow got taken from us on this mission. I was confused at first but now after opening up the app she installed I finally understood. I don’t know what it was but something she was wearing was chipped, her location now known to me when I turned on the GPS. I gripped my phone tightly in my hand, staring at the screen with nothing but rage in my eyes. I was going to string those bastards up by their ankles, slit their throats and watch them bleed to death. The Choi twins die tonight.

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Tags : @choisofty​ @woosanville​

#ateez scenarios #ateez san #ateez smut #ateez series #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez fanfiction #ateez ff #ateez au #ateez #ateez choi san #choi san fluff #choi san angst #choi san fanfiction #choi san fanfic #choi san fic #choi san smut #choi san series #choi san #san angst #san fluff #san smut #san au #mafia au

[multisfabulis]

Love’s Descent into Madness

Dethronement (Chapter 3/3)

Word Count: 3627

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, decapitation, and major character death

Happy holidays!

I hope everyone likes the ending because writing this was suffering. Winter decided to come early this year and I absolutely hate the cold so a lot of this was written with numb fingers. The past few days have also been tiring and, because I wanted to get this out before Christmas, I had to pull an all-nighter to finish this and rewrite it to make it look pretty so this was a sleep-deprived fic.

Okay, so I have some things I need to explain:

First off, that line about Ayano needing to apply herself more to her schoolwork was actually a reference to a piece of fanart I saw of Saeru (in disguise as Kenjirou) helping Ayano with her homework and subtly taking digs at her the whole time. I just thought of it while I was writing that paragraph and thought it'd be a neat reference. I can't find the Tweet but I'm hoping someone has a link to it!

Second off, that instance of Kenjirou almost ruining Saeru's plan is a bit of foreshadowing to another Kagepro fic I'm in the works of writing. It may not be the next Kagepro fic I write but it IS coming.

Thirdly, the whole meaning behind Azami not being able to die but still being killed. I know it sounds like the "People die when they are killed" meme but let me explain. I needed to think of a way Azami could still die but without anyone telling me "She's immortal, she can't die" so the way I went about it is, the Queen Snake was what let her be immortal. Because that was the snake that, in my fic, marked her as a god, she couldn't die. Once she gave that snake to Marry, she lost her god status, bringing her down to our level. However, because she was still a Gorgon, I made it so that she couldn't die by natural causes, I.E. starvation, sleep deprivation, etc. She was now an immortal mortal, meaning she couldn't die from natural causes BUT she could now be killed. I don't know if this makes a lot of sense but this is the best way I can describe it.

Finally, the ending. It only occurred to me when I was writing the build-up to it that I wanted to make it a sort of dark twist on Kagepro's themes of moving on after a loved one's death. Saeru decides to move on after Azami's death but he regarded her as dead years ago and was the one to kill her. I don't know if it worked the way I wanted it to but I tried my best.

I'm happy this didn't take that long unlike another past project of mine and I hope everyone who's read this enjoyed it!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     The never-ending world, or the Daze as it was now called, had undergone many changes over the years. It was only natural since it was ordered to swallow up any unfortunate souls that were unlucky enough to die on August 15th and the world needed to accommodate for its ever increasing number of occupants. Yet there were some things that never changed, no matter how much time had passed. Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

     He was in very familiar territory. Casually strolling through the dark woods revealed a large clearing where a small decrepit house stood. The moon’s radiance acted as if it were a spotlight, shining down upon it to let him know she was here. It may be an inferior replica but there was no mistaking it. Saeru was home.

     It had been several years since his departure from the Daze. The rest of his siblings were gone, having ventured out to the real world in their human vessels and he couldn’t blame them for leaving. Who’d want to stay in a place where the only company you had was a good-for-nothing has-been of a queen? That’s why he followed the example his four siblings set and escaped when the opportunity presented itself. He really wanted to thank them when he had the chance.

     The body he left in was a person by the name of Tateyama Kenjirou. A hardworking teacher and devoted family man, he and Saeru met when he and his wife were caught in a landslide. Saeru promised to bring her back if the man allowed him to reside in his body and he accepted his terms of the bargain. That was how their unlikely partnership began, union between human and snake.

     It felt simply amazing to have a body to control. While it had taken him some time to adapt and familiarize himself with human behavior, he nevertheless reveled in it. No longer was he a snake relegated to devising plans. He had the means to carry them out himself and no one would be none the wiser. At least, that’s what he believed before a certain idiotic girl proved him wrong.

     He had to give her some credit. Not only did she figure out most of his plan just by reading her father’s research but she learned of his existence all due to a small yet sloppy mistake. If she only applied that amount of effort into her schoolwork, then she wouldn’t have been as stupid as she led herself to believe. There was, however, one thing she didn’t take into account.

     She thought killing herself would stop him from going after everyone. What she didn’t think about was the advantage her death would give him. One less person to worry about ruining his plan and she left behind a perfectly traumatized helper. The damn brat was like putty in his hands; a few convincing threats to his precious “family” and a deal with the devil was made.

     But then the dear old professor kept butting into his business. There were several times over the past two years where he came out because he wanted to spend some “quality time” with the remainder of his family. There was one instance he could recall in which his plan was almost thwarted but Saeru was able to take back the reins. It was too easy to pull the wool over his partner’s eyes and trick him into thinking he was dreaming. It wasn’t like he was lying to him, he was just using the information he knew about humans to his benefit.

     Today was when his plan was truly enacted. All the necessary people had arrived, including his traitorous sibling. Konoha, as they were now called, seemed to have forgotten what the humans did to their real family all those years ago and had allied with them. Their compassion for them had its perks, though. It only took one well-aimed bullet to strike them down, leaving them open for a permanent takeover.

     The resulting bloodbath was nothing short of marvelous. Having a body, especially one such as his, meant much more fun and creative ways to play with his toys. Spines breaking as they hit concrete walls and organs hitting the floor with a wet slap was like music to his ears. He even ripped out a pathetic shut-in’s throat with his bare hands just because he could and it was oh so enjoyable to hear him choke on his own blood. Too bad it was over all too soon.

     The crybaby brat was left as the sole survivor. He knew what she was capable of and she was the essential component. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling a small sort of kinship with her, which he found funny. He was, in a way, her subject and she his queen but it felt as if they were equals. Perhaps, if he had her powers, he too could rewind time to the point he would’ve taken a different path. To spend more time with the one he loved above all else… That was a dream best left in the past.

     He decided to leave her be so she’d be able to mourn her losses. He needed to use the little time he had to take care of unfinished business. He fled from the scene by going through the portal she created in the midst of her despair.

     He found himself in what seemed to be a white void. The floor beneath him rippled when his feet touched the surface and he realized he was standing on water. His reflection stared back at him when he cast his eyes downward. The body his sibling graciously gifted to him allowed him to change it however he wanted and he liked the changes he made. A vessel specifically tailored just for him was such a wonderful thing and it was a shame to have to give it up.

     A pair of small black horns stuck out of long dark hair tied into a braid. Black scales painted the edges of his face and eyes, trailing down his neck before concealing themselves under the layers of clothes. He kept his red eyes and fangs from when he was a snake so he’d still be recognizable. Blood coated his hands and stained the only article of pristine white clothing he wore, which he hoped would intimidate his prey. She’d never see this coming.

     Finding an exit out of the void was simple. All he had to do was take a step and he was in an entirely different place. There were an endless amount of stairs and corridors leading to doors, most of what he could see on fire. The heat was surprisingly pleasant as he wandered around the seemingly limitless labyrinth. It was then he spotted a tangle of black hair with a sliver of red hastily entering one of the doors. With a rush of adrenaline running through his veins, he ran towards the door. It had been so long since he played his favorite game of cat and mouse.

     He chased her through many areas of the Daze. One was of a ruined city where the setting sun gave way too many shadows for her to hide in. Another was of an urban landscape, not unlike a major street intersection, where there were dozens of blood splatters decorating the asphalt. It was after he cut across a nighttime city he arrived at his destination.

     Mother was inside. The house she and her wretched human “family” lived and laughed in for the few years they stayed there. It was fitting for her and him to settle their issues in the same place their troubles began. She’ll regret leaving behind the ones that truly loved her.

     He walked up to the house. Overgrown grass crept over the foundation and ivy crawled all along the flaky walls. There were broken shards of glass inside the windows, which would make it hard for trespassers to sneak in without alerting anyone. Parts of the roof had collapsed inward and the front door was hanging on by a thread. Mother’s really let the place go, hasn’t she?

     He stopped just before the door. How did he want to approach this? She had to know he was here so there was no need in being stealthy. He then did the next best thing, which was to kick the door down till he was inside. He smashed through it, reducing it to mere splinters. That was easy.

     The room he was in now was the same room he proposed the idea of creating this world to Mother. It was empty, save for a few pieces of overturned furniture scattered about the place and debris from the roof. Moonlight shone down from above, illuminating the room, though it wasn’t necessary. He could see perfectly well in the dark, despite the limitations of his “human” body.

     There were two doors that stood in front of him. Beyond them were bedrooms, one being that brat Shion’s and the other Mother’s. It was a coin toss as to which room she was hiding in and he hated wasting time with trivial matters like this. Besides, even if he did end up picking the wrong choice, she wouldn’t get away undetected. His hearing was almost as good as hers and she knew that.

     An idea sprang into his mind to try luring her out. He stood at the wall separating the two rooms, wound up his fist, and punched it. The sheer power in the hit caused a crater to form in the wall as dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. He heard something fall from behind the left door and a sharp intake of breath. The corners of his mouth curved up as he tried to fight back a laugh. There she was.

     Keeping his excitement in check, he pushed open the door. Inside the room were the remains of a bed with two nightstands on either side of it and an empty window over to the right. He didn’t need the light coming in from a hole in the ceiling to see her. Mother sat in a corner of the room, her whole body shaking.

     She hadn’t changed at all. She still had the same cascade of raven hair tied up with a red ribbon, the same black dress. The same red eyes resembling his own were now staring at him in pure fear. It must’ve been quite the shock for her to see Saeru walking around and being able to express his moods in a more effective way. She’d finally know how much and how deep his feelings ran.

     “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mother?” he asked, putting on a fake smile.

     When she didn’t respond, he continued on with, “Nothing to say to me? Not even a welcome home? I know the last time we talked was years ago but I thought you’d still have some love in your heart for me. But I guess not.”

     She still hadn’t said anything. He was getting rather annoyed at the silent treatment, even if it did bring him a modicum of amusement. Does she really think staying quiet in this situation will save her? Well, he had a way of making her talk and he deserved to brag about his accomplishments.

     “If you can’t already tell, I paid a visit to the real world,” he said, noting the sudden pique of interest. “It’s changed so much since our time out there. I’ve met so many interesting people during my trip, including the kids my siblings are inhabiting the bodies of. I even got the chance to meet your successor, what was her name again? Ah, right, Marry.”

     He saw the quick flash of anger across her face as she asked, “What did you do to her?”

     “You can rest easy,” he replied, his temper beginning to flare up. “I haven’t laid a finger on that crybaby brat’s head. She’s all right, physically, at least.”

     It was then her eyes wandered down to his blood-soaked hands. Gone was the anger as horror came to replace it at the grisly sight. He wondered when she’d notice that and he was pleased to know her reaction was how he predicted it to be. Her imagination had to be running wild with all the ways that blood got on his hands. The temptation of telling her his gruesome acts was there but this was more fun.

     “Her mind, though, must be forever scarred,” he said with a dissonant smile. “I imagine her heart shattered to pieces after I killed her friends.”

     “Why are you doing this?!” she demanded, her teary eyes full of fury. “Why must you hurt me so?”

     All the fun he was having at her expense evaporated. Was she being serious? Did she really have the gall to ask why he was doing all this? Maybe it was time to remind her of the fault she held in this.

     “I think the better question is, why did you choose them over us? Why did you abandon us?” He crouched down and rested his cheek on his hand.

     “What are you talking about? I never abandoned you or your siblings! I tried my best to have the two most important things in my life get along without any issue.” She gestured to him with her hand. “You were the only one who had a problem with it!”

     His eyes narrowing, he asked in indignation, “How could you expect me to not have a problem with it? How could you forget all the pain, all the suffering, all the torment the humans dealt on to you? How could you run off with that man and bear his child after everything they’ve done to you?”

     It was at this point she stood up. He did as well, noticing the hard glint of stubbornness in her eyes. He already knew what was coming and he didn’t want to hear the same old, tired speech.

     “Tsukihiko was different. He was kind to me, he cared for me.” She put a hand on her chest, where her heart was. “He loved me. He was treated the same way I was so---”

     “So you thought you and him were the same? Please,” he interrupted, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the thought. “You and that man were never the same and you know why? He was but a mere mortal and you a god. You will never belong with the humans, no matter how much you try and forget that fact.”

     “What do you want from me? An apology, is that it?” she asked, exasperated. He wanted much more than empty platitudes.

     “What I want is for you to understand exactly how much you’ve hurt me.” He took a couple steps toward her, causing dust to rain down on top of him. “You refused to heed my warnings, took that brat’s side over mine, and you tried to leave me behind in this world. Who does that to someone they once claimed to love? Someone whose only crime was loving them?

     “You’ve become the very thing you’ve never wanted to be.” He locked eyes with her and gave voice to all the pain and scorn he felt. “You’re a monster.”

     It was as if he stabbed her through the gut with a knife. Tears spilled over as she fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. It was bad enough for the humans to call her that when they knew nothing about her. It must’ve been like a betrayal to hear that come from someone she once considered to be her closest friend. Still, he got a dark sense of satisfaction seeing her break down. It served her right to feel only a fraction of the pain he’s dealt with for years.

     “And yet--” he paused as she looked up at him-- “despite everything you did to me, I still love you. I was created to serve you and be with you for however long you wanted but I grew to genuinely love you. How could I not?”

     She withdrew further into the corner after he stepped closer. The question he wanted, needed to ask leapt into his mind. A simple yes or no question and whatever her answer was would determine what he’d do next.

     “It’s because of my love for you I ask,” he began, paying close attention to her face, “if you still hold some fondness for the humans. Do you still love your family?”

     Without any hesitance in her voice, she replied with, “Of course I do. I’ll always love them. Tsukihiko, Shion, Marry…I love them all from the bottom of my heart.”

     That was the answer he feared to hear. Her saying that proved to him she was too far gone and needed to be put out of her misery. They took everything away from her, from her happiness to her sanity. It’s because he loved her he’d be willing to give her the sweet release she deserved.

     He started walking towards her. She tried to crawl away from him but found herself cornered with no means of escape. A wicked grin split across his face as he came into the moon’s silvery ray of light. He stopped just short of her, towering above her small, trembling form.

     “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, scared for her life. “Whatever it is, I can’t die.”

     “Oh, Mother…” He knelt down in front of her and cupped her cheeks. Her scales were smooth to the touch as he wiped away her tears. “You’re right in that you can’t die. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed.”

     His smile growing ever larger, he said, “You lost your immortality the moment you passed on your crown.”

     Her eyes widened in horror as his hands slid down to her neck. He could feel her pulse thudding against his palms, his slender fingers wrapped around her throat. She softly whimpered and he leaned in close. He whispered into her ear his final words before her denouement.

     “Goodnight, Mother.”

     It wasn’t hard to crush her windpipe. Her nails dug into his arms in a desperate attempt to fight back but he merely brushed them off. He knew she was close to death when her eyes started to roll to the back of her head. Then he had an idea to end this in something more similar to his style.

     Her skin began to tear apart as he pulled her head up like a weed. The sound of her neck breaking echoed in the empty house. He finally ripped her head off her shoulders, blood pouring out of the stump as he stood up. Her body slumped onto the floor, the moon’s light reflected off the crimson pool.

     Mother’s bright red eyes were now dull and lifeless. Her mouth lolled open and what little saliva she had trickled out of the corners. He could see just a sliver of her vertebrae sticking out of the bottom of her neck. He untied the ribbon holding her hair up, wiped the spit away with his sleeve, and shut her eyes. Her dark tresses felt soft on his skin as he touched their foreheads together.

     “We’ll be together forever, right, Mother?” he said with a depraved smile before crazed laughter spilled out of his mouth like a stream.

     It was only a matter of waiting now before time was reset. How far back it’d go, he didn’t know. Even if it was as far back to the beginning, he’d remember the events of this loop an do them again. He’d do them again and again to his heart’s content and no one would be able to stop him.

     The only thing he wouldn’t commit again was his act of matricide. It was a one time thing and it was done to give him “closure” or whatever the humans called it. Mother warped into someone he didn’t recognize and he needed to accept that the person he knew had died a long time ago. At least he’ll always have his memories of her kept close to his heart.

     It was time to look forward and move ahead to the future. Whatever the next summers brought, he was sure to enjoy every last bit.

#airi's writing #snake of clearing eyes #azami #fanfiction #kagerou project #canon divergence #violence tw #gore tw #decapitation tw #major character death tw

[greatneedtotakeanap]

i binge read

the finale, episode 15 - the tower of nero

!!!SPOILER ALERT FOR THE TOWER OF NERO!!! this post under the cut will be completely riddled with spoilers, as it is a personal account of my views on the book as a whole. 

it will be spoiled!!

(obviously.)

I’m almost too heartsick to write this omg. It’s been such a long, heartwarming journey, and it came to such an electrifying ending.

I’m quite proud of Apollo. I knew I was going to be, but the way he realized it, the way he realized everything... how Nero’s abuse mirrored Zeus’ and affected him just the same, how much of an asshole he’d been because of it. He made the conscious choice to change, and he decided he could love. He was capable of true love, he was capable of moving forward and being better. And he was. I was just,,, I was so proud of him. Seeing him mature was a really eye-opening experience, especially in this book, when he talked so much about the small complexities of Nero’s abuse, how every move was calculated and how it affected Meg. We’d seen wisps of discussions of abuse before, mostly in the lightning thief (smelly gabe) but we’ve never before gone into the complexities of emotional abuse. The way it was described was fantastically clear, in a way that undoubtedly painted Nero as the true villain, but also gave us the chance to see him try and convince his children that he was good. Apollo breaking down his every move was good for the audience to distinguish the meaning behind his words. Fantastically portrayed. The way it helped him realize his own abuse, too, was good.

And Meg. My sweet darling Meg. What an absolute baddie, I swear. She made the same decision - she went back to Nero to fight him, to test her own strength and power of will. Her decision to drop her rings and refuse to dual wield anymore was strange to me at the very beginning, but I understood it later. It was her refusing to use the weapons he forced her to use, to even defend herself against him. It was her turning her back on the methods he’d armed her with and deciding to take her own path. “The Beast is dead” is the rawest f-ing line in this entire novel, the Beast representing Nero’s psychological abuse. “I killed him” - she liberated herself by believing she was better. I’m so insanely proud of that girl, too. She’s come a long way as well.

Okay. After that analysis, let me just say:

THE GAYS WON.

I spent this entire book terrified that Will Solace was doomed. There was a line in the prophecy about the terrible ending of ‘Apollo’s flesh and blood’, and I figured that meant his offspring - his son, rather than his human form. I kept muttering to myself ‘Will’s gonna die Will’s gonna die and it’s gonna BREAK Nico’. I was just so worried. I didn’t think anyone, even William Andrew Solace, could survive Rick Riordan’s patented Blond Boy Curse.

But he was fine in the end! As fine as you can be. Solangelo boyfriends lived to fight another day. And their development as a couple was also quite nice. I loved their dynamic. We only saw a little of it in the hidden oracle. Though it was great there too, we were able to go more in depth and explore how they truly function. Nico’s dry sense of humor combined with his whole lord-of-the-darkness aesthetic x Will’s genuine compassion and joking nature combined with his glow-in-the-dark-ness was fantastic to see.

Speaking of Solangelo - they not only got stronger as a couple, but as individual people as well. To be completely honest, we really haven’t seen much in the way of Will Solace. He healed, he was nice, yeah, sure, but what about him? What was his personality like outside from other people? In this book we find out. He’s kind, compassionate, easily flustered, overly protective. He craves parental approval, hence him repeatedly referring to Apollo as ‘dad’ and being so watchful over him. He gets embarrassed when asked to glow on command and upset when people mistake him for a lamp. He’s impulsive and a little hypocritical - he follows his instincts (being led off into the tunnels by a random voice) but gets very worried when Nico pulls the same thing. He’s a fantastic character, and his contrasts to Nico and the rest of the ton crew were great.

Nico - he seriously was the hero of this book. Or at least the secondary hero. He saved them all so many times over - he took everyone through shadow travel away from the bulls, he met the troglodytes, saw an opportunity, prepared an offering to said troglodytes because he saw an opportunity, became an underground ambassador, later saved Apollo’s life again by turning a germanus into a skeleton. He led this quest, and you can pry that from my cold dead hands. And that one paragraph about him enduring all this shit?? MASTERFUL. He’s had such a boatload of trauma and still he stands. One of my very favorite consistent Nico traits is this: no matter where he is or what he’s doing or how he feels, he ALWAYS takes the chance to talk with those who feel alone, because he knows what it’s like to be truly fighting one’s battles alone and he’d never wish that on anyone. It’s consistent, too: him being the only one to talk to Hestia at the hearth in Camp Half Blood, him talking to and befriending Bob the Titan, him talking to the troglodytes. And I have really gotten to see his progression firsthand, sped up - I read the Titan’s Curse in my binge read series maybe two weeks ago, back when he was this hyperactive ten-year-old with a Mythomagic obsession and now he’s this prince of darkness saving people with an adorable glowstick boyfriend and man. I love this kid. If he wasn’t my favorite character in this universe, he is now.

Also, even though with this book Rick has closed the gateway to this world (sad), the end alluded to a possible journey through Tartarus again to look for what’s been calling him, but this time he’ll have Will. Rachel Dare even whispered a prophecy at the end, probably pointing to it (but we’ll never know for sure). Will and Nico through the depths of Tartarus - now that’s a series I’d want to read for sure. It’s really too bad we’ll never get to see it in canon. Sigh.

SPEAKING OF CANON.

Another way the gays have won: Piper Mclean.

She has a canon girlfriend!! We really struck gold. I figured she was aro//ace when reading the Burning Maze - her whole monologue about being forced into love - but it turns out she’s just wlw!! I love this, I love this. We seriously won with this book.

Other noteworthy thoughts I had while reading below:

- The scene with Apollo defeating Python and hanging on the edge of Chaos was great. Especially when the goddess Styx came out. I was wondering how all of his broken oaths would serve him and come back to haunt him. It was quite well portrayed. A serious rip to the Arrow of Dodona though. I always loved it,,, a lot. It made me laugh and sometimes grind my teeth in frustration, but it was always a nice presence.

- Apollo’s return to Olympus was better than anything I ever could have hoped for. I was really hoping that returning would give him a new insight, not just of being mortal, but of Zeus as well. And it did. It did! I’ve said it before but I am quite proud of him. His new perspective on the Olympians was refreshing. You can really see the change in narrative if you go back to the Hidden Oracle.

- It is always always always nice to see Sally Jackson. Woman of many talents, including novel writing, blue chocolate chip cookies, and excellent seven-layer dip. She was my favorite character at the beginning of this binge-reading frenzy (as stated in the first post). Now she is still very up there. Definitely top 5.

- Why does Estelle have Percy’s green eyes?? I thought Percy had his father’s eyes????

- Grover knew about Jason dying. If Grover was on the cross-country field trip with Percy and Annabeth, and they didn’t realize Jason was dead until they got to New Rome, then was he just sitting on Jason’s death this whole time??? Rip to Grover, he must have been seriously traumatized for THAT to have happened.

- The last two chapters were basically just Apollo making his rounds and wrapping everything up, so Percabeth isn’t just in a perpetual cross-country ride and Piper doesn’t live out her life forever in a grief-stricken taxi. I’m glad those chapters were there, though. Nice to see everybody again in their element.

Okay but you don’t understand the fear in my heart. I seriously thought Will Solace was a goner. I cried out of relief because he DIDN’T die. It just makes me love the two of them all the more.

This post has been way too long already, but I gotta add an obligatory outro - I read these books once as a little kid, and the past two weeks has been amazing getting back into them. It’s been magical and wonderful, falling in love with these characters, and I’m so sad to leave it.

#tower of nero #the tower of nero #ton spoilers #toa spoilers #tower of nero spoilers #nap binge reads #(the final episode) #wow #what a ride the past two weeks have been

[kevindayisafrog]

I had the idea to write this in the bath..leave me alone (and there are big gaps between the paragraphs, don’t ask why) ignore any spelling mistakes or don’t, I’m not your mum :)

Baz

Bunce drives another wooden stake through a seething vampire, her face cool and collected. The vampire screeches in fear before wilting like a rose onto the chapel’s blood stained floor, leaving only ashes and rags behind. I hear Simon above me, thrashing his wings against the stuffy air and creating an unneeded breeze that sends chills down my shirt collar. I turn and place a tense hand upon a pale faced woman as she sprints towards me, fangs out. Fire spills out of my chapped hands and she tries to back away, but we’re too flammable. She shoots up into flames and a pile of smoking ash floats down onto the ground. I hear Simon land behind me with a thud and I turn as he rips a wooden frame from the roof. Oh Crowley, he looks so good. His shoulders are throbbing from the fight and I feel like I’d turn to a pile of ashes just watching him. I turn my back against him with a violent blush and help Bunce as a vampire corners her, ripping the splintered wood from her hands. Without hesitation I grab them by the neck and pull. It’s handy having this strength with added knowledge of vampire slaying, but fuck me, it doesn’t make it any less disturbing. The vampire drops to his knees and falls into Bunce who shrieks and pushes the abandoned torso onto the floor. I drop the head onto the dismembered body with a slapping sound and freeze as Bunce’s face turns to stone as she watches over my shoulder

Simon

I land onto the ground and rip down a wooden beam from the low ceiling. This vampire is a fucking nightmare. I try to ignore Baz’s burning eyes as he watches from behind us, probably wanting to set us all on fire. Just to hurt us all. Or maybe just me. He’d hurt just me. I mean, I guess I am the one who hurt him first (I thought he wanted the fucking break up!) I lunge towards the smooth faced girl as she leans backwards with a menacing grin. I try again as she sprints to my back, pulling my collar down as I can feel her breath on my neck. I flap my wings out to knock her to the ground and tighten my grip on the beam, pulling it over my shoulder to swing down into her chest. But she dives back up quicker than a blink and tears the wood from my hands. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m never going near a vampire ever again. They’re way too much effort. I wrap my tail around her ankle and pull her legs from beneath her as she drives the makeshift stake into my heaving chest.

Baz

I dive at the girl and rip her throat out with my fangs, spitting it into her awed face. “Traitor!” she screams before I twist her head off like a corkscrew. I throw it across the room before dropping down to hold Simon in my lap. He’s so warm from the fight and his bronze hair is already sticking to my red blazer in matted crimson curls. “You idiot, I told you that stakes could kill anyone”, I try to sound annoyed but it comes out in a cracked whisper, showing him the pain that I’ve been trying to hide behind boredom. I thought that he didn’t want anything to do with me, so why did he call me first to help him? Does he still want us? I thought that he made it clear he doesn’t want me. I drop my head to rest my forehead on his, feeling his shaky breaths brush my lips. “I’m sorry”, he whispers, barely audible. “No, shut up, Snow. Just shut up”, a tearless sob escapes my throat and I feel warmth as he wraps his leathery wing around my back. “I was supposed to go first”, I open my eyes to smile at him and pull my head back to search his glassy eyes for the Simon I know. “I’m sorry”, he whispers again, grimacing as the pain drills into him. I try to ignore the smell of blood as it slowly covers our clothes, a burnt popcorn taste pulling my fangs closer to his bloodied lips. “Don’t apologize, please. You’ll be alright little puff”, I whisper the words into his lips and he pulls me into him. The blood seeps through my tongue and I try to pull away but his grip is tight on my shoulders. I cry into our kiss and try not to think of the worst. I thought that I would die kissing Simon Snow, not the other way around.

Penelope

Simon can’t die. He just can’t. People like him don’t just keel up and accept death. He can’t. I rack my brain for a spell to help him. My mum told me one. We were sat on the sofa watching Holby City and someone was badly injured, they had a metal washing line pole shoved into their chest. What did she say? She made a joke about having only one spell that can help. A song. A rhyme? Oh for Crowley’s sake Penny, what was it?

Baz

Bunce dives at me and tears the wing from my back. “Baz, I know a spell that can help”, her eyes are dancing with desperation and her voice reeks of hope. “I don’t think a spell can reverse this”, I can’t look at her because I don’t want her to know that I’ve lost hope. I just want to take away his pain. “Just try it Baz, just try”, Bunce’s words hang between us among the unspoken truth, as I just sigh and weakly pull my wand from my blazer pocket and point it towards Simon’s heaving chest. “On your command”, I whisper, trying to pull my fangs back into wherever they came from. “Sing Bohemian Rhapsody, it will turn the damage onto you but..but your body can heal itself, can’t it?” I turn to look at her with a snarl. Bloody idiot. “It’s a stake through the heart, Pen. He’ll die”, Simon chokes the words out and I try to ignore the urge of licking off the blood that begins to trickle down his cheek. I don’t want to hurt him. “I don’t care, I don’t need to be here”, I press the wand and my palm against his chest and begin to sing the song. “Baz, don’t. Please, don’t. I need you. I need you alive”, a tear falls down his temple as he groans the words. “I’m no bloody use to you if you’re dead”, I try to make the words sound light but they come out like barbed wire. I give Bunce a look and she quietly nods and holds Simon down. “Are you sure you want to do this?”, she asks me, looking into my half hidden eyes. “Shut up”, I snap. I didn’t mean to. But maybe if I push her away she won’t be hurt if I do die. Will I die? Not that it matters, but..

Simon

“Baz, don’t”, I try to thrash about but Penny is pushing down onto my shoulders with all her might. I reach up to place my hand onto Baz’s cheek, it’s so cold. “Please, don’t do it”, if he’s noticed my hand he doesn’t show it, he’s too stubborn. I stroke his pale skin and drop my hand when he begins the song. His voice is so lush.

Baz

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

The words sound hollow and frail when they leave my lips, so I push all my magic into them. (I hope that the lisp created by my fangs won’t effect the spell).

“Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality”.

It doesn’t feel different, I don’t think it’s working. I scrunch up my face and try to soften my tone.

“Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see”

Simon’s crystal blue eyes fling open and his back arches so that his head falls into Penny’s lap. “It’s working”, she whispers in excitement.

“I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy”

His body twitches slightly and I try to ignore the pain of fire in my chest. It’s working.

“Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low”

My words fall out like knives and a burning in my veins begin to appear. A drumming of magic bursting through my wrists.

“Anyway the wind blows”

Sparks of yellow break from my skin and into Simon’s chest, his eyes leaking tears that drip onto Penny’s arm. A breeze flutters from my wand and blows my hair back, pulling my head slightly away from Simon before bashing our heads together like magnets.

“Doesn’t really matter to me”

My voice wavers as the sparks turn to hollow flames around Simon’s chest as his back shoots upwards and then back down. I try to whisper the next line but his bleeding stops as I brush my finger across his chest. I reach for the wood but it turns to dust and falls away from his chest. “Simon”, I whisper before the burning in my veins engulfs my words.

Simon

Baz falls backwards and pushes himself away from me, his wrists convulsing. My wings suddenly pull me up and I land on my feet, my body buzzing with something I haven’t felt in a long time. I rub my hand against my chest and feel that my skin isn’t even broken anymore. “It worked”, Penny whispers as I turn to smile at her. The buzzing intensifies and I feel the old flame light up inside of me. Magic in me. Magic. In me. I reach my hands onto my waist and whisper the old incantation, the words like sweet butter upon my tongue.

Baz

I feel empty. My hands won’t stop shaking and my head is spinning to blur my eyes. “Simon”, I try to call for him but my words choke in my throat. He’s alive.

Simon

The Sword of Mages feels like gold in my hands and I choke on a sob as I clutch it to my waist. I swing it around me as Penny jumps to her feet squealing with joy. We jump up and down like primary school kids on a school trip, but I don’t care. I’m me again. Baz can love me again. Baz. I turn to show him my magic and immediately drop the sword. “Baz?”

Baz

He did it. I always knew he’d win. Ever since first year I knew he was capable of everything. He is the chosen one, after all. “Simon..” I whisper, letting the word sit in my mouth like a silky pudding, before lying back and resting my head on the floor. You did it. Simon Snow, you did it. I’ve always been so proud.

#snowbaz #carry on #rainbow rowell #simon snow #simon baz #wayward son #fanfic #any way the wind blows #booknerd #incorrect snowbaz quotes #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

[quecksilvereyes]

for the 500 words or less ask meme tell me everything about your piece 'concepts: the case against the Lion'!

hi moh! The poem we’re talking about can be found here if any of you wanna read it but i’ll copy it into here too so I know where I am and what to talk about.

the poem:

Here’s a concept:                                                                                                 (Here’s a question:) I am alive.

Lion;             you great, terrible thing             all teeth and claws and;                              breath as foul as rotten meat                                                        (chunks of ice, of glass all frozen,                                                         stuck to the roof of your maw.)

I am alive. in my world in this, my, country:             made of fog and rain and grey faces, tired still                            (made of lead and iron and bricks, all red as blood                                         dripping from your teeth)

Lion;

when I was twelve years old and trembling, frozen hair all curled teeth too small; too big cheeks flushed red             from all her cold

I stepped into this, your, world and–                                                       what did you see? A child? A girl, her hair heated and curled and dying? A warrior, with little trembling hands, bow steady as magic? A Queen? A doll?

what am I, Lion? to you – this world?

                                                                   Am I                                                                            a monarch?                                                                            a ruler?                                                                            teeth and arrows and horn?                                                                            a girl?                                                                            a woman?                                                                            a statue, hollowed and unmoving                                                                            and crumbling away?                                                                            a story?                                                                            a song?

Am I a lullaby, Lion? am I salvation, am I the world at your paws? Who am I? What am I for?

Lion; you terrible thing         you grand, terrible thing         your teeth at my throat                          at my hands                          at my head

here I am:

the ground is ripped open my breath a cloud of mist from my mouth                                                                           all the way down to my chest my lashes wet             my cheeks blotched                           my siblings; my cousin, cold in this English soil

And I;             alive in this England.             in this, my world: amongst open caskets and open graves and doors                           firmly shut.

Lion; here I am         heaving         silent still.

so we start out with Susan. it’s 1949, her family and all that she loves has just died in a train crash, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself except grow quiet and angry. she’s been deliberately not thinking about Narnia for years and pushing it all down into her subconscious, but now it all comes back up, rearing its head, and Susan screams all her grievances and all her rage into the world. according to the lion, she should be dead. she should have taken that train with the rest of them and died. she didn’t.

so she starts talking to aslan the way she most vividly remembers him: during the battle of beruna, freshly revived, bloody and more lion than anything else, his teeth deep in the witch. she’s not exactly scared of him, but this image is what has burnt itself into her memory and it’s what she thinks of whenever Lucy would talk about him.

in the next paragraph she’s basically going ‘hey. bitch. your plan didn’t work. i’m still here in this country that i hate, but i’m here and i’m alive and i’m homesick and i refuse to be a cog in a machine.’ the next few lines are, i think, the heart of it. The Problem of Susan: who is she? what does the lion think she’s for? what did he see in her, in any of them, as they stumbled into narnia, freezing and terrified and half spelled? why them? what happened that it was them, that it was now, why did they have to leave again? is she just a puppet in whatever Aslan’s plan is, would he have taken any set of siblings and pushed them into this world, is he just going through the motions, already well aware how it starts and how it ends? is it all planned or is it all coincidence, how does she, pragmatic and scared and traumatised, fit into it all?

then we go back to her perception of him, bloodied and dangerous and with his claws and his teeth in her. he gave them big talks of what they should do, who they should be, but in the end there was only one right path, and susan didn’t take it. to susan, it feels like he went through the motions of offering them a choice, even though there never was a choice to begin with.

and we end as we begin; susan has lost her loves and her world only to bury them all alone, and she is alive and freezing in England, despite what aslan had planned for her, despite of what her life was meant to be. she’s here and she will give them the burial they deserve and she will live in England, for all that her siblings never could. the door to Narnia has been closed for Susan for a long time, but she has always been adaptable and pragmatic. she’s here. she’s alive and traumatised and can’t cry yet.

and she is so, so angry.

#moh tag #hello i RAMBLE #i hope this was what you hoped for #i definitely didn't cover it all but ah well #narnia #hauntedthief

[boseongkrp]

( the friend #3, park chaeyoung/rose, she/her ) — introducing BAEK SERIN, the 22 year old WAITRESS AND MUSICIAN at devil’s kitchen bar, known around boseong as THE MELOMANIAC. the residents would describe her as painted nails & lipstick stains on cigarettes, lyrics hidden within coffee-stained journals, 1980’s jazz, indie, funk, and rock.

now loading her interview....

PLEASE TELL US MORE ABOUT YOURSELF.

“More about myself, huh?” She quips, supporting her chin in one of her two hands. “I can spin my hands 360 degrees. Wanna see?” An eyebrow quirks as she focuses her gaze on the person before her and doesn’t try to say anything else on the matter of her weird skill, allowing the subject to vanish when the other clears their throat. She shouldn’t have been sitting in this room again in the first place. She remembers too much, even now.

“The story goes like this— Mother was high up in the hierarchy of Boseong’s youth. Beautiful, intelligent, the kind of girl who could have any man she set her sights on but she threw it all away to become a poor man’s wife. Her exact words.” The words flow like a slow drawl. Half-clung to a distracted half-smile, eyes trailing the edge of the table. Past memories knock on her door, and she lets them through. “Enter Romeo. My father, who comes from rags, a farmer that struggles to make ends meet. Father said he used to makes extra money by singing on street corners and busking around with his homegrown magic tricks, which he never shared the secrets to.”

Finally, she settles her gaze. Peers at the other through the overcast glow of the lights up above. Too yellow, too bright. She blinks through the spots in her vision.

“They’re not supposed to meet, you know? Should’ve never crossed paths to begin with, but in true Romeo and Juliet form: they do anyway. They promised to run away together - into the horizon, over the mountains and beyond. So it’s funny then, that I was born here, in the quiet, sheltered middle of nowhere.”

She hates it. Loathes anything that feels forced, and all of these interrogation sessions are the very epitome of it. But she must give them something. Give them the answers they want.

“They had me, and for a while everything was right.” A pause. “But one day, just like father’s magic coin tricks, mother vanished.” For a second her face holds the same look of hurt it held many years ago.

———

It is mid November and the sky was greying. She didn’t say much from behind the window as she watched droplets of rain hit the glass with a ‘tap’ and by now she knew better than to light all the dark rooms in the house. And she could feel it, the tide of the past July. It’s like this one morning she looked across the dinner table and everything that has ever been left unspoken was being said. No one ever had to tell her anything, she always managed to catch snippets of what was happening around her, observation had been but a hobby to her for as long as she could remember and the sight of her father crying was something unfamiliar to her, something she would notice right away. Serin could see it, the way her father spoke in dim lit words, the way her mother’s name escaped her father’s. How often do we wear smiles that hurt, smiles that tell us we have endured too long? Serin feels heavy and the worst thing is, she knows the weather of departure; the humid air, the rain pouring announcing that winter is near.

———

Her flashback montage is interrupted by the soft squeak of a chair, and really, she doesn’t know what else to say.

“Uhm. What more do you wish to know?” She muses out loud, keeping her voice barely audible. She can’t let just anyone hear her sad story after all. “Right, more abo—”she mutters, but leaves her sentence unfinished.

“I’m that one girl no one writes songs about.”

Serin’s like a messy book, filled with half read sentences, marked up paragraphs, folded corners and empty pages. Half a hopeless romantic and half a skeptic. She doesn’t let people in, only a few have trickled deep within the small gaps between the pages, and somehow the book opens and she gives them a chapter. She feels with a terrible intensity. Too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled pages in her pockets. Her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. At times, she says quite a lot and nothing at all. She always takes too little and gives too much. Reaches for anything, finding joy in the most rare of places. Comes and goes, disappears like mist rising in the sky. Maybe she is a liminal space. An in-between. A gas station on a longer journey. blurry, dreamlike. A threshold. An exhilarating parenthesis. She is simply someone searching for - a phrase, a light, a fire. The signs along the way.

SO WHAT DO YOU THINK OF BOSEONG?

She’s born in Boseong. It’s obvious in the kind of gaze she enforces. Like dead foliage, a wet morning, the dewy rise of dawn circling the dark pits of her eyes. The idea of the town swells in its bitter taste through the bite of her growing molars; the pith of intelligence blossoming with the ravenous flavor.

“It’s the place I’ve lived all my life. My home.” It feels unnatural to call it that, but it is what it is.

HAVE YOU EVER LEFT OR THOUGHT ABOUT LEAVING BOSEONG?

“Leaving?,” she trails off, gaze drifting away from the other in faux contemplation.

“The thought has crossed my mind a couple of times.”

But, it is sorta intoxicating. Living here, being here, existing among all the rumors and secrets that define it into the town of a thriller setting and sad sound. It’s like she’s born glued to Boseong. Ripped out of the reasoning to leave. Boseong is a void shadow lingering in the background of the world as it parades forward.

WERE YOU CLOSE WITH HA EUNMI? WHAT WAS YOUR IMPRESSION OF HER?

“Shouldn’t you know the answer to this? Is it not scribbled down on the reports?” She certainly doesn’t like it when others ask questions they know the answer to. She doesn’t even bother to look at the other, painted fingernails drumming softly on the rim of the table.

“It is well known we were best friends.” Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she tries to pull a soul-stirring recollection off a dusty shelf stacked with her memories, reminiscing about the day she first met Eunmi, and how lonely she felt, and how much warmth Eunmi brought into her dreadfully cold and empty life.

“She was nice, everyone loved her. She had a way of making you feel—special. Being her friend meant you were liked as well.”

It was hard tho, being Eunmi’s friend wasn’t always easy. Maintaining friendships, having close acquaintances, it all requires a certain amount of effort and sacrifice, something that perhaps not everyone wishes to give away so effortlessly. People grow and outgrow you. People change and most often, people forget about you.

DO YOU HAVE A DARK SECRET THAT NO ONE KNOWS OF?

<   R E D A C T E D   >

#bsfollow #krp

[goingsllightlymad]

Baby It’s You - Part 2.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader, Brian May x reader

Summary: The year is 1981 and Roger Taylor is pretty sure he has made it. With the Game Tour stretching out before him and the band more successful than ever, he doesn’t think that anything can mess up the perfect picture that is his life. That is, until he receives a letter from an astrophysics PhD student studying abroad, and finds himself sucked into her world of secrets and mistaken identities. Roger Taylor is about to find out that his life is a lot more complicated than he ever thought.

Wordcount: 2392 (getting longer!). 

Warnings: I just love Roger Taylor a lot, okay? 

________________________________________________________________

An hour after Brian had left, Roger was still finishing up. Bags all around him on the bottom step of the never-ending flight of stairs that lead down from their apartment, he was making sure he took as much time as he could. He was late already, so he might as well be later. It annoyed Brian and he knew it - all those threats and empty promises of kicking Roger out of the band if he wasn't get to the tour bus on time weren't entirely lost on him, just had the wrong effect.

With that last thought of Brian's agitated face in mind, and the wonderful mental image of him pacing to and fro in front of the bus the way he probably was right now, Roger dropped off the last of his bags by the door, and made his way over to the little metal letter-boxes with the apartment numbers on the front. He had never really done this kind of dull domestic thing before, truth be told, and it took him a moment to pick out their box from the rows and rows stacked on top of each other. Brian was much more domestic than he had ever been, and on a nicer day he might have admitted that he could not live without him. But this was not that kind of day, and Roger Taylor was not in that kind of mood.

There were the usual parcels and notices - a wedding invitation from one of Brian's friends, a just-saying-hi letter from Tim Staffell like there was every week (Roger never read them but he knew that Brian did), a couple of bills and an advertisement for a recording studio nearby. He kept that one, put it in his pocket to show the others if he ever decided to show up at the bus as he knew he had to soon. And then at the bottom another envelope, small and neat. He picked it up, looked a little closer at the name written on the front in neat cursive script. The right house number, absolutely not the right name. Some guy called Ben, probably someone who lived somewhere downstairs. Probably the new guy, but Roger had no idea which number he was. He cast a momentary glance at all the letter-boxes in front of him, wondered whether he had the time or the patience to go through each one and look for names. True to his character and to the extraordinary number he saw, he did not.

There was a moment or two when he had to stand and think things through. The letter had been sent to the wrong address. But what to do when you had nowhere to send it to? Leave it on the side and hope for the best? Probably not a good idea - he had had a suspicion people were stealing Queen's mail for a while now, best not to put the idea to the test when this wasn't even his letter. Find Ben? God knows how many Ben's there must be in this building, and Roger was finally coming around to the idea that sooner or later he really had to get to the bus or else they might send Brian back to drag him there by brute force. What a comically horrifying thought.

So it was without much internal conflict that Roger slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat, with the advert for the studio, and locked up the letter-box once again. He could always open it and find out who had written it, maybe write back to the address it was sent from, just to explain. He figured they ought to know, at least. And it didn't seem like there were a lot of better options opening themselves up before him. Yes, he would read it as soon as they set off, get something back quickly and have no more to do about it. Or at least, so he resolved as he found his bags again, the thought already fading into the chaos of his mind, the prospect of the tour bleeding through in its place until he had almost forgotten about the letter entirely, standing by the worn front door.

With a final sigh and a grunt as he hoisted his bags onto his back once more, Roger left the building through the front door and made his way finally to the tour bus. It had to leave soon, and he was very very late.

________________________________________________________________________________

It was only that night, with the sun long since set and the others recently gone to bed, that Roger remembered the letter. He cursed quietly in the silence of the bed at the back of the tour bus, muttering something about the scrabble they had been playing all afternoon while the bus drove on to god knows where, and tried once more to close his eyes and fall asleep. Once more he was unsuccessful. Eyes closed and breathing slowed, the thought of the address came flooding back into his mind, insidious and unshakeable as a curse. He really had to read it now, because he was getting the idea that he could not sleep if he didn't.

He sat up, pressing his shaking hands against his thighs to steady them as he shivered in the cool night air. For the life of him he could not remember when July had got so cold. Groping around in the moonlight for his coat, he took out the letter from the pocket, straightened it out. Such pretty handwriting for someone who didn't know how a fucking address worked.

Dear Ben...

The silence in the tour bus lasted an eternity while he read, his lips moving gently as he murmured the words back to himself. From time to time he looked up from the page, lips quirking up into a soft half-smile as the words pulled him into their funny little world that he knew nothing about. And yet he had never felt as though he knew someone so well. It was almost too intimate, for a moment he had to stop and wonder if he was really doing the right thing. This was a moment when the curtain was ripped aside momentarily, and through the gap he caught a glimpse of someone else living a life that was so different to his own. He felt as though he were walking into a cinema halfway through a film, picking up a character from all the scraps of words they let him see. He could not look away if he tried.

When at last the words ran out at the bottom of the page, he blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that seemed to have wrapped itself around him while he was unaware. How to tell this girl, (Y/N), that he wanted to, needed to, know more. There was something so addictive about this boring little life she lead, where the pigeons outside her window got more action than her. Roger could never understand what that was like.

Making sure not to wake the others as they sprawled out on the beds along the bus, Roger found the little scrabble table, the pencils and paper they used to score. He took a clean sheet and tried to write.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

I must preface this letter with the sincere apology that I am not, in fact, Ben. Not through some lack of effort of yours, I am sure, this letter was addressed to entirely the wrong person, and has reached myself instead of whoever it was intended to go to. Which is fine - I certainly enjoyed reading your letter, and in fact I should hate to leave this here. You seem to lead such a more exciting life than I do!

I wish I could understand your PhD woes, really, but it is my primary flaw that I was never the most academic of all my friends. If I could do what you are doing, I would, but the problem is I just can't. I fear I would die of boredom and stress from the very get-go, and that would be a rather unfortunate situation for everyone involved, I fear. Still, I have no doubt that, whatever it is you are studying, you are coping brilliantly (albeit complainingly!). It seems I must rely upon you to live out vicariously my dreams of doing anything vaguely intellectual successfully; I hope you do not mind!

You've made me quite frantic just reading about your late night habits, my love! He's probably right, you know - you really ought to get some sleep. One of my mates keeps going on about something like that ("self care" apparently, which sounds a lot like bullshit but it seems I'll be preaching it now like the utter hypocrite that I am) to me, which of course I have never listened to because I have a horrible habit of never actually listening to my mates, but I think you need some of that. Not that you're going to listen to me. Not that you should listen to me. My advice is terrible. Just ignore me, I'm having an internal crisis here.

New York is indeed very... different to what we are used to. I used to hate it there because all I could associate it with was travelling and being away from home, but now I suppose I don't mind as much. I'm more used to travelling now. Not that that's an especially bad thing. New York does have nicer diners, and the accent makes me laugh more than I really ought to. I lose my shit every time someone orders a coffee like that. Good on your pigeons though - maybe not so good on you but good on them all the same. At least they're having a nice time. Well, at least the male pigeon is. And they say romance is dead.

How must you live without a radio? I think I would keel over and die immediately without my music. I wouldn't tell it to my friends (they'd call me a right wuss and I fear I haven't the stability of ego to withstand such a low blow) but I sometimes think my soul is made of music. That band thing sounds interesting! Maybe you should go along just in case - see if you like them. I hear they're fantastic.

Roger didn't comment on the last half of that paragraph. Something in it made him feel like he was standing in someone else's place, reading something he was never meant to see. Something he would never share, because no one had ever said those kind of things to him before. He wondered if that was love, and hoped it wasn't. He'd like to think that he had been loved before, and he knew that he had never been loved quite like this.

You know I have to ask - who on earth are Lennon and McCartney? Please god don't tell me you have half of the Beatles living in your apartment or else I really must find out who you might possibly be. Princess Bride with the Beatles... what a thought. I've never seen it - I think I should have but I haven't. Nothing personal, not really, I've just never been the sort for sappy romance films. All that nonsense about "true love" and "happily ever after", I'd feel like a 9-year-old girl with a crush. It's all just a scam, really. No way that kind of thing isn't all made up. No way at all.

A wedding? Wow, sounds nice. Sorry, I'm just not used to that kind of thing. What do you even say to it? Congratulations on not having broken up by now? Good luck doing the same things you were doing before you got married but with extra legal bindings? I can't wait until you have kids and our friendship becomes second to them? Not for me, no sir. Not for anyone like me either. Just not ideal exactly in this line of work. Think I'll have to stick with being forever alone, eh? But congratulations (or something like that) to your brother and his... spouse.

Thank you again for brightening up my boring little day, and I hope you write again "as you wish",

Anon.

He didn't sign his name at the bottom - he thought perhaps it might be better to let her form her own opinions of him in her own time, instead of telling her straight away. It wouldn't let out his address, he promised himself as he slumped forwards against the table, head in his hands. Now that that was done, he suddenly felt so dreadfully tired, and he knew his sleep would only be plagued by thoughts of this mystery girl. For there was that smaller part of him, deep down in the pit of his chest where he thought his heart must be, that whispered to him that he did not want her to know who he was because for the first time in his life he had found someone who might like him for something other than that name. He found something that might stick around.

There were no envelopes in the van, and he made a quick promise to find one at the hotel the next morning, and send it out straight away, so she got the letter as quickly as possible. To send something to her boyfriend, he thought. And then, to send something to me. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he tucked the letter away in the pocket of his jeans, sleeping in his clothes as he had taken to doing on tour, and picked his way silently back to his bed. 

________________________________________________________________

It was not hard to see that Roger Taylor had something to hide. Not when he broke away from the rest of the band the minute they had arrived at the hotel, not when he begged for half an hour in his room before they went out to check out the venue, and definitely not when out of the window John caught a glimpse of their drummer rushing off to the letter-box on the corner of the street, in his hand an envelope and in the envelope god knows what. 

Taglist:

@rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

#roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #rogertaylorxreader #brianmayxreader #roger taylor #brian may #queen #queen band #queen x reader #queen fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert

[sareyen]

Das Haus am See: The Lake House Cherik AU (Part 1/3)

Read on ao3

A Lake House Cherik AU: Charles and Erik both lived in the lake house, Charles in 2017, and Erik in 2019. By magic or fate, the two find out that the house’s letter box is able to send letters through time - and, in doing so, the two fall in love despite living in two different years. They vow to meet in the future, but fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Chapter 1

Erik grunted as he hauled the last of his boxes into the back of his car, cursing under his breath when the boot struggled to close. After some rearranging, Erik managed to fit all of his belongings into the back, grateful that he had never been the type to hoard.

Pulling out a pen and paper, Erik leaned on the boot of his car, quickly scrawling a concise note to the future tenant of the lakeside house overlooking Chautauqua Lake. 

To the new tenant,

Welcome. As the previous tenant, I hope that you find everything to be in working order. I’ve filed my change of address with the post office, but their services are unreliable at best. If anything slips through, could you please forward my mail? My new address is below.

Thank you.

Also, the burn in the wall above the kitchen stove was there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. You can do whatever you want with that.

E. Lehnsherr.

Erik quickly folded the paper and shoved it into an envelope, licking the seal and sliding it into the slightly rusted red letterbox at the front of the house, flicking down the red flag on the box.

Erik took a moment to appreciate the house he has lived in for the past year and a half, corner of his mouth lifting. Erik took in the rustic red brick house with its blue-tiled roof, the white trimmed windows and flourishing green front lawn.

Early in the afternoon, the house was cast in a warm golden glow, light reflecting off the lake water in the distance. The house looked warm and lived in, a far cry from how it had looked when Erik had first moved in; barren, with wilting plants in pots hanging on the porch, grass yellowing, dust collecting on every antique piece of furniture inside it.

When Erik had first moved in, the lake house had been cold and barren, much like Erik himself. Erik had moved into the house a year and a half ago after everything with Magda had crumbled to pieces, the multiple miscarriages taking their toll and culminating in a messy divorce. Erik had felt dead inside, moving out of the suffocating city and taking temporary leave from his job as an estate planning lawyer to take some time to gather himself in solitude.

Erik had not thought that he would become so attached to the lake house, which was almost 7 hours by road from the hustle and bustle of NYC. Living alone in tranquillity had made Erik remember his childhood in Germany with his parents, of happier and calmer times. The house had helped him heal, and even though memories of Magda still made his heart ache a little, Erik had learned to shoulder it.

Erik gazed at the house fondly for a moment longer, before turning around to his car packed full of his meagre things, ready to make the trip back to the city and the real world, leaving this little slice of serenity behind.

***

Charles pulled up to his holiday home on the Chautauqua lakefront in his car (or “Rust Bucket” as his dear sister, Raven, endearingly called it). It was beyond Raven’s comprehension as to why Charles, a successful novelist, didn’t go and by himself a new car when he could obviously afford it.

In the end, Charles was sentimental, and clung to things longer than he should. That probably stemmed from the fact that, as a child, he hadn’t had much to hold onto, very little to hold dear. His father had died when he was young, and his step-father was controlling and over-bearing, leaving Charles little in the way of worldly possessions.

But, Charles had been given the gift of heart and wit, and with that, he had built a career in prose. Inspired by his difficult childhood, Charles had created a book series about disenfranchised outcasts with special powers – outcasts that were as extraordinary as they were feared, beautiful but distrusted. Charles wrote about outcasts who could stand up for themselves, to cement their place in the world despite being beaten down at every corner, who would persevere even in the darkest of times.

The series spoke to anyone who had been alienated, who had been mocked for being different. It had become a platform on social commentary, on racism and homophobia, on class struggle and the inequalities that run rampant in the world.

The final book in the “X” tetralogy had been published only recently, and Charles’s fans were eager to find out if the New York Times best-selling author Francis Graymalkin was writing anything new.

Unfortunately, Charles had fallen into a writing slump – after concluding the X series, Charles found himself lost. The X series had consumed his life for the past decade, and now that it was finished, Charles did not know what to do. He had half-formed ideas rattling around in his head, but none that really inspired him.

It had been Raven’s idea to go and do some ‘soul-searching’, as she called it. Charles assumed she had gotten the idea from her current partner, a star-sign-abiding hippie who claimed that she could see the future. Apparently, Charles getting out of NYC would do him some good, and Charles had been inclined to agree – a change in scenery may be what he needed to find his writing inspiration again, and if not, he could at least get a holiday out of it.

It had been after Charles’s first ‘X’ novel had reached critical acclaim that he bought the lakeside house. He hadn’t really understood what had drawn him to it so much, but something in his mind screamed at him to buy it. It had been a charming house, two-storeys and made of red brick. It was a somewhat old house too, but looked well-loved and charmingly worn. Charles, who lived in well-loved and charmingly worn cardigans and enjoyed nothing more than curling up in a blanket with a cup of warm tea had been smitten by the quant property immediately.

Charles didn’t know how long he would live in this lakeside house for, since he didn’t know how long it would take him to complete a new novel. Getting out of his car, Charles didn’t begin unpacking just yet. It had been years since he’d been to the property and he had hired someone to maintain it, but he wanted to look at it for himself.

Charles unlocked the door and took a turn about the spacious house; warm wooden interior, large bay windows that overlooked the lake, antique furniture that looked both mismatched and fitting in the same breath. Charles smiled to himself, running his finger along a dark marble countertop in the kitchen, before opening the large doors to the back veranda by the lake.

“Home sweet home,” Charles murmured to nobody but himself and the lake, which rippled in response as a gust of wind brushed across it. Charles breathed in and out, before walking back to the front of the house.

It was then that he noticed the letterbox’s flag was tilted down, and Charles blinked curiously – no one had lived in the lake house ever since Charles bought it nine years ago, and he knew that the caretakers wouldn’t be sending mail out from his address.

Charles opened the letterbox then, and inside was a single letter in crisp white paper that looked too fresh to have been sitting there for a long time. Holding the letter in his hands, neat and heavy-handed lettering with ‘To the resident’ on the front, Charles glanced around.

He was alone, the secluded house still and quiet.

Charles walked plonked himself down some low stone walling lining the outside of the house, ripping open the letter with his finger.

“Previous tenant?” Charles read aloud, frowning. Unless this letter was from someone living there a decade ago, it had to be a prank, or a mistake. Charles read on, raising a brow about the kitchen burn marks and the box in the attic. When Charles had walked around the house moments earlier, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss in the kitchen, curiosity beginning to bubble in his stomach.

Jumping up with vigour, Charles clutched the letter tightly as he headed directly to the kitchen, inspecting the wall that was supposed to be singed. Charles inspected his kitchen carefully, but there were no burn marks to be seen anywhere.

“A prank?” Charles mused to himself, looking back at the letter. “Box in the attic?”

Charles checked there too, but all he found there were cobwebs and dust, making him sneeze. Climbing back down from the attic, Charles chuckled at his fanciful beliefs. This E. Lehnsherr was either a jokester, or awfully confused.

Charles quickly threw the letter onto the kitchen table, not thinking too much about it, too busy moving his things in and unpacking the rest when the movers came – he always had a lot of things, never being able to let the things he treasured go.

***

It was a two weeks later that it happened.

Charles had never had the most skill in the kitchen, a simple stir-fry the extent of his culinary expertise. Today, he had been particularly scatterbrained, frustrated by his lack of creativity and being stuck writing the same three paragraphs over and over, not feeling inspired in the slightest. To top it off, Charles hadn’t slept particularly well – the nightmares of his childhood had tempered with age, but every now and then, they would make his nights hell.

Half asleep and dazed, Charles had taken his eye off his saucepan, the flames catching on some of his food and bursting upwards in a roaring flame. Charles squeaked, quickly turning off the burner and tugging the saucepan off the heat, singing his finger in the process. Charles hissed, jamming his finger under cold water as the flames died down.

Looking glumly at his smoky-borderline-charcoal dinner, Charles suddenly realised that the wall was burned.

‘Also, the burn in the wall above the kitchen stove was there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. You can do whatever you want with that.’

“Impossible,” Charles whispered to himself, hastily turning off the tap, charred dinner forgotten. Charles stumbled over to his kitchen table that had become covered with paper, books and empty tea-cups, rummaging around for the letter he had haphazardly thrown there weeks ago. Under a water bill and his worn copy of Jane Eyre, Charles found the letter from E. Lehnsherr.

Coincidence?

Or fate?

Raven’s hippie girlfriend would definitely say fate, that it was written in the stars or in her tea leaves.

Whether it was mere coincidence or true, divine fate, Charles deemed that he should at least respond to the letter, considering E. Lehnsherr had left his new address. Scrounging up a pen from a pocket in his cardigan and ripping out some paper from the leather-bound notebook he always carried around, Charles wrote back.

January 21st, 2017

Dear Mr/Ms Lehnsherr,

I received your letter, but I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I purchased this lake house nine years ago and have never rented it out in that time, leaving it empty for all of these years. Perhaps your letter was meant for the Sandburg cottage down the shore, since that, to my knowledge, has been unoccupied for years.

More importantly, I am curious about the supposed burn marks in the kitchen, for when I moved in the wall was pristine. Just moments ago, however, I was attempting to make a chicken stir-fry and singed the wall above the stove, just as your letter had said. How could you know about that, when it only just happened?

Kindest regards,

C. F. Xavier

Charles smiled at the letter, before carefully folding it up and sliding it into an envelope, placing it back into the letterbox and flicking the flag down.

Suddenly, he felt the urge to write. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he would write about, but it would stem from a mysterious letter from a man that seemed to know about things before they happened.

***

“Getting back into the swing of things, Sugar?” Emma asked as she slid into the chair opposite Erik in the breakroom, nursing an expensive cappuccino from the luxurious company coffee machine. Erik fiddled with his own plain black coffee, snorting.

“Estate law isn’t rocket science, Emma,” Erik said offhandedly, Emma chuckling as she flicked her long blonde hair off her shoulder, smoothing her crisp white silk blouse.

“Yes, but you’ve been out of action for almost two years. It would be normal to be a little rusty,” Emma replied, Erik shrugging. “And with your own experience, sometimes estate planning law can be… emotional.”

Erik gave Emma a warning glance, his co-worker encroaching on dangerous territory. Emma just smiled at him coolly, unfazed by his cutting gaze. Even though Erik was notoriously private and solitary by nature, people knew about his troubled marriage and the reason for his brief leave from work. Though Erik was no divorce lawyer, managing wills and estates after someone’s death had hit a bit too close to home, and even now, people walked around him on eggshells.

“It’s fine, Emma,” Erik responded, the woman humming as she sipped on her cappuccino. “It’s just numbers and law, nothing more.”

“Hm, heartless as always, Sugar,” Emma chuckled, getting up and patting Erik’s shoulder. “Seems like you have gone back to your usual self after your little retreat. Congratulations.”

Erik rolled his eyes, not feeling like he should be congratulated at all. He had always been somewhat emotionally detached – not emotionless, because Erik felt. Has felt. He loved Magda, greatly, and he had hurt when he lost her. He had also known hurt after all of their miscarriages, after the deaths of his parents. Erik, at this point, was used to loss.

That’s why estate planning law was, at times, hard – dealing with the affairs of those recently deceased and looking into the eyes of their mourning relatives, Erik could relate. After losing Magda, Erik had needed a break, to rebuild the walls around his heart.

And he had rebuilt them, or so he thought.

When Erik returned to his office after his break, he found his boss, Sebastian Shaw, waiting for him.

“Ah, Lehnsherr, there you are,” Shaw said, thin lips pulling back in a grin. Erik was not overly fond of his boss, who was too cut-throat at times, but that made him damn good lawyer. It was from him that Erik learnt to push clients and their opposition to get the most that they could, but a part of Erik could never quite meet Shaw’s callousness.

“What is it?” Erik asked, voice clipped. Shaw just grinned at Erik’s brusque tone, eyeing his best lawyer carefully.

“I know it’s only been a short time since you’ve been back working with us, but you were always my best. Our services have been requested to manage to estate of a high-profile client,” Shaw said, Erik’s eyes narrowing.

“If you’re coming to me with this, it must be a big client,” Erik said carefully, Shaw chuckling.

“Quick, as always. Yes, it is a big client. Do you know the author, Francis Graymalkin?”

“Author of the X tetralogy?” Erik asked slowly, heart thundering. Shaw nodded, and Erik frowned, heart squeezing. “He died around two years ago, though.”

Erik was a huge fan of Francis Graymalkin’s work, having read the first novel in the famous X series, ‘First Class’, just after it had been released. At that point, the book hadn’t gained the traction and fame it was now renowned for, but it had spoken to Erik deeply. Francis Graymalkin’s words were full of soul, witty at times, startlingly emotional at others. Through Francis Graymalkin’s words, Erik could feel his character’s pain and their elation, and though the political and social commentary was oftentimes naïve and pacifistic, Francis Graymalkin always made sure to touch on all sides of an argument. While he clearly lauded the integrationist perspective in his novels, he did not discount the separatist standpoint that one of his characters, Magneto, championed.

Francis Graymalkin’s work helped Erik through the pain of his mother’s death, which occurred a few months before the release of the second novel, which saw the characters persevering through a dismal future even when all hope seemed lost. The fourth book was what helped Erik get through the mess with Magda – ‘Phoenix’ touched on the loss of a character that the protagonist considered a daughter and the ramifications of that. The book ended on a note of hope, which Erik clung to.

Francis Graymalkin was notoriously private, not showing his face once, though he had penned numerous interviews over the years. Erik read every one of them, finding the man intriguing, sometimes snorting at his political views that so often contradicted Erik’s own but were so thoughtfully explained that Erik couldn’t discredit them at all. Even though Erik had never met Francis Graymalkin, nor had he ever seen the man’s face, the author had done more for Erik than anyone else before.

Erik had heard that the author had begun writing a new novel, and that he had been in the final stages of completing it before he died. Erik had been eager to read it, even if Francis Graymalkin said that it was vastly different from his previous work – a romance novel, of sorts, apparently. Sadly, reading it was now a dream that would be left unfulfilled, because Francis Graymalkin was dead, his story left unfinished.

“Yes, from memory it was a car accident two years ago. I think this it’ll be two years to the day in a month,” Shaw said, sounding cold and detached. Erik swallowed thickly, angry that the life of someone so inspirational had been snuffed out just like that by a simple hunk of moving metal. “Some new things have come to light in the man’s will. To put it short, a family squabble has erupted, and the man’s sister has hired our services. Since this is a high-profile case involving millions, I need you to take over the cases I’m currently working. I’m going to need to pour all of my effort into the Graymalkin estate proceedings.”

Erik wasn’t surprised that Shaw was hogging the Graymalkin estate, because Erik would’ve done the same if he were in Shaw’s shoes, though for entirely different reasons. Shaw liked high-profile, lucrative work, but Erik just wanted to see the affairs of one of his favourite authors realised as he willed it.

But, Shaw was his boss, and he had no reason to contest the man’s plan, not when his argument solely hinged on being a fan of Francis Graymalkin’s novels.

“Fine,” was all Erik said, Shaw clapping his hands together once, satisfied.

“Excellent! I’ll send you the details of the estates I’m settling after my meeting with Francis Graymalkin’s sister,” Shaw said, leaving Erik’s office with little else.

Erik sighed, suddenly feeling a lot more drained, and counted down the hours until he could go home. Erik suddenly felt the urge to just curl up in bed and read one of Francis Graymalkin’s novels. Remember the man’s death struck something in the German man, and it was almost funny how Erik immediately sought comfort in the dead man’s own books.

***

When Erik went home, he realised that his copies of Francis Graymalkin’s books were nowhere to be found. They weren’t in any of the half-unpacked boxes he had pushed against the walls of his newly built apartment, they weren’t in his bookshelf stacked with law tomes and other novels, and they weren’t anywhere in his car.

“Shit,” Erik muttered, shower-damp hair dripping down the back of his bare neck as he padded around his apartment, the smell of fresh paint still making his head spin a little despite airing out the room the day he moved in.

If the books weren’t here in his new apartment, they had to be at the lake house. Considering Erik drove straight from there to his new abode in NYC, that was the only logical option.

So, it was on that weekend, that Erik made the seven-hour (or six, at the speed Erik drove), trip back to the Chautauqua lake house.

Erik could have easily bought the series anew at a bookstore, but something about that idea irked him – his copies were well-read, dog-eared in spots, coffee stains dropped on some pages. The spines of the paperbacks were worn, and the covers faded, but they were familiar under the pads of Erik’s fingers, and reminded him of hours spent reading and coming alive through Francis Graymalkin’s words.

Erik wasn’t often sentimental, but Francis Graymalkin tended to stir up unfamiliar feelings in Erik’s soul.

Erik had contacted the real estate agency managing the property, who temporarily returned his keys to let him gather his final things – since Erik left a few weeks ago, only the young lady that apparently owned it had come here, but that things were in contention since there was some sort of dispute regarding the property’s true owner. Erik didn’t inquire too much about it, wanting to gather his books and make the drive home, not keen to spend more than a day on the road.

Erik found the box he had missed behind the couch, which had since been covered up with white cloth. The house seemed duller and emptier without inhabitants, and for some reason, it felt like the building was holding its breath. Waiting.

For what, Erik didn’t quite know.

Erik gave the house a silent farewell for a second time, loading the single box of books into his backseat. As he was getting into the car, Erik noticed the letter box’s flag was up, signifying that mail had been delivered. Considering Erik was the house’s last tenant, he cursed the post office’s shoddy work at listening to his change of address notice, getting back out of his car and trudging over to the metal contraption.

Opening it, Erik found a few bills that had slipped through his change of address notice, and some junk mail that he swiftly ignored. Erik was about to close the letterbox when he noticed a letter beneath a flyer for a local pizza shop – it was not the letter Erik had left there two weeks ago, and strangely, it was addressed to him.

‘To E. Lehnsherr,’ was printed on the front in elegant cursive, and Erik picked it up.

“What the hell?” Erik muttered, tucking his bills under his arm and ripping open the letter, grey eyes running from side to side as he read it, brow creasing. Then, Erik scoffed. Though its author was eloquent and polite, they seemed to be confused – an older individual, with dementia, perhaps. The letter was dated February 9th, 2017 – but, as Erik checked again, it was currently Saturday the 9th of February, 2019.

To be stuck two years in the past, this C. F. Xavier was either an idiot, or a poor, lost soul.

Even more ridiculous was the fact that this person (whom Erik assumed to be the lake house’s contentious female owner the real estate agent had mentioned visiting) thought that no one lived here, when Erik had literally moved out two weeks ago. C. F. Xavier must be confused, and Erik felt that he needed to correct the person, or at least give them a healthy dose of reality.

Erik walked back to his car, opening the box of books in his backseat to find some paper to write on. Erik found an old notebook, ripping out an empty back page before scribbling down a response to C. F. Xavier.

February 9th, 2019

Dear Ms Xavier,

I am familiar with the cottage that you mentioned, and I assure you that I did not mistake my own address. Unfortunately, you seem to be confused – I’ve lived at this lake house for almost two years, and have since moved to ---, NYC. It would be great if you could forward my mail to this address if you receive any.

And, by the way, it’s 2019. It has been all year – ask anyone.

Erik

Erik may have been a little aggressive by underlining 2019 so heavily, but he didn’t care too much, folding the letter inside the empty letterbox and flicking down the flag.

Walking back to his car, Erik suddenly heard the squeak of metal behind him, turning with a slightly startled jump.

The letter box’s flag was up.

Erik’s eyes darted around his surroundings, trying to look for the prankster, but it was quiet.

Then, the flag jerked itself down without a hand touching it.

Erik’s heart hammered, his long legs surging forward and his hands ripping open the letter box. The folded letter he had just placed in there had disappeared, and something else had replaced it. It was from the same paper C. F. Xavier’s initial note had been written on, and on it was the same refined cursive scrawl.

He had just received a reply from C. F. Xavier, a C. F. Xavier who was nowhere to be seen.

***

Charles almost screamed when he saw the flag move itself, blue eyes staring at the metal letterbox with a mixture of fear and rapture. Charles nibbled on the end of his pen, unblinking, waiting for the phantom to move the letterbox again.

“Come on, my friend…” Charles goaded the lake house phantom, gasping when, after a long, laborious length of time, the flag shoved itself down. “Good God.”

Charles opened the letterbox, and found that the paper he had placed face down only about five minutes ago was now face up, with E. Lehnsherr’s – Erik’s – distinct scrawl beneath Charles’s own lettering. Charles couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and giddy, reading the mysterious letter with excitement.

February 4th, 2017

Dear Erik,

My friend, I’m not sure about you, but it is the year 2017 where I am. You told me to ask anyone, and I did – I texted my sister and my friends, and they all assure me that it is indeed 2017.

While our incongruous dates are confounding, I am more intrigued as to how you are responding to me. I am not well-versed in practical jokes or magic, so may I ask, how are you doing this?

Yours,

Charles

P.S. I’m not sure what lead you to believe that I am Ms. Xavier, but I am usually addressed as Mr. Xavier. However, please just address me as Charles.

Charles,

I am as confused as you are – if anyone is the magician, it’s you. I’ve been watching this letterbox, and no one has touched it.

Erik

P.S. The real estate agent said that this property was owned by a woman. I didn’t mean to offend you, nor assume your gender.

Charles blinked, swallowing deeply. This was…

Amazing.

Charles sucked in a breath, planting himself on the grass in front of the letterbox, ripping a new piece of paper from his notebook and writing with fervour.

Erik,

Don’t worry, you did not offend me in the slightest, and even if you did, I’m rather pre-occupied worrying about the fact that we can even have this conversation.

My mind is fanciful by nature, and I can think of a few different scenarios that read like fiction – but, with what is happening, fiction seems to be our new reality. Since you are adamant that you are living in 2019, and I am even more sure that it is currently 2017, I’d wager that this letterbox is some sort of time-travelling device.

Either that, or I am going insane. Please tell me that I am not alone in my insanity, my friend.

Charles

Charles placed the letter in the letterbox, flicked the flag, and waited.

He did not have to wait long for a response.

***

Charles,

It seems that you aren’t alone in your insanity. But, I think I am more insane for thinking that your illogical logic is… logical. In case you are still in disbelief, I have a coin minted in 2018 – not 2019, but futuristic enough.

Erik

Erik grinned down at his response, pulling out a 2018 dime from his pocket and placing it atop the letter. Erik willed in his heart for the coin to be sent through smoothly, not sure about the limitations of this time-travelling device in the shape of a letter box. Erik waited for Charles’s response eagerly.

He, too, did not wait long.

*** 

Erik,

A dime from the future – how much do you think it would go for on the market? Some coin collectors can be positively rabid.

I joke, though. Erik, this is amazing. Whatever physics are at work here, I can’t even begin to explain it – I may have a degree in biophysics, amongst other things, but my knowledge on time travel tells me that the very concept is a myth. Science fiction. I’m not sure what I could send you to prove that I am indeed from the past, but it seems like you believe me thus far.

Here is a biscuit that’s expiring soon – in March 2017, to be precise. So, about a month from now (my time).

Charles

Before sending the letter, Charles had pat himself down, trying to think of something to give Erik but coming up empty – everything Charles had could be easily procured in the future. Still, Charles felt like he should send Erik something – in the end, he placed a plastic-wrapped biscuit alongside his letter, flicking down the flag as he held Erik’s 2018-minted dime in his palm, the metal warm.

*** 

Charles,

I’m sure you would be called a fraud if you tried to sell a dime from the future. Frankly, I think I would be the only person who would believe you.

And Charles, in your opinion, would the biscuit be safe to consume? Technically, two years haven’t passed in the biscuit’s lifetime.

Erik

***

Erik,

If I met you now, you wouldn’t believe me any way – because, for you, this conversation hasn’t even happened yet.

And that is marvellous to think about, isn’t it? Positively groovy. Also, please try the biscuit – if you become ill, let me know.

Charles

Erik let out a choked laugh, eyeing the biscuit he had left sitting atop the letter box. The thought that Charles had procured it and thoughtfully given it to Erik made something churn in the German’s belly. Whether that was a side effect of the strange warmth spreading in his chest or because his stomach pre-empted the food poisoning the expired-but-unexpired biscuit would give him, Erik couldn’t tell.

Still, Erik opened the plastic packaging, swallowing down the biscuit in two bites.

It was sweet.

***

Groovy? Really, Charles? How old are you?

I had pegged you for a senile old man at first, since you seemed to be stuck two years in the past – I think you just confirmed my suspicions.

(And the biscuit was delicious.)

***

Charles snorted at Erik’s response, not feeling offended but elated instead – Charles’s heart was thumping wildly, lurching ever time the letter box would rattle. Charles couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face as he hastily penned a reply to his new friend.

A senile old man? You wound me, Erik!

And I’m 31. So, in your time, I would be 33. But, since you’ve made fun of me for my age, how old are you then? Twelve?

***

Almost. Triple it.

***

You’re 36 in 2019, then? So, you’d be a youthful 34-year-old right now.

***

Congratulations, Charles. You can do math.

Erik chuckled to himself, licking his lips as he sent the snarky and teasing response.

How long had it been, since Erik could speak with someone so easily? So naturally?

It had been a long time – maybe ever since Magda?

Or maybe even before that?

*** 

This infantile mocking is why I thought you were 12, Erik. But I do apologise – I shouldn’t make fun of my elders.

Charles wasn’t sure if he was teasing or flirting now – maybe a mixture of both. But, God, talking to Erik lit something inside Charles that had been dormant for a long time.

***

Who’s the child now? Are you sure you’re not in elementary school still, Charles?

*** 

I graduated from high-school when I was 16, actually. So, no, I am far from being in elementary school, my friend. Unfortunate, because I think we could have become great friends in the playground, considering we are both apparently 12-years-old.

***

I have no doubt about that, Charles.

But, you mentioned that you have a degree in biophysics?

***

Well, a PhD in biophysics, to be precise.

Erik’s eyebrows went up when he read Charles’s response. The man had sounded educated in his responses, but this was impressive. Charles was an intellectual, and that was something Erik appreciated. Still, he felt the need to tease the (slightly) younger man.

***

Are you bragging?

*** 

No, my friend. If I were bragging, I’d tell you about my other PhDs in genetics, anthropology and psychology. Oh, and my meagre Bachelor’s degree in English.

Erik choked when he read Charles’s reply, grey eyes bulging. Gott, Charles was a genius. Was he even real?

Time travelling was one thing, but someone like Charles Xavier – funny, intelligent, cheeky Charles Xavier – existing?

Erik could hardly believe it.

*** 

So, you’re a 12-year-old child genius then?

***

You’re the one who said it, my friend. Not me.

What about you? What did 12-year-old you grow up to become?

Charles wanted to know more about this man who lived in the future – sure, Charles was curious about other things about the future unknown to him, like world events, new technologies, political intrigue – but more than that, he wanted to know about the man who lived in it.

A man that, in what was a handful of minutes that spanned two years, Charles felt bound to.

Raven’s girlfriend was, maybe, right about something.

***

A lawyer, specialising in estate planning law. No PhDs here, so I have nothing to brag about.

*** 

You’re selling yourself short, Erik. I’d wager that it isn’t easy becoming a lawyer, having to pass the bar amongst other things. Not to mention the fact that your job involves professional arguing – I enjoy a good debate myself, but I could never become a lawyer.

Erik smiled at that. He could feel that Charles’s words were genuine and spoken from the heart. There was something about the way he wrote that made it seem like he bore his heart on the page, something that Erik had always struggled with.

But, talking to Charles like this, Erik felt lighter.

*** 

And I could never complete 4 PhDs. Oh, and a bachelors in writing – how could I forget?

***

Why do I feel like you’re mocking me again, my friend?

***

Because I am.

***

Hmph – that’s the noise I made just then. It’s a shame that you can’t hear it in person.

And God, Charles wanted to hear Erik’s voice. To speak with him – but sadly, he was two years too early.

*** 

What if I could?

Erik’s heart hammered – Gott, he wanted to hear Charles’s voice. He wondered if Charles’s voice would match his gentle, elegant cursive. If it did, he imagined Charles to be soft-spoken, maybe with a posh accent. For some reason that seemed to match Charles’s written voice well. But, from what Erik could tell, Charles had a mischievous streak – the man was surprising, in every way.

***

What do you mean?

***

What if I called you, in my time?

Charles almost dropped his pen when he read Erik’s words, eyes widening to blue saucers.

*** 

You mean, in the future?

*** 

That’s another way of saying it.

***

Very well, I’ll bite. Here’s my number: XX XXXX XXXX

Call me.

Erik found himself breathless all of a sudden, staring at the string of numbers.

Charles’s number.

Erik hadn’t felt like this since he was actually 12-years-old.

*** 

Is this how you give people your number in bars, Charles?

“Are you flirting with me, Erik?” Charles asked himself incredulously, though his cheeks coloured.

‘God, I hope you’re flirting with me, my friend.’

*** 

No, usually I just skip that step and take them home.

But enough stalling, Erik – have you called future me yet?

Erik couldn’t help the surprised laugh that erupted from his throat. Charles, Charles, Charles.

*** 

Not yet – Charles, I will call you at precisely 3:05pm on Monday, the 9th of February 2019. Which, for me, is a minute from now.

“I’ll be waiting,” Charles vowed to no one but himself, wondering where he would be in two years, waiting for Erik to call. Would he be back home in NYC, tucked away in his office? Or would he be at his publisher’s, excusing himself from a meeting with his editor, Moira MacTaggert, to answer Erik’s impending call in private?

Or, maybe, Charles would have tried to surprise Erik. Charles could surprise him by showing up at the lake house, since he knew that Erik was there, right now.

Why hadn’t Charles done that already?

***

Alright. I’ll be waiting for your call, Erik.

Erik’s hands were shaking as he dialled Charles’s number, double and triple checking to make sure the digits were correct.

He pressed call.

The phone rang for a few beats, and then a few more, and then for many, many more. Eventually, the robotic female voice told Erik that Charles did not pick up, and Erik’s heart fell, disappointment flooding him over a man two years away.

Erik didn’t know what to do, and ten minutes passed – there hadn’t been this much of a lag between their sent letters, and Erik was surprised when the letter box flag jerked up and then down.

Erik hastily checked it, pocketing his phone once again. 

Have you called future me yet, my friend?

***

I did – you didn’t pick up, you asshole.

Charles frowned. He hadn’t picked up? Why hadn’t he picked up?

Future Charles, you idiot.

***

Well. I’m disappointed in future me. Something must have held me up. I do apologise, my friend. Please believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to answer your call.

Gosh, I’m making excuses for a me that doesn’t exist yet.

But, please, Erik – trust me when I say that I am very sorry.

***

Erik sighed, reading Charles’s message over and over. He did seem awfully apologetic, and maybe he was right – even though this was now for Erik, for Charles it was two years in the future. Many things could’ve changed for the man in that time. He could have simply forgotten, he may have moved countries and changed time zones, or maybe, knowing Charles, he overworked himself getting a 5th PhD and was passed out over his desk.

Erik noticed that the sky was beginning to glow orange, sunset approaching, cursing under his breath. If he didn’t start driving home now, it would be well past midnight by the time he got back to his apartment.

No apologies needed, Charles. Two years is a long time, and I’m sure you were just busy – working on your 5th PhD, perhaps?

And, sadly, I have to leave now – I was only here to pick up some books that I had left behind. I’ve got to drive back to NYC now.

***

Charles read Erik’s letter, frowning. Was this it, then?

Charles didn’t want this to be it. 

Oh, that’s sad news, my friend – this conversation with you, no matter how brief, has meant more to me than you know. I’m not sure what magic is at work here, but I will be here in a week’s time. I would very much like to speak to you again, Erik, if you wanted.

Charles waited with bated breath, hands pressed together tightly as he eyed the letter box flag.

Up.

Down.

Charles opened the letter box, surprised to find Erik’s letter wedged between the pages of a worn book – The Once and Future King.

I’d also like to speak with you again – this… means a lot to me, too. I hate to leave so soon, but I’ll give you this to help pass the time before I can return. It’s my favourite novel – considering you have a bachelors in English, you may have already read it, but still.

Until next week, Charles.

Charles laughed, fingering the pages of the book before dropping his forehead to its cover, breathing in the smell of old pages and something like cologne.

Erik’s cologne.

“I’ll be waiting, my friend,” Charles whispered, getting up and walking back into the lake house, not waiting a moment before going into the study and booting up his laptop, which was open to the novel he had begun working on when he had first received a reply from Erik.

“Days of Future Past – by Francis Graymalkin”.

Next chapter (2/3) → 

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